CHAPTER 26
Bathed, hair combed, uniforms brushed, and buttons and beltplates polished, Hanny Cox, Apo Tuin, “Preacher Mac” McDonough, and several other members of the 3rd Pennsylvania, Americans and Uxmalos, were sitting on benches by a long table at one of the “approved” open-air cantinas in the city. Hanny didn’t know the name of the place, if it even had one, but it was festively lit by colored overhead lamps, very busy, loud with local music, and the food—beans, rice, dark-colored squash, and something that tasted like chicken—was pretty good and not too expensive. There was no telling the American and local “regular” troops apart from a distance now, since wheel hats had been made and provided to all—much to the disappointment of those who already had them and would’ve preferred the more practical, wide-brimmed local headgear themselves.
In any event, and especially after the attack on their camp, the American leadership had realized they couldn’t keep the men bottled up forever. It was dangerous, and it wasn’t right. But they couldn’t just unleash them all on the city at once, for disciplinary and security reasons. They settled on a rotating liberty schedule allowing two hundred or so out at a time, and this worked fairly well. The men accepted it, and the locals generally welcomed it. The approved cantinas hosted dances, or bailes, every night, and everyone, even the locals, seemed to enjoy them immensely. Plenty of pretty, young señoritas attended, and the men were well pleased by that. Despite being a port city, Uxmal had little commerce with others and got only a trickle of visitors by sea or land. It did offer some of the same . . . entertainments the men would’ve expected at ports back home, but in a different, more civilized, perhaps less worldly way, and the small supply of “professional ladies” had suddenly been swamped by high demand. Most of the young ladies at the bailes came innocently for the dancing and music, however, perhaps even hoping to catch a soldier’s eye for more traditional reasons. There was almost no rivalry between them and the professionals, since, in their minds, they weren’t after the same men. The subtle, long-established means of telling the difference between the ladies was deemed sufficient to avoid confusion and embarrassment, once the Americans knew what it was.
Never a beer drinker before, Hanny didn’t like the foamy, dark-colored stuff Apo called “chicha” and had chosen a tart-tasting fruit drink instead. He was sipping it now, helplessly staring at Apo’s sister, Izel. She was easily the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen: small, wasp-waisted, in a bright-red, unusually tight-fitting Uxmalo “dress.” Enormous dark eyes peered back from a cheerful face framed by blue-black hair. It was bound behind her head in a tight red bow before cascading onto her shoulders like a spray of midnight. Hanny had met her the first time Apo took him to his widowed mother’s house just inside the city wall for dinner. He’d been besotted on sight. He couldn’t help it. Now he went “home” with his friend every chance he got, in spite of the mother’s obvious and growing disapproval. He thought—hoped—that might be because Izel liked him too, but in spite of his improving Spanya, he was too shy to ask her. Now he just sat and stared, smiling stupidly, trying to summon the courage to ask her to dance. He got the impression she was actually getting impatient with him, and that made it even worse. He had no idea how to dance to the weird local music and was sure he’d make a fool of himself.
Also apparently impatient, and keen to be seen with a beautiful girl on his arm in his dashing new uniform (wheel hat and all), Apo finally took his sister into the swirl of soldiers and young ladies himself. Watching them go, McDonough shook his head at Hanny and sighed. “I may not go in fer drunkenness, gluttony, er loose behavior like dancin’ meself, but ye’re a shoogly eejit.”
“What’s that?” Hanny asked glumly as the other men with them, even the Uxmalos, exploded in laughter. The latter still barely understood English, and the Scotsman’s version remained even more elusive, but his tone was clear, and Hanny glared at them. “I was about to ask her when Apo ran off with her!” he objected.
