The Emperor's Men 8

by Dirk van den Boom

  Inocoyotl handed Queca the carefully rolled message, bound tightly and protected in a leather tube against the hardships of the weather. Then he handed him a strip of paper with the seal, which the officer accepted in awe. Both were hidden in another leather case that the messenger could easily tie with a ribbon around his shoulders. Light luggage, indeed.

  “Tecal should hurry up, my friend!” Inocoyotl warned.

  “I’ll make it clear to him.”

  “Now go.”

  The captain bowed, pressed the message to his chest, and hurried away. All similar tasks – the protection of the mission and the support of the envoy –, he would carry out faithfully and with the highest discipline. Queca was a king’s man, just like Inocoyotl, and the order had been given by the highest authority. He didn’t have to go through every intrigue, but that message would reach Teotihuacán within a few weeks. As soon as the border of the empire was reached, other messengers would take over the transport. The king’s men ran day and night when it was necessary and hardly rested. No effort would be spared just so the Overlord knew what he needed to know.

  Inocoyotl didn’t know Tecal, but he hoped he would survive, if only to get an answer back to him if necessary. However, it was more likely that he himself would be on his way home to report personally. The potential response was the same, whether expressed by message or in person: an encouragement or guidance from the ruler, an indication that he was satisfied with the envoy’s actions, an indication that Inocoyotl’s family remained safe and no one would lose a body part because he had made a mistake in the distance. No, the current king was not known for such deeds, but like it was with all gods, he was allowed to, he could if he was in a mood.

  Inocoyotl watched Queca.

  There were moments when he was not enjoying his work.

  16

  Aktul looked at her doubtfully. “Nobody knows how the gods work, my princess. Let’s keep practicing with the atlatl.”

  The house in which the two girls and their bodyguard had been accommodated corresponded to their high level. The courtyard was extensive. Three servants took care of their needs. It was almost like being at home and their host didn’t impose any unreasonable restrictions on them. They could walk freely through the city and talk to anyone. Ixchel was invited to dinner and accepted some of these invitations. She was the Mutalese princess, and everyone wanted to hear her story – and she was ready to tell it. She needed all the support and sympathy she could get, and Tzutz had trained her early on how to behave properly at court. Ixchel remembered each of her words with terrifying clarity. Sometimes she took Nicte with her, because now it was the job of the older sister to bring her up and teach her everything she needed. When she asked for a teacher who continued the studies in writing and numbers, the request was immediately fulfilled.

  They were exemplary little princesses.

  With small exceptions.

  That Ixchel insisted on weapon training every afternoon was taken as a little craziness of a girl in pain. Ixchel didn’t care. She practiced for an hour with the atlatl, the handling of which she matured to perfection. She had started training with the ax, although Aktul had been reluctant. Ixchel had had a slightly smaller weapon made to fit her growing body, in size and weight. It was well balanced in the hand. After dancing wildly through the courtyard for an afternoon and scaring the servants, Aktul was ready to instruct her to avoid injuries and to channel the apparently excess energies into constructive ways. The next day, he had brought her a shield and protective clothing like that of a ball player. Ixchel had endured his care patiently and with a warm feeling in the heart. She had to learn, and Aktul was the best teacher in these matters she could imagine. That he sometimes wanted to protect her a little too much did not resent her. She sensed that he felt guilt in himself not to have prevented Tzutz’s death. He wanted to make up for it. There would be no point trying to talk him out of it.

  Then, today, she had brought out the god’s weapon. Their hosts looked at them with unnatural shyness and had only wanted to have them destroyed. Ixchel saw in it an instrument of her revenge. She had seen the messengers deal with it several times in Mutal, most recently when one of these demons fired a shot at her mother right in front of her. She knew where the front and where the back was, and she knew that the little hook under the staff was used to trigger the magic that made the fire pipe speak.

  And that’s why she wanted to try it out. She wanted to know how everything worked. It would be a pleasure for her to use the weapon against those who had killed her mother. However, she admitted that the idea of splitting the guilty man’s skull with an ax promised far greater satisfaction.

  “The atlatl can wait,” Ixchel said absently. “And go somewhere else. I don’t want you to get hurt. The deadly force emerges from this opening, and nobody can see it. You won’t be able to avoid it, old man.”

  “The old man’s going to spank your ass,” Aktul growled, but still took a step to the side.

  “I’m a princess,” Ixchel mocked, as she aimed the muzzle of the rifle at the floor. This seemed the safest course of action for her.

  “A few blows will hurt you, too, royal ass or not,” Aktul replied, staring at the weapon with disgust. For him, this was a dishonorable way of killing, and he wholeheartedly rejected it. Ixchel was less scrupulous, understanding this weapon might help her one day more than the old man was currently able to predict.

  “Aktul, your behavior is improper!”

  “And your noble highness is stupid. Let’s start with the spear, I got you one.”

  Ixchel looked at the old man in surprise.

