by Evan Hunter
The sailors hesitated again, looking one to the other. Then some started for the ship to unload the food as the others turned back toward the city with the water.
“There will be no more trouble now,” Erik promised. “We will sail after the harvest.”
Neil turned his head toward the city. “Listen,” he said.
Far in the distance, beyond the forest, a noisy din rose.
“What’s all the shouting?” Neil wondered aloud.
“They have probably discovered the theft,” Erik observed. “We will find it hard to explain this, Neil.”
The shouting grew louder, and a dull, red glare lighted the sky on the other side of the forest.
“That doesn’t sound like . . .”
A Norseman burst out of the forest, his face smeared with blood.
“Captain,” he shouted, “Captain.”
“Lars!” Erik answered. “What is it? Are they punish . . .”
“The barbarians,” the Norseman said. “They are attacking the city again. Hundreds of them! Hundreds of them! They cover the city like ants.” He paused to catch his breath. Then his eyes turned wide and frightened as he blurted, “It is a slaughter, Captain!”
Chapter 13 — A Crippled War Machine
ERIK swung his ax in a circle over his head and then pointed the blade skyward.
“You wanted blood this night,” he shouted at his crew. “Well, here’s your blood! Who’ll follow me and show the gratitude of a Norseman?”
A terrifying cry rose from the throats of the men as axes and knives flashed into view.
“An ax for Neil,” Erik cried. A sailor rushed over with a sharp, heavy weapon. Erik gave this to Neil and then faced his crew again, his eyes blazing. “Strong arms are needed,” he shouted, “and brave hearts. The cold thrust of a blade and the terrible blow of an ax.”
Another roar went up from the crew.
“Norsemen all, we are, and strong.” His eyes scanned the crew. “No more than a dozen, with our fellows already in the city.” He paused dramatically. “Ten barbarian heads for every strong Norse arm!”
He pointed his ax to the sky overhead again. “Can we do it?” he bellowed.
“Yes,” they shouted. “Yes,” and their voices were loud and their eyes bright.
“Then to the city, and God be with you. To the city!”
They ran swiftly through the woods, Erik and Neil leading the way, with the battle-hungry Norsemen behind them.
The city was a scene of chaos. Fire leaped from every building, the flames dancing like painted maniacs. There was fighting everywhere, women screaming and running through the streets, snatching for their children to draw them into shelter. An old man clutched at his long skirt and fled in panic, a band of barbarians in close pursuit, screaming, hooting and roaring their blood cries.
This was psychological warfare at its best. The barbarians had utilized the element of surprise to its fullest, attacking in the dead of night while the city slept, their faces grisly masks of color — red, white, and black. They screamed, hissed and shouted. They shook rattles and pounded drums. The furor was as if a gigantic, wild beast had been loosed, striking terror to the heart of every Maya.
Shaken from their sleep by this noisy war machine, the Mayas fled in disorganized panic as the barbarians covered the streets and the buildings like swarming insects. Torches swinging in their hands lit up the night as they cut a bloody path through the city.
Neil’s eyes took in separate details, his glance following one bloody scene to another. Here, a group of barbarians clawed at the garments of an old woman, throwing her to the ground and pinning her there with their spears. There, three Maya soldiers fell into the hands of a dozen barbarians, who quickly beheaded them and hoisting the heads aloft on spear points, ran shouting through the city.
A young Maya girl, her long black hair streaming behind her, blood gushing from her torn lip, screamed wildly as a barbarian threw her over his shoulder and ran triumphantly through the streets.
Baskets of food were thrown from the storehouse, the barbarians stamping their feet into the fruit and vegetables, overturning jars of honey.
Maniacally, like obsessed fire bugs, they put the torches to everything in sight, fire carrying its terror from building to building.
Erik’s eyes flicked over the picture. And then, bellowing like a wounded bull, he charged out of the forest and into the midst of the battle. The Norsemen followed behind him, their voices raised thunderously.
