Other evidence of civilisation also appeared for the first time. The greenery was less dense near the ruins, while minor deforestation displayed clear signs of small-scale farming. Like the previous pathway, it ended at a second stairway, this one made entirely of stone. His footfalls echoed as his feet made contact with each step, causing minor splashback off the drenched surface.
Behind him, Velázquez was becoming impatient, the barrel of his gun pressed tightly into Juan’s back. Juan’s greatest wish was to turn around suddenly, finish him off there and then. The odds were against him, he knew, the situation fast becoming hopeless. Thanks to Velázquez’s efficiency, he was no longer armed.
Passing over some of his firearms to Ben and Chris now seemed to have been a very sensible precaution.
The stairway ended, concluding in an area less abundant in vegetation. A new pathway had emerged, not mud but tiled, with buildings on either side: stone, ruined, like the burned-out shells of houses bombed by the Luftwaffe. As Juan walked on, he saw further buildings to the north, east and west, adjacent to the first two like a primitive apartment complex.
That was when the penny dropped, when everything finally became clear. He was now standing in what had once been the main plaza, the heart of a once great city. Below him, the ancient square had become fragmented by new growth, the tree roots piercing it like nails through pottery.
From the centre of the former plaza, he studied the site closely. The two large buildings he had already seen to the south were clearly temples, their exteriors curiously familiar. To the east and west, there were further temples and some other buildings, possibly palatial.
Beyond the last line of trees to the north, he could see something far more unusual: a final temple located at the top of a large pyramid that seemed, somehow, part of the mountain. In contrast to those nearer to him, this temple was not square or rectangular, but seemingly a natural extension of the pyramid, like a church spire. In his mind, he counted precisely three hundred steps that led up to the summit. Its existence needed no explanation. He had seen similar things before, albeit many miles away. It was like looking at the blueprint of another time. And another place.
The Plaza Mayor, he now realised, had been the holy centre of the great city. An epic setting built primarily for one specific purpose.
Ritual sacrifice.
Juan felt his heartbeat accelerate, his vision become blurred. The air felt suddenly heavier, the temperature warmer, gravity so oppressive it could crush him like Thor’s hammer. Captivated by the strange location, he had become almost oblivious to the dangers from outside his immediate surroundings; his earlier fear of jaguars and wild animals was of secondary importance compared to what he now saw. Taking a breath, he sensed new things surrounded him, as if the eyes of the ancient gods were watching him, preparing him to be their next victim.
That was when he saw the final surprise in store for him. Lined up in two ranks of four, on both sides of the plaza, stood eight foot soldiers, all smartly dressed in a military garb that he didn’t recognise and armed with heavy weapons that could only have been purchased on the black market. The faces of each man were identical, stern and clean-shaven. Present only to carry out orders.
As Juan turned his attention back to the pyramid, he realised there were others also present. Three people stood facing him at the foot of the stairs, their hands bound, expressions of fear etched across their tired faces. Each he recognised, Claude, Pizarro . . . how the hell had those idiots got caught up in such a mess? Then he saw the woman: blonde, exhausted, close to tears. In the moment, his heart bled for her. Surely Ben would be looking for her.
What kind of fool would let her out of his sight?
Five steps further up were two more women, standing like heathen priestesses from the city’s heyday. Their appearance left him speechless; even the most knowledgeable scholar, he knew, would struggle to adequately describe what he saw. Two metallic breastplates covered chests of ample proportion, while similar garments covered their thighs and pelvic area like armour-plated shorts. Necklaces of feathered beads hung from their necks, swaying softly as they caught the breeze. Their faces, although instantly recognisable, were rich in colourful make-up that conjured up images of age-old rituals. While the least dominant of the two wore her hair long, a sumptuous light brown he had once been inclined to kiss, the other woman’s hair was largely hidden beneath a large colourful headdress that shone like a rainbow. He had seen it before, touched it. Not in Mexico, but in England. The irony wasn’t lost.
Like the discovery of the lost treasure, the man’s descendant had brought it home.
*
Valeria stood with her arms folded, watching Cortés as he trudged across the plaza. His appearance was more ragged than normal, but similar to the last time she had seen him. His hair was unkempt, his skin dripping with sweat, his clothes muddied from exploring the jungle. However, there was one key noticeable difference from before.
Unlike at Cabañas del Castillo, he was now at a disadvantage.
“It is said that when the great Emperor Montezuma heard news of the return of the feathered serpent, he celebrated with much joy and sent a party of his best men to escort the noble lord back to the great city. When the traveller arrived, the emperor made him welcome in his great temple.” Valeria’s voice was strong, her gaze unfailing. “I offer you the same courtesy.”
Seeing Claude and Pizarro at gunpoint only intensified Cortés’s rage. “Perhaps you will do me the even greater courtesy of removing that dead peacock from your head. Your grandmother would spin in her grave.”
Maria responded venomously. “Do not speak of her . . .”
Valeria held out her arm, cutting Maria off. “The headdress is the property only of the rightful heir of the great Kingdom of Tollan. As the legitimate heiress, I wear it in honour of the right that is bestowed on me. It is not something you would understand.”
