In Spite of the late hour at which Adam got to bed, he had had himself called at nine o’clock because it had been arranged that Chela should call for him at eleven. A swim in the pool on the ground floor of the hotel thoroughly revived him and he breakfasted heartily off an omelette, delicious hot, white rolls and tropical fruit. Then, dressed in a smart grey, lightweight suit of terylene and worsted, he went down to face the day, bursting with renewed vitality.
Chela was only half an hour late. She arrived in a long, low, open car, dressed in primrose tweeds and wearing over her hair a bright-red scarf, the ends of which streamed out behind her. As he climbed into the car, he said gaily:
‘I hope you’ve got your gun; because I’ve a hunch that you plan to drop me off among a gang of Mexican bandits, just to watch my reactions, and I’m not used to dealing with that sort of situation.’
‘Not today,’ she laughed. ‘We’ll save that for later, when you are a little more acclimatised.’
Turning out of the Reforma, she took another six-lane motorway, the Avenida Insurgentes, which led south to Acapulco. Adam had never owned a car until two months earlier he had bought his Jaguar and hired a chauffeur-valet to drive it. That had been a very pleasant experience; but here, in the centre of Mexico City, he found driving with anyone terrifying. Unlike many modern cities, it did not consist mainly of parallel streets enclosing square blocks, but had many focal points from which, like the rays of a star, the streets led in all directions, cutting across others at sharp angles. There were innumerable traffic lights, the working of which it was difficult to decipher, and, very frequently, the Mexicans ignored them. They seemed, too, to be a speed-crazed people; for, in their determination to get ahead, they constantly left one line of traffic without warning, to cut in across the front of a car in another. The number of cars with bent bumpers and dented sides testified to the very real danger of entering this packed mechanical jungle.
Wedged in the fast-moving stream, his fear tempered only by admiration, Adam sat tight as Chela drove with superb self-confidence, at never less than forty and sometimes up to eighty miles an hour, past heavily-laden lorries and other less speedy vehicles. Then, as they approached a great complex of lofty buildings, she slowed down and said:
‘This is our University City. It occupies five hundred and fifty acres of what was formerly waste land; over a hundred and fifty of our best architects and engineers worked for four years to build it, and it cost three hundred million pesos.’
Adam could well believe that, as they ran slowly past block after block of steel and glass suspended, apparently miraculously, on rows of tall, slender concrete pillars. Facing the campus was the fifteen-storey administrative building, to one side of it the thousand-foot-long Arts Centre and on the other the huge library, its solid walls covered in intricate designs in colourful mosaic, symbolically depicting the rise of Mexican culture from the earliest times. There was a vast stadium, squash and tennis courts, swimming pools, car parks to hold thousands of vehicles, all interspersed with gardens, lakes and wooded areas.
‘Your students are lucky,’ Adam remarked, ‘and with their every need catered for like this, they can hardly fail to do well.’
Chela made a grimace. ‘They could, if they gave all their time to study; but like students everywhere these days they waste a large part of it getting themselves steamed up about politics.’
‘I’d have thought that, with a one-party government, that would not have been allowed. Or are a lot of them anti-the-bomb-ers?’
‘No. The bomb has not yet become a sufficient threat to Mexico for them to concern themselves about that. I was referring to university politics. You see, in 1929 the passion for making everything democratic led to a decree that half the governing body of the University should be elected by the faculty and the other half by the students; and the governors were given the power to hire or fire any professor. That meant that all the professors became dependent on the goodwill of their students. If one of them was accused of inefficiency by a pupil he had to defend himself; and if he wanted promotion he had to go canvassing. Naturally, some students favoured one prof, and others another. Every time there is an election books are thrown aside, scores of impassioned speeches are made and the campus often becomes a battlefield.’
While Chela had been talking she was driving north-east-ward away from the University and soon they entered the district of El Pedregal. It was an area many square miles in extent that, until quite recently, had been entirely desolate; old lava flow. Now its uneven waves of stone had disappeared, large quantities of it having been cut into blocks to build several hundred houses. But this was no ordinary housing estate. Each house differed: some were in the old colonial style, others of the large villa type and others again fantastic creations by the most advanced architects of the day. All stood in at least an acre of garden that had been expensively landscaped, had swimming pools, sun parlours, tennis courts or rockeries and were gay with newly-planted flowering trees and shrubs. Adam estimated that in England these delightful properties would have cost their owners anything from thirty to sixty thousand pounds.
