The Tower of Il Serrohe (17 page)

BOOK: The Tower of Il Serrohe
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“‘
From the colors of his tunic, the style of his hat, and the look of him, I would say he is from one of the races of the Great Snow Mountains,’ the taller guard said knowingly.

“‘
That or someone from the west, maybe Gal-Puze,’ guessed his shorter companion.

“‘
I don’t think so. He would be wearing cut-off pants and a broader brimmed hat.’ The tall one laughed. ‘Can you imagine how hot that idiot is getting trudging along through all that sand and sage?’


The short one was restless. ‘I’ll go on back to the village and tell them to expect a trader from the north before dark. I wonder what he wants.’


The tall one looked at his companion and seemed to doubt his powers of observation. ‘Look at the gear on the second mule, the bigger one. Smaller saddle bags and an extra heavy back strap. Now think.’


The shorter one looked more carefully and thought for several moments. ‘Oh. That mule is being spared extra burden now and has a heavier back strap to pull a slave cage.’

“‘
Another ten years and you’ll have a brain. Now get your butt in action and let the chief know we need to do a little hunting tonight if we’re going to let our customer down there go home happy!’


That insult stung the shorter one, but saying nothing more, he headed back to the village.


At this point, the sun was less direct and did not burn with as much fierceness as the man from the mountains made his way up the trail to the village where three priests of modest importance met him.


A middle-aged priest with a heavier body than the average Soreye stepped forward in greeting.

“‘
Welcome to the village of the So-Rye…’

Nersite stopped a moment. “In case you’re wondering, Don, ‘Soreyes’ is actually a nickname given them by the people of the Valle, a nickname that doesn’t particularly amuse them.”


To continue, the priest said, ‘It has been ages since one of your people has visited our mesa.’


The man stopped, grateful for the moment of rest, and regarded the Soreyes with an innocent look. ‘Thank you,’ he said in a voice betraying his fatigue. ‘I am Ho-La of the Aspen Race in the Great Snow Mountains of the north. I come to offer many beautiful and practical items for trade.’

‘“
Greetings, Ho-La, I am Blue Lizard. And what is it the So-Rye possesses that brings one of a different race from so far away?’

“‘
We are building new cliff dwellings to the east of our present ones due to the growth of our race. The work is hard and dangerous. We have need for five able-bodied men for digging and foundation work.’


The universal smile of a trader who knows he’s got a guaranteed customer crossed Blue Lizard’s face. ‘You have come to the right place. There are many in the valley that will fill your needs. Once you have rested and refreshed yourself, we’ll take your order. We should have the slaves you require by tomorrow, the next day at the latest.’


The traveler, whose eyes remained just out of sight in the deep shadow under the narrow brim of his hat, smiled broadly. ‘Sounds good, especially the part about resting and refreshments. I am unbelievably thirsty!’


The heavy Soreye turned to the other two priests. ‘See Ho-La to our best guest house, take care of his mules, and be sure he has all the cold beer and fresh food he desires. Leave him alone until evening.’

“‘
Thank you,’ Ho-La wheezed as he coaxed his two beasts of burden into a few more steps before a long, well-deserved rest.


Along the way Ho-La passed by what reminded him of a kiva seen in pueblos with its round roof slightly above ground level covering what seemed to be a small room dug down into the ground. Next to the ‘kiva’ was a low circular wall being built about forty feet away. It wasn’t of much interest to him, but he mentally noted the details.


At the guest house, which had a prominent view of the plaza, Ho-La unloaded and moved all his equipment into a back room. Sitting on the table was a feast fit for a man who had put in a full day’s labor.


Ho-La was not so sure of the origin of the dried meat, but it tasted good and spicy, so he ate without a care. The cold beer was excellent though rather bitter to the novice drinker and made the young man wonder how they achieved such a low temperature for anything liquid on this mesa. Ho-La started to feel mellow as the effects of the beer set in.


Left alone, Ho-La wandered over to the large window curtained with a heavy tan rug, pulling it back to gaze at the now empty plaza. It was a shame five strong men of the valley were going to be captured and housed in cages in this very plaza within the next twenty-four hours.


Ho-La remembered what it was like to be in one of those cages. Wonder what the Soreyes would think if they realized the slippery woman who commandeered that escape three days ago was back and now peered at the same plaza in the guise of a man of the Aspen Race?


This village was constructed in a manner similar to the pueblos of the Rio Grande Valley familiar to Teresa, but the Soreyes did not resemble the Native American pueblo people she knew. It was an interesting contrast like finding skunks living in her mother’s parlor.


As the sun cast a dark vermillion glow all across the western sky, Blue Lizard and his two companions called on their visitor. She had been sleeping soundly, but the scrunch of a few bits of gravel under the priests’ feet woke her abruptly.

“‘
Ho-La, it is Blue Lizard. May we come in?’

“‘
Of course, of course. You have provided for me well. I feel so much better!’ Ho-La said in a voice somewhat more high-pitched than earlier.


The three came in and looked like they wanted to sit down but waited for their guest’s invitation. Forgetting her new persona, Teresa was tempted to let them stand there for several minutes. However, Ho-La asserted control and invited the Soreyes to sit. It is not wise to insult fellow traders.

“‘
We will have young ladies of the Water Moccasin family, who have been working on a delightful dance, do a performance for you. First, though, we need to know your requirements for slaves, and what you’ve brought for payment so we can fill your “order.”’