From the other end of the city, almost simultaneous with Erik’s rush, came a battle cry now familiar to Neil. It was Baz, the warrior and conspirator, fighting again for his homeland in a time of danger. He swung a sword at his side and led a band of Mayas into the fight, pushing them forward with the sheer drive of his own energy.
A barbarian snatched a golden necklace from a Maya woman, as a huge shadow fell across his body. His eyes opened wide in terror at the sight of the bearded giant that stood before him. He started to run, but the ax was too quick, descending with an ominous swish. His head rolled to the pavement.
Erik struck again and again, his fists and his ax lashing into the barbarians. He stood like a red-bearded fury, arms flailing, bodies falling to his right and left.
Neil hacked his way to Erik’s side, and together they lashed out at the enemy. Now, forced back by overwhelming numbers, the Norsemen backed up against a stone wall in one of the courts.
From the other side of the city, retreating slowly under the weight of the pursuing barbarians, came Baz and his men.
Slowly, both forces joined in a semicircle against the wall. The barbarians withdrew, and Baz came to stand beside Neil and Erik. His quilted padding was slashed down the front and a line of red streaked across his chest.
“You are wounded,” Erik said.
“Another scar,” Baz laughed. “I collect them.” He looked at the long gash Olaf had inflicted on Erik’s arm. “And your arm?”
Erik returned Baz’s laughter. “I am becoming a collector too.”
“I prefer to collect barbarian heads,” Baz said, the grin still on his face. Somehow, he looked handsome, in spite of the scar that twisted his features.
“You’ll have the opportunity to collect plenty,” Neil said solemnly. “Here they come.”
The barbarians charged across the court, their rattles shaking wildly. Neil recognized the blast of a conch horn, and suddenly, the enemy was upon them, clawing, swinging, slashing.
A grisly-faced soldier reached for Neil’s throat with grimy fingers. Neil kicked out, his foot connecting with the barbarian’s stomach. He doubled over, and the head of Neil’s ax came down on his skull. On his left another barbarian swung the flat of his sword against Neil’s arm.
Neil wrenched his arm back in pain, the ax toppling out of his hands. The barbarian drew back his sword, ready to swing but Baz interceded, clutching the soldier’s neck between his hands and lifting him above the bodies on the floor. With a deft snap, he cracked the man’s back over his knee and tossed him aside like a broken matchstick.
Neil lifted a sword from the floor and holding it in both hands, swung it like a scythe before him. On his right, Erik swore in Swedish and swung his ax like a devastating sledge hammer, using now the blade, now the handle, and now the back of the blade, gouging, cutting, stoving in heads. The barbarians retreated to regroup, and the small band waited for the next charge.
“There are too many of them,” Neil said.
Around them, fallen Mayas lay over fallen barbarians, their blood seeping into the stones like a muddy red pool.
“We can hold them for a little while,” Erik said.
“Here they come!” Baz shouted.
Again the horn. Again the rattles. Again the painted faces and the swinging arms, the sweating torsos, and the gleaming axes.
Ax met sword, metal against obsidian, arms locked together, arching, straining bodies. The shouts went up again, and the screams and the gurgles of men who
were losing arms and legs. And lives.
Two barbarians flung themselves at Erik’s head, and he shook them off like flies. They charged at him again and this time Erik caught one with his ax against the side of the cheek, while Neil ran the other through with his sword.
“Baz!” Neil shouted suddenly. “Look out!”
A barbarian had leaped from the wall behind, his body poised in the air for a moment and then crashing down heavily on Baz’s shoulders. Baz crumpled like a wet newspaper as the barbarian scrambled to his feet, a dagger flashing in his right hand.
Neil lunged with his sword, but not soon enough to prevent the dagger from sinking into Baz’s chest. The barbarian pulled the dagger back, slapped Neil aside with his free hand, and plunged it into Baz’s chest again. Baz jerked convulsively as Neil stumbled to regain his footing. Again the barbarian snapped the dagger back, and Neil recognized it for the first time as a retrieved Norse weapon.
