New Found Land (14 page)

The hammering seemed loud, but they were so far above the ground it probably didn't matter. Just over their heads the overhang blotted out the sky. He tried to estimate the length of it: ten feet, maybe twelve. Too long for comfort.

“Right,” Brad said. “Here I go. Anchor yourselves to these pegs when I move on. It may help, if I crash.”

“Anything else we can do?” Simon asked.

“Not a lot. A prayer would do no harm.”

“I have been praying all the way,” Bos said. “But I will pray harder.”

Brad drove a peg in higher. He had loops of rope on either side of his belt, and once the peg was firm he hooked one over it. He swung free, hanging from the peg, and Simon braced himself against the wall. He could hear Brad's laboured breathing, and the sound of another peg going in.

The process was maddeningly slow, and having to listen to Bos muttering Latin didn't help. After
some time he heard an exclamation, and something just missed his head. A peg struck the step beneath them, and clattered down the side of the pyramid. It seemed a long time before the noise died away. He thought of the guards and wondered if Brad would suspend operations, but the hammering restarted immediately. He was right, of course: the only thing that mattered now was getting past the overhang.

At last, craning his head back, Simon could see Brad's outline against the sky. He had his hands on the parapet and was trying to heave himself up. Something was holding him back. He contorted his body desperately, and Simon realized his rope was caught on the peg below. If Brad were to fall now . . . He braced himself harder. Bos had abandoned prayer and was urging Brad: “You can do it, lad!”

There was a wrenching sound of the peg coming out; it too whistled past Simon's ear. Brad twisted and heaved again; at first ineffectually but then he disappeared over the top. His voice came down: “I'll make the rope secure. Hang on.”

There was a long interval before he spoke again: “I think it's okay. You first, Simon. You're lighter.”

Hesitation was not going to improve things. He
gave a sharp testing tug on the rope and started climbing, his feet treading the wall. It was not all that difficult, providing he could keep his mind closed to the drop. That wasn't easy, though.

Pain shot through his right hand and he gave an involuntary yelp of pain: his fingers had been trapped between rope and stone. But that meant he was nearly there; he looked up to see the parapet's edge clear-cut against the sky. He reached for it, found a grip, and heaved convulsively. Brad helped him over the top and he collapsed thankfully on the other side.

As he got up he said to Brad: “What did you use to anchor the rope?”

“There wasn't anything. I just dug in my toes against the bottom of the parapet.”

He was glad he hadn't known that earlier. At least there were two of them to haul up Bos, though even so it was a strain. Once he had joined them, Simon could take stock of the situation.

All it was possible to make out in the dim light was that the top was level and had quite a number of buildings on it. The parapet stretched out of view in either direction. It must enclose a considerable area:
enough to house a small village. Brad said: “Any suggestions what we do next?”

It was an unusual query to come from him. His voice had a note of exhaustion. It was obvious the climb had taken a lot out of him. Simon was conscious of a similar reaction, of feeling at a loss about what to do next. Bos, though, said, matter-of-factly: “She is somewhere up here. We must look till we find her.”

•  •  •

The first building they tackled had an open door, and it wasn't difficult to establish that it contained what a sound of snoring had already suggested—a score or so of sleeping men. The second proved identical. After a row of these huts, they came on smaller ones. The first was an ablutions room, with stone basins on either side and a pool in the centre.

Subsequently they found storerooms, a kitchen, and next to it, a messroom. Simon began to get discouraged again, and it even occurred to him to wonder if the information about her being here had been correct; supposing she were, the chances of finding her without their being discovered first did not seem high. Then Bos gripped his arm, whispering, “Look.”

He peered into the darkness and saw a building much bigger than any they had so far encountered, higher as well as broader. Bos led the investigation, and they found a doorway with a bead curtain that jangled slightly as they pushed through. They passed from the room inside to a second and a third; they seemed to be well furnished. But empty. Simon whispered to Brad: “Nothing here. Shall we move on?”

