Find the Feathered Serpent

Chapter 10 Treachery Afoot

Neil rolled over again, his arms wrapped about the Maya priest. Together, like two wrestlers, their bodies spiraled in the dust. The great head struck with vicious speed, striking the dust, sending a billowing cloud into the air. Then with the same alarming speed, the snake drew back its head, its enormous coils corkscrewing backward along the branch of the tree, from which the beady eyes surveyed the two figures sprawled in the dust.

A forked tongue darted out rapidly; jaws opened wide, fangs dripping, and then clamped shut again. Still the flat eyes were motionless, pinning Neil and Talu to the ground.

The head reared back, gauging the distance for the strike, poised murderously between branch and earth.

“Don’t move!” Erik commanded.

Neil lay still, his breath coming in rushed gasps. Beside him, Talu covered his eyes with a skinny hand and waited. The snake, apparently unaware of Erik, hung from the branch, its flat head cocked back.

Slowly, barely moving, inch by inch, Erik’s fingers crept to the ax hanging at his side.

The snake’s eyes flicked sideways for a moment, and then darted back to their prey.

Like a character in a slow-motion movie, Erik slid the ax from his belt, slowly… slowly…

Neil watched the painful process, wondering when that head would come flashing down, those fangs sink in a death grip. The ax was free. Neil drew in a deep breath.

Without warning, as suddenly as the flick of a bull whip, the head lashed out. With devastating speed, jaws widespread and fangs darting pin points of light, it flashed toward the figures lying in the dust.

The ax slashed through the air, swishing wildly in a metallic, murderous arc. It’s too late, Neil thought. The snake is too fast. Muscular, writhing body. Gaping throat. Pointed fangs. Green, red, brilliant white, blurred together in the speed of the snake’s strike. And under it all, like the subdued theme in a symphony, was the swish of Erik’s ax.

Like two great forces trying to avoid an ultimate meeting, the snake’s head and the ax sped toward their respective marks.

It seemed so long. It seemed ages, eternities. Neil saw everything clearly and distinctly. The eyes were close now, moving so slowly, closer, closer. And yet he knew those eyes and those gaping jaws were moving more swiftly than he could possibly imagine.

There was a dull sound and the ax connected with the flashing head. This was followed immediately by a slight squishing noise as the ax sank into flesh.

And then there was no more head threatening-only a great writhing, twisting body that hung from the branch, thrashing wildly, blood spurting from the severed end of the body.

On the ground the jaws of the severed head snapped open and shut in a convulsive last burst of energy. The muscles of the body shook in convulsion, tightened on the tree, seemed to squeeze the branch in a powerful grip, and then loosened completely.

The body dropped to the earth, writhing once in the dust and then it lay still, a pool of blood soaking into the ground beneath it.

Neil let out his breath.

Erik, his face covered with sweat, his eyes tired, dropped the ax to the ground and helped Neil and Talu to their feet. His arm tightened around Neil’s shoulder.

“My friend,” he whispered. “I thought I would lose you.”

Talu was still trembling, his thin body shaking like a hollow tube in the wind.

He reached out and touched Erik’s arm.

“Thank you,” he said. He looked down at the still body of the snake. “You are mightier than the serpent, stranger.” His body shook in a new spasm.

Neil tried to grin, but his teeth were still chattering.

“Let’s eat,” he suggested, but he didn’t feel hungry.

It was four days later when Erik approached Talu about the food.

“How much food will you need?” Talu asked.

“Enough for my crew. That is all.”

“And how long is your journey?”

Erik thoughtfully considered this. “Many months,” he said at last. “At least eight.”

Talu sighed deeply and said, “Come with me, friend.”

He led him to a square stone building before which two soldiers stood. The soldiers touched their foreheads as Talu approached, admitting him to the building, along with Erik and Neil.

The room was dark, and a soldier inside hastily lighted a torch. Neil waited for his eyes to accustom themselves to the darkness, the single torch providing very little light.

Lining the walls of the room were baskets of food. Fruit, vegetables, jars of honey and crushed chili. Hanging from pegs set into the wall were cured meats and fowl. Neil thought he recognized a few monkeys.

“This is our storeroom,” Talu explained.

“Then you will supply me?” Erik asked.

