A Maya walked beside the two soldiers carrying Olaf. The scarred leader of the band stayed behind Neil and Erik, and slowly the procession moved toward the city. They broke out of the forest, and the sun bore down on them with all its brilliance. Heavy clouds of dust swirled around them as their feet stamped into the ground. Behind Olaf, extending from his trailing feet, were two narrow ridges in the ground-almost like the tracks a very tiny automobile would leave, Neil mused.
Surrounding the city, in contrast to the architectural beauty of the huge stone buildings and intricately carved facades, were thatched huts, squat and ugly. A few children sat in the sun, blinking up at the visitors.
Here and there an old woman sat before a hut, gently nodding as the procession passed.
Far in the distance, Neil could see rising clouds of dust. Through the dust, he saw figures wending their way home to the city. It was the end of the working day, he figured, and the young people were returning from the fields.
The procession marched through the city, almost deserted now except for the very young and very old. Neil was amazed by the orderliness, by the planning of buildings that was evident all around him.
There seemed to be two preferred types of architecture. One consisted of a rectangular-shaped building set on a rather high pyramid, which seemed to be nothing more or less than earth and rubble, into which had been set cement or perhaps cut stone. The front of the pyramid was cut into terrace-like steps. This type of building, Neil judged, seemed to be in the majority. The other seemed to consist of a cluster of rooms built on low, irregularly shaped platforms.
Each was highly ornamented, bold carvings covering the faces-carvings that were faintly reminiscent of the Oriental, but in a much stronger, rougher-hewn way.
A band of soldiers appeared on the street, marching in formation, their heels raising dust as they moved closer to the captives.
The scarred captain stepped forward and spoke to the leader of the new band. He nodded as the Maya with the scar pointed to the forest. Then he gave an order and the men began marching toward the woods.
“They go for our friends,” Erik said, his eyes squinting after the retreating soldiers.
“I hope,” Neil faltered, “I hope there’s no trouble.”
Ahead of them, Olaf shook his head and staggered to his feet. Instantly, a spear pressed against his ribs on either side of his body. He looked around in wonder, surprised at finding himself within the city.
The captain returned and gave another order, and the procession moved forward again. In the distance, the returning farmers seemed to be larger and closer to the city now.
The procession passed by one of the pyramid-type buildings and the captain raised his hand. The group stopped and waited on the sun-baked street while the captain climbed the long, low steps leading to the building. He walked through one of three doorways cut into the face of the building, and disappeared into the dark recesses behind the stone.
Neil shifted uncomfortably, the dust rising to smart his eyes. He could feel the prick of the spear behind him, where it rested between his shoulder blades.
The captain was gone for at least ten minutes, and then a figure appeared in the doorway of the building. This man was a little taller than the soldiers, and his head was crowned with a brilliant shock of white hair that rose in splendid contrast to the brownness of his skin. He wore a long, white, cotton garment that reached to his ankles.
The captain stepped out behind him and pointed at Neil. The man in white nodded and started down the steps.
Neil glanced at Erik in time to see the Norseman take a deep breath.
The man in white paused on the bottom step of the pyramid, his deep brown eyes studying Erik, and then Neil, and then Olaf, who stood sullenly between his captors.
He walked down to the trio and stopped before Neil. In gentle tones he said something to him.
Neil shook his head at the old man. “I do not understand,” he said.
Little creases of puzzlement formed alongside the old man’s eyes. He cocked his head to one side, like a dog listening for a sound, and then repeated what he’d said before.
Neil shrugged helplessly and said, I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
The old man ran his thin fingers through the white, flowing hair on top of his head. He turned and said something to the captain. The captain answered rapidly, and the old man turned to Neil again.
He held both his hands out from his body in a puzzled gesture, and raised his eyebrows questioningly
“I think he wants to know about us,” Neil said to Erik.
“But how can we tell him?”
Neil stepped forward and held out his hand, palm downward. Then he moved his hand slowly across his body in an undulating motion, tracing invisible peaks and valleys in the air.
“Water,” he said, repeating the motion. He pointed back toward the forest and repeated, “Water.”