Find the Feathered Serpent

Chapter 8 The Enemy Strikes

Olaf’s shoulder struck the bewildered Maya with considerable force. The Maya struggled to keep his balance, using his spear the way a tight-rope walker uses a balancing pole. In spite of his efforts, he flopped unceremoniously to the ground as Olaf leaped over him and sprinted for the protection of the trees.

Rapidly, the scarred captain snapped an order, and a soldier stepped forward and pulled the toplike affair from his belt. Holding the string in his fingers and the weapon tight against the palm of his hand, his fist suddenly lashed outward in a swift, open-palmed motion. The top whipped out, seemingly reluctant to leave the Maya’s hand. And then it sped across the clearing on the edge of the forest, the air whistling behind it.

Olaf had just reached the protection of a huge boulder and was ready to scramble behind it when the top collided with the base of his skull. There was a dull thud as wood met bone. Olaf collapsed to the ground like a fallen tree. Efficiently, the Maya pulled in the string, and the top trailed across the leaves, rasping gently as it moved. He wound the string around it and once again stuck it into his belt.

Two soldiers hastily crossed the clearing and seized Olaf by the arms. They lifted him until he hung limply between them, and then hauled him back to the captain, his legs dragging through the leaves.

The captain gave a sharp order, and the two men carrying Olaf headed toward the city. A soldier stepped behind Erik and prodded him with his spear. At the same time, Neil felt the sharp point of a spear in his back. The captain spoke softly to six of his men. They nodded and headed into the forest.

“They’re probably going after the rest of our party,” Neil whispered to Erik.

Erik nodded, and two sharp spear thrusts put an end to further conversation.

A Maya walked beside the two soldiers carrying Olaf. The scarred leader of the band stayed behind Neil and Erik, and slowly the procession moved toward the city. They broke out of the forest, and the sun bore down on them with all its brilliance. Heavy clouds of dust swirled around them as their feet stamped into the ground. Behind Olaf, extending from his trailing feet, were two narrow ridges in the ground-almost like the tracks a very tiny automobile would leave, Neil mused.

Surrounding the city, in contrast to the architectural beauty of the huge stone buildings and intricately carved facades, were thatched huts, squat and ugly. A few children sat in the sun, blinking up at the visitors.

Here and there an old woman sat before a hut, gently nodding as the procession passed.

Far in the distance, Neil could see rising clouds of dust. Through the dust, he saw figures wending their way home to the city. It was the end of the working day, he figured, and the young people were returning from the fields.

The procession marched through the city, almost deserted now except for the very young and very old. Neil was amazed by the orderliness, by the planning of buildings that was evident all around him.

There seemed to be two preferred types of architecture. One consisted of a rectangular-shaped building set on a rather high pyramid, which seemed to be nothing more or less than earth and rubble, into which had been set cement or perhaps cut stone. The front of the pyramid was cut into terrace-like steps. This type of building, Neil judged, seemed to be in the majority. The other seemed to consist of a cluster of rooms built on low, irregularly shaped platforms.

Each was highly ornamented, bold carvings covering the faces-carvings that were faintly reminiscent of the Oriental, but in a much stronger, rougher-hewn way.

A band of soldiers appeared on the street, marching in formation, their heels raising dust as they moved closer to the captives.

The scarred captain stepped forward and spoke to the leader of the new band. He nodded as the Maya with the scar pointed to the forest. Then he gave an order and the men began marching toward the woods.

“They go for our friends,” Erik said, his eyes squinting after the retreating soldiers.

“I hope,” Neil faltered, “I hope there’s no trouble.”

Ahead of them, Olaf shook his head and staggered to his feet. Instantly, a spear pressed against his ribs on either side of his body. He looked around in wonder, surprised at finding himself within the city.

The captain returned and gave another order, and the procession moved forward again. In the distance, the returning farmers seemed to be larger and closer to the city now.

