SEDUCTION

Opinions differ about how long mankind has been in the Western Hemisphere. Certainly for the past 12,000 years, perhaps longer. Most of that time the cultures were hunter-gatherer, which in terms of longevity must be mankind's most successful mode. It may even have defined the human genders, with man hunting and fighting, woman gathering and caring for the children. Some men, however, prefer peace, and some women are militant. Then sedentism developed, first in central America and later spreading. It seems to have been more recent in the Western Hemisphere than in the Eastern, but followed a similar pattern. Men still hunted and fought, but began to turn their efforts also to building and trading and the arts. Women still gathered, but also gardened and wove. The earliest and perhaps most influential known sedentary culture was that of the Olmec, at the southern edge of the Gulf of Mexico, where the Sierra Madre mountain ranges enclose a large lowland area. Their development must have been long and slow, but it peaked between 1200-300 B.C. There is a conjecture that there was influence from China, as some Olmec writing resembles Chinese characters, but this is suspect and is not accepted for this book. The setting is southern Mexico, circa 900 B.C.

The art is seduction. There are ways in which the human male and female really do seem to be separate species. The male tends to think in terms of straightforward power, while the female tends to accommodate while establishing her own understandings. The man normally looks first for beauty in a woman, while a woman normally looks first for power in a man. When a special situation limits or nullifies their respective attributes and desires, so that neither strategy can readily prevail, the game can become interesting, or even bizarre. We know little of the romantic and sexual conventions of the Olmec, but a beautiful and strong-willed young woman could surely mock them and make a man suffer.

DILLON was a hunter, but today he hunted wild fruit, because it was easier on Old Bata's teeth. He carried a brimming basket of prickly pears to the house and set it down in the main chamber. He had been lucky enough to spy a region where the cactus was fruiting and the animals and birds hadn't yet eaten the fruit.

The old woman heard him, and came from the back room. She moved slowly, for she was feeble, and almost blind, but her hearing remained sharp, as did her mind. Dillon removed his leather helmet so as to stand before her with his shorn head, as a mark of respect. His two years with her had taught him both the protocol and the reality of respect; she knew more, and understood more, than he had dreamed of.

"My son the chief has summoned you," Bata said. She meant her son-in-law, the man who had married her daughter. "I suspect he has a good mission for you to perform, that will bring you favor in the kingdom."

"But I have not asked for any such mission," Dillon protested. "I still have much to learn from you." Again, his politeness mirrored his reality: he truly valued his association with her.

"Perhaps. But the chief's summons may not be denied. You must go immediately. You know the way to the capital city?"

"I will find it," Dillon said. "Down one river and up another. But I hope the mission is not long. I would prefer to return here, where I have useful work, and can profit from your wisdom."

The old woman smiled. "You are a delight, Dillon. Were I sixty years younger, I would marry you and make you a prince. But who knows what the future holds? Go."

"Were you sixty years younger, you could enslave me without marrying me," he replied with a smile. He didn't mention that the royal women of Olmec did not make princes, but only gave existing princes a claim on the lineage. He, as a commoner, would only have caused her to waste her opportunity to wield significant power. But they enjoyed their game of flirtation, despite the overwhelming differences in status and age. Bata, in her youth, had surely been alluring. "Even, perhaps, were you only fifty-nine years younger. But then you would have to give me more than a smile." He squinted, almost managing to see her as she must have been, full breasted and full hipped and lovely in her canny intellect. That was one of the things she had taught him: that there was ever so much more to a woman than her face and body, and that what did not show could be as important as what did.

She glanced down at her skirt, twitched the hem, then shook her head as if giving up a tempting notion. "I promised to teach you finesse of expression, you handsome rogue. I succeeded."

She had taught him far more than that. He had come to love her as a grandmother, and did not like leaving her. But she did have a male slave for brutework and a maidservant for personal details. They would see to her needs during his absence. "May I see you again, soon," he said sincerely as he set his bow and spear in the canoe. There was also a package of dried snook and hard bread, together with a ceramic brazier for cooking, so that he would not have to take time to hunt or forage for food on the way.

"The spirits know," she said as a benediction. Then she remembered something else. "Here is a royal tassel. Show it when challenged, and they will let you through."

He took the tassel, stepped into the canoe, and shoved off. Usually he canoed on the broad lake, but now he was traveling down the river to the sea. There would be no problem finding the way down, and once he reached the sea he could watch for signs, or inquire. It wasn't as if the capital city were unknown territory; everyone would know its location.

"And if you should encounter one like me when young, remember all I have taught you," she called after him.

"There can be none like that," he called back, laughing.

The stream was small and rocky in places, but he was traveling light and managed to avoid portaging. Soon he intercepted the river, and its flow facilitated his motion. He used his paddle to keep in the swiftest currents, but didn't try to outrace it. He wanted to move swiftly, in answer to his summons, but was conserving his strength for the time he would need it.

The river joined a larger river. This one he knew would carry him to the sea. He chewed on the tough fish without pausing, and by dusk was well along.

He was familiar with the river to this point, and knew that it was clear for the next few hours' travel. So he did not pause. He sat with the paddle in his hands, trailing in the water behind, and slept. The motion of the canoe and the feel of the water coursing by the paddle kept him in touch with the river. He would wake immediately if anything unusual occurred.

He dreamed. A beautiful young woman approached him, saying "I am Bata when young. Kiss me." He saw that it was indeed she, and yearned for her. But her old self had warned him to remember her lessons, and chief among them was to take nothing at face value. So he demurred. "If you are she, repeat the ritual of trust." At that the figure screamed in rage, and became an ugly bird, and flew away. She had tried to deceive him with her simulated beauty, but an evil spirit could not speak that ritual. His caution had saved him from being consumed.

He woke in the darkness, and smiled. Bata had saved him, for surly the evil spirit had thought him an easy target, alone at night on the river and asleep. Without the old woman's advice, he would have been lost. Yet there was that in him that regretted part of it, for it would have been life's greatest experience to possess a woman like that. Of course that was how the bad spirits worked; they preyed on a person's secret desires, which were also his vulnerabilities. A man alone had to be ever watchful against their artifices.

In the morning he was well downstream. He saw a rabbit by the bank, and was tempted to bring it down with an arrow or a dart, but preparing it would take time, and he wanted to keep moving. So he brought the canoe to the bank instead, so that he could stretch on land and catch up on natural functions. Then he moved on downstream, chewing on more dried snook.

By dusk the second day the river was broadening and slowing, and he knew it was getting ready to debouch into the sea. This was beyond familiar territory, so he was more cautious. Instead of sleeping while the boat moved, he pulled to the side and made a quick hidden bed for the night.

He resumed travel before dawn, and as the sun appeared he was at the edge of the sea. It was so vast he was awed; the water stretched out beyond the sight of land. So he remained close to the shore, turning southeast. The next big river should be the one to take.

As he stroked along the edge of that monstrous body of water, he fancied that it was watching him, ready to swallow him if he had the temerity to go far out across its surface. But he had done nothing to annoy it, and so it let him be. The spirits of nature generally had better things to do than discipline individual people, so proper respect was usually enough to avoid trouble. In due course he spied the indentation that marked the next large river. That must be the one.

He made his way up the river, making much slower progress. He passed many rich green fields of maize, and wondered who could possibly eat all that was produced. At one point he saw the smoke of a burning field, and knew it was being prepared for a new crop after a fallow period; ashes made rich soil. On occasion he saw whole packs of dogs, which he knew were being raised for their excellent meat. Here in the civilized section, they needed to raise more of their food, of whatever type, instead of depending on the forest and lake.

The river fought him as it narrowed. Rivers did not like to be contravened. They preferred to carry everything down to the sea and dump it there. But he had saved his strength for this effort, and made fair progress, day by day. The ugly bird spirit did not try to trick him again when he slept at the bank. That was just as well, for now he was tired, and needed good sleep for recovery.

On the eighth day of his journey he reached the capital city. This was bustling, in contrast to much of the route here; people were everywhere. The first thing he noticed was the colossal stone heads. They were all around the center, staring out from under their helmets, each one higher than a man could reach. He knew that each head represented an Olmec chief, remaining after the chief died to keep his memory and greatness alive. He had heard that the heads were awesome, but never actually seen one before—and here were at least six. There were also standing and seated figures, stele, columns, animal-figure altars, and baths. Men were working on the huge drainage channel leading from one of the elite baths; the ditch was lined with basalt rock, rather than just being dug in dirt. He had never imagined so much construction and art; his mind balked at the assimilation of it all.

But he couldn't dally; he had to report to the chief. He showed his tassel and got directions to the royal residence. This was a stone-and-mud brick castle of huge size, with two guards at its terraced entrance. Somewhat diffidently, he presented his tassel again. "I am to see the chief."

