being drawn in the sand and whoever he obeyed would score a point. Right then, he felt like siding with Sebastian but he reckoned he should leave his options wide open. The only thing he was certain of was his regret at not getting out earlier.
‘You either leave on your own or I will have you tied behind a mule and dragged,’ Hector said, taking a step from the table towards him. Several of his men moved their hands to their pistols, staring malevolently at Stratton.
The Englishman had suddenly become a political football in this overheated debate. Since he was not one of the rebels his death could be an acceptable symbolic insult to the Sebastian faction that no one would actually be obliged to avenge. Stratton thought of his M4 resting on the pack behind him and won - dered which way he should run when he grabbed it.
‘He is our guest,’ Victor repeated defiantly, straightening his back. ‘You will stop this childish bullying.’ His determination to stand up to Hector was clear for all to see.
Hector was a short-tempered bear who was unused to being disobeyed and Victor’s attitude served only to enrage him. He reached beneath his jacket and took out a glistening machete. ‘You dare to give me orders, and in front of the council! I’ll show you what I think of your guest,’ he said, striding towards Stratton. ‘Run, little dog, or I’ll cut you in two.’
Stratton appeared to have only one ally and it looked as if he was not going to be enough. The Englishman watched the big man step closer, his mind racing through his very limited number of choices. If he stood his ground and defended himself he would lose whatever sympathy the others might have for him. If he took off, their hostile feelings might not be intense enough for them to want to pursue him. It was a case of saving his skin or his pride. Staying alive was the wiser choice and he decided that if he could depart at a walking pace it might at least leave him some pride. He raised his hands in a soothing gesture and was about to step back when Victor stepped in front of him to face Hector.
Sebastian’s second in command tightened his jaw as Hector neared them.
‘Don’t challenge me, Victor. Step aside.’
Victor did not move.
Hector continued to advance. ‘I said step aside.’
The Frenchman clenched his sweat-soaked fists at his sides. It was clear to everyone that he was not going to get out of Hector’s way.
The big man stopped an arm’s reach from him, keeping his machete level. ‘This is the last time I will ask. Stand aside.’
‘I will not.’
Hector grew conscious of the many stares that were fixed upon them. In his anger he had gone further than was wise. He had made threats that he had not expected to have to carry out.The gringo was supposed to run away and Victor was not supposed to challenge him in this way. There was now only one way out of this. If he backed down, even though everyone would know it was out of pity for Victor, he would lose face. Sebastian’s poodle would have won. There was too much at stake. The parley with Neravista was more important to him than the chastisement he would receive for killing the Frenchman. He was going to have to wound the man, at least. ‘You go too far, Victor,’ he said raising the machete.
As Hector drew back the weapon in readiness to strike, an arrow shot from the darkness and slammed into a wooden post a few feet from him. Its fletching was painted orange and attached to the nock by a small piece of gut was the long slender tail feather of a quetzal bird. Another arrow followed quickly, striking inches away, its long shaft quivering before it grew still.
All stares went to the arrows and to Hector who was frozen to the spot. Everyone at the table knew the missiles’ significance. From the darkness the old Indian stepped into the glow from the fire. He did not have a bow in his hand, just a spear, but behind him, moving deliberately, the two young Indians emerged, their bows drawn fully back, fresh arrows levelled, the firelight highlighting the subtle circular tattoos on their hairless arms and torsos. The icy look of total commitment filled their eyes.
One of Hector’s lieutenants moved a hand to his pistol. The first young Indian pointed