For over eleven months he had lived in luxury, with every wish he had expressed instantly obeyed, except that he had not been allowed to indulge himself abnormally in food or drink lest the ''person of the God' should physically deteriorate. He had also
been denied women, so that he should not lessen his virility through excess. But for his last twenty days of life it was customary that the Man God should be given as his brides four of the most beautiful girls that could be found in the city.
At the same moment there came back to him the resolve he had made to die fighting rather than submit to being sacrificed. Now he upbraided himself furiously for having allowed the drug he had been given in his food to lull him into a false sense of security and to forget his intention to escape.
But it was not too late. The sun already casting long shadows on the terrace and about to set behind the range of distant mountains. If he acted swiftly and ruthlessly he might yet get away under cover of darkness and rejoin his own people.
He had no weapon but, springing forward, with one hand he seized Itzechuatl by the throat and with the other grasped the bejeweled hilt of the dagger at his girdle. Wrenching out the sharp obsidian blade, he lifted it high and struck with it at the High Priest's side. The point descended on a hidden buckle. The stone blade shattered into fragments, but the blow was so forceful that it drove the breath out of Itzechuatl body. With a gasp, he lurched sideways and collapsed.
With cries of horror at this sacrilege, the bearers of the litters launched themselves on Adam. There were sixteen of them; but they were little men and Adam, by comparison, a giant. He seized the foremost by the hair and beneath one knee, lifted him high in the air and threw him into the midst of the others. Plunging forward into the gap in their ranks, he hit out right and left. Three of them went down under his blows; the rest, except for one, gave back.
That one still barred his path and had drawn a dagger. Adam could have feinted, as though to leap past one side of him, then dashed past the other; but there remained the danger that the man might swing round as he passed and knife him in the back. At that moment the tall girl, Mirolitlit, snapped the neck fastening of her transparent gauze cloak and cast the garment over the Chichimec's dagger hand, fouling it so that he could not strike.
Next moment Adam smashed his fist into the man's face and sent him reeling. Flashing a smile at the girl, which she returned with a shout of encouragement, he dashed forward in the direction of the steps that led down from the terrace to the water. Taking them three at a time he reached the stone landing stage. Seizing
the painter of a canoe alongside, with brute strength he wrenched out the staple that held it. Before those of the bearers who had
remained uninjured were halfway down the steps he was in the canoe, had grabbed the paddle and pushed off.
The sun had just gone down behind the mountains. Darkness as fast descending on the lake; but he knew that when he reached the shore he had hundreds of miles to cover before he could hope to reach the country near the coast, to which his own people had retired, and be safe among them. The Chichimec warriors were fast runners and they would soon be in pursuit. Kneeling in the canoe he drove the frail craft forward with frantic strokes across the lake. It was not until moments later that he realised it was to the Norse gods that he was praying desperately to save him.
CHAPTER 4
A Girl with a Gun
WHEN Adam came to, he realised vaguely that he was leaning over sideways, embraced by the soft arms of a woman and with his aching head pillowed on her breast. His dream had been so vivid that he thought himself still in the past; that somehow he had been knocked out and brought back to the terrace of the Palace, and that it was the beautiful Mirolitlit who was cradling him in her arms.
A moment later he opened his eyes, saw trees and traffic through a window and realised that he was in the back of a large car; yet the idea that he was being supported by Mirolitlit's arms still persisted.
Turning his head, he looked up at his companion and, to his surprise, saw that she was not Mirolitlit. The only resemblance between the two was that both had black hair and copper coloured skin. This girl had blue eyes and an aquiline nose set between high cheekbones in a narrow face. Her mouth was well shaped, but on the thin side, and her chin showed great determination.
As he moved, she smiled. In repose her features had conveyed the impression that she was an autocrat: beautiful, but self willed and dictatorial. The smile was one of warm friendliness. Her mouth opened, as though from constant habit, to display two gleaming rows of even teeth; her eyes radiated tenderness and concern. It was as though the sculptured head of an imperious Indian Princess had magically become alive, revealing a generous mind, responsive nerves and a flow of rich blood from the heart.
She said in Spanish, `We knocked you down and are taking you to a hospital. I'm terribly sorry. I do hope that you are not badly hurt.'
Perhaps it was her voice, coupled with the entrancing smile; but Adam again thought of Mirolitlit. In spite of the difference in their appearance, the two women seemed to bear an indefinable resemblance to each other. It was something intangible: not of the body, but in the nature of an invisible aura or spiritual essence.
`Machos gracias, senyorita,' he muttered, endeavouring to sit up. But his head was aching atrociously and felt like a millstone. It rolled on his shoulders and he fell back. Then he managed to gasp, `It was my fault. Sorry… sorry to be a bother.'
`Lie quietly now,' she said. `We'll be there in a minute.' And shortly afterwards the car pulled up. Ambulance men appeared with a stretcher and Adam was carried into the hospital.
In a ground floor room a doctor examined him. Meanwhile the man who had been driving the car stood nearby, looking on anxiously. His hair was thick but snow white above a square, forceful face, his brown eyes quick and intelligent, his clothes expensive and his air, as he questioned the doctor that of a man used to being obeyed.
The doctor reported that Adam had sustained no injury except to his head, and that was, not serious; but he would probably suffer from slight concussion, so it was advisable that he remain in the hospital, anyway for that night.
By then Adam had recovered sufficiently to give particulars about himself, upon which the other man said, `Senor Gordon is to be put in a private ward and given every attention. I will be responsible for all expenses.' Then, turning to Adam, he added in halting English, `Accept, please, my deepest regrets, wishes for your speedy recovery. As you are visitor here I hope you allow me to make reparation for the knocking down of you. Permit that I be of service to you during stay in Mexico City. I am named Bernadino Enriquez.'
Adam was then wheeled to a lift, put to bed in a pleasant room upstairs and given a sedative which soon sent him off to sleep. During the night he dreamed again and the lovely Mirolitlit was the central figure in the dream, but it had no continuity and at times Mirolitlit turned into the girl in the car so that their personalities became inextricably mixed.
In the morning his head still pained him and he had a slight temperature, so, although otherwise he felt fairly well, it was decided that he should spend another night in the hospital. Soon after the doctor had left him, his day nurse brought in a huge Bouquet of flowers and a basket of exotic fruit. There was a card with them inscribed, 'Bernadino Enriquez, Avenida Presidente,Masarik 85', and an invitation to dinner two nights hence, the 7th January. Hoping that the intriguing lady of the car would be there, Adam: promptly decided to accept, then asked his nurse if he knew anything about Bernadino Enriquez.