Climate of Change (53 page)

Hero caught on immediately. He came close, turned his own back, and his hands took the knife. In a moment he cut Keeper's bonds. Then Keeper took the knife and did the same for Hero.

Soon, as the bombardment continued, they were all free, including the three children. But the temple was collapsing around them.

“This way,” Craft said.

The women guided the children, who were dazed but not unconscious. They followed Craft out of the temple. No one paid attention, because the bombardment was destroying walls and buildings alike. They still thought it was the wrath of the god.

They made their way through the confusion to the three canoes Haven and Crenelle had stocked. The men paddled, while the women and children sat in the centers.

Now they saw that others had the same idea. Many boats were fleeing the island. The people knew that the end had come. The last independent kingdom of the Maya was doomed.

But at least the children were safe.

A number were war canoes, not fleeing but paddling out to encounter the enemy. Their archers were braced, ready to loose their arrows.

But as they drew out from the harbor, they saw the Spanish fleet
looming, led by a monstrous wooden ship with a metal-armored deck well above the water line. Its rail bristled with Spanish soldiers.

As soon as the Spaniards spied the canoes, they leveled their guns. There was a new, closer booming, and smoke puffed out.

The men aboard the leading war canoe cried out. Several had been wounded, and the canoe had been holed and was sinking. Their arrows had had no apparent effect. The guns of the Spanish were too much.

“Get out of here!” Hero called from his canoe.

They paddled rapidly away from the Spanish fleet. These were not even war canoes, and would have no chance against the Spanish. Their hope was that they would pass unnoticed, and not attract any fire.

They were not that lucky. One war canoe veered to follow them. The Spaniards were accompanied by Maya allies who fought beside them. Hero cursed them for traitors, but that hardly abated the threat they represented.

Keeper paddled desperately, as did his brothers and Rebel, but they could not outrace the war canoe. Steadily it overhauled them. Then it paused, merely keeping the pace.

“Surrender!” the war canoe commander called. “Agree to serve the new masters, and you will be spared.”

“What of our women and girls?” Rebel called back.

“They are our property. They will be well treated if they behave.”

That meant if they submitted to multiple rapes without resistance or attempts to kill themselves. If they made themselves useful as continuing mistresses, regardless of their ages.

“You are Maya,” Keeper called. “How can you betray your own kind?”

“We are Christian Maya,” the commander replied. “We have seen the light. You, too, must convert and worship the one true god.”

Obviously that god did not object to the rape of children. “We can't do that,” Keeper said.

“Then you die.” The war canoe resumed its approach. It bristled with warriors. Soon it would grapple their canoes, one by one, and dispatch the fugitives.

Hero stood carefully in his canoe, orienting his bow. Immediately
the opposing warriors dropped their paddles and scrambled for their bows. Hero did not wait. He loosed one arrow. It sailed high and long, and came down right in the chest of the commander. There was a cry as he fell, transfixed, and the boat ceased its pursuit.

Only Hero could have done it from that range, from such a precarious stance. He had always been the best shot. This time that ability had saved them.

They came to the shore and scrambled out of their canoes. They ran into the forest, the women dragging the recovering children by their hands. In moments they were shielded by the trees. The Spanish would not be able to catch them. They were not yet safe, but they had a good chance.

Yet Keeper was grief stricken by the fate of their people. The world they had known had been destroyed.

It was a remarkable effort by the Spaniards. They built a road through the jungle so that their mule train could transport supplies, artillery, and even a small dismantled warship they reassembled on Lake Peten. On the morning of March 13, 1697, they attacked, with Maya allies, and were victorious. They immediately set to work destroying the idolatrous idols and, indeed, any remaining civilization of the “barbarians.” They burned the library of books containing what they called “lies of the devil.” It was to take centuries to fathom the lost Mayan written language. Who, then, were really the barbarians?

The remnants of the Itza Maya fled into the surrounding jungle. They never regained their former prominence, and only a few hundred survived to the twentieth century. Conditions generally have been hostile to the several Maya tribes, with partly covert attempts to eradicate them.

Noh Petén, or Tayasal, was erased, and the modern city of Flores built over its ruins. The stones of the temple were taken for a Christian church. Today it is difficult to find traces of the original town; indeed, there is some question whether that really was its location.

It was, indeed, the end of a great culture. True, we of the modern
world don't approve of human sacrifice. Yet we tolerate execution of those with whom we disagree, and make determined war on others whose religion differs from ours. Is this so much different?

