The Man who Missed the War (45 page)

To start with the light was neither daylight nor any form of artificial light that they knew. It came from what looked like a miniature sun high up and some distance away from them. This sun was red in colour and pulsed constantly as though it were a
lump of molten lava. No sky of clouds surrounded it. Instead, it seemed to hang in a dense black void that the human eye could not penetrate, while its baleful throbbing rays bathed everything below it in a blood-red glow.

The glow lit a vast stone staircase that ascended two-thirds of the way towards the ball of fire, then ended abruptly on what Philip at first took to be a terrace; but after a moment he realised that it was the flattened top of a huge pyramid, the base and lower sides of which were so big and stretched so far into the surrounding gloom that he had not immediately taken them in. As his glance fell from the glowering sun he saw that all the men with whom they had spent the past twelve days had gone to the head of the column and thrown themselves face down on the ground at the foot of the great flight of steps.

‘May the Saints defend us!’ Gloria whispered. ‘Where are we, Boy? What sort of place is this?’

‘It’s a temple, and we must be inside a great cave,’ he whispered back. ‘The party must have entered a tunnel that leads here while we were asleep. Look, there’s one of their priests!’

A solitary figure appeared on the top of the truncated pyramid, and advancing to the top of the steps raised its arms above its head. A single deep boom sounded from a hidden gong. Suddenly, there was a scurrying of feet and a dozen figures emerged out of the darkness. With fierce cries they came running towards the litters. They were half-naked and bare-footed. Their faces and bodies were hideous from the scars of self-inflicted wounds; their eyes rolled in their heads, and they appeared to be animated with the madness of dervishes. Flinging themselves on the last litter of the three, they dragged out one of the little men and hurried him with towards the steps.

‘Oh, Holy Mother, look to us now!’ sobbed Gloria, and buried her face on Philip’s chest. He held her tightly to him, but he could not tear his horrified gaze from the awful spectacle that followed, and, although she was not actually watching, she could tell from the noises more or less what was going on.

The wretched pigmy was half-carried and half-thrown up the great flight of stone stairs, as, one after another, the mad priests raced ahead of their companions for a few steps and snatched the
little body, till finally it was lain, still writhing, at the feet of the High Priest.

All the moving figures were now distant but stood out clearly in the awful red glare that streamed down upon them from the molten sun. Stooping, the priest seized the body and lifting it raised it for a moment high above his head. Coxitl and his men had now risen. From them at the bottom of the steps and from the priests at the top there went up a fierce shout.

The High Priest laid the body down on a square stone slab. His right hand was raised, and the red light glinted on the shiny surface of a dagger. It flashed down into the body. There was a faint distant scream. Then the High Priest was tearing with both hands at the pigmy’s chest. Next instant he had torn out the living heart and was holding it on high, offering it to the red sun. Another fierce shout went up from the congregation and the priests. There followed the final abominable act. Lowering the heart, the High Priest bit a piece out of it, then flung it to his subordinates. Two of them struggled for it, the others tore the remains of the body to pieces and began to smear themselves with the blood of their victim.

Having completed their horrible rites, they came streaming down the great staircase again. In fascinated horror Philip was still staring out between the curtains of the litter. Gloria’s curiosity overcoming her fear, she pulled the curtain further back so that she could look too.

Suddenly, one of the blood-smeared priests saw them. His eyes glaring with the lust of murder he pointed at them and screamed out something to his companions in a high falsetto. Instantly the whole mob came streaming forward. Next moment with wild cries and clutching claw-like hands, they had surrounded the litter in which Philip and Gloria were crouching, with the clear intent of dragging them from it to be the victims of another sacrifice.

The instant Philip saw the eyes of the fiendish mob fix upon Gloria and himself he heaved upon the heavy curtains to get them back into place; but the stiff leather was difficult to handle, so even that took a few seconds, and the action of the foul human herd followed so swiftly on its thought that half a dozen of the blood-smeared priests were leaping forward before he could get the curtains properly closed.

