Keeper embraced sister and daughter as they came to him. “Glad to see you both,” he said.
“When is the battle?” Rebel asked.
“Tomorrow morning, we think. Depends when they attack. We are setting up defensive emplacements, because they outnumber us. It may get ugly. So you had better be far from here by then.”
“We will be,” Rebel agreed. “What word for home?” She was asking on behalf of Crenelle, obliquely.
“She should proceed with dispatch.” Which was his way of saying the battle was likely to be lost.
She nodded. Then she glanced at Allele. “We have delivered our water; time to go on home.”
“A www.” To the girl, this was an adventure. She knew about death, for she had seen some of the public human sacrifices, when the priests cut living human hearts out and held them high. But she had not seen the larger slaughter of war.
Keeper picked her up and kissed her. “Don’t let your mother be lonely.”
Craft approached, bearing his solid shield and bow, and with a huge claw-knife formed from a shell in reserve. Many Old Town soldiers disdained to use the bow, considering it a weapon limited to barbarians, but Craft knew better. The Toltecs had won battle after battle against the Maya because they were able to strike from much farther away than any spear-thrower could. He had argued for the use of it, and prevailed to an extent. His own bow was competent, for he had made it himself. But he was not actually a combatant, though he wore the headfeather of a lesser officer, as did Keeper. He was the supply technician, organizing the delivery and distribution of supplies, including weapons, food, and water. He looked grim. “Get the women out! Surprise attack.” Then he saw Allele, and recognized Rebel. “You especially. I think they are trying to capture women.”
No one needed to ask why. “On our way,” Rebel said, herding Allele before her.
But it was already too late. A formation of Toltecs had broken through the Xlacah line, cutting off their escape. Their painted faces made them seem even more ferocious than they probably were. Women screamed, fleeing wildly.
“It’s the water they want,” Keeper said, catching on. Water was invaluable. “Rather than women.” But they would take whatever offered.
“Both, surely,” Rebel said tersely. “I think we had better stay right here.”
“Why?” Allele asked, understanding at least part of the threat.
“Because your father and uncle can better protect us,” Rebel told her. Then, to Craft: “What do you have for me?”
Wordlessly, he handed her a large obsidian knife. The blade was of course deadly sharp.
Several other women crowded in close, coming to a similar conclusion: they would be better off with two men than alone on the path.
“Get down behind the tank,” Craft said to the women. “You too, Rebel.” He raised his bow. He was not a warrior, but he was as good with a weapon as any man, because he had to understand a weapon in order to make it.
They ducked down. Keeper moved to stand beside his brother, holding his spear. The case looked hopeless, but they would do what they could.
The Toltec warriors intercepted the fleeing women. Then it was each man for himself, dragging away the woman of his choice, or merely raping her where she was. The women screamed but offered no resistance; helplessness would get them ravished but not killed right away.
But one contingent did not break ranks. It spread out to surround the water tank. Slowly it closed in. The men held bows or spears ready, the spearmen supporting heavy shields to protect the bowmen, but neither type fired or hurled. Keeper and Craft stood similarly, weapons ready but not yet used. It was clear that the moment they acted, they would be slaughtered; there were twenty warriors in the circle. But there was a Toltec officer with them, accounting for their discipline.
A woman screamed, lurched to her feet, raised her arms high, and dropped to her knees, facing out, arching her back to make her breasts stand out. She was surrendering. Others followed. It did not matter whether they were married or single; in war a woman had only one defense, and that was appeasement. Soon all except Rebel and Allele were offering themselves.
The Toltecs stopped moving. They were of course interested, as this was a recognized part of the spoils of war. Several glanced at the officer, who averted his gaze: leave to act on their own. Then one man gestured to one of the women. She got up and went to him. He led her out of the circle. Another man gestured to another woman, and she responded similarly. Soon all five of them were gone. They would give the soldiers not passion but nonresistance, and that should be enough. They would live as long as their appeal remained, so they would try to remain appealing.
Fifteen men still closed the circle. There was no escape in any direction. They did not advance. Probably the taking of the five women was intended as a demonstration for those who remained: surrender was feasible.
“You know what to do,” Keeper said to Rebel. He kept his voice even, but he dreaded what was to happen. So suddenly, doom had come upon them.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Rebel said to the girl as she rose to her feet and lifted her knife. “Stand before me.”
Allele moved to stand before her. Rebel turned her by the shoulder, and put the deadly blade of the knife to the girl’s throat, not quite touching. The child did not flinch. They faced out toward the enemy.
Craft stood to Rebel’s right, and Keeper to her left, their weapons still poised. This was a deliberate pose, but no bluff. It was clear that the men would die fighting, while the woman would kill the girl and then herself before the enemy got them. There would be no easy takings here.
The leader of the Toltec contingent stepped forward, inside the circle, heedless of Craft’s fully drawn bow. He was of high rank, for he wore a huge headdress of brightly colored parrot feathers, and a large jade-fragment necklace. He wore a thickly quilted cotton jacket for body protection, but carried no shield. He turned his back, showing his contempt for the defenders. He was not a large man, and probably owed his rank to wealth or influence rather than ability, but he had poise. He spoke a word of command. Every bow tilted to aim at the ground, and every spear went to the ready, no longer poised for throwing or stabbing.