“Over there,” Brad whispered back, “—isn't it a staircase?”

The stairs creaked alarmingly under their feet. There was a landing at the top, and rooms on either side. To the left there was a sound of rhythmic breathing; Simon and Bos peeped in and saw about a dozen pallet beds. At that point Simon became aware Brad was not with them, and turned to see him beckoning from the entrance to the room opposite.

This room had just one bed and one sleeping figure. It would be marvellous if it were Lundiga, Simon thought; except it couldn't possibly be. Then the figure moved, flinging out an arm and turning over in bed. Blonde hair gleamed in the faint moonlight.

Leaning over her, Bos whispered urgently: “Lundiga . . . wake up, girl!”

She shifted but did not respond; she had always been a heavy sleeper. Bos shook the outstretched arm. “Wake up. It's us.”

She sat up abruptly, grabbing at his wrist. “What . . . who?” She came wide-awake. “Is it you, Bos?” She was incredulous. “And Simonus? And Bradus!”

Brad said: “Quiet, Lundiga. You'll wake them.”

She paid no attention. “How did you get here? Were you brought?” The tone of incredulity deepened. “In the middle of the night?”

“We climbed the pyramid,” Brad said.

“Climbed? Why?”

“Not so loud,” Brad pleaded. “The thing is, we can get you out of here. But for Odin's sake, whisper.”

As Lundiga started to speak again, in a voice only slightly lower, Simon heard a patter of feet. He swung round, but they were already on him, and he was borne down by clutching arms. Soft flesh pressed against his face. There was a general babble in which he distinguished Bos's voice raised in anger, and Lundiga's also raised but speaking Aztec. He
had just worked out that the bodies holding him down were female when the pressure relaxed and he was able to get up from the floor. There were girls everywhere. Lundiga spoke again, and they scurried from the room. Turning to them, she said: “I have sent for lamps. And food and drink. You will need refreshment if you have climbed the pyramid!”

They looked at her. Brad shook his head.

“I don't understand the setup, but you've got rid of them. Now let's get out while we have the chance.”

“Get out? Why?”

He said in exasperation: “Because you're in danger here. We all are. You must know that.”

Lundiga shook her head emphatically. “I am in no danger. Nor are you. There was no need for your climbing—you only had to speak to the guards. I was expecting you to come. I sent messengers to Palzibil to fetch you.”

Bos spoke patiently. “I do not know what lies they have told you, Lundiga, but you must not believe them. They plan to sacrifice you to their cruel gods.”

“Sacrifice me?” She laughed. “I do not think so!”

Brad said: “Listen. I heard what the Chief Priest at Palzibil said when he ordered his guards to take you.
He claimed you as a bride of the god. And that's exactly what they call the girls who are sacrificed: brides of the gods. Look, we haven't time to argue. Just accept that I know what I'm talking about, and let's get going.”

She smiled affectionately at him. “You know a great deal, Bradus. I have never known anyone who knew so much. But even you do not know everything. I have learned things since I was brought here. It is true the girls who are sacrificed are called brides of the gods. But those are the
lesser
gods. There is a greater god they worship, compared with whom even the God of War and the Rain God are nothing. He is called Ipalnemohuani, which means the One by Whom We Live. He is like your Christian god, because they say he made all things. They worship him, but they do not offer him sacrifices.”

Brad said: “You seem to have learned the language pretty thoroughly to have picked all that up.” He sounded disgruntled.

Lundiga shrugged.

“The priests talk with me, and at other times I talk with my serving girls. It passes the time. And I think it is good to know the language of the people who are to worship me.”

“Worship you!”

“Yes. The brides of the other gods are sacrificed, because it is easy to find new ones. But no bride has ever been chosen for Ipalnemohuani. That is because legend says that his bride will have hair of gold. And that is why I have been chosen to be his bride, and to be worshipped along with him.” She giggled. “I do not think it will be so bad, being a goddess!”

