Nearly speechless at the revelation, Corrie finally turned back to the students. “Well, I . . . uh, yes. I mentioned it. But, as evidenced by your professor, it’s not a widely believed account.”
“Can you tell us a little more?” Mateo asked.
Corrie glanced at Ford again, as if checking to make sure he was okay with her telling the tale. It was his dig, after all. Not that Corrie really felt she needed his permission, but it was a professional courtesy that even Ford was worthy of receiving. It was still surprising, though, when he motioned with his hands as if to say, By all means.
“Okay. Well . . . there are two main theories about what happened to Chimalli. The first and most widely believed is that Chimalli was a high-ranking official in Moctezuma the second’s army and that to pledge his allegiance, he allowed himself to be castrated, signifying that his commitment would be to no one other than the gods. Not a woman. Not a family. Only the gods. But once the Spaniards arrived, Chimalli got scared and fled the city alone, stealing the knife, thinking he could trade it once he was far enough away from the empire.
“The problem with that theory, in my opinion, is that it doesn’t make sense that he would be so dedicated to the gods as to be castrated, but then flee at the first sign of the Spaniards, especially when their initial arrival didn’t appear hostile. It doesn’t add up.”
“Yeah, except that people do strange things when their lives are on the line,” Ford chimed in.
True. But Corrie knew many men, and any who would be brave enough to get their balls cut off—i.e., none of them—wouldn’t then be afraid of a foreign invasion. Especially not if they thought they had the backing of literal gods on their side.
“Then what was Mendoza’s version?” Mateo asked.
Her favorite part.
“In Mendoza’s account, Chimalli had actually fallen in love with a macehualtin, a commoner named Yaretzi from a village near Tenochtitlán, but their relationship was frowned upon because Chimalli was a member of the pipiltin, the noble class of warriors. Some of the high priests found out and set to have her used as a sacrificial offering during the festival of Panquetzaliztli. But on the eve of her scheduled death, Chimalli rescued her and stole the tecpatl—the sacrificial knife. After they fled the city, they then had a child and lived a relatively peaceful life away from the demise of the Aztecs.”
“How did they have a child if he’d been castrated, though?” Sunny asked.
“He wasn’t castrated. According to Mendoza, that was a lie Moctezuma the second’s most loyal disciples had started as a way to discredit Chimalli, or lessen his worth as a man,” Corrie explained.
“Do you know what the tecpa . . . tepa—”
“Tecpatl,” she clarified.
“Right, the tecpatl,” one of the interns said. “Do you know what it looks like?”
She shook her head. “No, though a few tecpatl have been discovered, so we have some general idea. The double-edged blade is likely made of flint, possibly white flint. And the handle is likely elaborate, possibly a carved figure such as an animal made out of wood. Maybe adorned with a mosaic of shell pieces or gemstones like turquoise, malachite, or mother-of-pearl. They’re quite beautiful, considering what they were used for. But it was all part of their culture.”
“If there are these two versions, then why don’t most people know about Mendoza’s? Or, better yet, why don’t they believe it?”
“Because Mendoza was a Spanish Army deserter who couldn’t be trusted, that’s why,” Ford responded. “And the only written account of this version is Mendoza’s own, unlike the other version, which is supported by paintings in Tenochtitlán and multiple written accounts by other Spaniards.”
Yet again, chiming in with his unsolicited opinions. His sexiness was starting to wear off. Corrie rolled her eyes. Sure, there was more support for version A, and in many people’s eyes castration made for a sexier story. You know, sexy without the sex. But despite the lack of it in her own life, Corrie believed in love. She wanted Mendoza’s version to be true. She wanted Chimalli to break the barriers of the archaic rule and risk it all for love.
And to steal the knife as a fuck-you while he was at it.
But the fact of the matter was, they didn’t know. No one did. So unless and until she had definitive proof, Corrie was going to acknowledge there were multiple possibilities, but hope that Mendoza’s version proved true.
“Don’t you think there’s a possibility that, like Moctezuma the second’s supporters might have done to Chimalli, the Spanish Army could have planted lies about Mendoza to discredit him?” Corrie asked Ford. “Because according to Mendoza, he wasn’t a deserter. Rather, he fell down a ravine and was left for dead until Chimalli came upon him and saved his life. Why else would the Spaniards write about an otherwise low-level nobody like Mendoza?”
“Slow news day?” he joked, garnering a few laughs from the others.
Corrie’s blood started to boil. Typical. Just like when they were in school and he’d try to undermine her arguments with a silly remark that would steal everyone’s attention from the real issue. It had worked back then, and it worked for him now. And why wouldn’t it? Ford had a charm that few possessed. Despite his arrogance, he was the kind of person who could command anyone’s attention simply by walking in the room.
Addison Crawley, case in point.
“Real cute, Ford,” Corrie said to him, unable to keep from scowling.
“Oh relax, Corrie. I know many people might prefer the Prince Charming version where a warrior like Chimalli put it all on the line for love, but the facts are facts, and in this instance, they point to castration.”
Another snicker from the group stoked the fire burning beneath the surface of her skin. Fuck Prince Charming.
“As a practicing archaeologist, you should know that at this stage, there are no facts. Only theories.”
“Hey, I’m only pointing out the more obvious scenario.”
The inferno was ready to release its wrath when Ethan the Pacifier jumped in yet again.
“Well, that was fascinating, you two. Let’s see if you can put those critical thinking skills to work tomorrow morning.”
Corrie was starting to think Ford didn’t deserve her help. For all she knew, Ford was out here looking for Chimalli’s balls rather than trying to determine what really happened to him.
“You’re right,” Ford said, clapping his hands together. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow, gang, so let’s make sure everyone is rested and ready to hit the trail by eight a.m., okay?”
The students all nodded and got up, saying their goodbyes and good nights, leaving Corrie, Ford, and Ethan alone at the table. It was still relatively early, but if this was anything like the other digs Corrie had been on, the last evening after a break was always the toughest. You needed the evening to get back in the mind-set and rest.
All she needed was a good night’s rest.
Hmm.
“So . . . uh, what are the sleeping arrangements here?” she asked.
“Didn’t Ford tell you? You’re sleeping in his bed,” Ethan teased, and was immediately met by a shove from Ford.