Unholy Crusade Page 10

  As they strolled back along the broad processional way, Chela said that he ought to go up to the top of the Pyramid of the Sun, as from it on all sides there was a splendid panorama. Her suggestion held no terrors for him, so he agreed. Then she announced that she would not go with him, as it was a tiring climb. Instead, she would collect the car and bring it round to the far side of the pyramid, where there was another, nearer, car park.

  When they came opposite the Pyramid of the Sun he left her to walk on and, as there was no direct path to the pyramid, turned off to cross the quarter of a mile of tumbled ruins that separated him from it.

  Until the excavations of comparatively recent times the whole area had been covered with earth blown there during the centuries. Only the more important ruins had been stripped and, in places, repaired; so the ground he was crossing consisted of uneven mounds of coarse grass with, here and there, blocks of stone protruding from them. Some of the mounds rose to fifty feet with, between them, deep gullies round which he had to make detours.

  To his annoyance, when he arrived quite close to the base of the pyramid he found himself separated from it by one of these lower levels that had, perhaps, once been a court. Its floor was some twenty feet below him and the side of the mound was too sheer for him to scramble down. He could see no way round unless he retraced his steps for a considerable distance, so he walked along the edge until he found a break by which he could get to within eight feet of the floor. Below that there was a large, smooth stone slab embedded in the mound at a sharp angle. Believing that if he jumped down on to it he could, with one foot, push himself off and land safely, he let himself go. His foot slipped on the stone, he hurtled through the air and, his arms outstretched, hit the ground with a terrific smack, flat on his face. The breath was driven from his body and his mind blacked out.

  It was pitch dark and very cold. He knew himself to be in the cell down in the bowels of the Pyramid of the Moon. He knew, too, that he was the King and High Priest of the Toltecs, whose army had been defeated many weeks earlier while attempting to defend Teotihuacán and that he had been taken prisoner by his enemies. Apart from that, his memories of the past were dim and vague. But he was more certain about his immediate situation.

  It was Itzechuatl, the King and High Priest of the Chichimecs, who had taken him prisoner, and his captor had offered him a choice. Either he could remain where he was indefinitely until he died or, by a great ceremony, divest himself of his magical powers in favour of his captor. Death, if he refused the latter choice, would not come quickly, because he was to be well fed and cared for; so he might remain there for years in the cold and darkness afflicted by cramps and rheumatism until he eventually expired. On the other hand, only by dying could he pass his magical powers on to another. So the choice really lay between a prolonged, lingering death and a swift one as a human sacrifice.

  He was not afraid of death, but he was of pain, and for seemingly endless days he had been haunted by the thought of Chac-Mool. This was a stone figure of a man, his knees and back raised so that his lap made a valley. The idol’s head, on which there was a flat, brimless hat, was turned sideways; the fat face expressed indifference. But it was upon the lap that the sacrificial victim was thrown down on his back, then the priest slit his breast open with an obsidian knife, plunged a hand into his body, wrenched out the warm, bloody, still-palpitating heart and offered it to the gods.

  For the victim, the agony of those moments must be intolerable, and any man might long hesitate before deciding to face them. Yet Adam, in the person of the Toltec ruler, had at last decided to do so, rather than continue for weeks, months, years, in this pit of black despair.

  When the guards next brought him a meal and a three-inch-long flickering torch of resin, that would last only ten minutes, to eat it by, he told them of his decision.

  There followed a timeless interval, during which he was brought six more meals; then they led him out and to an upper chamber. At first he was so unused to daylight that he could hardly see, but gradually he made out Itzechuatl and his entourage. All of them were dressed in gorgeous garments and their faces were so heavily painted as to be hardly recognisable. The Priest-King said to him in Nahuatl, which was their common language:

  ‘I am glad that you have at last become sensible and regret the two days’ delay that have been necessary to make our preparations, but all is now in readiness.’

