The Spaniard's Innocent Maiden

Tula snuck out of the water and dashed across the beach, leaving the jaguar fish as an offering to Mixcoatl. She slipped back into her skirt and blouse, placed her weapons inside her basket and stole closer to the two gods, keeping herself hidden amidst the tangle of trees and vines at the edge of the jungle.

She knew it was foolish to approach them, but her curiosity blazed. She had heard tales of the battles between gods—if gods these were. The God of the Morning Star and the God of Earth had fought together long ago, much like these two were doing, producing the Fifth World—the world in which she now lived. In her studies, Tula had learned that the Fifth World was soon to come to an end. Was this contest a harbinger of the new world to come?

The two rolled over and under one another, fighting for supremacy. The red god punched the tall god in the face, then groped at the tall god’s mouth. But the tall god, whose muscular arms Tula could see even at this distance, thrust a punch upwards into the red god’s stomach.

The red god tumbled on to the sand, coughing. The tall god placed his fingers upon his nose and bent over in agony. It was enough time for the red god to take hold of a silvery dagger and place it against the tall god’s neck.

The tall god stood still while the red god shouted menacing words in a strange, rolling tongue. He seemed to be demanding the answer to some question he had posed. The tall god did not respond. Instead, he held his mouth tightly shut.

Enraged, the red god plunged his knife into the tall god’s chest and the tall god fell backwards on to the sand.

Tula shrieked.

She slapped her hand over her own mouth, shocked by the noise that had come out of it.

Meanwhile, the red god had jumped to his feet and was peering into the jungle. Tula cowered behind a rubber tree. Why had she made such a noise? She had revealed herself for certain. She could not see him, but she began to hear his footfalls. He was coming towards her.

Shaking in fear, Tula pulled her atlatl and a single arrow from her basket, though she knew that it was useless to try to kill a god. If he was a god, then her only chance against him was the aid of another god. She braved a quick glance at the tall god, who remained motionless on the beach. She would receive no heavenly help from him, it seemed.

The red god’s footfalls grew louder. Closer. If she could create an illusion, perhaps she might confuse the red god enough for him to cease his approach. She gave a high-pitched battle cry, then a low-pitched one, then sent her first arrow flying. The red god swerved behind a tree, but he was not quick enough. The arrow’s jagged point grazed past his leg, ripping the tight cloth he wore.

Fuming, he ran towards her, his knife held high. There was nothing she could do but step out from behind her tree and launch her second arrow.

It was even better aimed than the first. It caught in the sleeve of his wrap, sending him backwards on to the ground. She had not injured him, but she had grounded him well.

Tula scanned the forest floor, finding several fine, fist-sized stones. She threw them at him, one after another, darting among the trees to make it seem as if the stones were coming from many different directions. She needed him to believe that an army lurked amongst the trees, ready to strike.

He shouted angrily, struggling to stand above the cloud of dirt and debris that she was kicking up all around. Just as he was finding his balance, Tula fixed the peg of the atlatl into the notch of an arrow and launched it. It stuck him directly in the thigh.

He howled in agony and his blazing eyes found hers. His blade in hand, he staggered to his feet. She loosed her final stone.

It hit him in the head and sent him to the ground where he remained motionless.

Tula stood in stunned silence. Had she just defeated a god? Impossible. Gods could not be defeated by humans.

At least, that was what her father had taught her. When she had asked him how he knew that Grijalva and his men were gods, he had told her that the bearded ones did not abide by the sacred law.

‘Which law?’ Tula had asked.

‘The law between gods and humans.’

‘They do not make sacrifices to the gods and for that reason you believe them to be gods?’ Tula frowned.

‘Either that, my dear Tula, or they are most certainly doomed.’

Tula wondered which was true. Were these bearded ones verily gods? Or were they merely strange, warlike men doomed to die?

The other god was still lying on the beach. If he was truly a god, then he was not dead and it was possible that he could help protect her against the red god, who would be returning to his senses soon.

She rushed from the jungle and on to the beach, trying to think of a way to rouse the tall god. When the god Grijalva had visited, he and his crew had remained inside their floating temples, revealing little but their love of gold and their devotion to the strange, naked spirit they called Cristo.