Talu sighed again. “My friend, you have saved my life, and I am eternally grateful to you. Anything you ask for, I will grant. Gold, fabric, water, weapons.”

He paused, wrung his thin hands together, and added, “Anything but food.”

Erik stared at him curiously.

“This is our entire stock until the harvest. We have not yet begun to plant, and the harvest is a long way off. Already my people are eating less, trying to prolong our food supply.”

Neil looked around the room again, and noticed that there wasn’t really as much food as he had first imagined. Not enough, at any rate, to keep an entire city alive for many months.

“How many men are there in your crew?” Talu asked.

“Twenty-seven, counting myself,” Erik answered.

“Feeding twenty-seven men for eight months would require a great deal of food.”

“But you feed us while we are here,” Erik said. “What difference if we eat it here or if we take it with us?”

“We hunt daily,” Talu answered. “And we add other foods to the storeroom in small numbers whenever we can. I would have to give you much meat from our storeroom, if you were to leave. If you stay, I can feed you from the small amount we bring in daily.”

Erik nodded. “How soon will you plant?” he asked.

“A month, two months. When the fields are ready.”

“And after the harvest?”

“If the gods are good,” Talu said, “and if there is a good harvest, I will give you all the food you will need for your journey.”

Erik stroked his beard. “I will have to wait, I suppose,” he said.

“I know you are anxious to rejoin your own people,” Talu said softly. “I hope it will be soon, my friend.”

They left the storeroom, Erik silent as he walked beside Neil.

“I will tell my men,” he said to Talu at last.

“And you are not angry?”

“Your people come first. I understand,” Erik answered simply.

Together, he and Neil went to join the waiting Norsemen. They sat at the edge of the forest, their faces anxious.

Erik stood in the center of the Norsemen and rested his foot on a boulder.

Without preamble, he said, “The Mayas have very little food. We must wait until after their harvest before we can sail.”

The sailors began talking among themselves, their low grumbling reaching Neil’s ears.

Olaf stepped forward as spokesman for the crew. His face was completely healed now, his eyes no longer puffed and discolored.

“When will the harvest be?” he asked.

“Several months from now,” Erik answered.

“And we must wait until then?”

“Yes.”

Olaf’s mouth curled into a sneer. “Why?” he demanded, and the word was picked up by other sailors in the crew. “Why?” they wanted to know.

“I’ve already told you,” Erik said patiently. “The Mayas have little enough food for themselves. They can hardly be expected to give us…”

“They are lying,” Olaf snarled. “I have seen their food with my own eyes. An entire room full. There is everything…”

“I have seen the room too,” Erik said, an edge to his voice now. “And I have heard the words of their priest. There is barely enough in that room to last them until the harvest.”

“There is more than enough,” Olaf protested.

A faint smile flicked at Erik’s mouth. His hand dropped to the head of his ax and rested there. “Do you call me a liar?” he asked Olaf.

“No. I merely say there is enough…”

“And I say there is not. Do you doubt my word?”

For a moment Olaf seemed ready to rebel. Suddenly he changed his course of action. “What if there isn’t enough for the Mayas? There is enough for us.”

“Yes,” the sailor with the patch over his eye spoke up. “What do we owe the Mayas?”

“They are savages,” Olaf said, his eyes sparkling proudly.

“They are our friends,” Erik replied softly.

“If they are our friends, why are we kept prisoners?”

“We are not prisoners. They’ve given us our weapons,” Erik reminded the squat Norseman.

“And we should put these weapons to good use,” Olaf said, twisting the logic behind Erik’s words. “There are only two soldiers guarding the storeroom. We could easily overpower them and take what food we…”

“You would suggest, then,” Erik said, the grin on his face once more, “that I turn captain of a band of thieves.”

“I would suggest,” Olaf countered, “that you lead your men home.”

Erik drew himself up to his full height and his big hand tightened on the head of his ax. “And I would suggest,” he added, “and this is to be the final suggestion today, that you hold your vicious tongue.

“We are not sailing until we can sail with a full ship. That will be after the Maya harvest.”

Olaf opened his mouth to speak again, but Erik cut him short. “I would hate to have to bury my second officer on alien soil.”

The sailors laughed at this, their voices ringing throughout the little glade.

