Obsidian & Blood

FIVE

The Caged Man

It was past midday, and the usual throng filled the plaza of the Sacred Precinct. I had to elbow my way through the press of pilgrims and priests to make my way to the Northern Gate and the Tepeyaca causeway. What I had intended as a rush slowed down to a painful crawl.

As always when I passed nearby, I found my gaze drawn to the Great Temple. It was hard to ignore it: the bulk of its double pyramid towered over all the other temples. Celebrants were crowding on its platform.

Even from afar, it was easy to see the way of things. The right half of the platform, devoted to the God of War, Huitzilpochtli, was awash with noblemen, and the blood of numerous sacrifices had made the sacred vessels overflow. The left half of the platform, the temple to Tlaloc, God of Rain, was almost empty, with perhaps half a dozen priests shedding their blood.

Things change, the Quetzal Flower had said. People believe in war and in the sun, more than they believe in rain or in love. And we – the old ones, the gods of the Earth and of the Corn, We who were here first, who watched over your first steps – We fade.

As always, that sight inspired a complex mixture of feelings. My parents had both been peasants: but the true glory of life, they had always told me, lay in war. And wasn't it fitting that the God of War should reign supreme over the Fifth World? Yet I had chosen the path of a humble priesthood over that of the warrior, leaving the glory to my brother. Had it truly been the best choice I could make?

Enough. I couldn't afford melancholy at a time like this.

I tore my gaze away from the Great Temple. Unfortunately, I did so too late to avoid crashing into a group of priests flanking a sacrificial victim: a man with a chalk-whitened face, lips painted in grey. "Sorry."

The victim looked at me with a touch of annoyance, angry at being impeded on his way to a glorious death. The priests just nodded, as one craftsman to another. I resumed my crawl towards the exit.

Outside the Serpent Wall which framed the Sacred Precinct, it was easier to breathe: a clear area had been left between the wall and the first adobe houses. I ran east along the Serpent Wall, towards the Imperial Palace.

Emperor Axayacatl-tzin had built this massive, two-storey building on his accession: a sprawling mass of courtyards, gardens, tribute storehouses and noblemen's apartments, it extended over half the length of the eastern Serpent Wall. The Palace not only housed the Emperor and the high-ranking noblemen of the Mexica Empire, but also the tribunals for freemen, warriors and non-warrior noblemen.

A short flight of polished limestone steps led up to one of the entrances. To the right of the steps was a small platform where the prisoners waited for their trial, crouching in low wooden cages. Neutemoc was in the first of those, still wearing his Jaguar regalia. His bloodshot eyes suggested he hadn't slept much in the previous night.

When I approached, he started to straighten up and almost banged his head against the ceiling of his cage. Something fluttered in my chest, some obscure guilt for failing him.

"Brother," he said.

I'd expected him to be furious, but he was obviously too weary for that. "Hello, Neutemoc. What are you doing here?"

He snorted. "Do I look as if I know?"

My eyes scanned the platform behind him. I finally saw Yaotl, coming towards me at a leisurely pace, smiling ironically, Huitzilpochtli blind the man. Ceyaxochitl was behind, deep in conversation with a magistrate and a priest I didn't recognise.

"I'll be back," I said, and climbed on the platform to meet Yaotl.

"Acatl," he said, bowing slightly.

I did not bother with pleasantries. "What's the meaning of this?" I didn't wait for him to answer, either. "You tell me I am in charge of this, you tell me I should get some sleep, and the moment I leave you start indicting him!"

Yaotl nodded. "Not much choice."

"Choice?" I looked at the priest with Ceyaxochitl. His blue-streaked face was unfamiliar; but his cloak was finest cotton, embroidered with frogs and sea-shells.

A priest of Tlaloc, God of Rain. And if he was not high in the hierarchy, he was close to someone who was. "I'm not sure I–"

"I think you do," Yaotl said.