  Four of his retainers then came forward, painted Adam’s face and decked him out in ceremonial robes: a loincloth of the finest linen, a belt and sandals of gold, blazing with precious stones, a cloak of many colours, and a huge headdress from which waved the magnificent plumes of the Quetzal bird. His toilette completed, two nobles took him by the elbows and, as though supporting him, led him out of the pyramid to the Sacred Way.

  Massed on either side of it on the mile-long tiers of steps were many thousands of people. His appearance was hailed with a thunderous roar of greeting; automatically he raised his hand in acknowledgment of the multitude’s salutation, squared his shoulders and began his slow, dignified walk to the place of sacrifice.

  Itzechuatl walked just behind him, accompanied by scores of other priests and nobles. Behind them marched a band that played weird, but to him familiar, music on strange instruments. In front of him there danced a hundred or more beautiful maidens, each holding a basket of flowers which they scattered in his path as he walked.

  His eyes focused on one of them, a very tall girl with magnificent shoulders, a wasp-like waist and long, beautifully-shaped legs. Their glances met, hers held admiration and compassion. Momentarily his fears of the terrible death ordained for him were submerged in sudden passionate desire for her.

  At last they reached the base of the Pyramid of the Sun. There, bearers were waiting with elaborate carrying chairs. The chairs had short legs in front and longer legs at the back, so that at times they could be rested upright on the ascending steps of the pyramid. Adam was eased into the foremost and most decorative by his attendant nobles, then the ascent began.

  The slow and dignified progress brought him at length to the top of the pyramid. It was flat and about half an acre in extent. From the centre rose a flat-roofed, one-storey temple, in front of which reposed the gruesome figure of Chac-Mool. As Adam’s chair was turned round and set down he was brought face to face with the brilliantly-clad figures which had followed him in the procession. Itzechuatl and his principal dignitaries had been carried up the pyramid in chairs; the rest had climbed it and most of them were breathing heavily.

  Among the latter he caught sight of three of his Captains who had been captured with him. They were naked to the waist and their hands were tied behind them. As they came opposite him, each of them made a low obeisance, but all of them avoided his eyes. He knew why. They were deeply ashamed not to have died fighting, instead of having allowed themselves to be taken prisoner. To lighten their distress he called to each of them by name and spoke kindly to him.

  When the last in the procession had reached the broad platform in front of the temple, Adam could see right down it. He had hoped for another sight of the tall maiden; but the dancing girls had come only part of the way up the pyramid to the highest of three terraces that broke its slope, and were now assembled there. On the lower terraces and below it, in solid masses, stood the great multitude of people, presenting a sea of unidentifiable upturned faces. Beyond, in the far distance, a chain of mountains stood out against the azure sky.

  Adam sat with his hands tightly clasped. His face did not betray the fears that racked him, but his heart was pounding furiously as he prayed for the business to be over swiftly.

  Itzechuatl came forward to the edge of the terrace and raised his arm. The murmur that had been coming up from the vast crowd ceased and, in a ringing voice, he addressed them:

  ‘O people! Our august captive has agreed to accept the fate that I believe the gods to have decreed for him. We shall now make sacrifice to learn if he is in truth acce
ptable to them.’

  Out of the corner of his eye, Adam saw his three Captains led away behind him. Guessing that they were to be sacrificed before he was, he called out to them to have courage. To his immense relief the chair in which he was still sitting had been set down facing outward, so his back was to Chac-Mool and he would be spared the horror of seeing his men murdered. To plead for mercy would have been useless and escape impossible. All three of them were brave warriors and he knew that they would go to their deaths without any futile struggle.

  There fell an utter silence that seemed to last an eternity, then a long, low moan, followed a moment later by a ghastly scream of agony as the priest tore the heart from his first victim’s body. As he held it aloft a thunderous roar surged up from the multitude below.

  The palms of Adam’s hands were damp and he was thankful that his face had been painted, for he knew that the blood had drained from it, leaving it chalk white.