The drum and flute music droned on, annoyingly repetitive and far too long in Hanny’s view, but the boisterous, sweating dancers didn’t seem to mind. Part of the point of the dance seemed to be to purge and exhaust the participants’ passions, in fact. Good and bad. Probably not a bad idea, Hanny reflected. The music and dancing had reached a rousing tempo, like “Turkey in the Straw” often did before it ended, and the dancers were clearly exhausted and breathing hard. Then, somewhere near the middle of it all, a disturbance began and couples started spinning out of control, crashing into one another and falling down away from it amid confused laughter and angry curses. At first, Hanny assumed that was how the dance was supposed to end, but the Uxmalo troops in his squad were standing angrily, poised to jump into whatever had caused the disruption. A woman screamed in earnest, and shouts grew louder as the dance disintegrated entirely and the music screeched and rumbled to a halt.
Hanny and McDonough jumped to their feet as well, and it was then they saw the towering form of Sergeant Hahessy at the center of the commotion, luridly lit under the hanging lanterns. He was clearly badly drunk from the octli jug he held, chin jutting forward, hat tilted over his face so only slitted eyes could be seen under the brim. As always, he was attended by the usual characters: the skinny, grinning form of Private Cole and the other, beefier man Hanny didn’t know. That one had a struggling, crying woman by the arm, her face contorted by pain and fury. At first, in a panic, Hanny thought it was Izel, because Apo was holding her other arm. Then he realized the girl’s dress was yellow, not red. He was only seeing red as he and McDonough and the rest of their comrades pushed forward through the jumbled crowd. “Get the corporal of the guard—get an officer!” he shouted to anyone who could understand him. Several men, not all in uniform, rushed to Apo’s aid, but Hahessy actually seemed to be protecting the girl’s abuser, because he effortlessly batted the first ones away before lifting one up in the air and bowling more down with his body. They knocked over more of the crowd, and Hahessy roared with laughter.
“What’re ye at, ye villainous bastard?” roared Sergeant McNabb, trying to push through from the other side. Hanny was relieved to see him, but between people trying to get away from the maniacs in their midst and others trying to help, he wasn’t making much better progress than Hanny and his friends suddenly were.
“Startin’ a fight, ye lickarse amadan. Ain’t that what the fine Reverend Harkin tells us we’re here for, then?”
“He don’t want us fightin’ with our friends!”
“These little brown buggers are no friends o’ mine.” Hahessy scoffed sharply, then roared, “I’ve no friends a’tall, ’ave I, Sergeant McNabb? May as well fight one an’ all!”
To Hanny’s surprise, he thought he detected a trace of self-pity in the big man’s rage.
“Ye want a fight, I’ll oblige ye meself, but loose that poor lass at once!” McNabb thundered.
Hahessy blinked. “The hoor? What for? Me fella’s already tossed ’er a coin!”
“She’s no hoor!” McNabb shouted over the growing outrage, fighting even harder to get through the press.
“Course she is—they all are, throwin’ themselves at their soldier saviors. Some’re just more honest than most. Look around yerself, will ye? An’ her hair was up!”
Those who’d been baffled by the professional/nonprofessional status of ladies at the bailes had been taught that gathered hair in a social setting was a sign of availability, but only those with hair tied with white ribbons had services for sale. This girl wore a yellow bow, matching her dress, but with alcohol stoking their cynical, coarse natures, Hahessy and his companions seemed inclined to disregard such distinctions.
Swatting Apo unconscious with the same brutal backhand he’d given Hanny before, Hahessy grabbed the shrieking girl up and plopped her on his shoulder despite blows and kicks she rained on him. Reaching up the the V-neck of her dress, he pulled briskly downward, ripping the fabric, scattering her necklace, and exposing her small, young breasts. “Ye see?” Hahessy bawled lewdly, “Looks like a hoor ta me!”
