Alec sighed. He helped himself to some meat and chewed on it thoughtfully.
'You seem . . . unhappy,' observed Chicahua, and Alec felt like slapping him. How did he expect him to feel? He'd just been told he only had another two days to live. Did the boy expect him to sing and dance? He had to restrain himself from making a sarcastic reply; instead he adopted a pleading tone.
'It's just that I . . . was so looking forward to telling you all about my world,' he said. 'Some of the things I could have shared with you . . . Well, I suppose now you'll never know about them.' He looked hopefully at Tepin, who seemed more sympathetic than her brother. 'I'm sure you'd like to hear more of my stories, wouldn't you?'
Tepin smiled back at him. 'I would,' she admitted. 'Very much.' She looked at her brother. 'And I am always telling Chicahua that Itztli has too much power in this city. If you ask me, I think he would like to rule Colotlán in my brother's place.'
Chicahua looked shocked. 'Tepin, you must not say such things!' He glanced nervously at the two guards standing just a short distance away. 'Supposing your words found their way to Itztli's ears?'
Tepin shrugged. 'What if they did? I am not afraid of him, as you are.'
Chicahua looked angry at this. 'Who says I am afraid?' he growled. He picked up a whole corn pancake and stuffed it into his mouth, then spoke through a mouthful of food. 'He must serve his emperor, like all the others.'
'If that's the case, why is he always pushing you around?' asked Alec.
'He is not!' Chicahua seemed about to lose his temper – his sudden outburst caused him to spray bits of half-eaten food across the table. 'Al-eck, if you keep speaking to me in this way, we are going to fall out! Have I not been good to you? Have I not given you three extra days?' He paused for a moment, chewing furiously as he glared across the table at Alec. Then he seemed to relax a little. 'Anyway,' he went on, 'all this shouting will spoil our . . . how do you call it? Our surprise for you.' He leaned forward with all the eagerness of a twelve-year-old. 'Tell me, Alec . . . do you like sports?'
Alec and Tepin walked along beside Chicahua's gilded throne as eight servants carried it through the crowded streets. On the other side, Patli trotted along with the jaguar on its lead; flanking them were two rows of guards, ready to defend the young emperor with their lives. Anybody who was slow to get out of the way was pushed unceremoniously aside. As the procession moved along, the people bowed their heads respectfully. Some even fell to their knees.
Alec felt an overpowering sense of despair. His time was ticking away and Chicahua had thought it might cheer him up to see the Aztec equivalent of a football match! He had read about the sport, of course – a game called tlachtli, but had never expected to actually see it played. Ordinarily he would have been fascinated, but it was going to take something more than this to distract him from the fate that awaited him and his friends. He took the opportunity to work on Tepin a little more.
'You know, it's very sad that I won't be around for much longer,' he said. 'There is so much here that I would love to learn.'
Tepin smiled at him. 'Is there somebody special waiting for you in your world?' she asked him.
'Only my father,' he replied. 'My mother died over a year ago.'
Tepin shook her head. 'No, I meant . . . a . . . what word does Coyotl use? Ah yes, a sweetheart.'
Alec glanced at her nervously, feeling his face reddening. 'Oh no, nothing like that!' he said hastily. 'What, er . . . what about you?'
'It will soon be time for me to marry,' she told him.
Alec knew from his studies that Aztec girls generally married at the age of fifteen, but it was still a shock to hear it said so matter-of-factly. 'Do you, er . . . know who it's going to be?'
She gave him a sad little smile. 'My brother will choose somebody for me,' she said. 'Knowing him, it will probably be one of the jaguar warriors. He admires them.'
Alec glanced doubtfully up at the boy riding on his golden throne. 'Do you think . . . I mean, is that the right way to do it? Wouldn't a warrior be much older than you?'
She nodded. 'It would not be my choice,' she said. 'I would prefer somebody my own age.' And with that she gave Alec such a searching look that he quickly changed the subject.