Ceyaxochitl bowed to the priest and to the magistrate. The magistrate headed back into the Imperial Palace, while the priest walked away, back towards the Sacred Precinct.

A priest of Tlaloc. Even if Huitzilpochtli was now the only guardian god of the Mexica Empire, the priests of the Storm Lord still wielded considerable political power.

"Politics." The word left a sour taste in my mouth. "Someone wants a culprit?"

Yaotl nodded. "It has to be solved, and fast."

I watched Ceyaxochitl walk towards me. "That priest forced you to do this?" I asked.

She had the grace to look embarrassed, but not for long. "I'm a Guardian, Acatl. I don't make the laws."

"You promised–" I started, and realised how childish I sounded.

I settled for "Neutemoc can't be charged. He's innocent."

"You can't know that."

Sometimes, I hated her shrewdness.

"He's still entitled to a trial, Acatl." Ceyaxochitl leant on her cane, looking old and frail in the sunlight. Healing Emperor Axayacatltzin must have been sapping her energy. And yet she'd still stayed up last night to help me. "It's not over yet."

I turned, briefly, in Neutemoc's direction: sitting in his cage with his knees drawn together, he was the living image of the defeated warrior. "It's late for him," I said. "Very late. What's to say the magistrate won't have the same attitude as you?"

"He wouldn't dare," Ceyaxochitl said. "Penalties for corruption are severe."

She was deluding herself. If she, the Guardian of the Sacred Precinct, had given in to pressure, why should a mere magistrate resist? But I didn't say that. I simply asked, "Who's the priest?"

"His name is Nezahual. But he speaks for his master: Acamapichtli, High Priest of Tlaloc."

I'd thought so. "Acamapichtli wants a conviction?"

Ceyaxochitl shook her head. "He wants revenge, Acatl."

I mulled on this for a while. "He supported Eleuia's nomination as Consort, I presume." Politics. A word that could only be spat. Priests should serve the gods, not indulge in base power-grabbing.

It was a useless fight: every priest cherished the hope of serving at the Imperial Palace. I'd seen that, all too well, back in calmecac school; it had been one of the reasons why I'd turned my back on the most prestigious priesthoods, those of Huitzilpochtli or the Storm Lord, and chosen to make a living as a priest for the Dead, beholden to no one but grieving families.

Ceyaxochitl was watching Neutemoc. "High Priest Acamapichtli had an interest in her. He doesn't like losing pawns."

For some reason, Teomitl's face came back to me, shining with admiration for Eleuia. "I hope his interest was only political," I said, darkly. "She looked as if she was drawing attention, and not because of her talents."

"For some of them, at any rate," Yaotl said, with an amused smile. "You forget that she served the Goddess of Lust."

My fingers clenched of their own accord. "I don't find this funny."

"A shame," Yaotl said.

Ceyaxochitl banged her cane on the platform. I winced. Below the platform, a few passers-by had gathered to watch us: Eagle Knights in their feather uniforms, artisans carrying birds' cages and bars of silver, housewives with their ceramic wares on their back. "Enough, both of you," she said. "Acatl, I apologise for the discomfort, but I had no choice. And neither have you."

"It doesn't mean I'll bow down meekly," I snapped.

Her gaze was wryly amused. "I didn't expect you would. Have you made progress?"

She meant well, but I still didn't feel I could share information with her. "Yes."

Her lips tightened. "I see. We'll leave you to it, then."

"Stay out of it," I said, as calmly as I could. "No more interference."

"I can't promise that. I'm not the mistress of High Priest Acamapichtli," Ceyaxochitl said, clambering down from the platform. "You're intelligent enough to realise I cannot."

Yes. I didn't like it, but it was a given that once the High Priest of Tlaloc had started interfering, he wouldn't stop. If I wanted Neutemoc to have a fair trial, I needed to act quickly. I approached his cage, and knelt to peer through the bars.

"No improvement planned on my situation, I take it," Neutemoc said.