They were interrupted by the return of the serving girls, bringing food and drink on gold trays. They also brought lamps and set them up in niches along the walls. Simon was able to see that the furnishings were sumptuous, with a vast amount of gold leaf.

Bos drained his pot, and had it refilled. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said: “I do not know about this goddess matter. The true God has no wife, though He has a mother. But we know these are heathens, and at least they seem to be looking after you well. Though I think it a poor prospect if you must spend the rest of your days up here in the sky.”

Lundiga shook her head. “I do not have to do that. I shall stay here only until they have built me a palace. There is to be a summer palace also, in the
hills.” She waved a careless hand. “And others, I think, in other parts of the empire.”

“It sounds pretty good,” Simon said, “but you won't really be a free agent, will you? In a way you'll be a prisoner.”

Her smile had just a touch of condescension.

“A goddess is not a prisoner, Simonus. These girls are my servants but the priests also serve me. Even the Arch-Priest. Whatever I wish, I can have. When I asked for you three to be brought, messengers were at once sent to Palzibil.”

“Terrific,” Brad said drily.

“It is even better than you think.” She favoured him with another fond look. “I am to be the bride of Ipalnemohuani, but the God Who Made All Things has no body. I have told the Arch-Priest I require a human consort, and in this too my wish is a command. That is why I sent the messengers to Palzibil. You will share my good fortune. I will have a palace built for you, Bos, and Simonus—a palace each, if you wish.”

She cast another warm and possessive glance at Brad.

“But Bradus—Bradus will share my throne, and be my consort!”

•  •  •

Eventually Lundiga dismissed them. She needed sleep, she said, yawning, because there was to be a rehearsal of her part in the full moon ceremony later that day, and she needed to prepare herself. They retired to the room the servants had prepared for them. The mattresses were down filled. Bos dropped on his and grunted approval.

“So fortune smiles on us again. We have found Lundiga, safe and well. And she says she will give us palaces to live in. She is a good girl.”

Dawn was breaking through the windows. Lying down, Simon realized how tired he was. Yawning himself, he said: “A palace for you, Bos, and one for me. But the big prize goes to Bradus. He gets to marry a goddess.”

Brad said: “Shut up.”

“And the really big question,” Simon went on, “is: does that make you a god? I figure it should.”

“I said shut up!”

The note of real anger got through the haze of weariness. Simon looked at Brad and saw how tight his face was. He said: “Don't get steamed up. It's just a joke.”

“Not to her.”

Simon thought about that. “Well, no, maybe not. But the wedding won't take place yet awhile. You're both a bit young. You'll have time to wriggle out of it.”

“I'm
getting
out, now.”

“Out of Tenochtitlan? Let's think about it; in a day or two.”

Brad shook his head stubbornly. “Now. Right away.”

“There's no sense in that.”

“Isn't there? Right now she's asleep, and she's had no time to give instructions. She will when she wakes up. We're going to be guarded; certainly, I am. Those messengers she sent to Palzibil weren't to ask if we wanted to come here—they were to bring us.”

“Come on,” Simon said, “you're taking it too seriously. This is Lundiga we're talking about—the Lundiga who saved us on the island, who was with us all those months. She may have some funny notion about making you her consort, but she's not going to try forcing you into anything.”

“It's also the future bride of Ipalnemohuani we're talking about. A goddess. You heard what she said:
‘It is good to know the language of the people who are to worship me.' She's living the part already.”

“That's just a phase. She's too level-headed.”

“ ‘Power tends to corrupt; absolute power corrupts absolutely.' One of your English lords said that, and I think he had something. You can't get more absolute than a goddess. Anyway, I'm not taking any chances.”

“Even if you should be right, we can always find a means of getting away.”

“Climb down the pyramid, you mean, like we climbed up? I'd rather walk out, while I can.”

His arguments were logical but not, Simon thought, entirely rational. While he was racking his brain for something else to say, Bos said slowly: “You are serious in this, Bradus. Because of Lundiga, you are determined to run away?”

“Yes.”

“The pouch with my vine roots is in that place where we were living.”