brought in. The precautions seemed useless. They had seen nothing…
But they, themselves, had been seen.
Eyes had watched them from the forest, the eyes of men. These watchers wore the skins of an animal resembling the leopard, and, like the beast, they wore its likeness in a fantastic headdress, a headdress that made it seem as if the man's head had been swallowed by one of the cats and the man was looking out the open jaws.
These men dispatched runners to tell their leaders of Casca and his ships, and while they waited for word from their leaders, they watched the strange Norsemen.
Had the Norsemen seen them they would have seen men who were as a race handsome, swarthy, square- faced with brown or black eyes. Their bodies were lean, with no trace of fat. These men were hunters. Not of animals. Hunters of men.
They watched the strangers from the sea, puzzled by the huge ships. Careful to keep from being seen themselves, they moved through the jungles of the coast like shadows. The only metal they had was of gold, worn in necklaces and bracelets that were studded with stones of many colors. These were the soldiers of the Jaguar, proud and cruel. Many had teeth filed to points to show their bravery and devotion, to show that they sought to imitate their god in all things.
They were part of a raiding party. They had been sent out to punish a city, a city delinquent in its tribute to their own city far in the interior, near the great marshes in the Valley of the Serpent. Now they watched Casca and his men and waited for orders.
For twelve days they watched, and then runners came back with word that the king and priests wished them to bring back one man from these invaders to be questioned to see if he was worthy of being a messenger. To aid them in the venture of securing one of the invaders' men, along with the runners came another forty Jaguar soldiers armed with spears having flint tips, with axes faced with glasslike rock. The soldiers' faces were painted for war. They waited.
The strangers they watched were cautious, and the look of them said they were fighters but so were the Jaguar men.
They watched.
And they selected their man, the one they would take back as a messenger the big one with the twisted muscled arms and many scars. He was apparently the leader. He was the one they would have.
To attack the fort would be foolish. If they were patient, time would present them with the object of their desires. In the meantime the raiding party punished the offending village by burning it to the ground and taking all the young men as slaves. When they had their last man, they put all the captives in a slave coffle and waited in the jungle for the other Jaguar men to capture the 'messenger' Casca. The captured slaves were bound with ropes of woven leather for the journey to the capital of the Jaguar men, the great city of Teotah. These men were the Teotec.
Now, all that remained was to capture Casca. The Jaguar men were patient…
The time came as they knew it would. The pale strangers decided the area was uninhabited and began to venture forth in small parties, hunting and exploring. The watchers in the trees made sure that the strangers retained the delusion of an uninhabited land. No sign of the watchers did the Vikings see at any time, even though many of them passed so close to Jaguar soldiers that they might have reached out and touched them with their fingertips had they known they were there. The Jaguar men were not interested in them; they waited for the leader.
Finally, Casca came out walking with the Vikings. He wore no armor. It was too hot, and there was no reason he could see why he should load himself with steel and brass that would surely bake him like a fish in this climate. He took only his short sword. He, Olaf, and a man named Ragnar walked out into the jungle, away from the eyes of their shipmates.
Once the wall of the jungle closed on Casca's small party, the Jaguar soldiers began to move. Making the sounds of birds, they gave directions to their comrades that the quarry was near and soon to be had. Slowly they closed in first from the rear to cut off escape, and then from the sides. They crept forward, sometimes crawling on their bellies like snakes. Slowly, patiently, inch by inch, they tightened the trap on the Vikings. Casca and his two companions knew nothing of what was going on around them. They had not been raised in woods like these. Even if they had, the mottled hide of the hunting cat that the Jaguar men wore was a nearly perfect camouflage from any reasonable distance, and against the bushes and trees they were almost invisible.
To Casca and his companions the walk was a lark. Casca pointed out the monkeys in the trees. He had seen monkeys himself when he was in the East, but the animals were totally strange to the Vikings. They asked Casca if these little people were gnomes or spirits.
'No,' Casca laughed, 'they are just animals. But they do have some of our traits, I see.' He pointed out one amorous little bastard who was hanging by his tail and getting a little off a squealing female of his species.
The Vikings joined in his laughter.
But suddenly Casca froze.
A sense of uneasiness came over him. There was no tangible reason for it, but Casca had been around too long, had known too much danger not to intuitively sense when he was being watched. He felt that eyes were on him right now. Someone was close. Speaking softly, he alerted Olaf and Ragnar to the danger. He drew his sword on the pretext of examining a strange fruit on a tree and cutting it down. The others did likewise, pretending to taste the fruit. At least now their weapons were in their hands. There was no reason to expect an attack, but if one came, they were prepared for it.
And come it did.
Without warning, fifty jaguar skin-clad figures screamed the cry of the hunt and threw themselves from the trees onto their prey. Weird, strange figures they were in their fantastic dress, but the Vikings were of the stuff that they would fight the One-Eyed Loki himself if he gave them just a little in the way of odds.
The Vikings' swords and axes whirled through the air, cutting down one fur-clad brown figure after another. Back to back, they fought their way to a great tree that would protect their rear. They fought and sliced the oncoming Jaguar soldiers to pieces. The attackers seemed to be more interested in taking them alive than dead, and the Vikings made maximum use of that fact until a sudden thrust from one of those ugly stone-tipped spears pierced the eye of Ragnar, sending him to Valhalla… if the Valkyrie could find this place so far removed from their homeland.
Catching his breath, Casca carved one more Teotec to the waist and told Olaf that he was going to rush them and for Olaf to slip around the tree and head for the camp, that he would return as soon as he was able. He stopped Olaf's protest with a curt: 'Obey. Or die.' Nodding reluctantly, Olaf did as he was told.
Then Casca gave a great roar that bounced off the trees and sent hundreds of monkeys into a chattering fit. He threw himself on the Teotec warriors, hacking, beating them back, using every trick he had learned in the Roman arena. Like a living whirlwind he sped among them, killing and hacking. But his sword was knocked out of his hand by an obsidian-lined club, numbing his right arm. Though Casca went on to kill three more with his open hand blows, they eventually overcame him, smothering him under the weight of their piled-up bodies.
The odor of those bodies was itself overpowering. Shit! What in Hades do these people wear for perfume? he thought, not at the time being familiar with the use of the juice from the glands of the skunk as an aid in warding off avaricious mosquitoes!
Quickly the downed Casca was trussed up like a side of beef, removed from the scene of combat, and taken into the jungle. To the Jaguar men the mission was complete. They had what they wanted. Let the other pale stranger go. He was of no importance. This one would be the best messenger they had ever had if his courage and fighting skills were any indicators.
Olaf and a rescue party made their way back to the sight of the ambush, but of Casca or of even wounded or dead enemies there was no sign. Only puddles of blood, now covered with flies, attested to the violence that had taken place. Under a bush they found Casca's short sword. Olaf stuck it in his belt. After further fruitless searching they returned to their camp. Olaf relayed Casca's order that they were to await his return. For Olaf, it was enough. He would obey and wait while he had life. So would the others. Here they would wait until the Lord of the Hold, the Walker, returned. As he said, so he would. Of that Olaf had no doubts. Casca was not as other men.