Gloria had seen them too. Her face white as a sheet, she pressed back against him. But only for a moment. Remembering the pistol she flung herself upon the haversack, and with trembling fingers strove to disentangle the weapon from the things in which she had wrapped it.

Philip meanwhile was thrusting and banging on the leather sheeting on the other side of the litter, in the hope of forcing an opening by which they might slip out. Having seen the evil hysterical rabble in front he had realised at once that four shots from an automatic would not save Gloria and himself for as many minutes once they were face to face with the priests of this grim underworld into which they had been brought.

From beyond the curtains came the shrill screaming of the priests and the scrabbling of horny nails as they clutched at the leather; but there was now also the sound of deeper voices and of trampling feet that suggested a fight was going on outside.

As Gloria thrust the automatic into Philip’s hand he turned to face the curtained entrance of the litter again. For a few moments they crouched there together with their hearts beating in their throats. The sounds of the struggle outside continued. Leaning forward Philip put his eye to a small crack in one of
the leather folds of the curtain, a crack which they had often cursed during their journey because of the icy draught it let in. Coxitl and his bearers were standing with their backs to the litter. They had stout staves in their hands and were laying about them lustily in an endeavour to drive off the priests.

Suddenly, the fighting ceased, and a moment later the High Priest came into Philip’s field of vision. He was taller even than Coxitl and an eagle-visaged being of barbaric splendour. Great gems flashed and scintillated from his chest, ears and head-dress in the weird red light. His face was hideously scarred by deliberate mutilation with lines and circles; spots of fresh blood were spattered on his robe from the recent sacrifice. The other priests had drawn back but only to form a snarling restless crowd behind him.

The High Priest spoke to Coxitl, who replied briefly but firmly; then the two of them began to argue. Although Philip could not understand a word of what they were saying, he could guess as easily as if they had been talking English. The priest was demanding that the strangers should be handed over to his people for immediate sacrifice, and Coxitl, who evidently had other views as to the future of his captives, was refusing to give them up.

‘What’s happening, Boy?’ whispered Gloria. ‘What’s happening?’

He told her his guess about what was going on, and she began to pray aloud to the Holy Virgin to save them.

In an agony of suspense Philip continued to peer through the crack. The High Priest was threatening now, and Coxitl seemed to be weakening. Then a new figure appeared on the scene. He was the shortest of these mountain dwellers that Philip had so far seen; an old man who walked with a slight stoop. His face was wrinkled, lined and cunning; his sharp nose and shiny bald head gave him a strong resemblance to Gandhi.

The High Priest stood his ground while Coxitl bowed low before the newcomer. The argument was renewed but only for a minute. The bald-headed old man gave an order in a surprising virile voice. Next moment, to the intense relief of its occupants, the litter was lifted and borne onwards till the shouts and curses of the disappointed priests gradually died away in the distance.

For a little time they did not dare to look out again, but when
they did they found that they had left the red glow of the Temple behind and were now being carried down a long smooth-walled tunnel reminiscent of a subway in an underground station, except that, instead of being brightened by coloured tiles and gay advertisements, the walls were of a dull uniform greyness.

The party proceeded down a ramp and through another long gloomy tunnel that had doors slightly wider at the bottom than at the top, similar to the Egyptian style, set in the walls at intervals of every twenty feet or so. At last the litter was set down in front of one of these, and the bearers pulled aside the curtains. As Philip and Gloria got out Coxitl appeared, drew back a heavy hanging that filled the doorway and motioned them to pass through it.

On doing so they found themselves in a room of medium size, sparsely furnished with floor-coverings, rugs and a single cushioned divan of the same type to which they had become accustomed in the tent.

Coxitl had followed them in and, in spite of his haughty, unfriendly demeanour, they would have thanked him, if they could, for having protected them from the priests; but after a swift glance round to see that the place was in order he made a sign that they should stay there, and left them.

