Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [119]
Standing atop a gilded dais in the great temple square of Tenochtitlan, the Nahuatl Emperor bade us a ceremonial farewell, publicly announcing that we were under his protection as far as the empire extended. He invoked the blessing of the gods on our journey, adding that offerings of flowers and honey would be given to Xochiquetzal, goddess of desire, in my name—every day until our return, or a year had passed.
I found myself unexpectedly touched by the gesture. The Nahuatl folk seemed to approve.
Bao raised his brows at me, but he kept his silence.
And then it was done, and there was nothing left but to bow deeply to Achcuatli, offer thanks for his generosity, and take our leave.
I cannot imagine what an odd sight our caravan made as we departed the city of Tenochtitlan and crossed the broad southern causeway for what might well be the last time. Forty D’Angeline warriors, sunlight bouncing off their steel helmets, bright reflections wavering in the placid water of the lake along which they marched. Our two pochtecas, one wizened, one sullen. Temilotzin in his jaguar hides and a wooden helmet with a feathered crest, a club in one hand, spear in the other, his wicker shield slung over his shoulder. Bare-headed Septimus Rousse, his coppery red hair a blaze beneath the blue sky. Bao with his staff lashed across his back, resembling no one else in our company. Three laden pack-horses, and me riding astride the fourth.
Nahuatl fishermen in reed boats and farmers on the artificial islands watched us go. It felt as though we were marching into history, never to be seen again. The Aragonians would tell the tale of the D’Angeline expedition that had tried to whore its way into the Emperor’s graces with disdain.
Mayhap the Nahuatl would tell the tale as a tragic romance, the doomed expedition led by a woman from across the sea, who left behind the Emperor to lay flowers on Xochiquetzal’s altar in vain.
And back in Terre d’Ange, my name would become a hallmark for folly, the half-breed bear-witch whose pride and arrogance compounded the realm’s grief.
I prayed to Blessed Elua and his Companions, and to the Maghuin Dhonn Herself, that it would not be so.
The first weeks of our journey were easy enough as such things go. We were within the confines of the Nahuatl Empire. Achcuatli had sent out runners carrying word that we were under his protection, and no one troubled us. While one could not exactly say Balthasar and his recruits were inured to the hardship of marching beneath the hot sun in chain-mail and brigandines, they bore it more easily. As soon as we were out of sight of Tenochtitlan, I’d dismounted and taken to walking like the others, reckoning sharing the hardship was the least I could do. I’d done my part to command respect, and my mount was better used carrying supplies and trade goods, which we redistributed accordingly.
Every few days, we came across inns catering to the large parties of pochtecas, where we were able to refresh ourselves with baths and skillfully cooked meals. Septimus Rousse, who had served as a galley-cook as a lad, had taken on himself the duty of overseeing the preparation of meals in the field, but many of the ingredients in the stores we’d bartered for were unfamiliar to him. His overgenerous use of dried chiles to flavor the maize porridge he made had my eyes watering more than once.
As an added benefit, we were able to inquire if anyone remembered a party of fair-skinned strangers from across the sea passing through over a year ago. More often than not, we were able to confirm that we were still on the trail of Prince Thierry’s expedition, something that heartened all of us and made the following day’s journey easier to bear.
And at the first inn we visited, I introduced Bao to the pleasure of the temazcalli, the Nahuatl steam-bath.
It had the purgative effect I’d hoped for. Although I knew Bao had spoken truly when he said