Spring plowing has just begun, and April is the planting season in Mexico.
Shulot sat on the edge of the field and looked at the busy farmers in the village. Most of them were bare-chested, with a crotch cloth tied around their lower bodies, bare feet with thick calluses, and hunched backs. They waved simple earth-digging stone sticks and shed sweat on the newly burned farmland.
Fortunately, there is no shortage of salt in Mexico. The long coastline, scattered city-state rule, extensive commerce, and salt mines scattered everywhere prevent the people at the bottom from suffering from salt deficiency and edema. Shulot remembered that there were huge reserves of salt mines near the three cities of the capital, which were also one of the trade goods of the city in the lake.
Strictly speaking, before the arrival of the colonists, life in the Mexican tribes was actually pretty good. Thulot thought.
The city-states had very loose management of their subordinate villages and did not have the high taxes imposed on Eurasian peasants in this era. Food is plentiful and salt is cheap. Even in barren mountain fields, an Otomi people only need to plant three to five acres to survive, and there will be no terrible spring famine. If you plant high-yielding sweet potatoes in the mountains, you can raise another child.
"Except for the extremely densely populated Valley of Mexico, fields in other areas are far from reaching the upper limit of cultivation. As long as there are enough iron farm tools, we can usher in new great development just like the two Jin Dynasties developed Jiangnan." The young man's thoughts wandered far away again. China, a hundred thousand miles away, was also developed in history.
Later, Xiulote took a handful of mud from the field and carefully identified the soil type: it was between hydrophobic sand and water-loving loam, and it was a common sandy loam in the Mexican plateau. This kind of soil has good water and fertilizer properties and does not require much modification. It is a good agricultural soil.
"As long as a canal is built from the Leman River in the south, the dry fields in the entire Otopan area can be transformed into irrigated fields." Xiulote looked at the south with some longing, "The yield of the fields can usher in another breakthrough. From ' Lower field' is promoted to 'middle field' or even 'upper field'."
"And if you want to really get high yields, you still need to apply fertilizers. River mud, piles of manure, and the most recent natural fertilizer, struvite." Xiulote recalled.
America is a famous source of struvite. The nearest gathering place for struvite is the island off the coast of Baja California in the west, which is a sacred place for birds to inhabit. A little further away is the most famous Chilean struvite. In my memory, Bolivia, Peru and Chile fought a famous "Struvite War".
Thulot looked at the field and thought. The warriors spread out nearby, sitting on guard and sitting down to rest. In the villages within the control area, everyone is relatively relaxed, with weapons tied behind their backs with hemp ropes and only shields in their hands.
A young warrior took out a water bag. Before he drank it, he walked up to Shulot and handed the water bag to the young man with a sincere expression: "Priest, this is the last bag of wine made by my wife." , please drink."
Shulot smiled and reached out to pick it up. Bertard, the bodyguard beside him, saw it and arrived slowly and slowly. He took the water bag, opened it, smelled it, and then took a sip.
"Nice tequila." Bertard smiled at the young warrior, "I'm a little thirsty, let me drink some first."
"Want some salt?" The young warrior also smiled.
"No, I like this bitter and happy taste. It reminds me of my previous life." Bertard sighed slightly. After speaking, he took two more sips before handing it to Shulot.
The young warrior named Kusola has been following Shulot since his funeral in July last year. In the blink of an eye, nine months have passed.
Shulot knew that he came from a commoner family in the city-state. He had a wife and a newborn son. A few months ago, under the city of Guamare, Shulot watched him bury his son's umbilical cord there and made a promise as a warrior.
After taking the water bag, Shulot was not in a hurry to drink it. He first took out a small clay pot, poured a little salt on the back of his hand, licked it quickly, and then took a sip of tequila. There is a salty taste in the mouth, then astringent taste, and then a slight punch.
"Without distillation technology, light wine tastes pretty good." Shulot thought.