The procession passed by one of the pyramid-type buildings and the captain raised his hand. The group stopped and waited on the sun-baked street while the captain climbed the long, low steps leading to the building. He walked through one of three doorways cut into the face of the building, and disappeared into the dark recesses behind the stone.

Neil shifted uncomfortably, the dust rising to smart his eyes. He could feel the prick of the spear behind him, where it rested between his shoulder blades.

The captain was gone for at least ten minutes, and then a figure appeared in the doorway of the building. This man was a little taller than the soldiers, and his head was crowned with a brilliant shock of white hair that rose in splendid contrast to the brownness of his skin. He wore a long, white, cotton garment that reached to his ankles.

The captain stepped out behind him and pointed at Neil. The man in white nodded and started down the steps.

Neil glanced at Erik in time to see the Norseman take a deep breath.

The man in white paused on the bottom step of the pyramid, his deep brown eyes studying Erik, and then Neil, and then Olaf, who stood sullenly between his captors.

He walked down to the trio and stopped before Neil. In gentle tones he said something to him.

Neil shook his head at the old man. “I do not understand,” he said.

Little creases of puzzlement formed alongside the old man’s eyes. He cocked his head to one side, like a dog listening for a sound, and then repeated what he’d said before.

Neil shrugged helplessly and said, I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

The old man ran his thin fingers through the white, flowing hair on top of his head. He turned and said something to the captain. The captain answered rapidly, and the old man turned to Neil again.

He held both his hands out from his body in a puzzled gesture, and raised his eyebrows questioningly

“I think he wants to know about us,” Neil said to Erik.

“But how can we tell him?”

Neil stepped forward and held out his hand, palm downward. Then he moved his hand slowly across his body in an undulating motion, tracing invisible peaks and valleys in the air.

“Water,” he said, repeating the motion. He pointed back toward the forest and repeated, “Water.”

The old man smiled in sudden recognition and moved his hand as Neil had done. He muttered a single word, and Neil hoped that this meant he had grasped the concept of water.

Neil covered his eyes with one hand and groped in front of him with the other. “Lost,” he said. “Lost.” The old man studied Neil’s pantomime carefully. Neil went through the motions again, this time uncovering his eyes and looking all around him worriedly. The white-haired Maya seemed to understand. He nodded vigorously, and Neil went on.

He pointed to the spear the captain held, and shook his head. The old man expressed confusion.

Neil pointed to the spear, shook his head, and then pointed to the Norse axes that hung from the belt of the Maya with the scar. He opened his palms wide, indicating that he held nothing, and grinned widely.

The old man stroked his chin thoughtfully. He lifted one of the axes from the soldier’s belt and offered it to Neil. Neil shook his head.

“No,” he said. “We are friends.”

The old man glanced down at the ax, and a smile crossed his wrinkled features. He threw the ax to the ground and stamped on it. He then took the spear from the hands of the soldier and dropped it to the ground before Neil’s feet.

Neil smiled happily and stamped on the spear.

“He understands,” Neil said to Erik. “He knows we are friends.”

Neil pointed a finger at his own chest and said, “Neil.”

The Maya shook his head and shrugged.

Neil repeated the action. “Neil,” he said. He pressed his finger against Erik’s powerful chest and said, “Erik.”

He then pointed to the old man, and spread his palms wide as he shrugged.

The old man seemed to be struggling for meaning. He touched Neil’s chest and asked, “Nee-ill?”

Neil nodded happily. “Neil.”

“Neil,” the old man repeated.

Neil pointed to Erik again. “Erik,” he said. For an amusing moment, he felt very much the way Tarzan must have with his “Boy-Tarzan-Jane” routine.

The old man understood fully now. He pointed to the bearded Norseman and repeated, “Err-ik.”

He looked quizzically at Olaf and pointed a long, thin finger at the squat Norseman’s chest.

“Olaf,” Neil said.