‘Here,’ Chela remarked, ‘you see how some of our rich live. Later, I will take you to see where the poor struggle to survive.’
Her tone was decidedly acid and Adam was both interested and a little surprised to find that the lovely, wealthy playgirl should concern herself with such matters. After a moment, he said:
‘I had the idea that Mexico was a Welfare State?’
‘In a way it is; but only in a way that our clever government has devised to keep itself in power. There are other housing estates unlike this one. They are only row upon row of little four-room bungalows, but they have electricity and modern sanitation, so they are palaces compared to the places in which most of the people who have them used to live. Many of them—families of six or eight—used to be crammed into a two-room tenement without even water laid on. The people who get these bungalows pay only a nominal rent, so they are in clover. But they are very carefully selected, and it is no use applying for one unless you are a white-collar worker, a tradeunion official or a schoolmaster. Can you guess why?’
‘I think so,’ Adam replied. ‘It is because it is always the underpaid Civil Servants, self-educated mechanics and that type of man who create revolutions.’
‘You’ve got it. The really poor and the ignorant masses are helpless without leaders; so the government suborns the class that might give them trouble by pandering to it.’
‘That is certainly a cynical attitude, but I don’t suppose they could afford to house anything like the number of families that need better homes. And at least it is a start in the right direction. Things will improve as time goes on.’
She shrugged. ‘I doubt it. Mexico has always been a land of extraordinary contrasts. Vast areas of barren useless land and occasional valleys rich in fertility. The very rich and the very poor. In the cities there has never been such wealth as there is today, but in purchasing power the peasants earn less than they did a generation ago. Their state is pitiful; but they will never be better off until they have been organised to bring about a real revolution.’
The car had been heading back westwards towards the University City. Passing through the northern outskirts, Chela drove on into an entirely different district of narrow, cobbled lanes and big old houses behind high stone walls.
‘This,’ she said, ‘is San Angel. Many wealthy families of Spanish descent have had their homes here for generations. I’m taking you to an old monastery which is now a restaurant. It is very good and lots of people drive out here for lunch.’
A few minutes later they pulled up and went into the building. The spacious restaurant was crowded with well-dressed people and a big centre table was loaded with cold dishes and delicacies of every kind. They went through to a courtyard, the walls of which were covered with jasmine, passion-vines and bougainvillaea, had drinks there and afterwards ate a meal the cost of which would have fed a poor family for a fortnight. As Adam paid the bill he wondered if Chela ever gave such extravagance a thought. But he was enjoying himself too much to concern himself about that.
Afterwards she drove him back to his hotel, dropped him there and said that she had engagements she had made before they met for that evening, but would call for him at the same time the next day.
That evening he went again to the Anthropological Museum, which was open until ten o’clock, and gazed fascinated at a number of the ancient Toltec exhibits that seemed so familiar to him, then he had a light meal in the hotel and went early to bed.
The following morning Chela drove him northwards through the city to show him one of the government housing estates, then on for twenty-odd miles to Teotihuacán, the ceremonial capital of the Toltecs, from which they had been driven late in the tenth century.
It was the largest centre of religion that the world has ever known: eight square miles of courts and pyramids dominated by those of the Moon and the Sun, the latter being in bulk and area even larger than the great pyramid of Egypt.
They parked the car outside the museum with its adjacent wings of shops that sold every variety of Indian antique and souvenir, then spent two hours walking round the ruins. Up to the Pyramid of the Moon there was a broad mile-long open space with rows of ruins on either side, from the steps of which many thousands of spectators must have watched the colourful processions of befeathered priests and nobles.
Grouped about the foot of the big pyramid were several smaller ones, connected by little courts and passages. At the entrance to this maze they engaged a guide who explained to Adam that the pyramids consisted of many layers, as their builders had believed that every fifty-second year the world entered a new cycle, they had encased the pyramid in a new covering of stone blocks, making its area and height ever greater.