The procession came to a stone entrance and the servants lowered the throne to the ground so that Chicahua could get down. He led Alec and Tepin up a short flight of steps to a gallery overlooking a large earthen pitch shaped like a huge letter 'I', flanked on the two long sides by high stone walls. As they stepped out, conch shells sounded a raucous fanfare and there was a great roar of approval from the people seated on either side of the pitch. Chicahua waved to the spectators and then took a seat on an opulent throne. Several other chairs were positioned beside it – he gestured to Alec to take the seat to his left, Patli the one to his right, the jaguar curled like an overgrown house cat at his feet. Tepin sat beside Alec. A few moments later Travers arrived, resplendent in colourful robes, and took his place next to Patli. Alec noticed that one chair remained empty; it was almost as grand as the emperor's throne and set a little apart from the others. Sure enough, a few moments later, Itztli stalked into the gallery, and after acknowledging the cheers of the crowd, he took a seat, throwing a contemptuous look at Alec as he did so.
Now servant girls came into the gallery, offering earthenware cups of pulque and jugs of sweet chocolate drink. Others bore trays of locusts, sweet cakes and peanuts.
'You have games in your world?' Chicahua asked Alec.
Alec nodded. He told Chicahua a little about the basics of football, rugby and cricket, but he kept the details sketchy, begrudging him too much detail now that he had declined to offer any more help.
'Tlachtli is the best sport,' said Chicahua. 'The most skilful game of all. I would love to play myself but they will not let me.'
Alec looked at the boy irritably. 'Who wouldn't let you?' he asked.
'My people. The players get terrible . . . injures?'
'Injuries,' Alec corrected him.
'Yes. And what would happen if I broke my bones? My people would weep. My people love me. Watch this.' He stood up for a moment and waved his arms to the crowd. He was instantly rewarded with great cheers of approval.
'Stop showing off, brother,' said Tepin quietly, and Chicahua sat down again, looking a little deflated.
He looked at Alec curiously. 'The games you spoke of . . . you have played them?'
'Of course,' said Alec. 'At school. Everybody does.'
'Ah.' Chicahua nodded and sighed. 'You are lucky, Al-eck. I cannot do such things. I would love to play tlachtli, but I cannot. It is too bad.'
Alec looked at the boy, thinking that for all his power here in Colotlán, he was to be pitied. Overfed and overweight, carried everywhere he wanted to go, he could hardly expect to live a long and healthy life. A regular game of football would probably do him the world of good.
Suddenly a great roar went up below him and Alec saw that the two teams were running onto the pitch – lithe, muscular warriors who wore protective pads on their hips, elbows and around their waists. He counted seven men on each team. They stood waving at the crowd, enjoying the adulation, and then another man appeared holding a rubber ball about the size of a melon. It was evident from the way he carried it that it was very heavy. He spoke briefly to the two teams and then flung the ball high into the air, before turning and running off the pitch.
As the ball descended, the two nearest players leaped into the air to try and reach it, crashing into each other with a force that made Alec wince. They fell back and hit the ground, but a third man caught the ball expertly on his bent knee and hoisted it back into the air; and then there was a free-for-all.
Alec knew that the players were not allowed to touch the ball with their hands – only with their knees, elbows, hips and (rather bizarrely) buttocks; but nothing he had read could have prepared him for the ferocity of the game: it seemed to have no rules and no referee to ensure fair play. He co
uld see that one team wore red cloths around their arms and the other blue, and he knew that the object of the game was to knock the ball through a small upright stone hoop set halfway along the wall on either side of the court.
In mute horror he watched a display of savagery that was more suited to a battlefield than a game. Elbows were smashed into faces, shoulders slammed into chests and ferocious kicks were directed at any part of the body that got in the way of the ball. After a few minutes many players were bleeding and in one particularly fierce tussle a man's leg snapped with a sharp crack that could be heard even over the yells of the spectators. The game was stopped for a moment while the victim was carried off the pitch and another player ran out to take his place, waving to the crowd as he did so. Then the game continued.