For an instant, even the girl was too stunned to react to such an outrage, but then she turned into an absolute wildcat, knocking off Hahessy’s wheel hat and kicking, hitting, even biting, so savagely that the big man finally hurled her away with a yell. The crowd reacted much the same and swept in to tear the three men apart. Hanny caught the slightest glimpse of Hahessy’s face as the giant seemed to realize his “bawdy fun” had turned deadly. In the next instant, he was fighting for his life, swinging his great fists like clubs and battering rams, bashing people down and back. Nearly everyone was focused on him, of course, but this time his companions couldn’t run. What’s more, they’d probably just been along for the laugh of watching Hahessy cow everyone, as usual, or kick off a big fight between Americans and Uxmalos. They hadn’t expected to provoke this kind of fight, in which everyone wanted their blood. A shrill scream of pain and horror came from around them, followed by another, and people started falling back just as Hanny and McDonough burst through. Half expecting to find Cole and the other man dead on the ground, they were totally unprepared for what they saw. Both men still stood, crouching low and grasping long, triangular-bladed bayonets, held by the socket rings, gleaming wickedly in the lamplight. Ruby drops fell from needlelike points onto several men they’d already stabbed. Apo had grasped the one named Cole by the leg, and the tall soldier, wide-eyed, inverted the bayonet to strike downward.
Hanny rushed him, head low and to the side, driving him back with his shoulder until he smashed into Sergeant McNabb, who’d also emerged behind him. Slammed hard between them, Cole’s breath gusted away and he vomited on Hanny’s back. McNabb brought his fists together, pounding both sides of Cole’s head, and he dropped the bayonet, out cold.
“Behind ye, Hanny!” McDonough shouted, grabbing the burly soldier before he could stab Hanny in the back. With a snarl, the man spun out of the young Scotsman’s grasp and stabbed him instead, the ill-directed blow piercing the muscle between McDonough’s neck and shoulder. Drawing the blade out, but before he could strike again, Hahessy himself grabbed him by the throat and wrenched him back.
“Oh, Jesus, Mary, an’ Joseph, jus’ lookit what ye’ve done!” Hahessy lamented in the sudden, shocked near silence that fell. “Turned a bit o’ play to bloody murder, ye have!” Wrapping his huge hands around the back of the man’s head like he was caressing a beloved horse, he crooned, “Put the sticker down, now, there’s a good lad. They’re much too serious about such things here.”
“But . . . they’ll jump me if I do!”
“Nay, I’ll stop ’em, but I’ll push me thumbs through yer murderin’ eyes an’ mash yer wee brain if ye don’t,” Hahessy warned softly.
Eyes wide and without the slightest doubt Hahessy would do what he said, the man dropped his weapon.
Before the crowd could decide what to do next, Lieutenant Sime was pushing his way through, backed by Sergeant Visser and a squad from the 1st US that had the duty. “Back away, now. Stand clear, if you please,” Sime was calling loudly.
Hanny left Cole with Sergeant McNabb and other willing hands to hold him, moving to check on McDonough and Apo. The young Uxmalo had managed to stand, and his sister had joined him, holding him steady. The girl in the yellow dress was gone, but what had happened to her was still fresh in many watching eyes, and the mood was actually growing uglier by the moment. No one tried to grab Hahessy, still holding his henchman, but looking up at him, Hanny said, voice simultaneously horrified and amazed, “You’re an unspeakable bastard.”
“I am,” Hahessy agreed.
Major Reed arrived in the new barracks area, red-faced and puffing, just in time to prevent a growing horde of angry locals from swarming through and taking the three men Lieutenant Sime brought in. He did it by quickly assembling two armed companies, one of infantry, one of artillerymen, and physically standing against them while pleading with the leaders to disperse before there was more violence, swearing the accused would face justice. The crowd was equally irate to meet armed resistance in their own city, but finally backed away. Reed had “handled” it for the moment.
When Lewis, De Russy, and Captain Anson finally escorted the ladies (including a glowing Leonor) back to their quarters after the reception, they noticed the tension of the guards. They were also immediately met by a very worried Major Reed, just as a furious-looking Alcalde Periz, Varaa-Choon, and King Har-Kaaska galloped up with two dozen armed Ocelomeh running alongside their horses. The corporal of the guard sounded the alarm, but Anson immediately ran to stand the guards down and push the few already gathering out of the way. The local leaders surged into the little parade ground and dropped from their mounts by the American officers while the Ocelomeh practically surrounded them. That’s when Lewis first suspected how much work it might take to save the new alliance and suddenly fragile friendship between the Americans and their Uxmalo hosts.