The barbarian crouched and crept forward. Neil scrambled for his sword, his mind paralyzed with a sudden muscle- gripping, nerve-shattering fear.
Baz’s legs lashed out, twining about the barbarian’s waist, and twisting until the man fell to the stones, Baz’s fingers went to his opponent’s throat. He squeezed tightly, but then Baz’s face went suddenly white as all life flooded from his body. His hands dropped limply, falling on his chest.
The barbarian jumped to his feet. But Neil had a sword this time, and it swung out in a whistling arc, catching the barbarian across his chest. A gaping hole appeared in his right side, and he stared at it in disbelief. The sword swung around again, and the barbarian collapsed beside Baz, the dagger rattling harmlessly to the stones.
“More,” Erik shouted. “Careful, Neil.”
They came again, a gigantic human steam roller that rumbled across the small court.
Neil fought beside Erik, his arms tired with the weight of the heavy sword. The barbarians pressed forward, pushing, thrashing, then falling back again.
“We can’t hold out much longer,” Neil said, glad for the momentary respite.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a minor skirmish on the other side of the court. Four barbarians were crowding around a figure with a sword. The figure lashed out, stepping in and felling one of the invaders. He turned, ran a few feet toward Erik and Neil, and then stopped again to face the pursuing barbarians. His sword flicked out, and another man fell. More barbarians joined the pursuers, reaching for the battling figure. It turned and ran for the circle of defenders again, and moonlight splashed on a broken nose.
“Dave!” Neil shouted. He slapped Erik on the shoulder. “It’s Dave.”
Erik leaped over the pile of bodies that formed a barricade before them, and Neil was just a step behind him. They ran across the yard, joined their weapons with Dave’s and plowed into the barbarians.
Then, turning swiftly, they ran back to the barricade.
Neil saw it was pitifully manned. Half a dozen Norsemen and a handful of Mayas had dragged benches and tables with them and piled them up behind the fallen bodies. They crouched behind these now, waiting for the next barbarian assault.
“This is it,” Neil said. “This is the last one.”
“I’ve been searching high and low for you,” Dave said. “This lone wolf business doesn’t appeal to me.” He wiped a bloody hand over his torn shirt. “These guys are all over the city.”
Erik looked across the court where the barbarians were rallying their strength.
“What are they doing now?” Neil asked.
“They’re waiting,” Dave said. “They’re taking no chances this time. They’re waiting until the rest of the boys in the city join them. Then there’ll be one last rush.”
“And if it succeeds,” Erik said, “there will be no more resistance. The city will be theirs.”
They glanced nervously across the court. Barbarians poured in from the streets, joining their fellows and waiting for more men and more arms. They began pounding on their drums and shaking their rattles.
“What can we do?” Neil asked. “We’ll never survive another charge.”
“Look at them. There must be hundreds of them. What are they waiting for?”
“Probably an omen from the skies to . . .” Neil stopped short, his mouth hanging open. He gripped Dave’s shoulder. “The machine!”
“What?”
“From the skies! We’ll drop down on them with the machine, Dave.”
“What! Don’t be ridiculous, Neil. The machine needs repairs. We’ll never get home if . . .”
“We’ll never get home if those men take over the city, either.”
“But I don’t even know if she’ll fly. One of the rotors is still pretty badly twis . . .”
“We’ve got to try it, Dave.”
“Neil, I tell you it’s crazy.”
Across the court, the drumbeats grew louder.
“They’re getting ready,” Neil whispered. “Can you hold them, Erik?”
“Where are you going?” Erik asked.
“We’ve got a powerful weapon.” Neil started.
“They charge!” a Norseman shouted. “They charge again.”
Across the court, the barbarians leaped to their feet and shouted wildly. Spilling across the court like rolling time bombs, they rumbled onward.
Neil leaped over the barricade and shouted, “Come on, Dave!”