'Good, eh?' cried Chicahua, his mouth smeared with cocoa juice, and Alec forced a smile – though in truth he thought it was one of the most horrible spectacles he had ever been obliged to watch. He glanced at Tepin, but she seemed to be enjoying the match as much as her brother, so he threw aside his reservations and tried to enjoy the game for what it was.
And then, despite everything, he started to get caught up in the excitement; and when a player on the red team managed to elbow the ball through one of the stone hoops, he found himself jumping to his feet and cheering along with the others. When he sat down again, he happened to glance at Itztli and felt a chill go through him as he realized that the priest was studying him with a cruel smile on his face. His expression seemed to be saying, Go on, enjoy yourself while you can, for soon you will be at my mercy.
Alec felt anger coursing through him and had to fight down the urge to give the high priest a piece of his mind; he realized how pointless that would be. Itztli did not speak English, and even if he asked Travers to translate, there would be nothing Alec could say to change his mind. But there must be something he could do, he thought desperately.
An extra loud cheer made him look up: the game was over, and the bruised and bloodied players were waving to the crowd again. Alec had lost track of the score but it was apparent from their gleeful expressions that the red team had won the day. They had left the rubber ball on the pitch, and a sudden crazy idea came to him. Back at school, he'd been pretty good at several ball games. Maybe, just maybe . . .
He glanced slyly at Chicahua. 'They aren't bad players,' he observed, gesturing at the departing teams.
Chicahua looked at him. 'Not bad? ' he cried. 'They are the finest players in Colotlán!'
Alec shrugged. 'In my world we have a game called football,' he said. 'I play it myself. You can only touch the ball with your foot. No elbows, no hips – and definitely none of this . . .' He slapped his backside to emphasize the point and Tepin had to mask a giggle. 'But of course, it takes real skill to play that game.' He pointed to one of the stone hoops. 'You see the hoop down there?'
'Yes,' said Chicahua.
'I bet I could get a ball through that hoop three times in a row,' he said.
The emperor followed his gaze. He considered for a moment. 'I don't believe you could,' he said flatly. 'The teams have to practise hard. Ordinary people don't have their skill.'
Alec shrugged. 'It would be easy for me,' he said. 'Child's play.'
Chicahua looked interested and Alec tried to keep his expression blank, not wanting to betray his desperation. There was a long silence.
'And you say you could do it three times . . . One after the other, without missing?' asked Chicahua.
'Yes,' said Alec. 'Easily.'
'All right then.'The boy gestured to the empty court. 'Let me see you do it.'
Alec pretended to be thinking about it. 'Well, I could, of course, but . . . what's in it for me?' he asked at last.
'What do you mean?'
'If I do it, there should be a reward of some kind.'
Chicahua considered for a moment. 'I'll give you cocoa beans,' he said. 'Lots of them.'
Alec shook his head. 'No. I tell you what, if I can do it, you give me and my friends our freedom. What do you say to that?'
Chicahua shook his head. 'Out of the question,' he said. 'The order has been made, I cannot change that.'
Alec frowned. 'All right then. How about three more days before we are sacrificed? That's not too much to ask, is it?'
Chicahua still looked doubtful. 'Itztli would not like it,' he muttered.
'Oh, of course, Itztli!' Alec waved a hand towards the high priest. 'I was forgetting that he's the man who really rules Colotlán.'
'That is not true!' protested Chicahua. 'I am emperor. My word is law.'
'In name, perhaps, but . . . you don't seem to have any real power.'
'I have so!' the boy snapped indignantly.
Tepin entered the conversation. 'It is very simple, brother,' she said. 'Alec has offered you a bet. You can take it or leave it.'
'That's easy for you to say.' Chicahua glanced towards Itztli, who was watching them suspiciously. 'What if I have to tell Itztli to delay the sacrifice again?'
'Alec is right,' said Tepin. 'It is Itztli who commands this city.'
'It is not!' protested her brother. 'I am emperor.' He stood up. 'Very well, Alec – do it three times and you and your friends shall have three more days.'