I sighed. "No. Not in the immediate future. How are you feeling?" "You have some nerve," Neutemoc said. "You're the one outside, asking the questions."

"Yes," I said. "And I'm not the one who had a long-lasting affair with a priestess, not to mention a child."

"We didn't–" Neutemoc started, then fell silent.

"Neutemoc?" I asked.

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."

"I didn't know she was back," I said, finally. Mihmatini was still in school: she and her comrades had left a year ago on a retreat on the slopes of Popocatepetl's volcano, a day's journey to the south of Tenochtitlan. I had visited her once or twice; but I had got the impression that once her retreat was over, she would join the clergy, not come back to Neutemoc's house.

"She came back a month ago," Huei said. "She thought you still in Coyoacan. As did we, to be honest."

What a family we made. Not even capable of keeping track of each other.

In the courtyard, I asked Huei, "What day were you born on?"

She looked surprised, but not totally disoriented by the question.

"Eight Death," she said. "Why?"

"Nothing," I said.

"Not 'nothing'," she protested gently as we entered the reception room.

"Nahual magic," I said, curtly.

The reception room had changed in four years: all the walls were now covered with frescoes, depicting Huitzilpochtli, our protector God, in His guise as a young warrior. He trampled bound enemies under His huge feet, and a procession of lesser gods with bowed heads followed Him across the walls of the room. On the wicker chests were silver and jade ornaments, and jaguars' pelts covered the ground. An elaborate fan of green quetzal tail-feathers rested against one of the frescoed walls: an object worth at least two years' living for a poor peasant. Neutemoc had clearly earned a larger share of the tribute in the past years, and his family was enjoying the riches that came with his higher status.

Not for long, though, if he was disgraced. My heart tightened in my chest.

Huei set her baby in a wooden cradle. She unrolled a reed mat over one of the jaguar pelts, and sat on the ground. "I'll have the slaves bring some refreshments," she said. "Your sister is watching over the children. But I think you and I would rather wait until we include her in the conversation."

I said nothing. Huei had always been honest with me, which was one of the reasons we'd related so well to one another. "Very well," I said, finally. "Let's start with the awkward questions. Did you abduct or harm Priestess Eleuia?"

Her eyes flickered. "Through nahual magic? You know I can't use that."

No. Being born on the day Eight Death, she had no nahual. But her equivocation wasn't what I had expected, and it frightened me. "Huei, please. Can you answer the question?"

She didn't speak for a while. "I knew there was someone. It's obvious when you no longer have your husband's attention, and even more obvious when you see him acting like an infatuated child. But I didn't know her name."

I studied her for a while. "And if you had known?"

Huei spread her hands, carefully. "I – I don't know what I would have done." She sounded sincere. "But believe me, I wouldn't sum mon a nahual."

"How did you know he'd been arrested?"

"Calpulli gossip," Huei said. She picked up a wooden rattle – one of the children's toys – and flicked it between her fingers with a dry, hollow sound. "I came as soon as I could. Not that it changed anything, of course. The Storm Lord smite him," she said. "Didn't he realise that he'd lose everything? That we'd lose everything? I thought–" She paused, and her eyes glimmered in the light.

She was crying. "Huei…" I said, unsure of what I could do. I extended a hand halfway across the space that separated us.

Like Neutemoc, she was looking through me, as if I didn't exist. "He did things. He rose from his status of peasant to a respected warrior. He was going somewhere, and taking us along with him."

"I don't know what you mean," I said, as gently as I could. I felt as if I were intruding on some private grief: never a pleasant thought, and even worse when you knew the person as well as I knew Huei. "Going somewhere?"

"Making something out of his life," Huei said. "And then, all of a sudden, he realises it's not worth it any more, that he can throw it all into Mictlan."

"I don't think–"

"I know him, Acatl," Huei said. "He was driven."

And you? If he was driven, and making something out of his life, what did you think you were doing?

"And you loved him because of what he was?"