  He shrugged. “You would have somehow gotten one anyway by yourself, Princess. I don’t think you want to miss out in any weapon, or am I wrong?”

  “Your wisdom is only surpassed by your courage to fight, dear Aktul,” Ixchel replied with warmth in her voice and without any irony. The warrior grunted a little, stared at the firearm again, and said nothing more. Ixchel placed it on the leather she had wrapped it in to protect it from moisture. Aktul was right. Just experimenting with it was too dangerous. Until she met someone who explained how the weapon worked, she would just keep it safe.

  She also wanted to relax the old man. She didn’t like that he felt uncomfortable, quite the contrary.

  Aktul watched her with satisfaction. When she was done, he held out a spear. In contrast to the throwing javelin for the atlatl, this weapon was longer, it was suitable both for thrusting and for attacking in a side arc. Aktul was a master at it. He could cut a man’s throat with it as if he were standing right in front of him. Strong arm muscles were necessary to use the weapon effectively.

  Ixchel looked at her upper arms. The training made itself felt. The old warrior followed her gaze and smiled. “We practice thrusting and repelling blows, Princess. It’s the most important way to fight this weapon anyway.”

  “There are men who hurl the spear without an atlatl.”

  “There are strong warriors with a trained arm. Ixchel, the fire of a fighter is burning in you, but your body is not yet fully evolved. Even with the best training, a woman will never be able to get an arm equivalent to that of a good male warrior. When we train you, we have to consider the limitations of your body. There is no use in fighting like a man. You have to fight like a woman, and so effectively that you can kill every man. Do you understand me?”

  Ixchel’s spontaneous reaction was to be a little offended, but the old man’s serious tone instructed her otherwise. It was important to Aktul that she was not only able to defend herself well but was also able to finish her opponents off. He was going to teach her everything she needed to know, and he knew what was useful and what wasn’t. It would suit her well to submit to his advice.

  She grabbed the spear. It was a little shorter than a grown man’s weapon, but still longer than the one she hurled with the atlatl. It had been freshly
carved, the tip made of obsidian shimmered black and polished, and Ixchel did not have to touch it to know that it was very sharp and therefore dangerous.

  Aktul stepped aside and pointed to the goalpost he had set up at the end of the yard. He carried his own spear, a longer and heavier weapon, and raised it with an ease that belied his age.

  “I’ll show you how to attack. You will practice it. There are three ways you need to know. A slight upward thrust that hits the opponent’s chest under the ribs and drives the tip straight into his heart – an effective push that allows you to pull the spear out afterwards, and an attack that, if successful, kills your opponent immediately and lets you face the next enemy.”

  Aktul demonstrated it with a powerful movement.

  “The second strike is head-on, and here you put the force of your upper body into the attack. If your opponent is wearing armor, his upper body is protected, and if you want to penetrate this protection, you aim at your target parallel to the ground. Point the spear at his chest and look for his heart. There is a risk that the weapon will get caught in the ribs and you will lose time in order to pull it out. In the fight against many, you may be forced to give up the weapon. You are small, so aim at the stomach and intestines. You save your spear and condemn your opponent to a bloody, cruel end. But a strong man will find an opportunity to return the attack, and some, expecting their death, will develop unexpected strength. If you don’t back away quickly, this can be your undoing.”

  The demonstration followed, a result of decades of experience. Ixchel looked at Aktul with concentrated attention.

  “The third strike. You stand in an elevated position, perhaps on the level of a temple-stair. Your opponent is fighting you from below. If you aim at the eyes, you can bring about quick death, and the enemy will no longer defend himself, but again there is a risk that your spear will be lost. Thrust into the neck from above or through the throat into the chest. I recommend the neck. If you open a vein, you can put your weapon back in use immediately, and the enemy is very weak. The danger is that you will miss the vein. A strong warrior won’t give you a second chance.”

  Aktul moved and pushed down.

  “All of these attacks can be fended off,” Ixchel said.

  “That’s right, Princess. I’ll show you how to do it and what you can do about it consequently.”

  Ixchel looked at the weapon in her hands and was faced with the prospect of a long, sweaty afternoon. She took a deep breath and looked at Aktul, who was watching her closely.

  “We’ll start with the first one.”

  Aktul nodded.

  They trained until the sun went down.

  17

  “Another week if nothing else comes up.”

  The woman looked up when she heard Köhler’s words and smiled warmly at the officer. She pushed some unruly hair from her face that had loosened from the knot on the back of her head. The wind was not too wild, the weather refreshing rather than threatening, but the wind was blowing from the wrong direction. They both heard the stomping of the steam engine, which drove the Gratianus in the right direction, quite against the expressed will of the elements.

  “I obviously miss the land less than you,” the woman replied with a laugh, pointing to the dancing waves. “I don’t mind delays. I research animals. There are also some in the sea.”