To his surprise, they nodded and showed him inside. He tried not to stare at the huge chambers he passed; he would only reveal himself to be the country hick he was. But he was highly impressed by the religious icons lining the inner halls: representations of the sacred jaguar, serpent, ancient woman, frog, and the dread were-jaguar, which was a cross between human and jaguar. There were also wooden human masks encrusted with jade. It must have taken many artisans many years to craft all these fine representations. This was certainly a holy place.

Chief Badu met him immediately. Dillon recognized him by his bearing, his brightly colored kilt, his fine cloth cape, and his sturdy head gear. "You met my daughter Melee two years ago. Do you remember her?"

The question surprised him. "Yes. A lovely, spirited girl."

"Who held you in contempt."

Dillon spread his hands. "Perhaps I warranted it."

"Perhaps not. I am banishing her."

This was so startling that Dillon could think of no response to make. So he waited.

"She has grown willful. I have valued her perhaps too much, since losing her mother and her sister. She refuses to marry the man I choose for her. This has become politically embarrassing, and so I need to curb it."

Dillon waited, not understanding why the chief should tell a country hunter this. It was hardly his business to know the private embarrassments of royalty.

"I can't simply send her away," the chief continued. "She is royal, and must be protected. Neither can I confine her here; her status does not allow it. The matter is awkward. So I am banishing her to the care of her grandmother, who will perhaps accomplish what I am unable to, and bring a proper sense of discipline and familial obligation to her."

Now it began to make sense. Dillon would have to convey the princess to Bata, keeping her safe along the way. But wouldn't it have been easier to send her there under competent guard?

"But Mother Bata will need help. She will require you to do much of it, as she can no longer see well and is physically weak. You will obey her strictures, even if they sometimes seem strange."

"Yes, always," Dillon agreed. "I have the deepest respect for her." That was no understatement.

"Until you bring Melee to Bata, you may be considered Melee's elder brother. She must obey you in the incidental details of travel. If she flees you, you must lay your hands on her and bring her back, albeit without harming her."

This was astonishing. "But she is a princess! A common man may not touch her! And if she fought me, and was bruised, I would be subject to execution."

"As her brother you may be considered a prince. For this purpose a bruise on the arm will not be considered harm. You will hold her if necessary, to the extent required to ensure that she completes the trip with you. If she attacks you, you must defend yourself, nullifying her. If she remains unmanageable, you will bind her. Do not let her prevail."

"This is impossible! I would never—"

"You would never abuse a royal woman who was put in your charge, nor would you willfully cause distress to any woman. I believe that. That is why you have this assignment. You must treat her as you would your own woman, without forgetting that she is not."

"My woman!"

"Your sister. She will perform the household chores. She will forage for you both, and clean your clothes as well as her own. You will protect her from molestation by any man, and help her in whatever way she requires. But you will neither give her orders, other than when necessary for her safety or captivity, nor take orders from her."

"My lord, you give me too hard a task. She has no respect for me, and will not listen to me."

"Could you handle it with a regular woman?"

"I think so. But Princess Melee is not that."

"You will have the advice and support of her grandmother. When you are in doubt, ask Bata. You know how much she knows. She also knows my desire in this respect."

Dillon saw that this was to be the way of it. "I will do my best, lord."

"You will succeed. You understand the consequences of success and failure."

Dillon understood. Success would mean significant reward. Failure would be death. "I will succeed," he said grimly. If it was humanly possible.

"You will keep her there one year, and bring her back here at its conclusion. If, after this experience of exile, she still refuses to do my will, I will send her back with you for another year. So it will be, until she accedes."

Dillon had to ask one more question. "If I succeed, and return her to you safe, she may nevertheless be angry. If she should accuse me of mistreating her—"

"You will tell me the truth, and I will accept it. I expect her to make just such a charge. See that you are not guilty."

"Yes, lord."

Badu frowned. "Understand this, as a man: Melee is beautiful, and knows it, and plays upon it. She can sway any man to her will. Even me, which is why I am foolishly lenient with her. But she is also wild. She may defy you, and when that is ineffective, she may tempt you. She may invite you to have sex with her, then claim you raped her. Since her word may not be questioned by others, this would normally be your death."

Dillon felt a chill. "Lord, I will not touch her."

Badu shook his head. "I speak to you as a man: if she chooses to be touched, you will not be able to avoid it. You have never encountered a woman like her." He paused, thoughtfully. "Not at that age, at any rate. So I am realistic. I lay on you these strictures: never touch her sexually unless she wills it, and even then you must obtain her word that she will not tell. Only then are you safe. She will not break her given word, but she can be extremely cunning about the giving of it. She must look into your face and say she desires it and will not tell. She remains sufficiently pristine as long as she does not deny it. If there is any doubt at all, do not accede."

"But lord, a woman can not make a man—"

"That is illusion. You have been warned. If she tells me you touched her, and you can not deny it, you are lost. You must avoid her as long as you can, and obtain her word before you succumb. Your life depends on it."

Dillon felt dizzy. He could not accept the implications, but also could not tell the chief that he was speaking nonsense. "Yes, lord."

"Melee plays games with men, but she follows her own rules, and the stakes can be high. If you can beat her in a game, she will respect you for it. But never forget that it is a game to her. Do not play a game with her if you can possibly avoid it. Her mind is not like yours or mine, or like that of any other young woman. She can be as winsome as she chooses, but she is dangerous too. Never forget."

"I will not forget." But neither did he believe. The man was describing not a human woman, but a phantasm. Games were agreeable pastimes played by two or more people on a voluntary basis; they could not be forced.

"I will turn her over to you now." Badu stood, and Dillon stood with him. The private interview was over.

The chief led the way to a small chamber of the palace. There was a young woman, beautiful and angry. Her forehead was shaved, while the back of her hair trailed into glossy braids. She wore a fine closed shawl over a dark knee-length skirt, small bird-claw earrings, and bright shell anklets above her bare feet. It was Melee.

"Go with this man, for a year," Badu told her. "I will speak again with you then."

Melee turned a cold gaze on Dillon. "This won't work," she muttered.

The chief shrugged and turned away. Dillon waited, but so did the girl. He realized that he would have to take the initiative. "Please follow me, Princess."

She made no motion. But he was pretty sure she wouldn't refuse in the presence of her father, so he turned and walked away. Sure enough, after a moment she followed. "Do you show me your back, peasant?" she demanded.

"You are welcome to walk beside me." He paused so she could catch up.

"I'm not your woman, peasant!"

Dillon didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing. He resumed walking.

She caught up and walked beside him. He saw that she now carried a finely woven large handbag. "You will not enjoy this, peasant."

Again, he had no answer. He was in awe of Melee's status and her beauty, but knew he must not show it.

"I know you from somewhere."

Now he could answer. "I helped you cross the river, two years ago."

"The dull-wit!" she exclaimed. "I should have known."

Again, he had no ready answer. All that Bata had taught him about finesse of expression was gone as if it had never been. This sullen, lovely creature banished wit.

"Grandmother Bata said you were diffident about women, and lacked the wit ever to dissemble."

Bata would have said that, but intended it as a compliment. "True."

This time Melee didn't answer, so perhaps he had withstood that attack. That pleased him.

The folk of the city ignored them, probably because they recognized the princess. It was death to address such a person other than in response to a query or command. That was part of what made his position so awkward; had he not been given the specific directive of the chief, treating this woman this way would have gotten him quickly cut down by the chief's guards. But he had been told to treat her like a sister, which meant no sex but also no special respect.

They came to his canoe. "I won't ride in that!" Melee protested. "It's small and dirty."

Dillon shrugged. "Perhaps you can walk along the bank, then, while I use it."

"Don't try to be clever, you bumpkin," she snapped. "The crocodiles don't hunt just in the water." She climbed into the canoe and took the front place, facing forward. She kneeled, for the only seat was at the rear. She set her bag before her.

Dillon got into the back, took up his paddle, and pushed off into the water. The canoe sat lower, with her added weight, and was clumsier to handle, but could be managed. He stroked it forward. She was right about the crocodiles: they tended to congregate in favorite spots, but could be anywhere along the river. It was safer in the canoe.

They passed near a tree that leaned out over the river. Melee had to duck her head. "Steer it to the center of the stream, bumpkin," she said.

Dillon considered. He didn't like her name for him, but decided not to make an issue. But he felt free to make an issue about the canoe. "Pick up your paddle and guide it as you will."

"I'm not your servant!"

He ignored that and continued to stroke with his paddle. She opened her bag and took out a small polished stone mirror, glancing at her own face. If she sought to impress him with her affluence, she was succeeding, for hardly anyone had such a possession. Then she shrugged and put it away.

After a moment she picked up the front paddle and began stroking in time with him, balancing the forward thrust. She did know how to do it, as any woman should. So the princess had not been completely spoiled. The canoe moved more smartly, and stayed in the center of the stream.

"Are you wondering why I'm helping?" she asked.

"Yes. I presume it's not just to stay clear of the crocodiles."

"So I won't look too obviously like your prisoner."