“O-laf,” the Maya repeated.

Then Neil pointed to the old man.

“Talu,” the Maya said. “Talu.”

“Talu,” Neil repeated.

The old man seemed to think a game of some sort was being played. He pointed to the captain with the scar across his lips and said, “Baz.”

Neil repeated this name, and one by one introduced the Maya soldiers, becoming very much amused at Neil’s repetition of each name.

When this was done, he stared at Neil, apparently waiting for something more to be said.

“Erik,” Neil said hastily, “give me something I can offer the old man. A present.”

Erik glanced down at his belt, then changed his mind when he saw the old man’s narrow waist. He touched his chest with widespread hands, wondering what he could give the old man. And then his hands went to the metal helmet that sat atop his blond head. He lifted it down with two hands, placing one under each of the metal wings, and offered it to the old man.

The old man shook his head and grinned, pointing to Erik’s head and wiggling his finger impatiently.

“He doesn’t want it, I guess,” Neil said disconsolately.

“What else can we give him?” Erik asked.

Neil was wearing his dungarees, boots, and a tee shirt. There wasn’t very much he could offer the old man, actually. His eyes suddenly fell on his wrist watch, the one he’d gotten from Uncle Frank on his sixteenth birthday. Quickly he unbuckled it and held it out to the withered Maya.

The old man stared curiously at the instrument, his eyes squinting down at the dial. Neil noticed that Erik, too, was looking at the watch with great interest.

The old man shrugged his shoulders.

Neil realized he’d have a difficult time trying to explain a wrist watch to an ancient Maya. But he pointed up at the sun and slowly moved his finger across the sky.

The old man seemed to grasp the concept immediately.

“Itzamna,” he said, nodding his head. “Itzamna.”

Neil didn’t know whether this meant “time” or “sun.” But he nodded his head and held out the watch again. The old man refused it a second time and turned to say something to the Maya soldiers. The soldiers nodded, touched their foreheads in salute, about-faced, and walked off into the city.

“They’re gone,” Olaf said, speaking for the first time since they’d entered the city. “Let’s run. The soldiers are gone.”

The old man seemed to sense what Olaf was suggesting so excitedly, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Silence,” Erik commanded, and Olaf caught his tongue.

Neil was wondering why the soldiers had touched their foreheads when leaving the old man. There was the remotest possibility that he was an officer, but Neil felt this was unlikely. Why then had they…?

His thoughts were cut short by the sound of a familiar voice.

“Neil! Neil, are you all right?”

It was Dave, two Maya soldiers behind him with spears. Following him, guarded by the heavily armed Mayas, was the rest of the crew.

Dave broke into a run, ignoring the spears.

“Neil! Are you all right?” he asked desperately.

Two soldiers started after Dave, but the old man snapped an order and they stopped short, the dust rising up around them. In deference, they touched their hands to their foreheads and watched the proceedings respectfully.

Neil clasped Dave’s hands. “It’s okay,” he said. “Everything’s okay, Dave. These people are friends.”

“They’re Mayas, you know,” Dave said, his eyes blazing. “We’ve found Yucatan after all, pal.”

“I know, I know,” Neil said excitedly. He turned to the old Maya and pointed at him.

“This is Talu.”

The old man smiled. “Talu.”

Dave caught on and pointed to himself. “Dave.”

Talu nodded.

“I think he’s a big wheel,” Neil whispered to Dave. “He orders these other guys around like waiters.”

“Probably a priest,” Dave murmured.

Neil snapped his fingers. “That’s it! I should have known. He is a priest, I’ll bet.”

Suddenly the street seemed to fill itself with milling bodies. They gathered around the group of strangers, inquisitive brown eyes taking in the curious scene.

Talu addressed the people softly as Neil looked over the crowd. The men were dressed differently than either Talu or the soldiers. They wore a waist garment that passed between their legs, and their chests were bare except for a square mantle thrown over the shoulders.

