Their trap had worked. The way was now clear. “We must tell the Segeju,” Keeper said.
“They already know,” Hero replied.
Indeed, the scouts were hooting, signaling their people in a rapid relay. The troops would be marching in very short order, for the window of opportunity was only a few hours.
“Meanwhile their guard house is ours to ransack,” Crenelle said. “We have earned our spoils.”
Tourette shuddered, looking faint. She stepped into Keeper’s embrace, needing more comfort.
Hero decided to let it be. He followed Crenelle to the guards’ hut.
The moment they were out of sight of the others, Crenelle collapsed in tears. Hero held her, as he had held their daughter, supporting her physically and emotionally. “You were magnificent,” he murmured, thinking of the way she had maintained her composure so that the others would not be alarmed.
“It was horrible,” she sobbed. “I hate killing.”
But soon enough she recovered. “We have goats to collect.”
They took what few items interested them from the hut, but did not touch the haunch of meat. It looked human.
Now the Segeju were marching. The chief was talking with Keeper and Tourette. He smiled as Hero and Crenelle came up. “You did your part. You will have your goats. But you will have to wait until we reduce the enemy. You will stay with my personal retinue.”
So it was that the family had an excellent view of that reduction. It was a literal massacre that made the women avert their gaze.
The Segeju caught the Zimba completely by surprise, just as they were breaching the town’s defenses. They struck the Zimba down from behind, and routed them before they fully realized that they were themselves under attack. It was a strategic masterstroke.
“Maybe you had better get in there and see to your goats,” the chief murmured to Hero. “My men may not distinguish between one breed or another. They are warriors, not goatkeepers.” He laughed at his own witticism.
It was nevertheless a good suggestion. But Keeper would have to come along, to identify the goats. That would leave the women unguarded.
The chief smiled. “Fear not for your kin. I will personally guard them.” His eyes surveyed them again as he licked his lips. “If you do not return, I will add them to my harem, as a favor. They well be safe.”
That was exactly the kind of danger Hero feared. But in the situation, it was fair. If Hero and Keeper got killed, the women would be at the mercy of the Segeju. The chief’s harem was probably their kindest alternative.
Hero, experienced in political machinations as well as combat, saw another aspect. The chief was attracted to the women, and wanted them, but couldn’t take them without violating his deal with Hero. He did have his kind of honor, and appearances had to be maintained. So he was finding another way, by phrasing it as a favor. These were treacherous waters.
“Thank you.” Hero glanced at Keeper. “Stay close to me; it’s dangerous in there.”
Keeper was surprised, but knew Hero had reason for his decision. He stood, holding his knobkerrie.
“We’ll return soon,” Hero told the women.
Crenelle nodded, understanding that there were more than goats at stake. Tourette looked suspicious, but quickly masked the expression.
They loped toward the wall, where the last of the Zimba were being efficiently dispatched. Keeper ran close. “What’s your plan?” he puffed.
“I think there’s an order out to kill us, and blame it on the confusion of the battle. Then the chief will take over the women as a kindness to the deceased.”
“What must we do?”
“Avoid the Segeju warriors. If any pursue us, lead them into concealment, and take them out swiftly. We’ll be like the women, seeming unaware. They aren’t familiar with the knobkerrie either.”
Keeper nodded. He was not a warrior, but could use his weapon, especially when buttressed by his big brother.
They found an opening and scrambled through, into the town. No one was in sight; the folk of Malindi were of course hiding, apart from their defending warriors, who had suffered severe attrition. At least there was no fire; the Segeju had come in time to prevent that.
“The goats should be in the central compound,” Keeper said.
But as they headed for it, three Segeju warriors intercepted them. “You the Xhosa?” one asked. “Need help?”
“We are,” Hero agreed. “We’re fine, just looking for our goats.”
“Good.” The three raised their war spears.
Hero leaped to one side, Keeper to the other. Both swung their clubs in short swift arcs, catching two heads along the jaws. Without pausing Hero jumped at the third warrior, who barely had time to parry with his spear. Hero swept it aside, as the club was more massive, then reversed the swing and caught the man hard across the face.
None of the blows had been hard enough to kill. Hero remedied that by taking more time to strike each man again, hard enough. They could not afford to have the men report on this interaction. The chief would fathom what had happened, but be unable to make an issue of it. He had underestimated Hero’s understanding, and his prowess, and his weapon. Warriors who specialized in iron tended to disparage wood. That was their mistake. In close quarters, the club was deadly.
They found the compound. It was empty, except for bones. “They slaughtered the goats!” Keeper said, horrified.
“They were hungry,” Hero said. “Besieged, unable to forage outside. They had to eat what they had.”
Keeper nodded unhappily. “I wish we had been a month earlier.”
“They still might not have been special. It was only a story.”
“Only a story,” Keeper agreed grimly. “For which we risked our lives.”
“We need to return,” Hero said. “To fetch the girls, and trek south.”
“Rapidly,” Keeper agreed with a feral smile.
They made their way out of the town. The townspeople were appearing now, as news of their reprieve spread. They would welcome the Segeju, who had rescued them. Of course the Segeju had their own reason, but they had saved the town from a truly awful fate.