Olaf, somehow, didn’t seem to think it was funny. He stalked off into the woods, his dark eyes smoldering.

That afternoon, Neil saw his first Maya basketball game. Or at least, he was always to remember it as a basketball game.

Rixal and Tela were bursting with enthusiasm when they came to usher him to the event.

“But what is it?” Neil asked, being rushed along by Rixal and Tela.

Tela, her pretty face shining with happiness, said, “The game. The nobles will play Tlaxtli! Hurry, hurry, they will have started.”

She took one of Neil’s hands, and with Rixal grasping the other, they rushed across the city.

Rixal said, “They will begin playing soon.”

Hastily, they led him to a large court with small temples at either end of it. Lining the sides of the long court were two massive stone walls. Rixal and Tela brought Neil to the top of one of the walls, and there they sat and looked down at the court.

The top of the wall was at least three feet thick, and they sat there comfortably, Neil wondering what would happen next.

“I will explain briefly,” Rixal said.

“Let me explain,” Tela interrupted, her face split in a grin.

“Men do the explaining,” Rixal said solemnly. Tela clasped her hands impatiently in her lap and waited for Rixal to begin.

“The court is 180 yards long,” Rixal started.

“One hundred and ninety” Tela corrected.

“One hundred and ninety yards long,” Rixal went on, “and forty yards wide.”

“And these walls, this one and the one opposite, are very high,” Tela said excitedly.

“Twenty-seven feet high,” Rixal added.

Tela pointed to the wall opposite, “That is the eastern wall,” she said.

“And that is a temple surmounting it,” Rixal added.

“The Temple of the Jaguars,” said Tela.

Neil looked across to the temple at the southern end of the opposite wall. It was neat and small, with a frieze work of stalking jaguars and shields on its front.

“But what’s the game all about?” Neil asked.

“We’re coming to that,” Rixal said impatiently.

“Do you see those rings in the walls?” Tela asked.,

Neil looked to the place she was pointing. High on the side of each wall, midway between the ends, was a large stone ring fastened vertically to the face of the wall.

“Yes,” Neil said, “I see them.”

“Well, the object of the game is to…”

“Here come the players!” Tela burst out excitedly.

Twelve men stepped onto the court, touching their foreheads to each of the temples as they stood at attention. Then six men walked to one end of the court, while the other six went to the opposite end.

“There is the ball,” Rixal said, pointing to a regally dressed Maya who stood on the wall and dropped a rubber ball into the court.

Immediately both teams burst into action. They raced for the ball, hitting it with their hands, slapping it high up on the wall.

“What are they trying to do?” Neil asked.

“They’re trying to get the ball into the… oh! He almost did it,” Tela cried. “He almost did it, Neil.” She was pounding on his shoulders with her small hands.

“Into the what? What did he almost do?”

“They’re trying to hit the ball through the ring. It is very difficult,” Rixal solemnly said.

The players wore pads on their hips, and they hit the ball with their hands or their hips, sending it flying against the wall and bouncing madly around the court.

“They are not very skilful,” Rixal said. “The better players are not allowed to use their hands at all. They must hit the ball only with their hips.”

The game went on, and Neil felt himself rising from his seat in excitement every time the ball came anywhere near the ring.

At the end of the match, he had yelled himself hoarse, and he was disappointed that neither side had succeeded in driving the ball through one of the rings.

“They are not very skilful,” Rixal repeated.

“Besides,” Tela said, “it is better that no one scored. It is very difficult, and a player who drives the ball through the ring is allowed to take the clothes of any of the onlookers.”

“Really?” Neil asked.

“Yes,” Tela said, nodding her head. “It is very difficult, you know.”

Neil thought of basketball games back home, and wondered how it would be if the players demanded the spectators’ clothes every time they scored a basket. He smiled, his blue eyes twinkling merrily.

“Why do you smile?” Rixal asked.

“I was thinking of a game we have in my land,” Neil said. “A game similar to this one.”

“Is it exactly like Tlaxtli?” Tela asked.

Neil smiled again, thinking of the clothes of the spectators. “No,” he admitted, “it’s a little different, I think.”

That night, after supper, Neil started through the forest on his way to the beach. He was anxious to see Dave again, and to find out how work on the time machine was progressing.