Then he looked at the water bag in his hand. It felt soft to the touch, very light to hold, had a unique touch, and had good sealing properties. It was an excellent marching water bag.
"Did you do this yourself?" Shulot looked at Kusola curiously.
"Yes." Kusola nodded and explained enthusiastically, "This is a water bag made from a deer's stomach bag. Cut off the appropriate part of the stomach bag, then seal one end with a thread and tie it tightly, and make the other end A loose thread that can be tightened and released. Then roast the pine branches with fire, boil out the pine oil, and apply it on the stomach bag. Finally, bake the stomach bag slightly with fire to allow the pine oil to penetrate into the shape and become a water bag that can be used for a long time. ”
"Your hands are very skillful." Shulot admired.
Kusola looked very happy: "My father is a craftsman, and he taught me a lot. I often make small obsidian ornaments for my wife. When I go back, my son will be two years old, and I will make a wooden one for him." Toy."
"Why do you want to be a warrior?" Shulot smiled and looked at Kusola's calloused hands. “You can be a really good craftsman.”
Kusola scratched his head and smiled again: "As a city-state warrior, I will have a piece of land outside the city, and my wife can be less busy with weaving work. If I capture more prisoners in this war, I can Get promotions and rewards. When your son grows up, you can provide him with better food for his warrior training. In this way, he will have the opportunity to become a strong jaguar warrior and even get a piece of chinampa."
Kusola looked in the direction of Nanfang's home with a different look in his eyes. Shulot saw in him the responsibility of a man, the pursuit of a parent, and the longing for the future. Joining the army is the only way for Mexicans to change their class.
"I will." Xiuluo nodded and blessed sincerely. "Your son is going to be a Jaguar warrior."
Hearing Shulot's blessing, young Kusola smiled happily. Bertard next to him also smiled.
"Commander Bertard, what about you? Why did you join the army?" Kusola was amused for a while, and when he saw the vicissitudes of warriors next to him, he also asked this question. Shulot was also a little curious.
"Me." Bertard looked leisurely at the sunset approaching the horizon. His eyes became distant and deep, as if he had traveled through time and space and saw the past.
"I spent five years in the civilian military academy, then came of age and joined the army in the capital, where I remained for another twenty years. First in campaign with the great Moctezuma I, then King Assayacartel, and now King Tisok.”
Bertard smiled, "The army is my whole life. Here are my teenagers, my youth, my middle age, and my old age. Maybe in the end, dying on the battlefield like a samurai is the best thing." ending."
"But you are already a fourth-level senior warrior. You have enough land and slaves. You can retire and return to the city-state. You can also be a military school teacher and live a happy life with your family?" Kusola looked forward to the fourth-level warrior. Life, while looking at Bertard curiously.
Bertard just smiled. The hard military life left the mark of vicissitudes on his face, and more marks were in his heart: "My wife has gone to the red country and died with my children. It was difficult to give birth. So I didn’t remarry.”
"My only brother was killed in last year's battle." Bertard looked at the clouds in the distance, "When I go back this time, his wife will probably remarry, and I will adopt his daughter and inherit everything I have."
Shulot lowered his head slightly, feeling a little heavy. In this day and age, difficult childbirth is very common. Without contraceptive measures and extremely high infant mortality rates, women will be trapped in a cycle of constant pregnancy and childbirth. If you're not careful, it could end in a difficult birth.
Therefore, in Mexica society, women who can continuously give birth to healthy boys have a very high status, like outstanding warriors on the battlefield. Once a woman dies in childbirth, she is regarded as a soldier who died on the battlefield and deserves respect.
When Shulot was very young, his mother died in childbirth while giving birth to her second child. There was a vague image of his mother in this life in his memory. She was a very gentle woman who came from a civilian family in the city-state.
Later, his father married a new noble wife and had many concubines, who gave him many younger brothers and sisters. These new family members were not friendly to him and did not bother each other. If he hadn't been different from ordinary people since he was a child and received much attention and care from his father and grandfather, he would probably have a lot of bloody plots.
