Climate of Change (41 page)

However, the city did suffer on occasion. The time is the year 1020.

The line of women seemed endless, and indeed it was: only nightfall would terminate it. Each bore a jug or heavy bag on her head, and walked steadily behind the one before her. Most were young, and many were attractive. Each approached the key station, and carefully dumped her load into the receptacle, before walking back the way she had come.

Keeper stood by the great stone tank, supervising the distribution of water. The men of the Xlacah army filed by its far end, each dipping his large cup in the water and carrying it carefully to a spot where he could drink it all unjostled. Water was the most precious supply of all, and none of it was wasted.

Actually the service of the women wasn't necessary; there was a corps of slaves to haul water and other necessaries. But women were restricted from this area, unless they had some particular task, so those who wished to be here arranged to have such a task. Keeper had set up the tank near a natural well that would provide all the water they needed, here in this dry terrain, but he did not make an issue of that. So the women came, some of them officers' wives who did not want to make their status obvious, this close to the enemy. Any woman was fair game for the enemy, especially a ranking one.

Keeper gazed out across the military formation. He knew what most of the troops did not: the outlook was not positive. The Toltec
army was larger than their own, and more disciplined, and it had a reputation for barbarian savagery.

Xlacah, the “Old Town,” had resisted the barbarian intrusion for decades, because it was large enough to defend itself, and could not be denied water by siege. But the Toltecs had gradually taken over the rest of the region, defeating the other cities one by one, and now had come for the last and largest. There had been brushes before, but nothing serious. The priest leaders had become perhaps too complacent, thinking the city invulnerable. But Hero, who had served in distant forces, had warned the family that this was not so. He believed that the time would come when Xlacah would be seriously attacked.

Now that time had come. The priests, too long neglectful of practical matters, organized for defense too late. The available soldiers were good, but there were too few. The levies for additional men were inadequate on short notice. So the city was in trouble, but didn't know it yet, because the priests would not admit any fault. They claimed that their human sacrifices ensured the favor of Itzamná, the Lizard God, the creator and patron of knowledge, and the similar favor of the powerful Death God who ruled the nine layered underworld from his Jaguar Throne. Mortal men could not stand against these; they would be obliterated if they tried.

However, the women of the water line were not blind. Their route was shielded from enemy territory, but they could catch glimpses, and they heard the mutterings of the men as they came for the water. Keeper knew they were carrying news back to their homes. Wealthy folk were quietly leaving. But the great majority had nowhere to go.

“Hello, brother,” a woman murmured.

Keeper glanced up. It was Rebel, pouring her water jug into the tank. She was swathed against the heat of the sun, but this could not conceal her beauty of form and feature.

“Hello, Father.” It was his daughter Allele, six years old.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, startled.

“You didn't come home.”

So she had come out to see him. It made sense. But probably Crenelle wanted to organize for quick departure without alarming the child. So
she had sent her out with Rebel, who could be trusted both to safeguard her and reassure her.

Actually, Allele was probably as safe here as at home. When the battle started, the women would expeditiously retreat, carrying what news of it they could. Meanwhile, many of them were moving on to the army campsite, to search out their men for liaisons. Some were merely prostitutes plying their trade. This sort of thing was officially frowned on, but unofficially encouraged; it made the men feel better and distracted them from the looming horror of battle.

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 was 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.