Like Dave, he had come to know the forest well. There was no longer any need to mark a trail, and he padded through the woods at ease, listening to the monkeys, watching for tapirs, or peccaries, or an occasional fleeting deer.

He was startled to hear the sound of voices coming from a clearing in the woods.

Cautiously, he tiptoed closer, careful to avoid dead twigs or branches underfoot.

The voices were Swedish and Maya. First a man spoke in Swedish. Then another man translated into Maya. A third man answered in Maya which was rapidly translated into Swedish. This puzzled Neil. Apparently, some of the Norsemen were talking to a group of Mayas.

The sun was slowly sinking in the west, and the trees cast long shadows through the forest. All was silent except for the small noises of the insects and the voices from the clearing.

He crept closer and hid behind a huge boulder.

He was surprised to hear Olaf’s voice, and he peeked over the boulder to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

Olaf stood before ten or twelve of the Norse sailors, talking to a Maya soldier. Behind the Maya were several other soldiers, dressed in their customary quilted covering.

“Why do you keep us here?” Olaf asked. “What is there to gain?”

A Norseman translated, and the Maya answered.

“You are right. We gain nothing by your presence. But I do not follow your plan.”

“There is no plan,” Olaf said. “There is only a group of men lonely for the sight of their own land. Our captain would wait for the harvest. And do you know why?”

“Why?” the Maya asked.

“So that the fruits of your labor will go into our ship. So that new fruit, new vegetables, and fresh meat can be taken with us when we sail. Your labor will feed our men.”

“I don’t understand.” the Maya said.

“It is simple.” Olaf went on. “We would leave now, taking with us whatever stores you can spare. We do not ask for much, only enough to take us on our journey, safely home.”

“We have very little food,” the Maya answered.

“Yes, but if we take a large part of your harvest with us when we leave, how much food will you have next year at this time?”

The Maya shrugged. “Next year is next year,” he said. “We will worry then.”

“You will worry,” Olaf said, “and you will starve too. Talu, your priest, refuses us food now because he knows the wrath of your people will descend on him if he squanders when the supply is low.”

“So?” the Maya asked.

“So he waits until the harvest. But remember that our captain saved Talu’s life when he slew the serpent. Talu is grateful. When there is food in abundance, he will shower our captain with it, not thinking ahead to the hungry days in the future.”

“I did not think of this,” the Maya said slowly.

“Here is what we want,” Olaf said. “Enough food to see us home, not the food in surplus we would get after the harvest. Just enough, mind you. Not so much that you will be left starving. Just enough.”

“But there is not very much,” the Maya replied.

“There is enough for our small wants,” Olaf insisted. “We would eat as much if we stayed right here in the city.”

“Talu would forbid it,” the Maya said.

Neil peered out over the rock, trying to see the face of the Maya. The man had his back to Neil, and it was already growing dark in the forest so he could not tell who it was.

“I know he would forbid it. He prefers to squander your food after the harvest. That is why I come to you.”

“I do not understand.”

“You are a powerful warrior. We would like to enter your storehouse, take the food we need, and sail. We would like your help.”

“How can I help?”

“By overpowering your own men. You are a captain. You can explain later that this was for the best. The people respect you.”

“But Talu is a priest.”

“He is a man, not unlike you. Except that you are stronger. And better liked.”

Neil’s eyes opened wide. This was incredible. Olaf was hatching a plot that could destroy the entire amiable balance they had achieved with the Mayas. He strained his ears as he waited for the Maya’s reply.

“I am not that powerful,” the captain said.

“You are,” Olaf insisted. “The people love you. You have saved their homes many times. If you now save them from the starvation Talu would bring, you may be made a general.”

“A general,” the captain repeated.

“We only need your help. Will we have it?”

The captain hesitated, and Neil waited.

Then, at last, he said, “I will think it over. I will let you know.”

“Soon,” Olaf said. “We are anxious to sail.”

“I will let you know,” the Maya repeated.

He turned to leave then, and the last rays of the sun lighted his face in a subdued orange tone.

Neil gasped.

The Maya had a long scar down the length of his face; it crossed the ends of his lips and twisted his mouth sideways, in what appeared to be a comical grin.

Baz! Baz, the ferocious, murderous warrior who had led the rallying attack against the barbarians!

Baz! And Olaf.