The chief seemed not completely surprised to see them. “No goats?”
“They got eaten during the siege,” Keeper said. “But we thank you for your help, and will go home now.”
“Of course,” the chief agreed. Naturally he understood what had happened, and accepted it. They had won his respect. He would not connive further.
The Zimba were indeed thorough cannibals, as represented here. Presumably the drought destroyed their agriculture and herds, so they turned to the next convenient source of food: their neighbors. Until overwhelmed by the Segeju in 1589 as they were breaching the defenses of Malindi. That attack, coming as the attention of the Zimba was occupied by the siege of the town, was so perfectly timed it could hardly have been coincidence. The Segeju must have been watching, waiting for their opportunity.
Were there special goats? Unfortunately we will never know.
15
CITY ISLAND
The Spanish conquest of the Aztecs and Inca was swift, because they were centralized societies. The diseases, such as smallpox, the Spanish inadvertently brought surely made it possible, as they may have wiped out as much as 95 percent of the population, leaving a shambles of once-proud empires. But the Maya existed as several independent states, each of which had to be conquered separately, and the process took 170 years.
The last Maya holdout was the Itza, in the central lowlands of the Yucatan Peninsula, not far from the former splendor of Tikal. They had moved there from the north, perhaps circa 1200 AD, and lived in swampy jungle that the Spaniards found inhospitable. They lacked precious metals like gold and silver, other than those imported for royal ornamentation, so the Spaniards’ greed for such things was not a motive. But as time passed the Spaniards did covet both the land and the potential slave labor there. Naturally they phrased their campaign as religiou
s: to convert the heathen. The actual Yucatan campaign lasted about seventy years, with the Maya waging effective guerrilla warfare.
The setting is what is now northern Guatemala, by Lake Peten Itza. The time is 1697 AD.
Keeper gazed out across the water, where the Spanish fort was visible on the opposite shore. He was not a military man—far from it!—but this did not bode well. The Spanish were persistent and ruthless, and they were acting with sinister purpose. What did they have in mind?
“That is artillery,” Craft explained. “Metal tubes that hurl metal balls with great force.” He understood things that were made, including the devastating weapons of the invaders.
“But they are far across the lake,” Keeper protested.
“Such weapons can hurl their balls across the lake to strike our walls and buildings. They have also built ships, one of which is large and has a cannon. Our arrows and spears will not stop it. I fear we will not be able to repulse this attack, when it comes. And it will come soon.”
Keeper dreaded the news. “Is this then the end?”
“Hero fears it is. Every time K’atan 11 Ajaw comes, in our cyclical history, there are momentous consequences. We are in such a period now, and may be doomed.”
Keeper grimaced. “Hero’s our warrior. He surely has more practical reason for his concern.”
“Yes. Our city Noh Petén is on a fortified island on a lake in the jungle in a swamp that has resisted all prior Spanish attacks. But this time they are making a supreme effort, and have formidable equipment. Hero says our best course is to flee.”
Keeper glanced sidelong at his brother. “Is he speaking of our family, or of our culture?”
“Both. We shall have to act quickly when the time comes.”
“I hate the thought. What of my maize fields, my bean stakes, my squash terraces? Without careful irrigation they will not endure.”
Craft nodded with understanding. “Neither will your tame turkeys or little meat animals. But we can’t take them along. This is a crisis.”
Keeper knew it. His plants and creatures had fed the king and his staff for years, but they were not mobile. Would the Maize God ever forgive him?
Keeper turned to look across the city. They were standing on the upper deck of one of the twin ceremonial towers at the south side of the city, an excellent vantage. The towers were decorative rather than functional, providing the city an impressive outline from the lake. They had steep stone stairways that led to high temple doors that led nowhere. They were meant to be admired, rather than used. They certainly were impressive, standing some eight times the height of a man. All for show.
Except that in the event of attack from the lake, the towers and the wall between them would serve as a formidable defense. How could anyone approach, when lookouts stood on the towers and archers lined that wall? So there was a practical aspect to the decoration, as Craft had clarified for him in the past.
Actually, when it came to practical aspects, even the broad plaza of the central city had a special function. The seemingly level paved surfaces really were subtly graded to convey rainwater to the troughs that fed the city’s reservoirs. True, this was an island in the lake. But if it were under siege, fetching water from the lake could be dangerous. So the rain was automatically collected, and the reservoirs kept as full as feasible. Keeper, who was in charge of the plants and animals that sustained the city, truly appreciated that most valuable resource, water. There was a large population to feed, and those plants and animals were a vital supplement to the supplies that were constantly imported from the cultivated mainland.
The rest of the city was similarly impressive, with its even higher sacrificial pyramid, and broad central plaza, and spreading temple. There was the king’s palace, and the outlying residential buildings. And the terraced fields where there was room for them, mostly outside the walls. It had taken centuries for all the magnificent buildings to be built, but the result was grandeur and beauty. Raised causeways radiated from the plaza, connecting the rest of the island.