Huei said nothing, but she didn't need to. It was in her eyes: she loved him, and her anger at him was fear; fear that she would lose him to the executioner's mace.

"I'm sorry," she said after a while. "It wasn't meant for you."

I didn't know what to say. I just shook my head, feeling utterly useless. "I'm sorry."

Huei blinked, dispelling the last of her tears, though her voice still shook. Behind her, the gods in the frescoes watched, expressionless, uncaring. "You're not the one at fault. He is, unfortunately." I said, "He might still be acquitted. I'm trying."

"But you don't believe in his innocence," Huei said. "You don't either."

Huei's face tightened. "I believe he was sleeping with that priestess. I don't believe he killed her. He couldn't kill anyone, not in cold blood."

"He's a warrior."

"Yes, he is. But not an assassin, Acatl."

No. But a man used to making hard decisions, often in a short time. Huei wasn't the best judge of Neutemoc's character, being blinded both by jealousy and by love. And I still didn't know whether my brother had fathered Eleuia's child.

I said nothing for a while, thinking of all it would mean to her. I couldn't tell her about the child, or discuss my suspicions. It would have hurt her needlessly.

Huei must have sensed that I had run out of conversation subjects. She rose, went to the door, and clapped her hands to summon a slave. "Bring some chocolate," she said. "And tell Mihmatini to come, too."

She sat down again. "So," she said. "It's been a while since we last saw each other."

Four years, to be precise. Four years of minding my own small parish in Coyoacan – stopping, from time to time, to dwell on Huei and Mihmatini, but never gathering enough will to walk into that house again. The house where Mother had died; where Father's body had lain, untended to for hours.

"You haven't changed," Huei said. "Not really."

I shrugged. "I've come back to Tenochtitlan. But things are the same. I've been doing nothing much. The usual for a priest."

Huei's eyes narrowed. "You cheapen yourself," she said.

I shook my head. "You want success? Ask Neutemoc." Ask Mihmatini; ask Father and Mother. Ask them who had taken them in.

"Not any more." Her voice, loaded with terrible sarcasm, erased whatever I'd been about to say: we stared at each other in silence, until the noise of a shrieking child broke the awkwardness.

"Uncle Acatl!" A young child, whom I didn't recognise. Mazatl, I realised with a shock. She'd been much younger last time I'd been in this house, barely starting to piece sentences together.

Her brother Necalli was more dignified. I tried to remember how old he was. Eight, nine years old? His head was shaved; he wore the single lock of hair that marked the unproved warrior.

And behind him, my sister Mihmatini, grown from a gangly girl into a beautiful woman, blossoming in the calmecac like a marigold flower. She walked slowly, gracefully, her shirt swishing, revealing anew with every step the glint of jade bracelets at her ankles. Her hair, tied in a long queue at her back, shone like polished obsidian. My heart tightened in my chest.

"The lost brother comes home?" she asked, with a smile.

I shrugged. "Sometimes," I said. It had been too long since I had last seen her: my fault, for not finding the courage to walk back into that house in spite of Neutemoc's presence.

Mihmatini made a mock punching gesture. "Stop being so serious."

"It comes with the position, I'm afraid," I said.

She grimaced. "Sure, and I'm the Consort of the Emperor."

She sat down, with both children crowding near her. The toddler Mazatl, in particular, kept trying to climb into her lap, and Mihmatini gently pushed her off every time.

Slaves brought refreshments, and a light lunch: maize cakes, and frogs with chilli peppers, spread on the reed mat so we could each help ourselves from the ceramic dishes. I was famished. In fact, I realised with a shock, my last meal dated back to the previous evening. I'd been walking around the Sacred Precinct and the city on a completely empty stomach.

Mihmatini watched me gulp down a frog, and barely hid a smile. "I think someone's forgotten to eat today."

"Men," Huei snorted. "All the same."

I hurriedly swallowed, so I could answer. "Now you're being unfair."