The three of them fell silent, looking at the distant sunset and the distant red clouds together, falling into distant nostalgia.
After a long time, Kusola asked Bertard: "Chief Warrior, why do you want to follow the priest?"
Bertard looked at the sunset and finally answered after a long time: "Because, I want to change something. What about you?"
Kusola smiled sincerely: "At first, I felt that the priest was so powerful at such a young age, and I wanted to follow him to seek a career and a future."
Shulot also smiled and looked at the young warrior in front of him: "Then what do you think now?"
Kusola thought seriously for a while and then said: "I think you, priest, are different from other nobles. You are very good to us civilian warriors, and you also teach us writing and knowledge. You are also very good to the common people. You He’s a good person.”
Shulot felt a little moved. He had heard the nobles praise him and recognize his knowledge. He would just smile. But this was another voice that recognized him as a human being, but it moved him very much.
"You two guys have made me feel embarrassed. Let's go, let's go have dinner." Shulott stood up with a smile, picked up the two warriors, and everyone around him also gathered and began to prepare dinner.
There was something special about dinner. Everyone first sat around the campfire in the center of the village, grilling tortillas with chili and refried beans. The village elders then presented two special foods: a thornless cactus and red dried cactus fruit. He also brought out a clay pot of tequila, a great treasure of the village. He expressed his heartfelt gratitude and respect for the spring plowing ceremony of Xiulote.
This kind of cactus is the "mibonta" loved by various tribes in Mexico and is an important vegetable. Shulot first took the baked cactus and took a bite from the tip.
The Mibonta is roasted just right and the skin is very thin. It must be specially cultivated. The stem meat is very tender and tastes like a mixture of cucumber, celery and zucchini. When you eat into the center, there is more juice and a touch of sweetness, as if fruits and vegetables were combined.
Then Shulot picked up a fist-sized dried cactus fruit, which looked similar to dried dragon fruit, with many small seeds inside. I took a bite and it was very sweet. Shulot's eyes lit up, and he took two more bites, feeling a bit slippery. The elder told Xiulote that these were last year’s dried fruits. The fresh cactus fruits would be more delicious in October.
Everyone drank some more wine, and the warriors started making noise in front of the bonfire. Soon, they were full of wine and food, and some warriors danced war dances beside the fire, while others watched and booed. Other warriors sent by Totec shouted loudly, asking Otomi girls to come and perform dances. The village elder stood there with a look of panic and embarrassment.
Shulot waved his hand to quiet the warriors.
"Get some rest early, gather your strength, and return early tomorrow morning." Shulot ordered, dignity emerging from the young man's face. The warriors then gave up and left as promised.
The village elders quickly fell to the ground to thank him. After the bonfire dinner, the boy went back to sleep. The elder gave up his house: the best wooden house in the village, which was kept clean and tidy.
Shulot was about to thank the elder when he saw the elder pulling a young girl, saying she was his granddaughter, to accompany the priest. The young man looked at the girl who was about the same age as him. She lowered her head shyly and stood timidly next to the elder. The boy's face, which had been extremely majestic just now, suddenly turned red with embarrassment.
Bertard smiled softly and stepped forward to tell the elder a few words about the traditions of the Mexica warriors. The elder quickly confessed and took the little girl away.
Farmers, craftsmen, warriors, and nobles. Teenager, young adult, middle-aged, and old. The lord and his followers. Boys and girls. All kinds of life details came to mind in Shulot's mind.
He thought about the life of the Otomi, the life of the Mexica, even the life of all the tribes of Mexico. The pictures flashed around, and finally settled on the little girl's disappointed but relieved smile before she left, and the boy also smiled. Then amid the chaotic thoughts, he fell into a deep sleep on the soft grass bed.
On the floor next to him was Bertard, who was quietly guarding him, looking into the distance of the night.