Was she taunting him? First she had shown a precious mirror, then she had settled down to menial work. Was he supposed to agree that she was his prisoner, or to deny it? Either way seemed like mischief, so he kept silent.

They moved smoothly downstream. After a while she removed her shawl, evidently growing hot from the exertion, and continued paddling with her upper section only lightly covered by her trailing black braids. Dillon had to admire it. She was sixteen, and had the perfect supple figure of a young woman. Her waist was as slender as any he had seen, and her hips full. Her body flexed with each stroke, enhancing the effect, and showing occasional glimpses of the sides of her breasts. He had remembered her as pretty, two years ago, but now she was more than that. She was perfect.

"Stop looking at me," she said without turning her head.

Dillon found his face heating. She had set him back, as she had meant to. He averted his gaze, glancing to either side of the river. But her lovely back drew his gaze like the iridescent plumage of a sacred bird. Perfection was difficult to ignore.

"Are you deaf as well as stupid?" she demanded, still without turning.

Then he knew she expected him to be looking at her. He decided to assert himself. "I will look where I choose."

"I could have your eyes put out for that."

"Not this year."

"Are you trying to play a game with me, lout?"

"Your father told me to treat you like a sister. A man can look at his sister."

"Some do more than that."

It was true, but not something he cared to dwell on. "I will not touch you, or play a game with you."

"No game? But anything can be a game or contest."

"Not if there is no betting on it."

She turned part way, showing more of a breast. "Name one thing that can never be a contest."

She was challenging him, forcing him to answer, or to look stupid in his own eyes. So he cast about for some example that would shut her up. "Urine."

Apparently he had won that small encounter, for she was silent. But the day was late, and soon they would have to camp for the night. He wanted time to prepare a safe site, for he could afford no danger to the princess.

When he saw a suitable spot for a camp, he turned the canoe toward the bank.

"What are you doing?" Melee demanded.

"We must camp for the night. This seems to be a good place. The bank rises high, and there is brush for enough of a fire to keep predator animals away."

"Why not just float downstream and sleep in the canoe?"

He was surprised. "Alone, I would do that. But I assume that you would not care for that."

"You assume too much. I want to get where we are going, and be done with it."

"But if you need to—"

"I'll piss off the side."

She was trying to set him back, because of his use of urine as a counterexample. But she had overshot the mark, so he was amused more than abashed. He had been in awe of a princess, but she had just reduced herself to the level of a crude peasant woman. That made him considerably more comfortable. He could argue with a peasant. "In a canoe? You'd fall into the river."

"No I wouldn't. Want to see?"

She was daring him. "Yes."

"Oh, you'd like that, for sure!" she said witheringly. "Men are really set off by the sight of a woman urinating."

She had scored, but not perfectly. He would indeed have been excited to see her do it, but there was another aspect. He wanted to secure his verbal victory. "You can't lean out of a canoe, so you'd have to stand in the center, and it still wouldn't clear the edge."

"No. I'd brace on hands and feet and arc out behind. I've done it before."

He hadn't thought of that. If it really was feasible, it was no occasion for banter. "Then tell me when you wish to do it, and I'll face away."

"What, not watch? What happened to your interest?"

"It is my duty to take you to exile, not to humiliate you. You are not a common woman, however commonly you may choose to talk. I will observe the bounds of propriety to the extent possible."

Now she lifted her paddle and turned to face him, for the first time showing her breasts fully. He had of course seen breasts all his life, as common women did not normally wear shawls. These were the best formed ones he could remember, neither small nor pendulous. "I assumed that humiliation was part of the exile."

"No. I will treat you like the princess you are, as long as you act like one."

After a moment she shrugged, and those perfect breasts shook, sending a thrill through him. "Well, we'll see." Then she turned back and resumed paddling.

Yes, they would see. He would much prefer it if she behaved, but if she didn't, he would have to make her, by binding her if necessary. He strongly suspected that she would put him to the test soon enough. If she had the will to resist the wish of her father, she would have much more will to resist captivity by a common man. He did not trust her at all.

But she was beautiful and smart and spirited. He couldn't help liking those qualities. For the first time in his life he wished he could have been born a prince instead of a hunter, if only to have even a hope of touching a creature like Melee.

Then he realized something else. Melee was like Bata—sixty years younger! Bata must have known that this would be his mission, so she had warned him. Badu had seen the parallel too, for she had said that Dillon had never encountered a woman like Melee, at that age. He had encountered her at Bata's age. Badu respected Bata's knowledge and nature as much as Dillon did. So he, too, had warned Dillon, expecting him to succumb. But Dillon did not intend to be defeated. He had been well trained, and twice warned. That was enough.

The dusk closed in. There was no other traffic on the river at this hour; they were alone. The sounds of the night creatures came.

"What have you to eat?" she asked.

"Dried snook and bread."

She made a little shrug of resignation. "They will do."

He shipped his paddle and brought out his staples. He realized that they would not last the whole trip, for he had planned for one, not two. But he could hunt for meat when he needed to.

Melee turned to face him, barely visible in the darkness, and took what he handed her. For this purpose she sat with her legs crossed, shadows covering what the skirt did not. It was pleasant, eating together while drifting gently downstream. They each dipped a pottery jar into the river to get drinking water. His was a crude baked clay effort of the type peasants used; hers was a finely crafted vase decorated with stylized images of hawk's claws.

"Now I will do it," she said abruptly as she licked off her fingers.

He was blank for a moment, then remembered: she needed to urinate. "I will turn."

"Don't bother. I'll use the jar."

Oh. Of course that would work best for her. At any rate, he couldn't see anything in the darkness, other than her vague outline. Somehow that didn't help much; his imagination filled in the lifted skirt, the parted thighs, the jar held close-in. This vision made his member swell. He heard the faint swish of the flow, and pictured it issuing in a stream and filling the jar. Never before had he been so fascinated with this aspect of a woman's existence. In fact he had hardly thought about it, apart from a session he had once had with a cooperative young girl. Now he wished Melee were not a princess, but a country girl who would welcome his attention. But she was not, and he would never allow himself to forget it.

After a moment she poured the jar out into the river, then rinsed it, so that she wouldn't have the taste of urine next time she drank water from it. He realized that this was probably the way she had always planned to do it; she had been teasing or baiting him before. In fact she was still teasing him, because she had done it while facing in his direction. Had it been daylight, he would have seen everything.

"But you can do it your way," she said.

He did need to urinate, but now he wasn't satisfied to do it the usual way, in her presence. The gathering darkness might conceal his action, but not the sound. Yet what alternative was there? Use his jar, as she had? This did not appeal.

"Or would you like me to hold the jar for you?" she asked, knowing his thought.

It had to be done, lest he be subject to more of her contempt. He stood carefully, faced the side, drew aside his loincloth, and made ready to urinate into the river. It might be awkward, because—

"Shall I turn my back?" she asked softly.

Something about her voice made him react. It had somehow been suggestive of what must never happen. His member became fully erect, preventing him from urinating. He had to give up the effort and take his seat again.

"Whatever is the matter?" she inquired with mock solicitude.

"I'll do it later," he said, feeling the heat of his face.

"By daylight, maybe."

And of course it would be worse then. The very thought of her seeing his member would stiffen it instantly, as perhaps she knew. She was young, but had probably had experience teasing men. So he would have to do it in the dark, preferably when she was sleeping.

"Do you yield the contest?" she asked.

"What contest?"

"The contest of urine. Remember, you named it."

"But I didn't mean—"

"You challenged me to make a contest of urine. I am doing so. I urinated in your presence; now you must do it in mine, or lose the game."

He started to protest, but realized that he had indeed named urine in connection with a contest, and had not otherwise defined the terms. She had tricked him into it, and succeeded in making her game of it.

He had been warned about her games. He would be more careful hereafter. He was not one to be taken twice by the same ruse.

They moved on down the river. "We can take turns sleeping," she said. "Do you wish to sleep first?"

With this pressure of urine inside him? "No. You may sleep first."

"Thank you." She adjusted herself, her silhouette dropping low and disappearing into the deeper shadow of the canoe.

He took the paddle and used it to steer without paddling, keeping to the center of the current. Fireflies were flashing along the shores and out across the water, defining the channel of the river.

When he was satisfied that she was asleep, he shipped his paddle and stood again. But as he was about to relieve himself, she spoke: "Do you want me to hold it for you?"

That had exactly the effect she wanted. He became too stiff to do it, and had to sit down again.

"I'm sure I could help you get it out," she said. She knew what had happened, from the absence of sound.

Was this going to continue all night? How long was he going to let her torment him? He had to find a counter to her power over him. So he rose to the bait. "How?"

"I could ram you hard in the belly with this paddle. After that, the water will flow."

And leave him bruised or incapacitated. Her teasing was becoming cruel. "No."

"Then do it your way."

He steered the canoe toward land.

"You can't do it!" she exclaimed.