Had the circumstances been different, a rebuke would have been unavoidable. It has finally happened, he thought; the old girl’s murder has driven her to madness.
“Release my cousins,” Cortés demanded. “Whatever hatred you have for me, this is not the time to shed innocent blood.”
Valeria’s expression hardened. “As the person who murdered my grandmother, you are in no position to speak of such things. Together, they bear the name of your household; for that they will bleed just like your father.”
Juan felt new levels of rage escalating inside of him. Old hatreds were coming to the surface, the stress tightening his chest. After a lifetime of dreaming, he was standing before the fabled mountain, at the foot of the great temple in its shadow.
One obstacle remained.
“I must say, I am surprised to see you here. The location of the city has eluded many. Perhaps you are wiser than I had previously believed.”
Though Maria’s expression lightened slightly, Valeria’s had soured even further. “So, the rumours are true. The heirlooms of the past have been found. Only together can they break the great seal and open the doorway to Chicomoztoc.”
Valeria descended the stairs and walked briskly towards him, the sound of her footsteps echoing on the stone surface as she stamped on the once sacred ground.
“Hand over the stones. With the door opened, the mystery will be solved.”
Juan grabbed the strap of his rucksack and immediately felt the presence of Velázquez’s gun against his back. Slowly he handed it over.
Valeria smiled. “I will not be so cruel as to deprive you of the opportunity to look upon such wonders with your own eyes. Enjoy what you are about to see. The experience will be your last.”
*
Resigned, Juan walked forward, his eyes making contact with Claude and Pizarro as they started the climb to the top of the stairway. Pizarro’s expression was one of near uncontrollable fury; Claude’s was far more sombre.
Quietly he feared his uncle’s pain would soon become too great.
Juan felt an
other jab in his back, harder than before. “Come on now, Juan. While we still have daylight.”
Juan turned towards Velázquez. “Your father always said you were a mistake.”
Velázquez struck him again across the back of the head. “Well, in that case, I hope, for your sake, I do not get the pleasure of killing you myself.”
*
Walking alongside Claude, Juliet also felt a prod in her back. As Juan trudged his way forward, she saw the eight men in military dress leave their drill formation and begin quickly up the stairway.
Climbing the steps with her hands bound was difficult; she feared even the slightest breeze would leave her unstable. As her balance went, she felt two strong hands grab her hard around her midriff, steadying her. Secure, she returned her attention to the summit, the temple built into the mountain.
The apparent entrance to the seven caves. The heart of Aztlán.
She prayed that somewhere Ben was watching.
51
Ben waited until the last guard had climbed the pyramid before turning to Chris and Colts.
What he had just seen defied belief. After crossing the ball court and taking the pathway to a more open area where the ruins took on a more ominous form, the three observers had obtained an unobstructed view of Cortés and the three other recently captured members of their party being given an inaudible speech from a woman who appeared to be a native.
Only with binoculars did Ben realise he was looking at Valeria and Maria.
He could feel his body shaking, sweat pouring down his face and back. Eight armed men had escorted Juan and the others to the top of the steps, along with a ninth who was standing directly behind Juan. Ben recognised him from his time in Seville.
His theory that Juan and Velázquez had been in league together suddenly seemed wide of the mark.
Juliet seemed okay, considering. Her face was flushed, her skin blistered, her appearance largely unchanged since the last time he had seen her. Watching her through the binoculars, she seemed frightened, but largely in control of her emotions. He guessed no harm was likely to come to her until the inner sanctum was opened.
With Valeria still needing the three emeralds stored in his backpack, he guessed that would probably be a long time.
Colts and Chris remained crouched behind him, their eyes alert, their faces worried.
“Would you look at the mare in that dress?” Chris spoke first. “How’d she even know the location of the island?”
Ben had been wondering the same thing. “I don’t know. Maybe Velázquez told her. Either that, or her grandmother knew somehow.” He turned to Colts. “You said yourself the location of the island wasn’t a secret. Pizarro had clearly seen it before.”
“The only people who know about it are those who discovered it. Ask anyone outside the heartland, chances are they haven’t even heard of it. Chances are even the natives don’t understand the exact importance of what lies here.” Colts looked at Ben, a cynical gaze. “You said she stole your books?”
Ben remembered what he had read on the plane. “Raleigh.”
“Enough clues perhaps to make an educated guess.”
“Either way, clearly she found out from somewhere.” Ben looked again through his binoculars, concentrating on the mysterious pyramid.
The steps were now unguarded.
“I’ve gotta go after her.”
“Are you nuts?” Chris asked.
“Would you be saying that if it was me?”
“You are talking about it being you.”
“Chris is right,” Colts agreed. “I counted nine fully armed men there. Including Juan’s men and Kabil’s, we have thirteen. Odds are in our favour if we regroup.”
Ben nodded. “Well, count us fifteen including these.” He showed Colts the gun Juan had given him, and nodded at Chris, who did the same. Colts replied by opening the flap of his previously concealed Smith & Wesson case, showing off a recently polished six-shooter. “You don’t think the good old Duke would deprive his best man of a replacement, do you?”