“I just heard!” Periz blared loudly. “I want those vermin handed to me at once!”
“A moment, sir, if you please,” Lewis said, despite the warning blinking Varaa sent. Har-Kaaska revealed nothing, his furry face opaque. Even his tail was still. But Lewis hadn’t imagined Periz could be this angry. “We’ve only just arrived ourselves. Let’s get to the bottom of this together.” He saw Leonor, Samantha, and Angelique come back out of their quarters, quickly joined by Reverend Harkin, still pulling a shirt over his momentous belly. Leonor started to come over but actually stopped when Samantha held her back. Lewis was grateful. More men were coming out of their stone-walled barracks buildings to stare, however, and Lewis called out to Sergeant McNabb. “Get those men back to bed. We’ll start just as early tomorrow. Private Willis,” he added, seeing his orderly in the doorway of the senior officers’ quarters, “something to drink for our guests.”
“We’re not here as guests,” Periz seethed lower, glaring at Major Reed. “We’re here for the ‘justice’ he promised!”
“And you’ll have it, sir, as soon as we define it!” Lewis snapped irritably back. “Listen to me,” he added, lower as well, “we don’t even know what’s happened yet. We didn’t storm your city seeking the accomplices—which must exist—to the attack on our camp, so you’ll extend us the same courtesy. If we can’t work together as equals and friends, our cause is lost from the start.”
Still fuming, Periz pursed his lips, but Lewis saw a slight nod from Varaa. Willis rushed forward with a pitcher of wine, and Barca was carrying a deep tray full of mugs.
“I’ve had enough wine already,” Periz snapped.
“So have we all, sir,” De Russy agreed. “Perhaps too much. But let’s have a sip for companionship’s sake while we sort this out with cool heads.”
Periz reluctantly nodded and accepted a mug from Barca, who gave Lewis a worried look. “You may send your guards back beyond the perimeter set aside for our allies, King Har-Kaaska,” Periz said at last. “I don’t think they’ll be needed.”
“I never thought they would,” Har-Kaaska agreed, motioning his warriors back the way they came. The barracks doors were closing.
Once they were all served and the atmosphere calmed, Lewis hoped they were standing together as friends once more. He turned to Reed. “What exactly happened?”
Reed rubbed his eyes. “By all accounts—and there were quite a few—Sergeant Hahessy, Private Cole, and Private Nagler, all of the First US Infantry—my men,” he inserted bitterly, “raised a shameful ruckus at one of the cantinas. A young lady was . . . unforgivably dishonored and terrified. During the understandably outraged reaction, three men were murdered and three more were seriously wounded. Others were hurt.” He paused and glanced at Periz. “The casualties were spread about evenly between his men and ours.” He flicked his eyes at Periz again and cleared his throat. “I haven’t had an opportunity to interview the young lady, but again, given the number of witnesses, I believe we can spare her that.” He bit his lower lip before continuing, “Those same witnesses all agree on who was responsible for starting it all and the abuse of the girl, as well as who the murderers are. Lieutenant Sime, Sergeant McNabb, and Sergeant Visser have all reported that Privates Cole and Nagler had bayonets tucked in their trousers, despite standing orders that no one go armed to the cantinas.” He held his good arm out at his side. “A sad but common enough tragedy back home, when soldiers descend on a town—”
“Not all soldiers,” Lewis stated flatly.
“Perhaps, but among the gutter sweepings we’re given in the regular infantry—”
Lewis interrupted him again. “We called upon all our men to rise to this cause above what they were before. Even that percentage once fitting your description. Their origins won’t defend them—or damn them. Am I understood? All will be held to the same standard.” He took a breath. “Is there any doubt at all about their guilt?”