"If you and I were lovers, I could do it after," he said. For after the sexual act, a man lost erection and relaxed. That put the matter on a footing she could not challenge, for surely the last thing she wanted was to have sex with a common man. "But we are not, and will not be. Therefore what is private will remain private." He was rather pleased with the way he had put it; Bata had taught him to find different twists to problems, and to turn them over so that they became soluble. Age had brought her enormous wisdom. She had taught him far more than finesse of expression, though that followed naturally from inverted thinking.

"Well put. But you have nevertheless lost the game."

"I lost the game," he agreed.

He turned the canoe toward the bank. Once he got away from her, he would be all right.

"If you leave me alone in the canoe, I will take it and leave you stranded on land." Melee was trying to find a way to interfere. But he had her at a disadvantage now, having taken the initiative. That was another of Bata's lessons: don't let your enemy set the agenda. Gain control, and keep it, until victory. He had come to understand why Chief Badu respected her so much. She had an answer for every question.

He brought the canoe to the bank, and wedged it onto land enough to secure it. "I am taking the paddles." He reached forward and got her paddle as well as his. He stepped to shore and walked into the night. She made no comment, which suggested that he had won this aspect of their encounter.

He was not familiar with this region, but his long experience in the wilderness, tracking intruders in the night, made it easy. He got far enough away from the canoe so that he could not be heard, and paused to urinate. He was right: he could do it readily enough, when Melee wasn't near.

He returned. The canoe had not moved, and she remained in it. She had realized that without a paddle she would have very little control over the canoe, and might even be carried out into the great sea and death beyond its horizon. So he had beaten her, this time.

He got back in, and returned the second paddle to her. He shoved off.

After a while, she spoke. "There will be other engagements. It is only fair to give you a chance to win a return contest."

He shrugged in the darkness. "Get your sleep."

"No. It's your turn. I will guide the canoe."

He didn't quite trust this, but he did need rest and sleep. Maybe it was better to find out what further mischief she had in mind early rather than late. "As you wish. Wake me when you tire." He slumped in his seat.

"You must give me the rear seat," she said. "Where I can control the canoe."

She was right. They would have to exchange places. But that could be tricky, in a canoe. One man normally hunched down while the other stepped over him. "Then crawl this way, and I will go over you."

"You crawl; I'll go over you."

She was still being the princess. He put his hands down and went on hands and knees toward the center of the canoe. Then he felt her small hands on his back. Her skirt brushed his head as she passed across him, her legs briefly straddling him. There was a musky feminine smell about her he found tantalizing. For a moment he wished he had lain on his back, so as to be able to peer up as she crossed. But to what purpose? She was not a woman to be touched, so there was no point in teasing himself with such visions.

She made it to the rear seat. "Just think what you would have seen, on your back in daylight," she said.

He laughed ruefully. "You fathom my thoughts so well."

"You're a man. What other thoughts would you have?"

If she was guessing, she was guessing well. "None," he agreed. He moved farther forward, found a comfortable place, and stretched out prone. He rested his head against his crossed arms and relaxed.

"Maybe in the morning, when we cross back," she said. That jolted him awake. She would walk over him face-up in daylight? But in a moment he realized that she was just trying to interfere with his sleep, as she had with his urination. She knew she was a phenomenally appealing figure of a young woman, and that he was not allowed to touch her sexually, so she could get away with teasing him. It was her way for getting back at him for being her captor. She wouldn't actually show him anything, and even if she did, he shouldn't look. "If this is another game, I am not playing."

"You will play the game I choose, for you chose the first one."

"I did not—" But that argument would not prevail. "I lost. That ends it. No more games."

"We shall see."

He did not reply, and she was silent. Still, the suggestion that she might allow him to peer under her skirt disrupted his relaxation, and delayed his sleep. Normally, when alone, he could sleep immediately; it was part of his expertise as a hunter. Now he was not hunting, but being tricked or beguiled into treacherous contests with this unnervingly perceptive young woman.

He woke several times, expecting Melee to ask him to resume his seat before dawn, but she did not. He knew by the sound of her breathing that she was awake and alert. She must be tiring. But as long as she did not ask him to exchange, he would continue to sleep; it might be long before he had another chance.

Then it was morning, and the pre-dawn light was brightening. He had turned over, sleeping on his back to vary the cramped posture.

"Now we will exchange," she said. "I will cross over you." She was moving as she spoke, not giving him time to object.

He lay there as she moved, her hands on the two sides of the canoe, her legs spread so her feet treaded on either side of him. Was she actually going to cross over his face?

She did. He knew he should close his eyes, but they were locked open. He saw up into the cone of her skirt. Her legs were slender, but above there was darkness, obscuring all detail. As she surely knew.

She paused, with her body directly above him. "Would you like me to lift my skirt to let in more light?"

She would win another aspect of their tacit contest if he agreed, and he wasn't going to lie about it. "What I would like has no bearing. You may do as you wish."

"No, there is no harm in pleasing you, in little ways. Tell me the truth, and I may surprise you."

He realized that he might as well, since she knew the answer anyway. "I think it would be the most inspiring sight of my life." So how would she tease him now?

She balanced carefully, lifted her hands, and used them to lift her skirt high, revealing everything below the waist.

Dillon was stunned. He had been sure she wouldn't do it, yet she was showing him her private parts. He stared up, unable to speak. It was indeed awesome, for her legs were perfectly formed, and so were her belly and buttocks, and the crevice above him was exquisite.

Then she removed the dress entirely. "If you will take your seat, I will wash," she said. Then, after a pause, "Move, if you haven't been stricken blind."

Oh. He scooted toward the back seat, getting out from under her, then turned over and backed the rest of the way. He got into the seat and took up the paddle. He remained dazed. Badu had said she would tease him and tempt him; now it was clear how forthrightly she was doing so.

They were on a broader section of the river now, still in the center current. Melee had done well. Soon they would reach the great sea, and the settlement there.

She squatted naked, facing forward. She dipped water with her jug, poured it across a cloth, and used the cloth to wash herself. He couldn't help wishing she were facing back toward him.

"Of course," she said, divining his thought again. She turned and gave him full view of her breasts and thighs. Everything he had imagined about her figure remained true. She was the most beautiful creature he had seen. She used the cloth to wash her breasts, belly, and legs, and the slight motions of the glistening flesh thrilled him.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, fascinated. "You know I would have turned away, if you had asked. Instead you have shown me—" He paused, for a moment at a loss for words. "Utter perfection."

She smiled, appreciating his sincerity. "You are my captor. You will know all my secrets, in time. So you may as well know them now." She rinsed out the cloth, then used it to wash her genital region, carefully.

"I would have treated you with respect throughout," he said.

"As you are doing now." She paused, as if considering. "I'm sorry I teased you yesterday. I will not do so again." She stood, carefully, and wrapped her dress about her again.

He tried to recover his equilibrium, though still somewhat dazed. "You may do as you wish."

"I teased you. Now that I regret it, I am showing you whatever I might have withheld. If you wish to look at me again, at any time, just say so, and I will oblige." She brought out a bone comb and began doing her hair. She had unbraided it during the night, and now it flowed lustrously.

"I don't understand."

"I am a princess. It is not my way to act beneath my station. I am expected to treat others fairly."

This was a change. But he didn't trust it. "You are still teasing me."

"By showing you my body? Then don't ask to see it again."

If only it were that simple! "Your very nearness is a temptation. Your manner, too. It would be easier if you were ugly."

She shrugged. "That I can't arrange. But now I have shown you all I have, so you need not be concerned about looking." She looked around. "Now I am tired. I think I have earned my rest."

"You have," he agreed. "You should have called me during the night."

"No, I had some thinking to do. Then I decided to wait until dawn, so as to do what I needed to do."

"You didn't need to keep paddling all that time."

"Yes I did." She spread her shawl on the floor of the canoe, then lay down on her back and covered her face with the cloth. "Wake me when anything interesting happens."

What could happen, more interesting than what had just happened? He steered the canoe, reflecting on that. She had teased him, causing him embarrassment, then abruptly turned about and showed him her body, and spoken sensibly. Was it just another phase, that would pass as suddenly as the prior one had? Did he need to brace for another unsettling attack? He rather feared that he did. He had been warned that she was wild, and she was proving it.

Still, the way she had shown him her body suggested more than just a reversal of teasing. She knew he couldn't touch her. Maybe when the lesser teasing didn't disrupt him sufficiently, she had decided to advance another step by offering him unlimited sight of her body. That certainly intrigued him, but didn't change his mission. He could see her but not touch her. Maybe she hoped that he would become maddened by the sight of her, and be unable to stop from touching her.

Yes! That would compromise him, and make him unworthy of the mission, even if she didn't immediately report him. In fact, she could then dismiss him as her guardian. Of course she would still be subject to her grandmother Bata, who would be proof against any such tricks. But Bata was feeble and nearly blind; it would be much easier to get around her.