On one side of the pyramid an excavation had been made showing all these layers and, descending a ramp, they passed through a narrow gallery off which there were a number of small, dark rooms deep in the base of the giant structure. The guide said that they had been used for storing treasure, but, as Adam peered into one of them, he was suddenly almost overcome by an attack of nausea. He felt certain they were cells and that in an earlier incarnation he had been imprisoned in one of them. The memory of the fears that had afflicted him during that terrible experience brought him out in a cold sweat. Half choking, he muttered to Chela that he was suffering from claustrophobia; then pushed past her, stumbled up two flights of broken stone stairs and out into the sunlight. It was not until he had been breathing in the fresh air for some moments that he ceased trembling and managed to pull himself together.
As they strolled back along the broad processional way, Chela said that he ought to go up to the top of the Pyramid of the Sun, as from it on all sides there was a splendid panorama. Her suggestion held no terrors for him, so he agreed. Then she announced that she would not go with him, as it was a tiring climb. Instead, she would collect the car and bring it round to the far side of the pyramid, where there was another, nearer, car park.
When they came opposite the Pyramid of the Sun he left her to walk on and, as there was no direct path to the pyramid, turned off to cross the quarter of a mile of tumbled ruins that separated him from it.
Until the excavations of comparatively recent times the whole area had been covered with earth blown there during the centuries. Only the more important ruins had been stripped and, in places, repaired; so the ground he was crossing consisted of uneven mounds of coarse grass with, here and there, blocks of stone protruding from them. Some of the mounds rose to fifty feet with, between them, deep gullies round which he had to make detours.
To his annoyance, when he arrived quite close to the base of the pyramid he found himself separated from it by one of these lower levels that had, perhaps, once been a court. Its floor was some twenty feet below him and the side of the mound was too sheer for him to scramble down. He could see no way round unless he retraced his steps for a considerable distance, so he walked along the edge until he found a break by which he could get to within eight feet of the floor. Below that there was a large, smooth stone slab embedded in the mound at a sharp angle. Believing that if he jumped down on to it he could, with one foot, push himself off and land safely, he let himself go. His foot slipped on the stone, he hurtled through the air and, his arms outstretched, hit the ground with a terrific smack, flat on his face. The breath was driven from his body and his mind blacked out.
It was pitch dark and very cold. He knew himself to be in the cell down in the bowels of the Pyramid of the Moon. He knew, too, that he was the King and High Priest of the Toltecs, whose army had been defeated many weeks earlier while attempting to defend Teotihuacán and that he had been taken prisoner by his enemies. Apart from that, his memories of the past were dim and vague. But he was more certain about his immediate situation.
It was Itzechuatl, the King and High Priest of the Chichimecs, who had taken him prisoner, and his captor had offered him a choice. Either he could remain where he was indefinitely until he died or, by a great ceremony, divest himself of his magical powers in favour of his captor. Death, if he refused the latter choice, would not come quickly, because he was to be well fed and cared for; so he might remain there for years in the cold and darkness afflicted by cramps and rheumatism until he eventually expired. On the other hand, only by dying could he pass his magical powers on to another. So the choice really lay between a prolonged, lingering death and a swift one as a human sacrifice.
He was not afraid of death, but he was of pain, and for seemingly endless days he had been haunted by the thought of Chac-Mool. This was a stone figure of a man, his knees and back raised so that his lap made a valley. The idol’s head, on which there was a flat, brimless hat, was turned sideways; the fat face expressed indifference. But it was upon the lap that the sacrificial victim was thrown down on his back, then the priest slit his breast open with an obsidian knife, plunged a hand into his body, wrenched out the warm, bloody, still-palpitating heart and offered it to the gods.
For the victim, the agony of those moments must be intolerable, and any man might long hesitate before deciding to face them. Yet Adam, in the person of the Toltec ruler, had at last decided to do so, rather than continue for weeks, months, years, in this pit of black despair.
When the guards next brought him a meal and a three-inch-long flickering torch of resin, that would last only ten minutes, to eat it by, he told them of his decision.