‘Cristo,’ Tula said tentatively, hoping the word held some kind of magic. But the tall god did not respond. She stared down at his face. It was so very pale, like the inside of a chayohtli fruit. He was like a beast, in truth, his wiry brown hairs growing all around his large face and down past his chin. Crude, thick bushes of it grew over his eyes and tangled around his ears.

Tula took a deep breath. Within each thing exists its opposite, she told herself.

She looked closer. Beneath his moustache, his lips were red and plump, and appeared almost soft. The skin of his high cheekbones was clean and smooth, as if it might be pleasurable to touch. She wondered about his eyes. Were they blue like the sea? She hoped not. Many of the god Grijalva’s men had such eyes and it meant that their souls had deserted them.

‘Cristo,’ she said again, but the god did not stir. Perhaps he was dead.

But gods did not die.

Tula bent to her knees and studied his face more closely. His nose was like a coati’s—long and strong and prominent. It was bent to the side slightly, and a small trickle of blood flowed out of it.

But gods did not bleed.

She wondered if his mouth held teeth or fangs. She let her finger graze across his lips. They were soft and slightly moist. She gently traced their contours, feeling an unusual thrill.

Man or god, he was fascinating.

She tilted his lower jaw downwards and peered into his mouth. Not fangs—he had teeth. They were the imperfect, slightly yellowed teeth of one who had seen much of life and the set was not even complete. Tula suppressed a smile. If a god, he was quite a besieged one.

The Sun God was nearing his defeat. His last rays shot across the sky, illuminating the man’s large pink tongue. She peered deeper into his mouth. For the second time that day, she noticed the glint of metal. It was O-shaped, like a ring. A gold ring. The god’s tongue squeezed through it like a finger.

Tula knew that the bearded gods hungered for gold, but she had no idea that they actually consumed the yellow metal.

Tula looked closer and saw that the ring was the perch for a large gemstone of some kind. Its wide circular base extended across the roof of the god’s mouth, stirring her imagination. Maybe it was a moonstone, or even a precious jade. Tula reached for the gem, but his mouth closed suddenly.

Tula jumped backwards. The man’s eyes remained shut, but Tula was unnerved. She heard a rustling sound at the edge of the jungle. As she squinted for a better view, she saw that it was just a monkey swinging between tree branches. Still, she knew the red god would be returning to his senses soon.

‘Ooa-k-k-k,’ the monkey croaked, as if in warning. But now Tula did not want to leave without the ring. To return to her family and community with such a treasure was beyond her wildest hopes. The Mexica Tribute Takers would certainly accept the heavy prize in place of much food and many cloaks’ worth of tribute. She remembered what her father had told her about the upcoming festival of the fifteenth month. Perhaps the Takers would accept this jewel in place of Tula herself.

She tried to open his mouth again, but he held it shut. His eyes remained tightly closed and they danced beneath his lids, as if he was living inside some important dream. Clearly he was not dead, just asleep. If only she could somehow enter his dream and coax him into opening his mouth. But how to enter the dream of a god?

On impulse, she placed her lips upon his.

She pressed down softly, hoping that he would imagine some beautiful goddess kissing him and open his mouth just enough for her to retrieve the gem. She moved her lips gently against his and, amazingly, he began to move his lips in response.

Her deception was working—it seemed that he had accepted her into his dream. Softly, she let her tongue slide into his mouth. It touched the hoop of the ring, which remained wrapped around his tongue. She tried to coax it free with her own tongue, but it was so tightly wedged against the roof of his mouth that it would not move. It was several moments before she realised that the tiny hairs upon her arms were standing on end.

She shivered, though it was not cold, and breathed in his musky scent.

This was not her first kiss—if a kiss it was. As a younger woman, she had participated in her share of maize festivals and there had always been plenty of young men eager to join lips with her among the stalks.

That was before the Mexica Tribute Takers had taken her older sister’s husband and two boys, when life was still joyous and full of possibility.

After Pulkho’s family was taken, the idea of closeness with a man had become terrifying to Tula. Why enter into the sacred union if it could so easily be destroyed? Tula had stopped going to the maize festivals, and had determined never to get close to any man. There was simply too great a danger of losing him.

This was different, of course. This kiss had nothing to do with closeness and everything to do with theft. The excitement she felt was not the excitement a woman felt for a man: It was merely the danger of the situation mixed with the possibility of success.