“We’ll have to have a trial,” De Russy spoke up worriedly. “A public one,” he added with a nod to Periz, “and it must be quickly done. We have too much to do to let this hang over us.” He seemed at a loss. “I suppose I must preside. I’ve been trained at civilian law, but I’ve never done anything like this.” He looked at Lewis. “Whatever happens, you need to stay out of it. Above it. You have to lead these men in battle, and they mustn’t resent—”
It was Anson’s turn to interrupt as he stepped back to join them. “An’ he has to lead by example. Make an example of those who don’t follow”—he grunted—“gutter sweepin’s or not.”
Lewis heard the exchange with gritted teeth. “I asked Major Reed if there is any doubt concerning the guilt of these men.”
Reed sighed, somewhat bitterly. “Actually, yes, in regard to degree. The two murderers, Cole and Nagler, have no defense. Dozens saw what they did. Hahessy, on the other hand”—he almost spat the name—“who actually started everything and dishonored the young lady himself, not only had nothing to do with the killings, but saved a man’s life and apprehended one of the murderers. He was very drunk, but unarmed.”
“ ‘Degree,’ indeed,” Lewis smoldered. “I know this Hahessy, and I’d wager none of this would’ve happened without him, nor does he need to be armed to kill.”
“The man’s a beast,” Reed agreed.
Lewis sighed. “But not a murderer.”
“Not that anyone saw,” Reed said.
Lewis looked at Periz, Varaa, and Har-Kaaska, then back at Colonel De Russy. “There’ll be no public trial. We—all of us here—will listen to what the accused have to say for themselves in the morning and render summary judgment.”
“But—” De Russy began.
Lewis cut him off, this time. “That is in accordance with the Articles of War in extraordinary circumstances, in case that was the objection you were about to make. If you don’t think our situation is ‘extraordinary,’ I shudder to imagine your definition. As you say, Colonel, we have no time for this, nor can we let it divide us.” He faced Periz once more. “And we have to make sure neither of our peoples preys on the other again.” He paused, considering. “How do you conduct executions?”
Periz blinked, surprised. “We don’t. Those who can’t live peacefully among us aren’t allowed to.” He frowned. “Sometimes a mob rises up and kills them, as perhaps nearly happened tonight,” he said with the first trace of apology in his tone, “but usually they’re whipped and sent into the terrible wild for God to decide their fate. To do otherwise would make us like the Doms.” He gestured at Varaa and Har-Kaaska. “We came here tonight to ensure your bad men would be whipped and banished. Not to kill them.”
Lewis shook his head. “You came to demand of us, but now I’ll demand of you. The two murderers, at least, will have to die, Alcalde Periz. Hanged by a rope around their necks. And not only for what they did, but to show your people what’ll happen if they run from battle. We hang deserters too. Going forward, you will hang deserters, enemy spies, murderers, and rapists as well. We must be of one mind on this—we can’t have different laws for my people and yours—and until you join with the other cities and build your own country with equal laws for everyone, we’ll have to make do with the Articles of War. It’s the only way.” He was tired and took a tired breath. “That doesn’t make us anything like the Doms. We don’t kill people on a whim, for pleasure, or for any twisted notion that it’s God’s will. We do it to protect others from them, period. Releasing murderers and rapists into the wild . . . If the beasts don’t get them, they can only continue to prey on travelers and those living farthest from aid. That won’t do anymore, Alcalde Periz, not for any of us.” He saw Varaa nodding slightly, but Har-Kaaska was still inscrutable. Lewis took off his hat and ran fingers through sweaty hair. “Now that we know God has more than one world to watch over, I finally understand why His attention is so often elsewhere and we have to do the hard things ourselves from time to time.”
UNDER A SUDDENLY dreary gray sky the following morning, in front of most of the city and all the troops gathered in the temple square—the only place capable of accommodating so many—Sergeant Hahessy was stripped of his rank by Major Reed and given forty lashes by the city punisher—a man at least as large and strong as Hahessy himself. The locals seemed pleased by that. Word of what happened had spread like the wind, and the familiar punishment seemed appropriate. Some might’ve been disappointed that Hahessy took it without a whimper, even outraged when he was led away by an Uxmalo healer instead of shoved bleeding through the city gate to fend for himself in the wild, but the two grisly hangings immediately after silenced any protest they might’ve made. No gallows was rigged, there hadn’t been time, but the executions were quickly, efficiently, even humanely performed under tall tripods; the platforms on which the guilty were placed were simply jerked out from under them so they could drop the specified distance. Both died quickly, necks cleanly broken, in vivid contrast to executions performed by the Doms.
