His eyes gazed beyond me, towards the throng in front of the palace. After a moment's hesitation, I turned, and saw a tall woman making her way straight towards us, carrying a baby in a shawl tied around her chest.
Huei, and Neutemoc's youngest child, Ollin, born this last dry season. This was obviously not the moment to broach the subject of illegitimate children.
Huei walked towards the platform as if fighting her way through a press of warriors. She wore a long, flowing tunic with an elaborate pattern of glyphs, and a skirt the colour of jade.
Her hair was brushed in the fashion of married women, in two braids, with the two ends of the braids raised to form two tufts on either side of her forehead, like small horns. Her face was grim, every step deliberate. Neutemoc was clearly going to have an unpleasant moment.
"I think I'll leave," I said.
Neutemoc's gaze didn't move, but his lips tightened. I couldn't tell if he was ashamed, or simply embarrassed. "Please, Acatl."
"It's private," I said. But Huei was already close enough to hear us.
"No," she said. "It's not private. Not once you're arrested and exposed like a common criminal."
Uh-oh. She was really furious, though I couldn't blame her.
"Huei," Neutemoc said.
Her gaze swept him, up and down. "What in the Fifth World did you think you were doing?"
"I know it's not a favourable situation–"
"It's not 'unfavourable'," Huei said. "It's a disaster, Neutemoc. Tell me what I should tell the children, when they ask me about their father."
"There's been a misunderstanding–"
"No," Huei said. "You were foolish enough to get caught bloodyhanded in a priestess's room. I don't think I want to know why."
"Huei," I said. "I don't think this is the time."
"Then when?" she asked. "After they've strangled him, or crushed his head?"
She clearly knew what was going on. Those penalties she had mentioned were those for killing a woman, and for adultery.
"Priestess Eleuia isn't dead," I lied. "We'll find her, and she'll explain."
"Acatl." For the first time I saw pity in her gaze. "Don't lie to me."
"I'm not–"
But Huei had already turned back to Neutemoc. "I can't believe you've been such a fool," she said. Her hand rose: if the cage had had larger gaps between its bars, she'd have hit him.
Neutemoc said nothing. He looked through her, as though he'd already lost her. "I don't think you'd understand, even if I explained."
I glanced to the side of the platform. If my dispute with Ceyaxochitl had attracted some people, it was nothing compared to the crowd that gathered now: a throng of several dozens, men and women, freemen, noblemen and slaves, all staring quite shamelessly at the spectacle before their eyes.
"Why shouldn't I understand? Some words are so simple to say. Some feelings are easy to demonstrate." Huei lowered her hand slowly. "But then you could never do that, could you?" Her voice was bitter.
Hearing them, I felt… out of place, as if I'd tumbled into some other age of the world, where my brother, my successful brother who could do nothing wrong, was awaiting trial; where he and his wife were tearing at each other, oblivious to my presence.
Their marriage had always been happy; they'd had all I could lay no claim to… Hadn't they? The world, as in an earthquake, had shifted under my feet, and I couldn't mould it back into the right shape.
Neutemoc didn't answer Huei. They stared at each other for a while; finally, Huei said, "Acatl. Will you walk me home?"
I had known her for years, from the time she and Neutemoc had been engaged; and in her tense stance I read, very clearly, that she wanted to speak to me, but not before her husband.
I glanced at Neutemoc, who owed me some explanations. But my brother was sitting, dejected, in his cage, not looking at me. Getting him to talk to me was going to be hard, not to mention painful for him. And I needed to be out of here. I needed to be alone, to have a place to breathe, to think.
"I'll come with you," I said to Huei.
She was quiet as we walked through the streets of Moyotlan. The baby on her back slept, wrapped in cotton cloth.
"I can't believe he's such a fool," she said, as we crossed over a canal.
The smell of cooked maize wafted from a street-food seller; my stomach growled.
"He was just in the wrong place–" I started, unwilling to cause her pain.
Huei looked at me, her wide eyes shining in the sunlight. "Do you really believe that?" she asked.
"No," I said, finally, and it was the truth. "I don't know what to believe in any more."
She laughed, bitterly. "That's two of us, then. I knew he didn't love me any more, Acatl. It's not hard to see."
Save, of course, if you had been distancing yourself from the family for years, as I had. "How long has it been going on?"
She shrugged. "Two, three years? It's always hard to determine. He's been such a good father," she said. "A good husband, better than anything I deserved."
"You deserved the best. And so did he."
Huei smiled. "Always such a liar, Acatl?"
I wanted to tell her it was only the truth – that the slender, shy girl my brother had brought home, so eager to learn everything she could about my own life, had deserved so much more than the taint of adultery – so much more than seeing her husband in a cage. But the words couldn't get past my lips.
She guessed them, all the same, and raised a hand to placate my protests. "No, I know you mean well. But you blind yourself. No marriage can last if there's no trust."
"I don't see any lack of trust," I said, though it was only a lie to comfort her.
We'd reached the pyramid temple of our family's calpulli, where a handful of novice priests were busy sweeping the ground with reed brooms, in preparation for the next sacrifice. A throng of people, most of whom I'd known in childhood, turned to stare at us as we passed. News travelled fast in Tenochtitlan. I had no doubt they knew about Neutemoc's arrest.
Huei sighed. "He'd go out at night, you know? He'd walk the streets, with the light and smell of parties spilling ahead of him. He told me he did it to remind himself of what he was."
"I had no idea he was lonely," I said.
"He shouldn't have been." Her voice was low, fierce. "I took care of him, of his household. Why, Acatl?"
"You think he killed Priestess Eleuia?" I asked.
She shrugged. "I think that he could have had the decency to keep his affairs private."
"But you don't like the idea of his having an affair," I said, wondering how bluntly I could go about the subject. Accusing her of murder in front of the calpulli clan didn't seem a good idea.
"What wife does?" Huei asked. "I'd be lying if I said it left me indifferent."
We'd reached a low, white-washed building adorned with frescoes of leaping jaguars: Neutemoc's house. The smell of spices, mingled with the sweeter one of copal incense, rose to my nostrils, a reminder of a time I'd been a regular visitor here. "Come inside, will you?" Huei asked. "I know Mihmatini will ask after you."