The leader turned around again, to face the four. He ignored the arrow point that tracked his nose. “Serve me,” he said.
The man’s authority was so clear that Keeper had to fight the urge to obey. This was the time to stand firm, however difficult that was. None of them responded or moved.
“Then go.” He signaled, and the circle opened, offering an avenue out.
They did not move. They knew that this was a trap; when their backs were turned, they would be shot down, the men at least, and woman and girl would become the unwilling playthings of the troops. If the females resisted, they would be beaten; if they bit, their teeth would be knocked out; if they scratched, their fingernails would be drawn out; and if they tried to flee, they would be hamstrung or blinded. If all else failed to make them amenable, they would be tied spread-eagled and naked in a position suitable for easy access, and a line of men would be formed to perform serial rape. Age did not matter, only gender. In war, public rape was a demonstration rather than passion, intended to destroy self image and resistance. The multiple rape of a child in front of her parent was a very effective ploy. So it would be better to cooperate—or to die first. That was why Allele had to be the first to die.
The leader signaled again. The bows and spears oriented, as one. “Yield, and you live,” he said.
Still they did not move. This was a trial, and the outcome had not been determined.
“The child can go.”
Allele shuddered, and Keeper knew that she was crying. She had been warned of the nature of war, and that it was better to die than fall into enemy hands, but she had never before experienced such a trial. Her courage was failing; her adventure had become more than unpleasant.
But she also knew that she would be helpless alone, and that there w
as still no guarantee. So she didn’t move, though she knew Rebel would not cut her throat if she did move in this circumstance. Not unless the Toltecs attacked.
“You will not yield,” the leader said, inviting their denial. But they were steadfast. This was not the occasion to evince any weakness at all.
The leader paced before them, seeming to be completely at ease despite the obvious threat to his life from Craft’s drawn bow. He had the nerve of one who was quite sure of his power. Yet why was he toying with them?
They waited. The second stage was coming, and this was a positive sign. Keeper had expected to die, once they were surrounded; now he had hope.
The leader stopped, facing Keeper. “Will you trade?”
Now at last it was safe to answer. The offer had improved, indicating that they had won at least a measure of respect by their solidarity. Craft released the tension on his bowstring, without lowering the bow, and the Toltec warriors did the same. Violence could still erupt quickly, but this was a signal that it probably would not.
“For what?” Keeper asked. It was his prerogative, as this was his station; he was in charge here despite being younger than his brother and sister.
“Guard mine as you do your own.”
This did not register. “Your what?”
The leader was pacing back and forth, not facing them. “My child.”
All four of them must have shown their surprise, for there was a rumble of laughter around the circle. Surprise was, however, a tolerable weakness. The Toltecs knew something they did not. Even so, they would not have laughed had they not known that their leader permitted it.
“What child?” Keeper asked.
“My motherless daughter, the age of yours. I need a home for her, and that cannot be on the battlefield.”
“For sure,” Rebel muttered.
The officer heard her, but spoke to Keeper. “She is right. Your child is here because your wife would not leave her unguarded. But I have no wife.”
Keeper realized that the man thought that Rebel was his wife, because she was the woman with the child. For the moment, that did not matter. “Hire a woman.”
“I have done so. She does not care, and will not move. In any event, she cannot provide what my daughter needs. Very few can.”
This was weird. This enemy warrior leader was talking family with him, in the guise of negotiation. “Move where?”
“To Xlacah.”
It began to register. “You are to be garrison commander?”
“When the city falls, I will be one of the administrative officials. I must be there. I want my child with me, in a family. One with courage and caring.” He paused, evidently troubled. “I am not yet ready to marry. My wife—her memory lingers. My daughter is all that remains of her. I must have her close and safe.”
“But you cannot trust an enemy!” Keeper protested.
The officer shrugged. “Your brother could have shot me at any time.”
Again they were startled. This man knew their relationship. That meant he had studied his enemy, targeting its commanders or key personnel. He had missed on Rebel, but that was understandable; he knew that Keeper was the married one. And it seemed that it had not been chance that had trapped them here.
“Your men would have killed us all,” Craft said.
“Four captives, for one officer. An even trade?”
Point made. One commander was worth a hundred lesser men. An arrow could have reached Craft before he threw a spear, but instead he carried a good bow. At this point-blank range his arrow could penetrate the body armor. Most soldiers would have made the trade. “I would have killed you, had you attacked,” Craft said.
“You would have been dead before you could strike back. You had to strike first. You knew that.”
Craft nodded, yielding that point too. The man had almost dared them to strike first, killing him, and they hadn’t done it. The man had known their nature. “This is embarrassing,” Craft said.
“Not necessarily. You also knew I had something on my mind, or I would have had you killed without pause. So you waited to discover what that was.” He glanced around. “All of you waited.”