They were still considerably shaken by the revolting murder of the pigmy in the Temple and their own narrow escape, so they looked round their new quarters with some apprehension. The room was low-ceilinged, and in the centre stood one of the portable radiators that provided light and heat. The walls were of grey stone, and carved in panels on them were obviously conventionalised representations of strange, barbaric gods. One had an almost cubist eagle’s head, which was strangely similar to that used by the Nazis. Another had a human face with huge, staring eyes; his hands gripped the ankles of a small man or doll, who dangled upside down, and he was in the act of tearing this puppet in half. There were others less respectable but no less grim, as the only decorations of a living-room.

It was Gloria who noticed that there was another curtained entrance to the room at its far end, and beyond it they found what could be better described as a wash-place than a bathroom. To the right-hand side of the doorway about a quarter of the
floor space was sunken a few inches and formed a shallow trough. It was half-full of water and had a drain at one end; from a runnel set about three feet up in the wall a steady stream of warm water splashed into the trough so that it was never empty and constantly refreshed. On the other side of the doorway lay a large stone slab evidently used for massage.

As they had not enjoyed a bath for thirteen days, they quickly slipped off their clothes, and getting into the trough began to splash about in the warm water in an effort to clean themselves up. They were still at it when, to their considerable embarrassment, two people, a man and a woman, appeared in the doorway.

In the dim light it was at the first glance difficult to make out much about the newcomers, but, as they came forward, it became clear that they were servants. Both of them carried towels and what transpired to be jars of oil for making lather. The couple looked about thirty years of age, and they behaved like grave, unsmiling robots; but they were evidently well used to their work. After bowing the man and maid took complete charge of Philip and Gloria; they bathed them, massaged them afterwards and then, taking away their much-patched remnants of garments brought from the raft and others made since of llama skins, clothed them in kilts, tunics and outer robes of clean, plain linen.

After they were dressed the servants left them, to return with two of the low folding-tables on which they served a supper so good that it seemed to Gloria and Philip well worth their long wait for it. When the meal was finished the servants cleared away, brought more pillows and rugs to increase the size of the divan, then bowed and retired. For a little while Philip and Gloria talked of this sinister underworld to which they had been brought, but it was now many hours since they had slept and they were very tired, so, while they were still speculating on what the next day would bring, they fell asleep.

The following morning the same man and woman attended them, then, after they had had breakfast, Coxitl appeared, and there seemed no alternative but to follow him when he beckoned them out into the tube-like corridor. He led them some way along this gloomy tunnel, down a long ramp to a lower floor and
through a curtained doorway into a room where twelve of the litter bearers, whom they had come to know quite well by sight on their journey, were now drawn up in two rows, like a guard of honour, in front of a larger doorway to an inner room.

Coxitl left them to go inside and, returning a moment later, beckoned them forward. The room they now entered was the largest they had so far seen and was decorated with sombre magnificence. The walls were black stone, and in them were set panels depicting the same horrific gods as those in the room where Philip and Gloria had slept; but whereas those were simple carvings cut in the bare rock these were rich mosaics made of many thousands of inlaid semi-precious stones. These panels were a riot of scintillating colour against the dead-black walls, in which they sparkled like huge jewels.

Crossed-legged on cushions in the centre of the polished wood floor sat a semi-circle of seven old men. All of them were of the same hook-nosed, reddish-brown-skinned American-Indian type as Coxitl. They were dressed in loose robes and smoking long pipes. Having bowed low before this group of elders, Coxitl stood aside, and the central member of the council addressed Philip:

‘
Sprechen zie Deutsch
?’ he asked in a croaking voice. ‘
Mein Deutsch ist nicht goot
,’ replied Philip. ‘Ich
bin ein Irelander
.’

The old man nodded and said something in his own tongue to another elder sitting on his right, whom Philip then recognised as the bald-headed, sharp-faced man like Gandhi, who had intervened in the Temple the previous night.