There followed a timeless interval, during which he was brought six more meals; then they led him out and to an upper chamber. At first he was so unused to daylight that he could hardly see, but gradually he made out Itzechuatl and his entourage. All of them were dressed in gorgeous garments and their faces were so heavily painted as to be hardly recognisable. The Priest-King said to him in Nahuatl, which was their common language:
‘I am glad that you have at last become sensible and regret the two days’ delay that have been necessary to make our preparations, but all is now in readiness.’
Four of his retainers then came forward, painted Adam’s face and decked him out in ceremonial robes: a loincloth of the finest linen, a belt and sandals of gold, blazing with precious stones, a cloak of many colours, and a huge headdress from which waved the magnificent plumes of the Quetzal bird. His toilette completed, two nobles took him by the elbows and, as though supporting him, led him out of the pyramid to the Sacred Way.
Massed on either side of it on the mile-long tiers of steps were many thousands of people. His appearance was hailed with a thunderous roar of greeting; automatically he raised his hand in acknowledgment of the multitude’s salutation, squared his shoulders and began his slow, dignified walk to the place of sacrifice.
Itzechuatl walked just behind him, accompanied by scores of other priests and nobles. Behind them marched a band that played weird, but to him familiar, music on strange instruments. In front of him there danced a hundred or more beautiful maidens, each holding a basket of flowers which they scattered in his path as he walked.
His eyes focused on one of them, a very tall girl with magnificent shoulders, a wasp-like waist and long, beautifully-shaped legs. Their glances met, hers held admiration and compassion. Momentarily his fears of the terrible death ordained for him were submerged in sudden passionate desire for her.
At last they reached the base of the Pyramid of the Sun. There, bearers were waiting with elaborate carrying chairs. The chairs had short legs in front and longer legs at the back, so that at times they could be rested upright on the ascending steps of the pyramid. Adam was eased into the foremost and most decorative by his attendant nobles, then the ascent began.
The slow and dignified progress brought him at length to the top of the pyramid. It was flat and about half an acre in extent. From the centre rose a flat-roofed, one-storey temple, in front of which reposed the gruesome figure of Chac-Mool. As Adam’s chair was turned round and set down he was brought face to face with the brilliantly-clad figures which had followed him in the procession. Itzechuatl and his principal dignitaries had been carried up the pyramid in chairs; the rest had climbed it and most of them were breathing heavily.
Among the latter he caught sight of three of his Captains who had been captured with him. They were naked to the waist and their hands were tied behind them. As they came opposite him, each of them made a low obeisance, but all of them avoided his eyes. He knew why. They were deeply ashamed not to have died fighting, instead of having allowed themselves to be taken prisoner. To lighten their distress he called to each of them by name and spoke kindly to him.
When the last in the procession had reached the broad platform in front of the temple, Adam could see right down it. He had hoped for another sight of the tall maiden; but the dancing girls had come only part of the way up the pyramid to the highest of three terraces that broke its slope, and were now assembled there. On the lower terraces and below it, in solid masses, stood the great multitude of people, presenting a sea of unidentifiable upturned faces. Beyond, in the far distance, a chain of mountains stood out against the azure sky.
Adam sat with his hands tightly clasped. His face did not betray the fears that racked him, but his heart was pounding furiously as he prayed for the business to be over swiftly.
Itzechuatl came forward to the edge of the terrace and raised his arm. The murmur that had been coming up from the vast crowd ceased and, in a ringing voice, he addressed them:
‘O people! Our august captive has agreed to accept the fate that I believe the gods to have decreed for him. We shall now make sacrifice to learn if he is in truth acceptable to them.’
Out of the corner of his eye, Adam saw his three Captains led away behind him. Guessing that they were to be sacrificed before he was, he called out to them to have courage. To his immense relief the chair in which he was still sitting had been set down facing outward, so his back was to Chac-Mool and he would be spared the horror of seeing his men murdered. To plead for mercy would have been useless and escape impossible. All three of them were brave warriors and he knew that they would go to their deaths without any futile struggle.