Mihmatini raised her cup of chocolate to her lips, and inhaled the pungent aroma of vanilla and cacao. "Maybe, maybe," she said. She looked at Huei, obviously trying very hard to stifle a laugh.

I'd visited Mihmatini in her calmecac, but had never seen her so relaxed, so radiant. For all that she'd spent the last ten years away, she seemed to be utterly at ease with Huei and the children, so much more than me.

The rest of the meal was much the same: spent on pleasantries, listening to the two women mocking me, and carefully avoiding the shadow Neutemoc's arrest cast over both their futures. Afterwards, I walked with Mihmatini in the courtyard garden, among the marigold and tomato flowers. "You look well," I said.

She grimaced. "I can't say the same about you." She poked me between the ribs. Surprised, I leapt out of her path, and she laughed again. "You're a priest for the Dead, not Mictlantecuhtli. The salient bones and skeleton look aren't compulsory, Acatl."

"Ha-ha," I said, trying to be serious. But in her company, it was hard to stay so, hard to remember all that waited for me outside. "I thought you were going to stay in that temple."

Mihmatini's face turned grave. "I thought so, too," she said. "The priestesses wanted me to stay. They said they had never had a student so gifted with magic. But…"

She shrugged. "In the end, it wasn't where my heart was. I wanted to go home, find a husband of my own, raise my own children."

All things that were forbidden to priests. "I see," I said. "And since then…" I started, wondering why she was still in Neutemoc's house, and not married.

She shrugged. "It will come, in time. I'm not desired."

"Surely, as Neutemoc's protégée–"

She blushed. "He's been busy lately."

My stomach contracted. What had Neutemoc done, again? "Too busy to look for a husband?"

"I'm young," Mihmatini said. "I can wait. It's going to take time for this to be sorted out, I expect."

"I hope not." Both for Neutemoc's sake, and for her own. She wasn't young. Eighteen was old, in a land where the first marriages were contracted when the girls were sixteen. She wasn't plain, or poor. But a husband would want a girl able to bear children; and the more Neutemoc and Huei waited, the more prospective alliances disappeared.

Mihmatini must have caught some of my thoughts. "He means well."

How could I answer that? "He's been busy, as you said." Busy quarrelling with Huei; busy giving in to the charms of a priestess. Great occupations, worthy of a warrior.

A thought occurred to me. "You sleep here."

Mihmatini pointed to a small opening, to the eastern side of the courtyard, its entrance-curtain adorned with leaping deer. "In that room. Why?"

"Do you know where Huei was yesterday night?"

She puffed her cheeks, thoughtfully, a habit neither Mother nor the calmecac had broken out of her. "Yesterday night? Pretty well. We played patolli all night. And a good thing we used tokens instead of cacao beans, or I'd be out of money."

I made a sweeping gesture, taking in her red-dyed cotton shirt, her wide skirt with its finely embroidered hem, and the jade necklace she wore around her neck. "Aren't you already out of money, owning all of that?"

She looked at me, her eyes widening in mock surprise. "Why, is that a joke, brother?"

It had to be written somewhere, on some divination priest's codex, that I'd never have the upper hand with her. "Very well. I'll stick to serious subjects, if that curbs your hilarity. Are you sure about the patolli? You didn't step out at some point?"

"For a very short time," Mihmatini said. "Huei couldn't have gone out and murdered the priestess, or whatever you think she did. She didn't have time."

"Hmm," I said. It all sounded solid. But still…

"You're calling me a liar?" Mihmatini said.

She might have protected Huei out of friendship or gratitude. But if that was so, my sister had changed much in the years since our childhood. I didn't think that was the case. "You might not realise the significance of something you saw, but–"

"I know what I saw," Mihmatini said. "Huei was with me the whole evening, Acatl. I'll swear to it in court, if it comes to that."

I hadn't really thought Huei was the culprit, in any case. She might have hated Neutemoc's lover, but one thing was sure: she truly loved her husband. Which didn't leave me with anything I could use to spare Neutemoc the death penalty.