Since five volunteers from Il Mote—two Taurimin, a couple of
Kastmin
, and even a
Càhbahmin
volunteering of his own accord since his clan was currently leaderless—had already arranged to make themselves available along an open trail that night while singing loudly and carelessly, the ‘order’ Ho-La made for large, powerful, and skilled workers fit the five volunteers perfectly. The trail, which was practically under the very shadow of the west mesa cliffs, would probably see the five passing back and forth several times before the Soreye platoon would spot and ambush them.


With the order made, Ho-La tempted his customers with some pottery conveniently filled with the highly favored multi-colored dried corn of the North Country, a few strands of colorful turquoise beads, several silver bracelets, and a deer gut skin filled with powdered red chile of a particularly volatile heat.


Blue Lizard tried to stop the drool dripping from his thin scaly lips. No use giving the competition an unfair edge when negotiating a trade.


Pia and Pita had selected the items of trade carefully, knowing what enticed the Soreyes. Some of their fellow Pirallts and the clans at Il Mote weren’t exactly thrilled to hastily donate their treasures or themselves, but the cause was of overwhelming importance.


It wasn’t a good situation, but they had little choice: either Teresa learned more about the Soreyes, or the coming war would be bloody and perhaps end with total Soreye domination of the Valle Abajo.


As Blue Lizard walked back to his family’s kiva with his two companions, they considered the possibility of throwing Ho-La from the cliffs in the moonlight and taking his goods without bothering with a slave capture in such a potentially dangerous time. Besides, the Soreyes were somewhat new at the business of slave procurement and trading, so something easier always had a strong attraction to the unimaginative.


The first of his companions suggested they do it and forget antagonizing the people of the Valle at this time, but the other took the opposing point of view.

“‘
If we do that, eventually the Aspen Race will go looking for him. Once they figure out he didn’t have an accident, we will never enjoy trade with the North Country. They may not make us pay for his life, but the lost trade with them will hurt.’

“‘
So, who cares about the Aspen Race?’ the first one said. ‘We haven’t traded with them in over a generation. If you ask me, they’re just long-legged Pirallts. What’s the big loss?’

“‘
The other races of the Great Snow Mountains we regularly trade with will consider this an act against one of their own. They are at peace with each other, so we lose the whole bunch as trading partners if we cheat and kill this Ho-La.’

“‘
We can make his “fall” off the cliffs look like an accident.’

“‘
And our keeping his goods is an accident?’

“‘
Well, then we give some of it back to them and say the rest went over the edge with him.’

“‘
So what have we gained? A few turquoise beads, a handful of chile, and a lot of suspicion? We can’t take the risk. Do you want to depend on the meager items the Valle people can provide us for generations to come?’


Blue Lizard cleared his throat to bring the debate to an end. ‘That makes sense; forget cheating this man. Get the slaves and make him happy, maybe we can open up more trade with the Aspen Race if we treat him right. Once we take over the valley, we will have much more to trade and will hold the upper hand with any trading partners.’


The first one wasn’t ready to give in yet. ‘Blue Lizard, with respect, if we capture slaves
now,
we have to be ready to go to war with the valley people right away, not in a few weeks when we’re truly ready.’

“‘
What? Are they going to storm the mesa if we steal five worthless clanspeople?’ Blue Lizard blared. ‘War is our destiny. We
know
. We have
seen
it, but we can’t cut important trading bonds for the sake of stealing a few trinkets. I have spoken. The chief and the chief priest gave me command over this trade and discussion is at an end.’


The first companion realized he had pushed too far and mutely nodded agreement. The second one tried not to be too smug over his victory. It was never a bad idea to impress Blue Lizard and premature celebration could ruin the good impression he had just made.


Meanwhile, back in the guest house, Teresa—being much more paranoid than Ho-La—kept an eye and ear alert to anything that might warn of a Soreye raid of her trading goods. No use ending up in a slave cage again.”

 

 

thirty four

 

 


Evening brought relief from the heat of a late summer afternoon. Just as Teresa was getting hungry, Blue Lizard and his two companions came to take their guest to the dances.


They approached the oval dancing ground situated between the edge of the cliffs and the east side of the village.


Blue Lizard spoke. ‘You will be glad to know that at this very moment, two So-Rye raiding parties are in the Valle Abajo on the lookout for suitable candidates to fill your needs. Ah, here we are, the Water Moccasin family girls with the Gourd family musicians are ready to entertain you.’


They sat in places of honor on the first of ten rows of adobe seats, now filled with about four dozen Soreyes. The seats curved around the long west side of the dancing oval. Flickering firelights were jewels in a vast blue bowl of the valley, highlighted by the floating pearl of the moon casting its light on the river and distant mountains to the east. Scattered slivers of clouds drifted in a sky still empty of stars.


The low-pitched horns of the Soreye Gourd family announced the dance. As the rattles and drums began a rhythmic beat and members of the audience began to shake their bells in tempo, twelve dancers slowly entered the oval, gently patting the hard dirt with their moccasins. They moved two steps forward, two steps sideways, one way then the other, causing the flowing material of their dresses to lift and twist, then lift as if weightless.


Their tall, thin bodies seemed to accent the curving hips and firm, swelling breasts the dresses barely concealed. Their long hair flowed with their dresses. Each carried a hand-held musical instrument: a gourd rattle, a bell, a tambourine, or a three-stringed lyre.


As the singers started their high pitched chant, the dancers added to the rhythm by playing their instruments. Though not the lively New Mexican Spanish folk music Teresa was used to, it did have an alluring Middle Eastern-type charm that kept her entranced during the hour of dancing.

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