Dave cleared the barricade and rushed after Neil as the barbarians swarmed against the few remaining men.
Neil glanced back over his shoulder to see Erik, tall and proud, his beard blazing defiance, smash out at the attackers viciously.
Then he ran as swiftly as he could until he reached the forest. He didn’t even turn to see if Dave was behind him.
“Hurry up, hurry up,” Neil shouted.
“She’s got to warm up,” Dave complained.
“How much longer? Please, Dave, hurry.”
They were in the control room of the time machine, and far off in Chichen-Itza the cries of the barbarians rose in exultant fury.
The machine coughed, trembled.
“There it is,” Dave said. “You set?”
“For crying out loud, get this . . .”
“Relax,” Dave snapped.
He twirled a dial on the panel before him.
Slowly the machine began to rise, leaving the beach far below it. With infinite patience, Dave steered it over the trees and toward the city.
“I don’t like this,” he said. “This baby is sick, and we’re only making her worse.”
As if in protest, the machine shuddered again.
“Can’t you go any faster?”
“Sure. If you want to land up in those treetops.”
The battle noises sounded nearer now, and Neil could see the city from one of the portholes.
“That way, Dave,” he shouted anxiously. “They’re over that way.”
He strained his eyes through the porthole as the machine began to drop.
There, far below, his beard fluttering like a red-gold banner, was Erik. The barbarians plowed into him and he pushed them back. The ring was a tight circle now, and the men fought back to back. The barbarians no longer withdrew. When one man dropped, another jumped into his place.
It would be only a matter of minutes before the tide of bodies would completely overwhelm the small band of defenders.
“Faster,” Neil pleaded, “faster!”
The machine dropped with startling speed. Neil headed for the ladder and dropped down into the lower bubble. He threw the hatchway open and shouted wildly.
“Up here! Up here! Hey, you filthy murderers! Up here.”
One man saw the machine. His eyes widened in terror, and he screamed and pointed upward. Heads snapped upright, and Neil could see their faces now as they strained their necks, their eyes wide in panic.
Weapons dropped and the barbarians began to disperse.
The machine dropped lower, lower.
“Pull her up, Dave,
” Neil shouted. “They’re beginning to scatter.”
There was no answer from the control room.
Below, Neil could see Erik’s face raised in wonder and surprise.
“Pull her up, Dave, pull her up.”
The barbarians stopped, stared upward. The initial shock was beginning to wear off.
They saw again the blond-headed boy who had fought so desperately on the ground. He was shouting wildly, and they sensed somehow that this strange new weapon was in trouble.
“Dave! We’re getting too close. Pull her up!”
“I can’t,” Dave shouted down from the control room. “I can’t budge her, Neil.”
Neil peered from the hatchway. Below, the barbarians raised their weapons and shouted angrily as the machine slowly drifted toward the ground.
Chapter 14 — Human Sacrifice
THE machine dropped lower and lower. Below, the barbarians raised their weapons and shook them at the descending thing from the sky. Neil saw wild, fanatical eyes and bared teeth.
Lower. Lower.
Neil could almost reach out and touch the upraised arms of the screaming horde below. Rapidly he slammed the hatchway closed as a barbarian reached for him.
The machine hovered about five feet above the ground while the barbarians milled around it, striking the plastic bubble with their swords, pounding on it with their fists. Neil peered through the plastic at the sea of screaming, distorted faces outside.
Quite suddenly the machine began to shudder violently, Neil clung to the sides, almost losing his balance as the violent trembling threatened to shake him off his feet. Outside, the screams stopped as the barbarians looked at the machine with a new curiosity.
The trembling increased, and the barbarians backed away, eying the machine cautiously.
A loud coughing filled the air as it began to sputter. A frightened bellow escaped the lips of the threatening horde, followed immediately by the sound of backfiring as the machine struggled to stay in the air.
The shots thundered out like the roar of a heavy cannon. Again, and again, blasting into the night, sparks showering from the motor’s exhaust.