So all he had to do was avoid touching her, and that ploy would fail. What could she do, if he held his course steady despite her blandishments? He gazed at her softly rising and falling breasts, which were somewhat flattened in this position but still quite appealing. She had made a tacit issue of them by covering them at first with the shawl, so that now they seemed even more interesting than they would have been.

Melee shifted position, lifting one knee. That showed her shapely inner thigh, immediately compelling his study. She had, as she said, shown him everything. Then why did that sight of what he had already seen send such a guilty thrill of excitement through him? Maybe she thought that one complete view ended the mystery and made subsequent views irrelevant.

No—more likely she knew that she had merely whetted his appetite for more. So now she was besieging him, even in her sleep. She no longer had to work at it.

Well, he would look. But he would not touch. Once he delivered her to Bata, the siege would be lifted, for Bata would be in control.

Satisfied that he knew his proper course, he watched the land pass behind. In due course they would come to the settlement at the river's mouth. Then there would be the sea. Meanwhile there was Melee's other leg, now raised, and the gentle heaving of her bosom. Since all he could do was look, he might as well get his fill of that.

When the town came into sight, he considered, then concluded that Melee might be interested. So he spoke to her. "Princess."

After a moment she stirred. "Yes."

"We are passing the town. Are you interested?"

"Yes." She sat up, shaking her hair into place. "Let's go shopping."

"We have what we need." They would run out, but spot hunting would give them fresh meat. He had meant for her to view the town, not enter it.

"Maybe what you need. I need some variety of food. Pull in, and I will buy something good."

Of course she had trade items. But the last thing he wanted was to have her get loose in a town. "No."

"I will scream and say you abducted me. They have little way of knowing otherwise."

"You have no future here!" he protested. "Your father would soon know."

"But too late for you, I think." She cocked her head and looked him in the eye. "Look, Dillon—I know I don't want to be in this town. I could escape my father only by pretending to be a peasant woman, and doing the drudgery they do. When a warrior decided he wanted me, he would take me, for I am beautiful, and I could stop it only by stabbing him or revealing my identity. So I would be lost either way, being married to a man not of my choice. There is no escape for me here. Indeed, I am better off with you, for you are charged with keeping me pristine. So I will not attempt to flee you in this town. All I want is to buy some decent food. You can trust me in this respect because you know I have no better alternative. So don't make me make it unpleasant for you. Let me do my shopping."

She was making uncomfortable sense. She could indeed bring mayhem on his head, because she was a lovely young woman and folk would readily believe that he had desired her so much he had tried to capture her. And she did have no future in this town. So the lesser risk was to allow her to do as she asked. He hoped that was not after all a mistake.

He turned the canoe and headed to the town. But then he reconsidered. "This is but a village. There is a major town not far beyond, where there will be a far better array of foods. That is the one for you."

She glanced back at him in surprise. "Why do you tell me this?"

"Because if we are to stop, it is better that we do so at a competent place, so as to get everything you might desire. Then there will be no need to stop again."

"And no excuse," she said. "You are limiting the risk to a single stop."

"Yes. But what I say is true. You will prefer the larger town."

She nodded. "You are learning to manage me, as I manage you. I can not decline your offer, though I know it serves your purpose better than mine." She smiled, briefly. "I like it when you fight back."

That gave him a foolish thrill of pleasure. He distrusted her flattery as much as he did her nakedness, but he enjoyed both better than was wise.

The major town was on a small island in the swamp. It was not possible to miss it, because the channels were well marked and used; canoes were thick.

Melee paused in her paddling to rearrange her dress and disarray her hair. Aware of Dillon's curiosity, she explained: "I am not ignorant of politics. This town has aspirations of rivaling my own in influence. It is better that I be no princess, here. You understand?"

They just might take her hostage, a lever against her father, if they knew her identity. They would find some other term for it, but that would be the reality. And, as she had pointed out before, she might be forcibly married to a local noble. Then what followed would not be rape, but her value as a liaison for some political alliance would be ruined. That was not in her interest, or in Dillon's. Not only would it represent the failure of his mission, he might well be killed to prevent interference. "Yes."

She turned her shawl so that the stitched side was out, making it look cheap, and put it around her shoulders, closing it in front. She hunched her shoulders forward slightly, so that her breasts hardly pushed out the material. Now she looked less well endowed, and considerably more common. She must have had some experience sneaking out.

As they came to the main docking area, a sharp-eyed official challenged them. "Who are you?"

Dillon hadn't thought of a story to tell; that wasn't his way. But Melee spoke immediately. "Dillon the hunter, and maiden. We come to trade."

The man glanced at Dillon, then back at Melee. She had put herself in some slight disarray, but her beauty could not be concealed. Why would a lovely girl travel with a hunter? Probably an association of courtship, possibly one not fully approved by the girl's family. Such things happened.

"Shop with what?" the official asked.

"I have stones," Melee said, showing a sufficient but not large amount.

"Shop, and be gone by noon," the official said, and turned away. Dillon knew he would be alert for them, to see that they did move on.

They got out and drew the canoe to shore beside others. No one would disturb it; that was why there was an official on duty. They walked along the road leading into the town.

They passed a major work site, where a clay pyramid in the shape of a volcano was being constructed. The monument was vast in scope, and would surely take a long time to complete. "Father had better watch this town," Melee murmured. "It has too much ambition." Dillon was inclined to agree.

There was a central bazaar, with farmers and merchants standing by their wares. There were common and rare cloths, leather helmets and belts, bows, arrows, dart throwers, darts, spears, atlatls, and an array of stone knives. Dillon's eye lingered, for weapons of all types intrigued him, though he already had what he needed.

Melee went to the food section. The major wares were maize, beans, chili peppers, squash, and sweet potato, with some nice honeycombs, but she wasn't interested in vegetables. There were snook from the sea, catfish and turtle meat from the river, and dog, venison, and even some rare turkey from the forest, but she ignored these and went for the more solid layouts. She looked at a slaughtered peccary, then at the dismembered body of a man nested in sea salt for preservation. It was laid out in rough order, except for the missing head, which the priests normally saved for their own obscure purposes: disjointed arms at the sides, gutted torso in the center, disjointed legs below. Human sacrifice was important for ceremonies, but the spirits valued the life and heart rather than the meat, and there was no point in wasting it. A human torso could feed a family for some time, so was valuable, especially when fresh. "This," she said, indicating the left upper leg, where the best meat was. "And this." She pointed to the phallus and scrotum, which had been cut off and set tastefully between the legs.

"What do you have?" the merchant demanded.

She reached into her bag without looking and brought out a small necklace of brightly polished stones of many colors. Some were jadeite or serpentine, the most precious of all stones, normally reserved for items of ritual or status. She handed it to the man.

He inspected it closely, pursing his lips. "How came a maiden by jewelry like this?" he demanded.

"I smiled at a hunter," she said, glancing meaningfully at Dillon. "He gave up his most prized booty, from the farthest region." Then she smiled at the merchant. "I will repay him in due course, in my fashion." She opened her shawl briefly to show her breasts. Even with her slightly hunched posture, that glimpse was compelling.

The man shook his head in wonder. "That would do it. Fair trade." Which meant that he was sure he had a bargain. He thought the necklace had been taken in battle, and that the hunter had not properly understood its value, so had given it away for the favor of a pretty girl.

The merchant took a cattail-fiber section of cloth and wrapped the thigh in it, together with the genitals and enough salt to keep them fresh for several days. He handed the package to Dillon.

"Wait," Melee said. "We will want some of that today. Cut off a portion and cook it separately."

The merchant shrugged, drew a knife, and sliced off a layer of meat from the top of the package. He set it in his ceramic brazier and blew up the fire below. They had one in the canoe, but of course it couldn't be used there.

"The delicacies too," Melee said.

The merchant reached into the package, drew out the penis and scrotum, and added them to the cooking chamber. This was more than a merchant normally did to oblige a customer, but Melee was a very pretty woman, and she had paid well; he clearly did not want to imperil the trade.

While that was happening, Melee went on to another booth, where she bought a large jug of fruit wine and some condiments, which she carried herself. At a third booth she bought a jug of chocolate. Then they took their purchases, returned to the canoe and paddled out. Once they were safely alone downriver, she poured out small jars of wine for them both, then opened the package. She handed the cooked thigh meat to Dillon, and took the genitals herself.

Dillon was impressed. Human flesh was a major staple for the wealthy, but he had seldom tasted it. Normally the poor folk had little meat, and subsisted mainly on maize and fish, but as a hunter he had tasted most types of meat. The princess treated it as if it were routine—as evidently it was, for her. It was delicious.

"Now admit it," Melee said as she cut open the scrotum and nibbled delicately on a testicle. "You like this better than dried fish."

She had him there. "I do. But I think it was a foolish risk for us both to go into that city, and for you to show such value in stones."

"Of course it was," she agreed amicably. "But you couldn't stop it, and I am a risky woman."

He nodded. Actually she had behaved well enough, not trying to embarrass him or make any trouble while they were on land. She had posed as his spoiled girlfriend. It had indeed been as if they were courting. That aspect had been fun, though he knew that he must never let himself believe that she cared for him as a person.