The evidence suggests that the prior upheavals of the Maya were climatic in nature, with severe droughts stressing the population, bringing savage warfare. This time the worst enemy was probably disease, such as smallpox, decimating the population so that relatively small Spanish forces could overwhelm the natives, as mentioned in the forenote. Only the isolation of Noh Petén enabled it to survive as long as it did.

There were periodic rebellions by the Maya as time and oppression continued, but they remained a beaten people. Only relatively recently have the marvels of their calendar and cities been studied and appreciated. One can't help wishing that at least one of their cities had survived independently to the present day.

Thanks to a spot of trouble in North America, which had ideas of independent nationhood, England was deprived of her convenient penal colonies there. But she still had convicts and London slum refuse to dispose of. Australia was wide open, unpopulated except for a few Aborigines that were of no account, according to the authorities. So arrangements were made to ship the refuse there. The idea was that they would found a colony and soon become self-sufficient, thus relieving the mother country of the burden of supporting them.

The First Fleet, consisting of eleven ships—two warships, six convict transports, and three supply ships—set sail May 13, 1787. There was no complete count, but the total number of personnel embarking was about 1,530, of which about 1,483 arrived at Botany Bay, because of deaths during the eight-month voyage. About one quarter of the almost 800 convicts shipped were female, including fourteen children. About 750 arrived, the children having increased to twenty-two because of births along the way. This was the nucleus of the new colony.

Of course, the Aboriginal natives had a different take on this enterprise. The place is the vicinity of what is now Sydney, Australia, but was then Botany Bay because of its variety of plants. The time is January 1788.

Rebel made her way to the hollow beside the water of the bay where the special herbs grew. She was the only one who knew their location, and she harvested them carefully, to be sure the cluster could regenerate. Herbs had to be treated with respect, or their magic lost effect.

As she moved, she pondered the question that was tormenting her increasingly. She was married to Harbinger, a fine man, and she knew she made him happy. But she was barren. Their people kept their numbers low, so as not to overburden the scant resources of the area. Young girls were first married to old men, so they would not conceive, and young boys were forbidden contact with girls or women until they navigated a complicated series of initiations. But that did not mean that there should not ever be children.

Harbinger was thirty-two, two years older than Rebel. It was time for him to start his family. But he couldn't start it with Rebel. They both knew that.

Her sister Haven was Harbinger's age, and near the end of her potential. She could give him a child—but it needed to be soon. Yet it couldn't happen as long as Rebel was in the way.

She had discussed this with Haven, but Haven would not agree to displace Rebel in this manner. So they were at an impasse.

But if Rebel took herself out of the picture, then Haven would do it. She would have no choice. Haven liked Harbinger well enough. She would have married him, had he gotten over a certain initial difficulty the two of them had had, and asked her. Rebel had gotten him almost by default.

There were certain herbs that would send a person to the spirit realm, swiftly and silently. Rebel knew where they grew. All she had to do was eat one. But if there was any suspicion that she had done it deliberately, neither Harbinger nor Haven would take advantage of their opportunity. It had to be by accident, and that was hard to arrange.

For one thing, Rebel didn't want to die. She wanted to live and love, to be happy and make a man happy. A man who didn't need children. But that would mean leaving the tribe, because there were no such men in her own tribe. She didn't want to do that; her ties with her siblings were too strong.

What, then, was she to do? That was the problem that balked her. There had to be an answer, but it eluded her.

O Spirits of the land, help me,
she prayed silently.

There was a sound. She looked up, startled, and there was a strange man standing before her. He had hair on his face and oddly baggy clothing on his body, in contrast to her own loincloth. He was staring at her bare breasts.

Well, that suggested that he was of the mortal realm, because though her breasts were excellent, the spirits hardly cared about sex appeal. Who was he, and from what tribe? She had never seen his like. He was so pale in his face and hands! But it did seem that the spirits had answered her.

Then there was a sound behind her. She whirled, but too late to escape the second man. He grabbed her by the arms.

“Let me go!” she exclaimed. She could have disabled him with a knee, but preferred for the moment to play the role of the helpless girl. She wanted to learn more before she drew on her combat skill. It would be a rebuke to the spirits if she did not consider their offer carefully.

The man uttered something unintelligible. The other man responded. It seemed to be some sort of language, but like none she had heard. They must be from a very long way away.

The two men consulted. Then one produced some cord and bound her wrists behind her back. They were going to do something with her, or take her somewhere.

Rebel used the toes of one foot to catch the vine anklet on her other foot. It was an intricate anklet of her own design, identifying her immediately. She pushed it off and left it on the ground. That would show where she had been. Her brother Hero would come looking for her when she didn't return from her forage, and he would find it, and would know that something had happened to her.