'You give your word?' asked Alec.
'Of course.' Chicahua laughed. 'You won't do it anyway. Even our best players could not do such a thing.'
Alec wanted to make sure about this. 'You swear to me that if I can get the ball through the hoop three times, you will delay the sacrifice for another three days?'
'Yes!' said Chicahua impatiently. 'I have already said it shall be so.'
'Right then.' Alec got up and, in one swift movement, clambered over the gallery wall and dropped down onto the pitch some six feet below. A wild murmur of excitement went up from the spectators. Many of them had been leaving, but now they hurried back to their seats to see what was going on.
Alec walked over to the ball and picked it up, gauging its weight. As he had suspected, it was much too heavy to kick – it was solid enough to break an ankle. He bounced it a couple of times on the hard-packed ground, but it didn't rise more than a foot or so. Then he turned and judged the height of the hoop. Luckily one of the other games he had played at school was the American sport of basketball.
He took a deep breath, then ran forward quickly. He leaped high in the air and threw the ball straight through the hoop.
A gasp of surprise came from the crowd. Alec trotted after the ball, caught it and walked back to his starting position. As he steadied himself for his next shot, he noticed that Chicahua and Tepin had come to the edge of the gallery and were staring down at him. Chicahua looked outraged.
'You . . . you cheated!' he cried. 'You used your hands.'
Alec gazed up at him, an expression of innocence on his face. 'But your majesty, I never said I wouldn't.'
He ran forward again, leaped up a second time and threw the ball. This time it didn't go through the hoop quite so cleanly. It glanced against the edge first, and Alec ran forward and caught it. He walked back to his starting position, telling himself that he must make absolutely sure of his third shot. So much depended on it.
Chicahua was waiting for him, and this time Travers was standing beside him. 'You spoke of feet-ball!' cried the emperor. 'You said you would kick the ball through the hoop.'
Alec shook his head. 'No, your majesty, you are mistaken. I mentioned football, but I only said I could get the ball through the hoop three times. I didn't say how.' He lifted the ball. 'Nobody could kick it through – it's far too heavy.'
Tepin had a big grin on her face and Travers was looking down at Alec with the ghost of a smile.
'Perhaps it is you who should be called Coyotl,' he said, and Alec thought he detected a note of admiration in his voice.
'The emperor promised,' he reminded the old man, and Travers bowed his head.
Alec turned and studied the hoop. Only now, when it actually mattered, did h
e realize what a small target it was. Sweat trickled down his face and neck. If he missed this shot, he reminded himself, it would all have been for nothing.
Time seemed to stand still and the noise of the crowd faded away. For an instant he was back in the gymnasium at school, preparing to take the shot that would give his team the trophy. Basketball was relatively new in England and his school had been one of the first to take it up. He could smell the varnished wood floor beneath him; above the hoop he saw the big clock announcing that there were only a few more minutes of play left.
Then the world came back into focus. He was in the unfamiliar tlachtli arena and the sun was beating down upon his unprotected head. Sweat oozed from every pore, making his khaki shirt stick to his back. He took a breath, ran forward and leaped into the air.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. He saw the heavy rubber ball flying up; as he dropped to the ground, he saw it hit the lip of the ring; he saw it bounce to one side and hit the far edge; saw it settle on the bottom curve of the ring as though it planned to stop there. Then, slowly . . . slowly . . . the ball rolled forward and dropped through the hoop.
A great roar of approval rose from the crowd and Alec lifted his arms in a gesture of triumph. He turned to look towards the royal gallery and saw that Itztli was on his feet, talking angrily to Chicahua and Travers. Tepin was laughing delightedly at Alec's deception. Chicahua looked defiant, Travers troubled, Itztli quite obviously furious. He pointed down at Alec and his voice rose, but Chicahua was shaking his head and shrugging his plump little shoulders, clearly refusing to go back on his word. Itztli directed a look of pure venom in Alec's direction and Alec could not resist the temptation to give him a cheery wave.
Empire of the Skull Page 15