She lifted the penis. "It seems a shame to put this in here," she indicated her mouth, "when it should go in here." She lifted her skirt.

Dillon shrugged. She was baiting him again, symbolically consuming his masculinity. "You can have it both ways, in turn." Would she actually put the thing into herself?

She considered a moment, touching her cleft with the tip of it. The sight made Dillon react, as she surely knew. "No, it isn't hard enough." She put the end in her mouth and bit down hard. "Maybe soon I'll find a better one."

Badu had warned him, but it hadn't done much good; Dillon was shaken by her implication, despite knowing that she was trying to unnerve him. He had never before encountered a woman as alarmingly suggestive as Melee.

"Let's finish with some chocolate," she said, bringing out the other jug. That was another rare delicacy. She poured out a small amount and gave it to him, then poured a similar one for herself.

The chocolate drink was bitter, but nevertheless a great experience. It was flavored with spices and vanilla, leaving a rich aftertaste. Melee was indeed showing him how a princess lived. She could have been ugly, and he would still have been impressed. As it was, he knew she was doubly dangerous. Her beauty and her generosity were twin arrows aimed at his self-control.

After eating she brought out her jar, the one she had used for urination the evening before. "Shall I do this facing toward you or away from you?"

And now this. "You said you would not bait me any more."

She turned to face him. "I said I would not tease you. I said I would show you anything you wished to see. Now I am asking whether you wish to see this."

He wasn't sure whether she was simply teasing him on another level, but surely she did need to urinate, and he did too. They were in the middle of the broadest part of the river, near the sea; it would not be convenient to go to land again. Neither was it feasible to wait until darkness. So he would have to address this again. He decided that complete candor was best.

"You are a bold and beautiful young woman, and I am a man. The sight of your body excites me, though I will not touch you. You may use the jar as you wish, and show me what you wish. But how am I to do what I must do, when your presence affects me in a way that my presence does not affect you?"

She laughed. "You think I lack an answer."

"You have an answer that does not involve getting jammed by a paddle?"

"Yes. It may not be easy for you at first, but it will solve the problem."

"How can a girl barely nubile know of the problems of a man?" Actually she was fully nubile despite her youth; it was mostly a figure of speech.

"You have asked, and I will answer," she said seriously. "When I was young, there was an emergency, and a man of my father's work force named Grout was very sick. So I was assigned to tend to him. My father said it would be good experience. I was disgusted, but I had to do it. And it did turn out to be good training. I gave him bread and water when he was able to eat. I had to clean him up when he vomited, and when he had diarrhea. I got to see and handle all his parts. When he recovered enough to realize that it was no man and no woman who tended him, but a girl child, twelve and barely breasted, he was embarrassed. He would eat and drink what I gave him, but would not urinate or defecate any more in my presence. He was too weak even to sit up, but he struggled to hold it in. Since I was not allowed to leave his side, it was a problem."

"I should think so," Dillon agreed. He was coming to understand how she had fathomed his own embarrassment so accurately.

"But it brought its own solution. When the water inside him became too much, it burst forth. He used a jar, lest he spray on the bed, and I had to hold it for him. It overflowed, but once started, he could not stop, and I had to grab a second jar and fit him to it. After that he did not protest any more; he knew I had seen everything. Then he mended, and my duty was over. But I remembered."

This was a revelation. Her father truly had seen to her education. "So when you teased me about holding a jar for me, it was a thing you knew."

"Yes. And I know there will come a time when my presence does not inhibit you, and you are able to do what you need to do. After the first time, it will be easier the second time, and the third, until you have no trouble at all."

"But it will be really uncomfortable."

"Yes, the first time, until you let go. But I will help you, if you wish. Hold the jar for me."

"But—"

"You will know I have no secrets from you. Then you need keep none from me. Also, you should drink more water, or wine if you prefer, to make it happen faster."

He wasn't sure whether she meant the wine as added fluid, or as a way to diminish his resistance to urination in her presence. Both, probably. "But how can you be sure I won't—" He broke off, unwilling to say it.

"That you won't get so excited that you lose control and rape me? I have already tested you on that; you look but you don't touch. Your mind does not dissuade your penis, but it does control your action. You may be crazy with desire, but you will not act on it."

She was right. He had discipline over his voluntary actions, if not his involuntary ones. And probably the fewer secrets she had from him, the less they would affect him. "Then—I will try to follow the course you suggest," he said, hoping he wasn't blushing. "Though I think it makes you my captor, rather than leaving you mine."

"Yes," she agreed, smiling. "But you never had a chance to remain my captor. No man other than my father has ever been able to control my actions, and his control is imperfect. That is why I am being exiled."

"But I will die if I do not keep you safe in that exile!"

"No. I will not put you in that position. I am merely coming to an understanding with you. You will remain my captor, as far as all others are concerned. But now you know that it is by my sufferance."

"Now I know," he agreed ruefully.

"One other thing. Take off your clothing."

"But—"

"I took off mine for you—and will do so again." She stood, and removed her skirt. "We must be even, for this first time. I am giving you a fair chance to even the score in the contest of urine."

She was still playing that game! "But I am—a man is—"

"I know. You will have to show yourself to me when you do it; this will make it faster. It was with Grout." Then, when he still hesitated, she poured him more wine. "This will help."

He gulped it down, and soon felt it spreading out from his stomach. Then, reluctantly, he disrobed, revealing himself with an erection as stiff as the phallus on a stone statue. "No secrets," he said, definitely blushing. Yet at the same time there was a certain illicit pleasure in this contest, if that was what it was, because it gave him an excuse to reveal his full masculinity to her.

She eyed his member, evincing no concern. "Now come help me." She held up the jar.

He put his hands to the sides of the canoe and moved toward her. Then he kneeled before her, and accepted the jar. She spread her thighs. "Hold it up close, here." She guided his hands. He wasn't sure how much of his dizziness was the wine and how much was Melee.

Then, without pause, she was urinating. His face was close; he saw the stream coming from her body, and felt its impact inside the jar. He willed his eyes not to close; he understood that this was something she wanted him to see in detail. It was fascinating and almost frightening, this view of the secret nature of a woman. What could be more intimately personal than this?

The stream stopped. "Now dump it," she said.

Oh. That jogged him back to the larger awareness. He lowered the jar and glanced inside. The smell of warm urine came up. A moment ago it had been inside her. He had seen it come out. That made it somehow precious. But he could not afford to be overcome by foolishness. He poured it over the edge, then rinsed the jar.

"Now I will hold it for you," she said, taking the jar.

"But I can't—" He glanced down at his clearly unready state. Unready for what it was he had to do, because too obviously ready for what he had not to do.

"When you are ready." She had the grace not to smile. "Go and paddle; I will come to you when I see that you can do it."

And when would that be? If his member ever relaxed, her mere approach would stiffen it again. "Whatever game you are playing with me, you have won it already."

She shook her head. "Not yet. To win, I must enable you to do what you think impossible."

He backed away, then sat on the seat and took up the paddle. His mind was whirling. He had never been this sexually excited before, and part of it was because he knew there was no chance of satisfying his desire. His erection remained rocklike. The wine had not had any effect on that aspect.

Melee kneeled, facing back toward him, and paddled with reverse motion. Her bare breasts shifted with her motions.

"I will never be able," he said.

"Yes you will. After a while this nakedness will grow dull, and tiring. And after today, it won't have much effect at all."

He hoped she was right. He could not urinate, but the pressure was already uncomfortable.

"And drink," she reminded him.

He had had enough wine. He dipped his jar and drank a good amount of water.

They moved on out of the river and to the sea. Melee looked around in awe. "It's so large!"

Had she intended a personal jibe, she could have said it long ago. So it was clearly the sea she referred to. But his mind had a bit of doubt.

"It is the great sea," he said. "We must follow the shore. We don't want to go too far out, lest there be a storm."

She shivered, though the day remained hot. "It frightens me."

He laughed. "I thought you were afraid of nothing."

"I never said that."

"I was teasing."

She flashed him a smile. "Thank you."

She thanked him for teasing her back? "I don't understand."

"I told you, I like it when you fight back. A game with no opponent is no fun. But it is more than that. We must associate for a long time. I thought you would be angry because I have achieved an even basis with you."

She had referred to it as a game, just as Badu had warned. That insight helped considerably. She had gotten him naked and stiff, as part of her game—and would respect him if he played it through. So he tried. "How can I be angry, exposed like this before a beautiful woman?" He glanced again at his erect member. His embarrassment was fading, becoming humor. This situation hardly seemed real. But as a game, it could be handled, even if the game was weird.

"Oh, you could be. But I think your teasing was not malign. Therefore it was friendly. You are accepting me."

"It is not my place to accept you, Princess."

"That is why I am pleased to have you do it."