Indeed. “Why us?” Craft asked.
“My wife was Maya. Her matrilineal clan relates to yours. My daughter needs that support.”
That explained much. The man wanted his child to have the association of her clan. Children who did not, could be cursed. Men were the leaders, but the power of the women was subtle and pervasive. Most of a girl’s education was handled by her matrilineal clan relatives, especially the aspects relating to her status and marriage. So the man had searched out those relatives, however distant, and pounced when he found them within his grasp. This encounter was no coincidence.
“For the support of your daughter,” Keeper said. “What price?”
“Safety of your household—because it would become hers. After hostilities cease.”
“Our household includes warriors.”
“Two, besides the two of you,” the officer agreed. “They too will be spared.”
“And you, sir,” Rebel said, speaking directly to the officer for the first time. She included a signal of respect for his status that Keeper had not. Now that they were negotiating, this was appropriate. “You would be there with your child.”
“When not in the field,” the officer agreed again.
“What would you expect of the women of the house?”
“Of a married woman, only meals and domestic chores.” He glanced around. “The rules of war would not apply, even for one as lovely as you.”
Meaning that sexual service was not required; he sought only compatible environment for his half-orphaned child. Considering that there would be chaos when Xlacah fell, such protection of their household would be more than welcome. Keeper glanced at Craft, then at Rebel, and then at Allele. They all understood; it was a generous offer, one that they could accept with honor. The fact that the officer evidently assumed that Rebel was Keeper’s wife hardly mattered; relatives of favored captives normally shared privileges. His military research had evidently applied to warriors, ignoring women, who were beneath notice.
“Agreed, sir,” Keeper said, setting aside his spear in a ritual token of peace. Craft set aside his bow, and Rebel put away her knife. Allele turned into her, sobbing, seeking comfort.
The circle of warriors turned their backs, signaling withdrawal of threat, and privacy for the dialogue to follow.
The officer nodded. “I am Tuho. My child is Tula, after our capital. She is unusual, as you will discover, but not difficult. You are now my guests. Your wife and child will be guided to my present home in Chichén Itzá to meet my daughter. You and your brother will acquaint me with the location and description of your home, so that I can protect it from the carnage to come.”
Keeper nodded. They had in fact surrendered, but Tuho was being careful not to use the term “prisoner.” He was guaranteeing their safety. “Agreed,” Keeper said again.
“One detail, sir,” Rebel said.
Tuho looked at her.
“I am not his wife. I am his unmarried sister. This girl is my niece.” She squeezed Allele reassuringly.
The man was clearly taken aback. “I apologize. You will of course have similar status.”
Keeper was surprised again. An officer, as a rule, did not apologize to a subordinate, and a man did not apologize to a woman. Unless he especially wanted her favor.
“Perhaps I will accept alternate status, sir, should it be proffered.”
Tuho studied her, appreciating her meaning. She turned her profile to him and inhaled. It was a gesture she had always been good at; she had as fine a profile as any woman could desire. Keeper could not remember when any man had ever turned her down. “As you choose,” he said. “It would be appreciated. Though temporary.”
“Temporary,” she agreed. She had just undertaken to become his mistress, for a while. Tuho had impressed her favorably. She would return
the favor, in good measure. An affair with a ranking officer would have benefits well beyond that of mere survival, but this was more than that, because grace had already been granted. Rebel would give him passion. Now he had double incentive to see that they were treated well. Rebel normally had more than one reason for what she did.
Tuho signaled, and two men stepped forward. “Take this woman and this girl to my premises in Chichén Itzá. They will be guests there until return to their own home is feasible.” He paused. “There will be no presumption as to their status. They are mine.”
“Yes, sir.” If any man touched woman or girl, or failed to safeguard her from molestation, he would incur the wrath of his commander, surely a lethal malady. The Toltecs had already demonstrated their discipline; the order would be obeyed.
Tuho signaled again. Two more men reported. “Ascertain the details of the home residence of these men, and arrange that it and its occupants be protected from molestation. See that these men are courteously treated; they are noncombatants, though they will not be disarmed.” Which meant that they could keep their weapons. That was another generous gesture, for a man’s weapons were valuable in more than the physical sense; they lent ongoing status, particularly in an enemy camp.
“Yes, sir.” They focused on Keeper and Craft as the commander walked away.
The men guided them toward the rear of the battle area, but Keeper could see the action occurring. The surprise raid to intercept the water women had been only part of a general attack. The Xlacah troops were having the worst of it, having been caught out of position and unprepared. They would have lost anyway, being outnumbered and out-disciplined, but this was a rout. The end of Xlacah was late in coming, but certain.
Keeper and Craft gave the necessary detail, and the two Toltec soldiers departed. No one guarded the family or paid undue attention to them, though several glanced at their weapons. They were garbed as members of the Xlacah army, yet were obviously not prisoners. “It is almost as if we could just walk away,” Keeper murmured.
“We would die if we did,” Craft replied. “We are being watched. Tuho doesn’t seem to leave anything to chance.”