  A moment later the victim’s bleeding body was carried past Adam by four priests and thrown outward with all their force. With whirling arms and legs it hit the steps of the pyramid and tumbled grotesquely down them, to be seized on by other priests and borne away.

  There was silence for some minutes, then again came the wailing groan, the agonising screech and the great shout issuing from the throats of the thousands of spectators. And, again, the body was heaved down the pyramid.

  For the third time there fell the nerve-racking silence, to be followed by the sounds that seemed to pierce Adam’s own racing heart, and the third sacrifice was completed.

  His turn had now come. The sweat was pouring down his face and his nails were biting into the palms of his hands. In vain he strove to force from his thoughts a mental picture of the sharp knife being driven high up into his chest and ripping down it, then of his ribs being forced apart and his heart being dragged from the bloody cavity.

  Another tense silence, longer than those that had preceded it, followed the immolation of the third victim. Unseen by Adam, the priests behind him were examining the hearts of their victims to judge their mystical significance. Although now almost petrified by fear, he cursed the delay in facing his ordeal; for he was striving to comfort himself with the belief that once it was over his spirit would be released and happiness await him in a reunion with friends already dead who would be waiting to welcome him.

  At last a noble appeared on either side of him, took him by the elbow and raised him to his feet. He expected them to turn him about and lead him the few paces to the Chac-Mool. Determined to make an end befitting a Toltec ruler, he mustered all his courage, rose to his full height, pushed them aside, turned and took a step towards the now blood-soaked idol. Quickly they seized him by the arms and turned him about again.

  As they did so, he saw Itzechuatl raise his arm high, enjoining silence on the great assembly. Next moment his voice rang out:

  ‘O people! Our gods are kind. The hearts of those sacrificed to them show that they accept our august captive as a Man-God who will bring victory and prosperity to our nation.’

  A burst of cheering came from the priests and nobles up there on the top of the pyramid. Its significance was caught by the multitude below and within a minute it was drowned by the deafening applause of the people.

  As it subsided, Itzechuatl made a low obeisance to Adam. One after another the other priests and nobles followed suit. His escorts then lowered him again into the elaborate carrying chair, the bearers picked it up and began the descent of the pyramid.

  For some moments he could hardly grasp that he was to be spared. Overwhelmed with relief he was only vaguely conscious of being carried through the masses of men and women who, section after section, ceased their cheering as he approached to do him homage by falling to their knees and lowering their foreheads to the ground.

  Subconsciously he took in the fact that he was being taken not to the Pyramid of the Moon but towards the Palace which lay on the far side of the Pyramid of the Sun. Until his captors had defeated the Toltecs and driven them from Teotihuacán it had been his Palace, and he had always resided there when conducting the great religious ceremonies of the year.

  When they reached it and he was escorted inside he was pleased to find that it had not been looted. Instinctively he walked towards the suite of rooms he had occupied. As he entered it the nobles withdrew and were at once replaced by servants who deferentially unrobed him, washed the paint and sweat from his face and bathed him in the sunken, silver-lined pool.

  As soon as they had dried him he dismissed them and, wrapped in a light gown of the finest cotton, he walked through to his bedroom. There, utterly exhausted, he flung himself down on the leather-strap-sprung bed. After a few moments he turned over and caught sight of his reflection in a highly-polished stone mirror that hung on the wall.

  With a start he sat up and stared at himself. As a Toltec Prince he had naturally supposed that he would resemble other Indians in features and colour, but the face he was looking at bore no likeness to any that he had ever seen. Instead of being a reddish brown, the skin was pale pink, the eyes, instead of black, were blue, the lower part of the face, instead of being hairless, was covered with a thick, curly beard and, most staggering of all, both beard and hair, instead of being black, were a rich red gold.

  Utterly bewildered, he fell back on the bed and lay there striving to think of an explanation. But his tired brain could take no more and, after a few moments, he fell asleep.