She was right. He was accepting her as a person. There was something about their mutual nakedness that made acceptance easier. The mysteries were gone, and they were simply two people who were sharing an experience, though it was one of embarrassing exposure. "I am accepting you," he agreed.

"But the sea does scare me. It's too much. Can we move faster?"

Sex did not scare her, public urination did not scare her, but the great sea did? Maybe so, for it was physical rather than social. "Yes, if you care to turn around and paddle."

"Not yet. I must see you, and you must see me. I think soon it will be all right."

He doubted it. But he needed a distraction, because the water he had drunk was filling his belly, and he really needed to release it. This aspect of the game was growing uncomfortable to the verge of pain.

They paddled vigorously. Melee was doing so backwards, yet was doing well. Her body flexed and her breasts sometimes bounced with her effort. He closed his eyes.

"No, keep watching," she told him. "When everything I have to show you has no further power to excite you, then it will be time."

"It will never be time—until I burst," he said.

"You will see."

He stroked as hard as he could—and as he sweated with the effort, his erection finally began to fade. She was right: her body remained as exciting as ever, with her parted thighs and moving breasts, but he had seen these things for a significant part of the day, and they were losing their novelty and potency. It simply wasn't possible to remain sexually excited when the stimulus remained the same and he was working so hard. Also, when his need to urinate was becoming excruciating.

"Keep paddling," she said. Then she shipped her paddle and came toward him. She took the jar and put it to his crotch, cupping his penis. "Now let go."

But the touch of the jar made his member surge back upright. "I knew this would happen," he said, disappointed.

"Some day you will make a woman supremely satisfied," she said, briefly grasping his penis. That, too, surprised him, and worsened his condition. But he reminded himself that he wasn't touching her, she was touching him. That was a vital aspect of the game. "But once the first weakening occurs, the next is not far behind. Keep paddling."

"The last limp penis you touched, you ate," he reminded her.

She laughed. "Next time I'll buy vulva meat, and let you eat it. Paddle!"

He continued, putting all his strength into it. She squatted before him. And sure enough, soon his member softened again, bored by the sameness and overwhelmed with the need to release the pressure. This time she took hold of it and put it to the mouth of the jar before it dropped all the way. "Let go," she said. "Squeeze your belly. Piss will come." Then, as he hesitated: "Keep paddling."

He tried, knowing it would not flow. But his member stiffened only a little, and soon subsided, and then the urine did begin to leak through. A thin stream issued, and then a stronger one, until it was surging unhindered, into the jar. He was amazed; his penis was only half down, yet was working.

She grasped his member and squeezed, gently, then more firmly, cutting off the flow. What was she doing? He wasn't nearly through. With her other hand she put the full jar over the edge and poured it out. Then she brought it back, nudged his penis inside, and released her compression. The flow resumed. This time it went to the end, giving blessed relief to his distended belly.

She dumped the jar a second time. "You had a lot to give," she said, satisfied. "Now you have done it once. You can do it again, when you need to."

He was amazed, yet doubtful. "I am not sure of that."

"Then I will come help you again. We will get it done. But now we can dress, if you wish."

The sun was hot on his back and shoulders. "Yes."

They dressed, then resumed paddling. She faced forward. "Once a potent man has pissed with a woman's hand on his penis, he can do anything," she remarked. "But I would prefer this to remain our secret."

"Our secret," he agreed. "We have pissed together." Who would believe it, if he ever told? Best to leave it as a feature of the game, not much relevant to real life.

She turned her head and glanced sidelong at him. "When you reckon up your life experiences with women, what is more remarkable? Having sex, or pissing?"

"Pissing," he agreed, bemused. "I have done more with you than sex could have been."

"So Grout said when he did it. Of course your achievement is greater than his, because you are not sick, and I am not a child now."

She certainly wasn't! It would take him days to assimilate what she had shown him and taught him. "I think, after this, I will never again be afraid of a woman," he said. "Other than you." It was better to show respect for her works, as well as for the game.

"Yes. You are a strong, handsome man. You should be good with women." She glanced at him again. "Next time I wish to play a game, will you agree?"

"What can I do? If I try to deny you, you prevail anyway. And your games are—interesting."

"Of course. I have an aversion to dull games."

"But I will play only if the contest or the stakes are not dangerous." He hoped he could enforce that much.

"We shall see." She stretched. "Now I must get the rest of my sleep." She settled down in the bottom of the canoe.

He watched her, as he continued paddling with less vigor. Her body remained shapely, and her thighs as they were exposed remained engaging. But now he had a more solid understanding, and the urgency of his interest was diminished. It was as if they had had sex. And maybe they had, in a way.

Melee was one remarkable young woman. First she had teased him, then she had required him to go into town, and then she had made him urinate. This could have seemed like utter humiliation, but because of the way she had done it, showing him her body first, and urinating for him first, she had made it instead an experience to remember all his life. In the process she had indeed shown him that she was only nominally his captive, and remained so only while she acquiesced. So far she had not caused him to do anything that would get him executed, but her father's cautions now seemed well taken: she could make him do whatever she chose, in time. He just had to be sure that when she did, he made her give her word. That would be his only protection. That was the one game rule he must never forget. He had neglected to get her commitment not to start a contest, and that had led to complications he had never imagined. So he was learning. He was lucky that this particular game had been harmless. Or at least secret. The next one might not be.

Later she woke, and resumed paddling. She said nothing about what they had done.

They had to pause as evening approached to eat some more. The meat was good, and gave him renewed strength, as did the wine. Dillon did need to urinate again, because of the extra water he had taken, but again he was unable.

Melee smiled, ready for another demonstration of the game. "Take off your clothes," she said, drawing her own off. "Paddle." When he hesitated, she added "You know that resistance is pointless. This issue has been settled. Strip. Give me the pleasure of seeing your virility."

He did so and watched while she took the jar and held it to her own body. She made sure he could see the urine flowing, then emptied it. He realized that she had not really had to do it; there was not much in her. She had done it merely to show him. So that it was an experience they shared. But he wondered whether it was also because she liked having a captive man she could do this before, safe from either molestation or exposure to others. Wild as she was, she couldn't have made a habit of peeing with virile men. Did she enjoy showing him as much as he enjoyed being shown? She had hinted that it was so. That could be another aspect of her game.

She approached him with the jar and waited. And, soon, she was able to draw his water from him. His body had learned the way of it, and knew how to relieve the pressure in the familiar nakedness. What point was there in torturing himself, when it would make no difference in the end? It was her victory, and perhaps his. Their victory, as they did what perhaps no other man and woman did.

He laughed. "And when I am with a woman, some day, and she takes off her clothes and spreads her legs, suddenly I will piss instead!"

She laughed too. "I think not. Because she will not be me. She will not share the secret. You will not have seen her piss. You will not know her well enough."

It was odd logic, but probably correct. "I suppose so. I knew from the outset that I would never have sex with you. With her I will know it is possible."

"Yes. And she will not be as beautiful as I."

"She could never be that," he agreed.

"How are we to handle this night, without the river to carry and guide us?"

"We must put ashore, or take turns paddling."

"I would rather keep paddling. Tell me the way, and I will do it while you sleep."

"You can't do that. It takes strength and endurance."

"I do have some muscle, under these breasts," she said, pausing to cup them with her hands. That, too, enhanced her beauty and suggestion. He wished he could cup her breasts similarly. "I can not come close to matching you, but at least I can keep the canoe oriented, and make some slight progress. Let me do what I can."

Again, she had a point. "Just keep moving along the way we are going. There will be a river, but that is not the one. Go on across it."

She nodded. "We must change places. Shall I go over you?"

"Will it annoy you if I say yes?"

She smiled. "No."

So he lay down, facing up, and she crossed over him, swishing her skirt over his face. That gave him another erection, but it soon faded. This was just part of the ritual they had. He realized that she had teased him, and then shown him everything so as to get him used to it, but that she did value his attention. His intense and continuing interest was a constant and sincere flattery. Which was of course why she continued doing it: not so much for him, but for her. She liked seeing his penis react to her provocations. She surely did get as much from it as he did. But in a different way. The sight of his ready body probably did not drive her to the same pitch of sexual desire. It was her mind set, her need to make and win a contest. It was her constant proof of power. She would grow tired of that game only when his member did. That was unlikely to be soon. She would see to that.

She took the rear seat and began paddling. He turned over and put his head on his arms. Suddenly he slept.

It was night when he woke. The stars were shining down, with their familiar constellations. He sat up. "Melee! Why didn't you wake me before this?"

"And lose the sight of your member growing large by itself?" she asked.

He realized that he had forgotten to put his loincloth back on, so had slept naked. There it was again: her fascination with his reactions. But now he could handle it. His growing understanding of her nature helped. "It was surely dreaming of you."

She laughed. "My grandmother has been teaching you how to turn insults into compliments."

"Yes." But it was significant that he had thought of the clever response before doubt clouded his ability to deliver it.

He found his clothing and put it on. He was no longer bothered by her remarks; they had seen each other too intimately for any such references to have impact. That was the lesson of the urine.

