The Golden Key (2 page)

PEINTRADDOS DEI TIRA VIRTE

SELECTIVE LEXICON

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

(
from
History in Art
by Fernandal Grijalva, privately printed, 940
)

This is a typical Serrano painting: a scene from history—romanticized, politicized, and lacking all symbolism—commemorating the death in battle of the Tza’ab “Diviner of the Golden Wind.” Yet the placement of his figure, far to the left of the action, indicates that he is anything but the central focus of the piece. Serrano is more interested in painting the fierce expressions on Tza’ab faces even as they flee the battlefield, foreshadowing the coming century of vengeful raids by the Riders on the Golden Wind.

Two other faces are of note. The Shagarra captain who slew the “Diviner” bears a striking resemblance to Serrano’s Duke Alessio II, an obvious flattery; the dying Tza’ab himself is strongly reminiscent of the self-portrait of Bartollin Grijalva, Serrano’s bitter rival.

Another commemorative painting, this one carefully researched for accuracy of position, clothing, and detail. Alesso do’Verrada’s likeness was taken from contemporary drawings; eyewitness accounts were consulted for placement of armies as well as individual figures. The angle of sunlight is precisely what it was at the season, day, and hour of the battle.

For all its exactitude, this painting is steeped in symbolism. Alesso’s military genius is evident in the arrayment of his troops but also in the designs embroidered on his cloak (leaves of oak and mint for Bravery and Virtue, lupine flowers for Imagination, and so on). The wealth he gained by marriage to an Anthalussan heiress is plainly displayed in the gold of his sword and spurs, and more subtly in the patterns of corn and wheat in the tooling of his saddle. His nommo do’guererro, “Shadow on the Golden Wind,” is shown in the darkness falling on the barbarian about to die beneath his sword—yet his eyes are not on his victim but on the Rider nearby, who will be the one to kill him. The malevolent spirit of the Empress of Tza’ab Rih, instigator of the war, is seen in the fallen larch tree nearby (Arrogance) and the flowers trampled beneath the hooves of Alesso’s horse: columbine for Folly.

The river where Alesso won his great triumph was renamed Rio Sanguo for the blood that flowed that day. His son Renayo consolidated the victory by establishing Tira Virte’s southern borders; the contemporary Serrano painting commemorating Renayo’s acclamation as Duke and the founding of Tira Virte as a nation has been lost, but a partial sketch of it exists in the Galerria Verrada Archives.

In 823, Duke Renayo chose as his bride Jesminia, sole heiress to Shagarra after her brother’s death at Rio Sanguo. After their marriage at her father’s castello, they journeyed home to Meya Suerta—where a small caza was slowly becoming Palasso Verrada—but along the way disaster struck. The company was attacked by a band of renegade Tza’ab, and though the Duke and Duchess escaped harm, many courtiers were killed—including Renayo’s dearest friend and cleverest captain, Verro Grijalva.

This is the scene depicted here: violent in composition and color, vibrant with motion. Duke Renayo cradles his dying friend’s head in one arm while the other hand gestures frantically for a physician; the Duchess kneels nearby, her hands covering her face, her jewels rendered so blurrily that one can almost see her trembling as she weeps. In the background, soldiers ride in pursuit of the Tza’ab, who carried off Verro’s twin sisters and a dozen other
ladies-in-waiting. The wind whips tree branches, cloaks, and the Duchess’ unbound hair. Only Verro Grijalva is still; though his gaze is cloudy with death, his fingers are locked on the sword lying beside him, as if he tries to will himself back to strength in order to rescue his sisters.

Compare this rendering with the smaller
Death of Verro Grijalva
in the family’s Galerria, painted in the year 832 by Piedro Grijalva.

The high degree of artistic competence of this most talented of the Serranos is evident in this painting, his technical brilliance used to vicious effect. Commissioned by Duke Renayo as a companion painting to the above, this piece was rejected for its insulting portrayal of the unfortunate women captured and raped by the Tza’ab.

All fourteen ladies are in various stages of undress, their expressions as they emerge from the tents ranging from the startled to the horrified—except for the Grijalvas (identified by the azulejo rosette pattern of the shawls clutched around them). Larissa and Margatta are portrayed as angry and annoyed, as if the rescue party interrupted them in the midst of willing bedsport.

Duke Renayo and all his soldiers show nothing of their weariness at having chased down the renegades for twenty long days; all appear as fresh as if they had just emerged from their own chambers at home. But the Tza’ab are shown half-clothed (and filthy besides), and in their faces is craven terror. The twenty small children fleeing into the hills are naked, dirty, wild-eyed; close examination reveals they have not the features of children but of grown men and women, darkly and ominously Tza’ab.

As for the history behind the painting—all fourteen ladies were recovered, all the bandits were killed, and all the treasure (piled in a tent to the right) taken back to Meya Suerta. Duchess Jesminia ordered this wealth divided amongst the women to provide for their support, for all had been unwed virgins and no man would marry them now—especially after each bore a child within the year. These chi’patros (“Who is the father?”) were, like their mothers, shunned and despised—as were the half-breeds also rescued
from the Tza’ab camp. In fact, several of the women took their own lives shortly after giving birth.

It was surmised that women had been abducted before to bear Tza’ab’s bastards, only to be killed once the children were weaned; one of the rescued boys innocently stated that his mama had been sent away because his patro wanted him to grow up Tza’ab. Possibly the renegades planned to father and raise a band of half-breed children to infiltrate Tira Virteian towns and cities.

But none of the children grew up Tza’ab. They grew up as Grijalvas, for that family adopted them all. In 859, Meya Suerta was scandalized when Duke Renayo’s will deeded a palasso and its surrounding city block to the Grijalvas in thanks for their generosity. But all the chi’patros remained a despised reminder of Tza’ab outrages, and the Grijalvas were thereafter painted with the same brush.

This charming portrait of two women and their ten-year-old sons—one handing her child a basket of symbolic flowers, the other teaching her offspring to read from a devotional—is said to be of Larissa and Margatta Grijalva and their chi’patro sons. Few artists of any period work in miniature—this oval painting is only three inches long—and of the eight examples in the Grijalva collection, six are by this artist, youngest brother of Larissa, Margatta, and Verro Grijalva. So it is mostly likely his work, depicting his twin sisters and his nephews.

There is defiance in this picture, for all its tranquil domesticity. The boys’ Tza’ab features and coloring are deliberately contrasted with the gray eyes and lighter skins of the women. For their Tza’ab blood the chi’patros were shunned, despised, and suspected of every evil; Ecclesial arguments raged over whether they even possessed souls. By showing the mothers giving their sons religious faith, literacy, sincerity, honesty, generosity, loyalty, and industry, the artist lays claim for the chi’patros to personal and societal virtues that few were willing to grant them.