"Yes," he said, grinning ravenously. "The outrage against one of our pochtéa would justify a punitive invasion, and the purple alone would amply repay it. But why settle for taming just the one wretched Huave tribe? That land of Uaxyacac has many other treasures worth acquiring. Not since the long-ago days of my father's reign have the Mexíca humbled those proud Tzapoteca."

"I would remind the Revered Speaker," I said quickly, "that not even your father Motecuzóma could keep such a faraway people subject for very long. To do so would require permanent garrisons in that country. And to support the garrisons would require extended supply lines always vulnerable to disruption. Even if a military rule could be imposed and maintained, it would cost more than any expectable return in plunder and tribute."

Ahuítzotl grumbled, "You seem always to have an argument against men waging manly war."

"Not always, my lord. In this case, I would suggest that you enlist the Tzapoteca as allies. Offer them the honor of fighting alongside your own troops when you descend upon the Huave barbarians. Then put that defeated tribe under tribute, not to you, but to the Lord Kosi Yuela of Uaxyacac—to surrender to him all their purple dye from now forevermore."

"What? Fight a war and refuse the fruits of it?"

"Only hear me out, Lord Speaker. After your victory, you arrange a treaty whereby Uaxyacac sells the purple to no one but our Mexíca traders. That way both nations will profit, for of course our pochtéa will resell the dye for a much higher price. You will have bound the Tzapoteca closer to us by the bonds of increased trade—and by their having fought beside the Mexíca for the first time in a mutual military venture."

His glare at me became a gaze of speculation. "And if they fight once as our allies, they could do so again. And again." He bestowed on me a look almost kindly. "The idea is sound. We will give the order to march as soon as our seers have picked an auspicious day for it. Be ready, Tequiua Mixtli, to take command of your allotted warriors."

"But, my lord, I am to be married!"

He muttered, "Xoquiui," which is a low profanity. "You can be married any time, but a soldier is always subject to call, especially one of command rank. Also, you are again the aggrieved party in this business. You are our excuse for violating the borders of Uaxyacac."

"My physical presence will not be necessary, Lord Speaker. The excuse has already been prepared." I told him how I had reported The Strangers' evil doings to the ruling noble of Tecuantopec, and through him to the Lord Bishosu of that land. "None of the Tzapoteca bears any love for that squatter tribe of Huave, so your way to them will not be impeded. Indeed, Kosi Yuela will probably require no coaxing at all to join you in chastising them." I paused, then said meekly, "I hope I did right in thus presuming to ease in advance the affairs of lords and armies and nations."

For a short while, there was no sound in the room except that of Ahuítzotl drumming his thick fingers on a bench of which the upholstery, I suspected, was human skin. Finally he said:

"We are told that your intended bride is of incomparable beauty. Very well. No man who has already done exemplary service for his nation should be required to put the enjoyment of war before the enjoyment of beauty. You will be married here, in the court ballroom, which we have had newly decorated. A palace priest will officiate—our priest of the love goddess Xochiquetzal, I think, not he of the war god Huitzi-Iopóchtli—and our entire retinue will attend. Invite all your fellow pochtéa, your friends, anyone else you choose. Simply consult the palace seers, so they may set a well-omened date. In the meantime, you and your woman go about the city and find a home site which pleases you, one that is yet unoccupied or is purchasable from its owner, and that will be Ahuítzotl's wedding gift to you."

* * *

At the proper time in the afternoon of my wedding day, I nervously approached the portal of the crowded and noisy ballroom, and I stopped there long enough to survey the gathering through my topaz. Then, out of vanity, I let the thonged crystal drop inside my rich new mantle before I stepped into the room. But I had seen that the new decoration of the vast hall included wall paintings which I would have recognized even unsigned—and that the crowd of nobles and courtiers and privileged commoners included a tall young man who, though his back was to me at that moment, I recognized as the artist: Yei-Ehecatl Pocuia-Chimali.

I made my way through the throng of people, some standing, chatting and drinking from golden cups; others, mostly the court noblewomen, already kneeling or seated around the countless gold-thread-embroidered cloths spread out on the floor matting. Most of the people reached out to pat my shoulder or reached up to stroke my hand, smiling and murmuring words of congratulation. But, as tradition required, I acknowledged none of the gestures or words. I went to the front of the room, where the most elegant cloth of all was spread on a high dais, and where a number of men waited for me, among them the Uey-Tlatoani Ahuítzotl and the priest of Xochiquetzal. As they greeted me, the performers from The House of Song began to play a muted music.

For the first part of the ceremony—that of my being given into full manhood—I had asked the three elder pochtéa to do me the honor, and they were also seated on the dais. Since the cloth was spread with platters of hot tamaltin and jugs of potent octli, and since it was prescribed that the Givers depart immediately after the first ritual, the three elderly men had already helped themselves, to the extent that they were noticeably gorged, drunk, and half asleep.

When the room had quieted and only the soft music could be heard, Ahuítzotl and the priest and I stood together. You might suppose that the priest of a goddess named Xochiquetzal would at least be cleanly in his habits, but that one was as professionally unkempt and unwashed and unsavory as any other. And, like any other, he took the occasion to make his speech a tediously long one, more full of dire warnings about the pitfalls of marriage than any mention of its pleasures. But he finally got done and Ahuítzotl spoke, to the three besotted and sentimentally smirking old men seated at his feet, just a few words and to the point:

"Lords pochtéa, your fellow trader wishes to take a wife. Regard this xeloloni I give you. It is the sign that Chicome-Xochitl Tlilectic-Mixtli desires to sever himself from the days of his irresponsible youth. Take it and set him free to be a full-grown man."

The scalpless one of the three accepted the xeloloni, which was a small household hatchet. Had I been an ordinary commoner getting married, the hatchet would have been a simple utilitarian tool of wood shaft and flint head, but that one had a solid silver haft and a blade of fine jadestone. The old fellow brandished it, belched loudly, and said:

"We have heard, Lord Speaker, we and all present have heard the wish of young Tlilectic-Mixtli: that henceforth he bear all the duties, responsibilities, and privileges of manhood. As you and he desire, so let it be."

He made a drunkenly dramatic chopping motion with the hatchet—and very nearly chopped off the remaining foot of his one-footed colleague. The three of them then stood and bore away the symbolic cutting tool, the one-footed man dangling and hopping between the other two, and all of them lurching as they departed from the big room. The Givers were no sooner out of sight than we heard the clamor of Zyanya's arrival at the palace: the accumulated crowd of city commoners outside the building calling to her: "Happy girl! Fortunate girl!"