A wry smile. “Well, I count ’em sixteen on our side. Maybe eleven on theirs if the ugly sisters are armed, and assuming the Cortés boys have had their own toys requisitioned.” He got slowly to his feet.
“Ben, wait. It’s too dangerous.”
“Not while I have these, it isn’t.” Ben tugged tightly against his rucksack.
“Then I’m going with you,” Chris affirmed.
“No. I have a better idea. You find Kabil and the rest of the Spaniards. I’ll bide my time going in. The plaza is walled on every side; there’s probably no other way in. Cover the entrance from every side. That way, they’ve got no chance of making it out.”
“Let’s just hope the mountain doesn’t have another exit.”
“It’s a mountain, Chris, not a shopping mall.”
*
Ben left the seclusion of the shrubbery and reached the centre of the plaza, taking stock of his surroundings.
He could scarcely believe his eyes. Everything about the plaza was identical to the famed Plaza Mayor in Tenochtitlán, only a mirror image. To the south, the ruined temples of Tlaloc and Huitzilopochtli, the gods of rain and war, appeared unnaturally foreboding, their threatening exteriors intensified by past smoke damage.
To the north, the spire-shaped Temple of Quetzalcoatl appeared strangely unspoilt, its unique roof casting an imposing shadow across the steps below. East and west he saw a further four buildings: three temples, with the other, he guessed, once used as lodgings for the priests.
Again, it matched what he recalled of Tenochtitlán.
He crossed the plaza to the north and began to ascend the stairway, careful to avoid losing his footing. He estimated the climb to be about 150 metres, which, potentially, made the pyramid the highest on record. The exterior of the temple was grim and eerie. At the summit, an imposing rank of stone warriors stood side by side, holding up the roof like columns. Although the stonework was weathered, the temple had clearly never been affected by fire.
For the first time, he noted the Toltec influence.
As he neared the top, he took shelter behind the nearest column and studied the exterior. There were no solid doors cut into the grand façade, no partitions; instead, wide openings between the stone guards offered unrestricted access.
He adjusted his position, hoping for a glimpse of the interior. Shadows moved quickly throughout, mostly congregated around the centre of the room. A large fountain commanded pride of place, the sound of trickling water clearly audible. Looking beyond it, he saw the party gathered by the far wall.
Where Valeria was preparing to insert the first emerald into the wall.
*
On the south side of the plaza, Chris and Colts circled the temples of the rain god and the god of war from east to west.
Ben was right, Colts realised. The temple complex was walled off on three sides, the square completed on the north side by the sheer face of the mountain. He sensed from the jaggedness and inconsistency of the stonework that the walls had once been far higher, almost certainly destroyed by the blaze that had disfigured the other buildings he had seen. Just like the outer walls, sculptures of serpents had been carved into the stonework at regular intervals; a coatepantli, Ben had named it.
The serpent wall.
The main entrance to the plaza had clearly been through the ball court directly south of the mountain. Colts deduced from what he saw of the east wall that there had once been a second entrance now blocked by rubble. The same was true of the west side, which meant the only way out involved heading out the same way.
They crossed the ball court and headed down the stairway, moving quickly amongst the clay and stone ruins that clearly predated the temple complex. Almost immediately, Colts saw movement among the trees. A gun.
Kabil.
“Boy, you nearly gave me a cardiac arrest.”
The young man smiled coyly. “I feared you had all got lost. I have placed my me
n at various points along the wall.”
“Cortés and his relatives have been captured, along with Juliet. They’re currently being held hostage inside the Temple of the Feathered Serpent.”
Kabil’s face drained pale. “They are taken by the watchers?”
“No,” Chris replied. “There are others here. Other Spaniards. They believe themselves to be the descendants of Montezuma.”
Kabil bowed his head, looking at Colts. “These are the people you spoke of?”
“Yes,” Colts replied. “We think they have nine men, possibly more if the sisters are armed.”
“Then that puts us at an exact match.”
“Exactly,” Colts said. “Try to round up the remaining Spaniards. Tell them their master needs them.”
52
Juliet was first to enter the temple. The stone warriors that guarded the outside had a stern, ominous presence about them; they gave off a decaying smell of age and had a sinister, deathlike appearance.
Entering through the most central gap between the six statues, she espied a spacious rectangular chamber that was far brighter than the grim setting she had anticipated. Inside, the walls were decorated with images of soldiers wearing armour and shields on their backs while carrying spear-throwers and clumps of poisonous darts. In some of the more inconspicuous regions, she could see a number of chacmools – reclining stone figures with bowls on their stomachs used to contain the hearts of recently sacrificed victims. Housed throughout, the stone panels were decorated with wall art similar to that which she had spent her career studying among the surviving codices. The pictures were incredible.
It was as though she had travelled back in time to the days of the conquistadors.
Valeria followed her close behind. Juliet’s heart palpitated wildly as she gazed again at the hideous headdress, its many colours casting a seemingly portentous reflection in the woman’s brown eyes. It was obvious from the way she stared at her surroundings that a recent change had come over her, that her world and all she had known had changed dramatically. She walked the floor like a princess.
The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation Page 99