Skilfully embroidered into the ends of the waist covering with colored threads, were complicated designs-and some of the men had feathers colorfully decorating their garments in intricate mosaics.

The women’s garments extended far enough up to cover the base of their chests. Many of them wore colorful jewelry.

Neil noted with surprise that many of the men and women were tattooed on their faces.

Talu went on speaking to the people, and they listened quietly. When he had finished, they took up a chant, waving their arms over their heads.

Then they began laughing and shouting, and running off to various parts of the city, leaving the street almost deserted again, with the dust leaping into the air in playful gusts.

Talu spoke to Neil. Neil listened carefully and then shrugged his shoulders.

Dave slapped his forehead. “Oh, no! Wonder boy understands Maya too. He must.”

“No, Dave, I don’t. Look, he’s trying to explain something to us.”

Talu had opened his mouth wide, and was now putting his fingers into it. He dropped his fingers, pantomimed the lifting of an imaginary object, and then put his fingers back into his mouth.

“Food,” Neil said in sudden understanding.

“I’ll be darned,” Dave agreed. “The old boy is inviting us to dinner.”

They sat at low, rectangular tables piled high with food. Four persons sat at each table on small wooden stools provided by Talu. In addition to the stools, Talu had given each of his guests a cloak of fine feather mosaic work and a painted pottery vase which rested on the table before them.

Neil sat at a table with Erik, Dave, and Talu. The other Norsemen were seated at tables arranged in a large square within a court in front of one of the big buildings.

Food in great variety, some foods that Neil knew and others he could only guess at, stretched out in abundance at each table, and Neil realized that this was no ordinary meal but a banquet prepared in honor of the visitors.

Many different types of meat, all cooked to a succulent brown, melted in Neil’s mouth as he tasted each hungrily-deer, wild boar, turkey, small birds that were delicious to the palate.

Bright red tomatoes and sweet potatoes, fat, ripe squashes and juicy beans, avocado pears, plums, papaya, all were spread in colorful profusion before them.

A drink prepared from the cacao bean, boiled with chili pepper before the eyes of the guests and stirred into a froth with a carved stick, was served in great wooden cups.

There was honey, too, in abundance. The only thing Neil missed was bread.

And then the dancing started when they sat back after their meal.

Drumsticks began beating a lively tattoo on various types of drums-a large, slitted, horizontal drum and small round drums, as well as tall, thin ones. Several musicians pounded on turtle shells. A series of flutes, reed, bone, wood, shrieked into being. Large conch shells were pressed to the lips of musicians and blared forth as trumpets. Whistles screamed and calabash mouthpieces were fitted into wooden trumpets. And there were rattles, and together with the rest of the instruments they beat out a wild rhythm while the dancers whirled and gyrated in the center of the square formed by the tables.

The dancers formed a circle, linking hands. Two of the troupe leaped to the center of the circle, one of them armed with slender lances. He drew these back and snapped them across the circle at his partner, his muscles gleaming in the light of the torches, his feet stamping on the paved court in time to the drumbeat. His partner squatted, his feet moving rhythmically, parrying the lances as they came with a small shield no wider than a pole.

Neil watched in fascination as the men in the ring leaped into the air, their feet flashing. The dancers swarmed around them dizzily, their voices raised in a wailing chant. The drums increased in tempo, their beats resounding against the stone building behind Neil. The trumpets blasted loud and clear, shattering the night air with their stridency.

And then, above all this, sounded a shriek, a vicious shriek that electrified the air. It grew in volume, and was joined by many voices raised in shouts and cries.

The dancers stopped, the music trailing off to a weak moan behind them.

Talu leaped to his feet in the glare of the torchlight.

He shouted orders at the Mayas just as a group of unkempt, dirty, leering men burst into the courtyard, spears and daggers bristling from their arms.

Another scream, a scream that could be nothing but a battle cry, wrenched through the night.