There fell an utter silence that seemed to last an eternity, then a long, low moan, followed a moment later by a ghastly scream of agony as the priest tore the heart from his first victim’s body. As he held it aloft a thunderous roar surged up from the multitude below.
The palms of Adam’s hands were damp and he was thankful that his face had been painted, for he knew that the blood had drained from it, leaving it chalk white.
A moment later the victim’s bleeding body was carried past Adam by four priests and thrown outward with all their force. With whirling arms and legs it hit the steps of the pyramid and tumbled grotesquely down them, to be seized on by other priests and borne away.
There was silence for some minutes, then again came the wailing groan, the agonising screech and the great shout issuing from the throats of the thousands of spectators. And, again, the body was heaved down the pyramid.
For the third time there fell the nerve-racking silence, to be followed by the sounds that seemed to pierce Adam’s own racing heart, and the third sacrifice was completed.
His turn had now come. The sweat was pouring down his face and his nails were biting into the palms of his hands. In vain he strove to force from his thoughts a mental picture of the sharp knife being driven high up into his chest and ripping down it, then of his ribs being forced apart and his heart being dragged from the bloody cavity.
Another tense silence, longer than those that had preceded it, followed the immolation of the third victim. Unseen by Adam, the priests behind him were examining the hearts of their victims to judge their mystical significance. Although now almost petrified by fear, he cursed the delay in facing his ordeal; for he was striving to comfort himself with the belief that once it was over his spirit would be released and happiness await him in a reunion with friends already dead who would be waiting to welcome him.
At last a noble appeared on either side of him, took him by the elbow and raised him to his feet. He expected them to turn him about and lead him the few paces to the Chac-Mool. Determined to make an end befitting a Toltec ruler, he mustered all his courage, rose to his full height, pushed them aside, turned and took a step towards the now blood-soaked idol. Quickly they seized him by the arms and turned him about again.
As they did so, he saw Itzechuatl raise his arm high, enjoining silence on the great assembly. Next moment his voice rang out:
‘O people! Our gods are kind. The hearts of those sacrificed to them show that they accept our august captive as a Man-God who will bring victory and prosperity to our nation.’
A burst of cheering came from the priests and nobles up there on the top of the pyramid. Its significance was caught by the multitude below and within a minute it was drowned by the deafening applause of the people.
As it subsided, Itzechuatl made a low obeisance to Adam. One after another the other priests and nobles followed suit. His escorts then lowered him again into the elaborate carrying chair, the bearers picked it up and began the descent of the pyramid.
For some moments he could hardly grasp that he was to be spared. Overwhelmed with relief he was only vaguely conscious of being carried through the masses of men and women who, section after section, ceased their cheering as he approached to do him homage by falling to their knees and lowering their foreheads to the ground.
Subconsciously he took in the fact that he was being taken not to the Pyramid of the Moon but towards the Palace which lay on the far side of the Pyramid of the Sun. Until his captors had defeated the Toltecs and driven them from Teotihuacán it had been his Palace, and he had always resided there when conducting the great religious ceremonies of the year.
When they reached it and he was escorted inside he was pleased to find that it had not been looted. Instinctively he walked towards the suite of rooms he had occupied. As he entered it the nobles withdrew and were at once replaced by servants who deferentially unrobed him, washed the paint and sweat from his face and bathed him in the sunken, silver-lined pool.
As soon as they had dried him he dismissed them and, wrapped in a light gown of the finest cotton, he walked through to his bedroom. There, utterly exhausted, he flung himself down on the leather-strap-sprung bed. After a few moments he turned over and caught sight of his reflection in a highly-polished stone mirror that hung on the wall.
With a start he sat up and stared at himself. As a Toltec Prince he had naturally supposed that he would resemble other Indians in features and colour, but the face he was looking at bore no likeness to any that he had ever seen. Instead of being a reddish brown, the skin was pale pink, the eyes, instead of black, were blue, the lower part of the face, instead of being hairless, was covered with a thick, curly beard and, most staggering of all, both beard and hair, instead of being black, were a rich red gold.
Utterly bewildered, he fell back on the bed and lay there striving to think of an explanation. But his tired brain could take no more and, after a few moments, he fell asleep.