They made their way carefully down to the plaza, their spot reconnaissance done. Keeper had thought them safe from attack, but Craft’s words left him shaken. If the walls were not proof against the Spaniards, what real defense did they have? Only the strength of their archers against the guns of the Spaniards. Keeper hoped that would be enough.
Keeper’s wife Crenelle approached. She kissed him, then murmured, “Haven and I have special things to see to. Can you watch the children?”
He knew what she meant, and dreaded it. The women were preparing food and personal effects for emergency travel. “Already?”
“Haven says Harbinger says that the attack could come tomorrow. We must be ready to act without hesitation.”
Keeper nodded. “I’ll do it.”
“Rebel will help.” Crenelle departed.
Rebel was already helping. She had gathered the three children at Keeper’s home: Haven’s son Risk, twelve, Tuho’s daughter Tula, ten, and Keeper and Crenelle’s daughter Allele, nine. The boy was handsome, and the girls were on the verge of beautiful.
That was part of the problem. A noble who liked them young was casting a lecherous eye on both girls, and the family lacked the power to prevent him from acting. They would have left the town before, but the girls were being watched. They would be intercepted if they tried to leave the island. Yet that was not the worst.
Keeper was appalled by the prospect of having the barbarous Spaniards overrun the town. But he was also appalled by the threat to his daughter Allele. Yet maybe if the town was lost, they would be able to rescue the children. It was an ugly choice, but at least they might save something.
“Where’s Mother?” Risk asked alertly.
“Haven and Crenelle are preparing a surprise,” Rebel said a bit tightly. “Maybe for tomorrow. We have to stay out of their hair.”
“What’s going on?” Tula asked. She had always had an uncanny awareness of things.
Rebel glanced at Keeper, evidently trying to decide what to tell the children.
“The Spaniards are getting ready to attack,” Keeper said. “Maybe tomorrow. It may be bad.”
“But didn’t we stop them before?” Tula demanded.
“Why do they keep coming?” Allele asked in turn.
Keeper exchanged another glance with Rebel. They were not going to be able to keep it from the children much longer. It was better to prepare them. In easy stages, if possible. “It will be worse this time,” he said.
“Why?”
Rebel plunged in. She had always been militant, and had studied history. “Here is part of it. A hundred and seventy years ago the Spaniards first came to our land. They demanded that we swear loyalty to their king and give up our gods. We fought a battle and lost, but did not surrender, and finally drove them out.”
“Yes!” Risk agreed.
“But a few years later they returned with more power, and captured some of our cities. We rose up against them and drove them out again. But some Maya sided with the Spaniards, and a few years after that they took most of our lands.”
“Except for our land,” Risk said.
“Yes. About seventy years ago the Spaniards marched on Noh Petén, but we killed them. Two years later they tried again, and we killed them again. That kept them away for sixty years.”
“Yes!” This time the girls joined the boy in their appreciation.
Keeper winced. If only it were that simple.
Rebel continued grimly. “Two years ago a force of sixty Spanish soldiers and Maya allies attacked, but we beat them back. But that made them angry, and now they have come by the hundreds.”
“So that’s bad,” Risk said.
“Very bad,” Rebel agreed.
“They made a road through the jungle,” Keeper said. “They brought equipment. They even brought a big boat in pieces, and put it together on the lake. They have weapons we have never faced before. It will be very hard to beat them back this time.??
?
Now the children took it seriously. “Will we win again?” Risk asked.
Rebel shook her head. “No. Not unless they do something stupid.”
“There’s more,” Tula said, looking truly frightened.
“We don’t need to go into that,” Keeper said quickly.
“What about the Long Calendar?” Risk asked. “What does it say?”
“That records significant events,” Rebel said. “It doesn’t predict future outcomes.”
“Sometimes it does,” Tula said. “Like Baktun 13.”
“What is that?” Allele asked.
“That is too complicated to go into now,” Rebel said.
All three children rebelled. “No it isn’t,” Allele said. “I want to know.”
Well, it was a distraction when they needed it. Rebel gave them a simplified version. “The Long Calendar started many, many years ago, before the time of the Maya. It counts days, and it never repeats. Twenty days make a uinal, eighteen uinal make a tun, which is 360 days, and twenty tun make a katun, which is 7,200 days or about twenty years, and twenty katun make a baktun, which is 144,000 days or about 395 years. There are thirteen baktun in the Long Count. Baktun 12 started almost eighty years ago, and Baktun 13 will start 315 years from now. So it really isn’t relevant to the present crisis.”
“Don’t the Spaniards have a different calendar?” Risk asked.
“Yes. But that doesn’t relate well either.”
“When is now on theirs?”
Keeper stepped in. “1697.”
“Days?”
“Years.”
Risk shook his head, not making sense of it. The Spanish had weird gods and weird dates.
“It’s very bad,” Tula said.
“That’s why we oppose them,” Rebel said. “We don’t want to have to honor their mixed-up system.”
Allele wasn’t satisfied. “Our gods will help us. We can make a big sacrifice.”
“Yes, the way we do for every big occasion,” Risk agreed. “The bigger the sacrifice, the more the gods will help.”