  Köhler nodded. Augusta Clara Terzia, daughter of a writer at the emperor’s court, belonged to the second generation of women who had enjoyed the freedoms and privileges their ancestors could only dream of. She had completed a course of study, had been selected for this important expedition, had reached the age of 30, and was unmarried, still difficult for many to digest. If there was a flaw in her way of life, it was this, and no matter how many women of the new Rome tried to get rid of the traditional ideas, this was certainly a process that had only just begun.

  Köhler did not believe in this aspect of equality, although he was careful not to say it too loudly in the presence of Augusta Clara. When he watched the scientist from afar, he thought less about her undoubtedly impressive and sometimes intimidating intellectual qualities. What caught his eye first was her sweeping pelvis, which no doubt deserved the term “childbearing” and seemed to invite his manhood to linger. Although Augusta Clara was kind to everyone, she had never voiced such an invitation, neither to him nor to any of the other men. So she behaved completely within the very strict regulations in this regard on board the expedition, and Köhler had to remind himself not to see this as a flaw but as an advantage. Still, he couldn’t help looking for Terzia’s company whenever he had time. And this, although she always managed to distract his thoughts from the idea of intense clasping of naked bodies and instead shared chunks of her knowledge with him.

  Which just sometimes intimidated him.

  She stretched a tanned arm westward. Birds could be seen above the waves.

  “They seem to be seagulls. Firstly, an indication that you are right, noble Trierarch.”

  Köhler grimaced. He held the rank of a trierarch, although he only served as first officer. However, since Langenhagen commanded the entire flotilla, he sometimes had to operate the ship alone, especially when they were performing joint maneuvers and the Navarch’s attention was otherwise occupied. Still, he didn’t like using military ranks too much when talking to civilians, because they created an unnecessary distance.

  And distance was not something he wanted to build between himself and Augusta Clara Terzia. His purpose was rather the opposite. An absurd idea on board, and Köhler would never cross this invisible line, no matter how enthusiastic his flirting attempts were. But on land …

  Köhler was smart enough to see why Terzia endured his advances with humor and good-naturedness. As a result, the rest of the crew knew that anyone who approached this woman had a serious and powerful competitor. This had its advantages and formed an invisible protective radius around her, for which she was prepared to endure Köhler’s presence. The Trierarch did not feel exploited in any way. Eventually it made her willingly speak to him, ready to play games, if only with words.

  She probably even enjoyed it a little.

  He looked into her broad smile.

  No, he was pretty sure of it.

  “Seagulls, yes,” he said a little lame, shadowing his eyes with his right hand. “It seems they exist all over the world.”

  “What did you expect? There will be species that we find all over the world, and species that are only found in certain areas. We now have to find out what the situation is in Amerika. I’m sure we’ll have some big surprises waiting for us.”

  Köhler nodded. The records of the time-wanderers about this area had been very sparse, as had the knowledge that the Germans had brought with them in their memory. The captain’s small library consisted mainly of technical, nautical and historical works. A great treasure that after careful translation, had already been copied several times by the hard-working typesetters of the Imperial Book Factory and distributed to educational institutions throughout the Empire. But in the aspects that interested Terzia, there was a lack of knowledge from the future, and they were completely dependent on their own research. This was not something that seemed to worry this woman, because she was not walking on paths that had already been taken but was making her own way. It was clear that she could get excited about it. Upon her return, loaded with samples and records, she would be offered a high position at one of the newly founded universities and, Köhler was certain, would write a book that would serve as a standard reference for the foreseeable future. He wasn’t jealous of it. If this expedition was successful, his own career in the fleet was unlimited. Upon his return, he would either be promoted to Navarch or offered another important position. In fact, he would simply apply for his own command to avoid being paralyzed by administrative tasks. To mold on land was not his wish. Maybe there would be a second expedition. Langenhagen would
be rewarded at least with a senatorial office or a prefecture after his return. The chance that a follow-up expedition would need a new leader familiar with the circumstances was quite large.

  But first of all they had to successfully make this trip.

  And they had to survive it. Anticipation and self-confidence were still great. That could change quickly.

  To free himself from the cloudy thoughts, Köhler’s eyes searched the outlines of the other ships in her flotilla. The repair of the shortwave transmitter had resulted in them being able to contact the remaining three ships. After communicating the exact position to each other, determined by the sextant, it had been relatively easy to bring the ships back together. The damage to the storm had long since been repaired. The freighter had weathered the storm well, even the horses that had been loaded seemed to have recovered well. Köhler suspected that they longed for the land, and after the weeks at sea, going ashore would do them good.

  “When we arrive, when do we start our first inland expedition?” the scientist asked.

  “The Navarch has ordered that we first sail along the coast to explore the situation from the sea and to see which landing site is best. The first shore leave will be made by soldiers who will build a base. We are looking for forest nearby, because we will build a fort to defend ourselves. Only when this base is in place and the Navarch is sure that we can hold it, do we start to consider a first research trip. Please also keep in mind that everything can change if we quickly establish contact with the locals. Then diplomatic considerations are paramount. It may also be that we do not set up a base at all, but instead that the forces of fate immediately lead us to a strange port. Everything is imponderable.”