  6

  The Eavesdroppers

  When Adam came to, he was lying on his face with his arms outstretched. Picking himself up he found that the palms of his hands were grazed, his knees bruised and that his wrists, from having taken most of his weight as he hit the ground, ached painfully; but otherwise he was uninjured.

  Ruefully he saw that one leg of his brand-new suit was badly torn at the knee. That, and the fact that he was covered with dust, was ample evidence that he had had a nasty fall, but he had not yet climbed the pyramid. To rejoin Chela and admit that he had funked the climb just because he had fallen down would, he felt, be a shocking loss of face, so, although he was feeling rather groggy, he pulled himself together and walked slowly towards it.

  As he did so, it entered his still hazy mind that he might have been unconscious for a considerable time. If so, Chela would already be wondering what had become of him and he ought to rejoin her at once. But a glance at his watch showed him that he could not have been ‘out’ for more than a few minutes, which he found surprising.

  Starting up the first staircase, he pondered his vivid memories of the shattering past experience he had just relived. It explained much that had been obscure to him about his vision after he had been knocked down by Señor Enriquez’s car, and he was now able to co-ordinate the two.

  In this recent vision he had relived a period of time that had preceded the other by very nearly a year. It was clear now that after he had succumbed to Itzechuatl’s pressure and gone through the ceremony of ‘Acceptance’ on the Pyramid of the Sun, he had been consistently drugged, so that he should appear among the people as entirely carefree and, presumably, happy in the knowledge that when his time as a Man-God was up he was to give his life so that they might prosper. In addition, the drug had served Itzechuatl by dulling his prisoner’s faculties, so that he would forget the fate awaiting him and not attempt to escape. But he had escaped.

  At least, so it seemed, although he could not be certain that he had got away from his pursuers. He was strongly under the impression that he had succeeded and hoped that in another vision he would learn what had happened to him after Mirolitlit had enabled him to get away in the canoe; yet, at the same time, he dreaded a further revelation, as it might prove that he had been captured, in which case he would have to go through the horror of being ripped apart by Itzechuatl’s sacrificial knife.

  The thing that puzzled him most was why, in this land of brown-skinned Indians, he should have seen himself as a golden-haired white man
and, when he prayed for help to escape across the lake, it should have been to the Norse gods.

  The Pyramid was built in four stages separated by broad terraces. Its steps were not very deep and the slope comparatively gentle; so Adam found it easier going than he had expected. In a quarter of an hour he reached the summit.

  When starting up the pyramid his mind had been greatly disturbed by the terrible experience that he had so recently relived. But the bright sunshine, clear air and the exertion of climbing soon brought him back to normal. It was only with curiosity that he looked at the spot where the Chac-Mool, on which he had feared he would pour out his life-blood, had once stood. He could still visualise the scene, but it was as though it had been only an act that he had seen in a play.

  Unlike the Egyptian pyramids, those in Mexico do not rise to a point; they are truncated and the flat surface at the top of this, the largest of the Mexican pyramids was, perhaps, as much as a quarter of an acre in extent. But it looked very different from when Adam had been there ‘before’. Then the whole of the centre had been filled by a great, flat-roofed temple. Only the broad terrace surrounding it remained unchanged. The temple had been destroyed by the Spaniards and was now just a tangled heap of broken stones.

  Slowly he walked right round the terrace. In the clear air he could see for many miles across the Anáhuac valley to the great ranges of volcanic mountains that enclosed it. Having enjoyed the wonderful panorama he began the descent and found going down more trying than coming up, for there was no guard rail and one false step would have sent him rolling from that dizzy height to end up a bundle of broken bones, and probably dying, at the bottom.

  Chela was sitting in the car reading a book and smoking a cigar. She exclaimed at his dishevelled state, then commiserated with him on his fall, but, although his wrists were still paining him badly, he assured her that he was unhurt. They drove to the restaurant near the museum where he was able to tidy himself up, and lunched there off Tacos, a very popular Mexican dish consisting of maize pancakes, called tortillas, stuffed with pork, onions and tomatoes, then rolled up and fried.