The hangings doubtless disturbed a populace unused to seeing condemned criminals die, but also seemed to strike them as appropriate. What’s more, the fact that all their leaders, Uxmalo, Ocelomeh, and American, along with Father Orno and Reverend Harkin, had gathered together to proclaim their guilt, pass the sentence, and see it carried out, probably did more than just heal the rift the crime nearly caused. And though initially met with hushed apprehension, Periz’s proclamation that in this time of emergency, this new punishment would be meted out to all convicted of heinous crimes, no matter who they were, the justice and certainty of shared rules and consequences brought the troops and locals closer as well. All had been nervous about what would happen next, but the promise of better behavior the hangings gave the people, and the equally strong assurance that the Americans wouldn’t abandon them came as a tremendous relief.
“Odd,” Reverend Harkin said to Orno in the strangely comforted aftermath while people dispersed and the troops marched out the east gate for their daily training.
“Odd how, my friend?” Orno asked.
Harkin shrugged. “That suffering and death should relieve people so.”
Orno put his hand on Harkin’s dark coat sleeve. “All else aside, my people are very afraid. They hate and fear the Dominion and its creatures, the Grik and Holcanos, but fear just as much how unprepared they are to face them. And even as they rely on your Americans for help, they believe your very presence made that long-dreaded confrontation inevitable. Combined with the disruption your arrival has brought to their generally peaceful little lives, they can’t help but be fearful, resentful, and grateful all at once!” Orno shook his head. “But after what happened last night, they awakened today with an even greater fear that you’d all be cast out. Or angered by everything else that’s occurred—the attack on your camp, the near riot last night. Major Cayce might simply choose to leave.
“Your people might’ve feared those things as well,” Orno continued, “and everyone’s ashamed of things. Now? It’s like the battle at the beach, in a way. Your people and the Ocelomeh grew close after fighting and suffering together. Now your people and the Uxmalos have suffered from mutual shame, which might be even worse. With as much suffering as we’ll all likely share in the future . . .” The little priest shrugged. “This day’s dreadful events might’ve been for the best.”
Harkin felt big, heavy raindrops start pattering the wide brim of his hat. “Blast,” he murmured, then brightened. “My apologies. As dry as this land seems, a good rain is just the thing to settle the dust.”
Orno was looking at the sky, more rain splashing his face. “It will do more than settle the dust. Today, tomorrow—perhaps Ixtla knows—the rains will come in earnest. Crops will thrive, the Cipactli River will rise, and preparations will become more difficult.”
“Well,” Harkin said. “If I understand correctly, that means we have a couple of months before the Doms begin to move the forces King Har-Kaaska suggests are building near Campeche and Cayal. Time for Major Cayce to continue to train his army. He’ll adapt, I assure you.”
“I never doubted it. But many of the things he so desperately needs—more gunpowder, for example, which can only be made when it’s dry, I believe—will have to wait. Even the mines for the copper shot he wants will flood and close. So yes, perhaps two months before the Doms march, but just as long before it’s dry enough to properly continue making ready for them.” They saw Lewis, Periz, Varaa, and Anson now, as the rain picked up and started falling in sheets. They were facing Har-Kaaska, Boogerbear, Lieutenant Burton, and Teniente Lara. Behind were drawn up Har-Kaaska’s warriors, as well as the Rangers, lancers, and dragoons that would both accompany Har-Kaaska and strike out on their own.
“Septiembre, I believe,” Orno said, tugging Harkin’s coat and motioning toward the shelter of the temple. “In September we will know what’s coming, and what we have to stand against it.”