"Grandmother is a great woman. How is she now?"

"Old, feeble, and nearly blind. But she knows more than the Grandmother of Creation."

"I think she is the Grandmother of Creation."

"Or her representative," he agreed. "Now you must be tired. I will paddle."

"I am tired," she agreed. "Now I truly appreciate your strength and endurance."

She was deliberately flattering him—and he liked it as well as she liked the flattery of his erections. But while his flattery of her was involuntary, hers of him was calculated. He reminded himself not to forget that. "I thank you for the effort you made."

"I am ready for sleep."

"Get down and I will step over you."

"A common man does not go over a princess."

"As you prefer," he agreed, chuckling. He got down low, lying on his back.

She passed over him. "If you had awakened earlier, you could have seen me again in daylight."

"I know. It is a loss I must survive."

"Give me your hand."

Perplexed, he lifted his right hand. She caught it and put it up under her skirt, against her firm inner thigh. "This is what you would have seen."

"I am not supposed to touch you!" he protested, alarmed, though his member stiffened instantly.

"And you are not. I am touching you." She slid his hand up slightly, so that the tips of his fingers touched her projecting buttock.

She was right; he had not tried to touch her. She provided the motion of his hand, guiding it where she chose. "I am truly disappointed to have missed that sight," he said. But his banter covered a wild excitement. She continued to surprise him with her nerve and novelty. She had given him as gifts sights and touches that could have gotten him executed if he had taken them on his own initiative.

"You should be," she agreed. "But perhaps there will be another time." She leaned forward and found his loincloth with her free hand, and slipped her fingers inside to verify his erection. Then, satisfied, she dropped his hand and moved on beyond.

He sat up and got into the rear seat. He took the paddle and stroked. He could see the slight luminescence of the shoreline to the left, so knew that they remained on course. She had not taken advantage of his sleep to put to shore and try to escape.

"I used to think I did not understand women," he said. "Now I am sure of it."

"You grow smarter by the hour," she agreed. He could tell by the shifting of the balance of the canoe that she was lying down.

Then there was a long quiet period, as he stroked the craft forward. As dawn approached, he found the river mouth, and turned to enter it. Progress would be slower against the current; what had taken him hardly more than a day to cover before would take three or four days returning. But he no longer dreaded it, for he knew there would be no tedium. Melee would make sure of that.

She woke. "We must eat," she said. "Then I must paddle."

"You will not be able to make much headway upstream," he said.

She nodded. "But here where the current is slow, I can make some, so as to let you rest."

"Why are you so cooperative?" he demanded. "You know you will not be able to manipulate your grandmother the way you do me."

"I suppose you are right. We had better put to shore."

"And will you try to flee?"

She glanced back at him. "Why do you think I would do that?"

"Because you haven't promised not to."

"Haven't I satisfied you that I don't intend to flee?"

"You have amazed me and spoken reason and given me illicit pleasure, but you haven't ever said you won't flee."

"The man continues to grow smarter," she commented. "Very well: put to shore, and I will not flee."

There was the specific commitment, given only after she had tried to evade it with questions. He turned the canoe toward shore.

"You accept my word?" she asked.

"Yes. If the word of a princess is not good, what else could be?" And of course her father had said that her given word was good. So far, Badu had been completely correct—which suggested that the contest with Melee was not nearly over. For that he was perversely grateful.

"Too smart," she muttered darkly. But she smiled.

They ate, and went to separate bushes to defecate, and then Dillon lay down in the banked canoe and composed himself for sleep.

"Way too smart," Melee said, and kissed the back of his neck. Her breasts touched his back, surely by no accident.

When he woke later in the day, she had the ceramic brazier going, and the smell of stewed cactus and agave leaves was wafting out.

"You foraged!" he exclaimed. "You cooked!"

"I foraged, and did not flee," she agreed. "I cooked, and did not put your penis in the stew. Is that so amazing?"

He realized that it would not be politic to agree too readily. "I did not ask you to do these things."

"Therefore I did them," she agreed. "Now eat, and restore yourself for the work ahead."

He ate. She had augmented the stew with some of the dried meat, and used some condiments to flavor it. It was not the best he had eaten, but it was good enough.

"Thank you for doing this," he said sincerely. "It makes my work easier."

"How do you know I did not put toad skins in the stew?"

"Because that would be an effort to escape, and you agreed not to." He shrugged. "Besides, I know the taste of toad skin; there is none here."

She shook her head. "Were you not my abominable captor, I could almost get to like you."

"You may like my body, not my mind—as I do yours."

"I like your animal cunning—as you do mine."

He laughed, and she laughed with him. "Agreed."

Then they got back into the canoe, and proceeded upstream. Dillon felt better; the rest had done him good, and so had Melee's demonstration of integrity. He had not been quite sure, despite her given word, that she wouldn't flee. He had risked it, in part, because he knew he could quickly track her down. He had also needed the sleep.

The remainder of the journey was slow but pleasant. Melee did her share of work, and even flattered him into demonstrating his skill with the dart thrower when hunting pocket gophers at dusk. She charmed him into showing her how to do it, and he, conscious of her closeness as he guided her body and hands, was happy to oblige.

"But why do you wish to learn a manly art?" he inquired. For even common women did not try to hunt; foraging was their limit.

"If I am to be exiled for a year, I might as well profit from it any way I can," she replied. She lifted her hand with the dart thrower, trying to get the correct stance, and yielding to his corrections. "No one will know if I step outside my role, if no one tells."

"There is already much not to tell," he said. He brushed her hip with his wrist, in this manner guiding her without technically touching her, for touching was normally done by hands. "I see no reason to tell this."

She turned suddenly and kissed him on the mouth. Then she adjusted her stance, and threw the dart. It struck the edge of the tree-trunk designated as the quarry. That was not a good shot, but neither was it a bad one, for a first try.

"I must try another," she said. "Dart." For Dillon had frozen in place, half stunned by the kiss. She had surprised him yet again. She kept looking for ways, and kept succeeding.

"Dart," he agreed, giving her another. In all her prior demonstrations in the canoe, she had not directly touched him with anything but her hands, and seldom then. Except for that brief brush of her breasts. To do it with her mouth—to kiss him—was something else entirely.

She glanced at him. "You did not touch me; I touched you," she reminded him.

"You touched me," he agreed. "But you play a dangerous game."

"These are dangerous times." She threw the dart. It struck the center of the trunk. It was sheer luck, but he did not care to point that out.

Her third dart missed the trunk, but the fourth and fifth were reasonably close to the center. She was improving.

It was now too dark to do more. They gathered up the gopher he had gotten, and cooked it for supper.

"May I practice again tomorrow night?" Melee asked.

"There may not be gophers."

"I would not get one anyway. A tree will serve me well." She glanced sidelong at him, as she did when having more on her mind than was proper. "You will have to correct my stance again."

Meaning that she would let him touch her body, in that coincidental way. That she would stand almost within his embrace. Perhaps she was teasing him, but the delight of her nearness made him acquiesce. Not all of their games were openly stated. "If you wish."

"You are my captor," she said, reminding him of another aspect of the game. "I am your prisoner. But that doesn't mean we can't help each other."

And that help took the form of his teaching her a skill she could not otherwise learn, and her rewarding him with her seeming friendliness. It seemed to be a fair bargain. "And not tell others," he said.

Her white teeth flashed in the faint light from the fire. "Let them believe that we fought constantly."

"I think we are." For behind this seeming camaraderie they were indeed captor and prisoner. If she fled him, he would hunt her down. If he touched her—in any way she did not want—she would report it when they arrived, and he would be in trouble. So their cooperation had an edge that heightened its seeming sweetness.

They resumed the journey up the river, now traveling by day and sleeping on land by night. There was room in the beached canoe for them both, if each took one end, but their feet overlapped. Melee took delight in using her toes to tickle his calves. There was something sensual about her delicate, seemingly intimate touch. Once he woke to discover that she had slid down, so that her feet were well beyond his knees, and his soles were wedged against her inner thighs. That was not merely sensual, it was erotic. He suspected that had he slept with his legs apart, he would have found her toes massaging his crotch. She relished stimulating him, making him erect, knowing that he would not approach her sexually. She still liked to constantly verify her power in this respect. She had enabled him to get past an erection and urinate, but that was by no means the end of her interest. To make him erect, then not erect, by her choosing: she had control.

"Why?" he finally asked, when she had once again managed to interfere with his urination, and had used her way then to enable it. "Why do this again, when you have made your point?"

She answered him seriously. "At home, I am a princess. I have not had such opportunity before to play openly with a man. Either I had to remain aloof, as befitted my station, or take a man secretly. In the latter case, sex had to be swift, and parting swift, for I would not have cared to risk being caught with him. Of course I had sex; every girl does. But princes like to think they are marrying virgins, so the pretense is maintained. With you I can safely have my fun."

"By constantly arousing my desire, and never satisfying it."

"Exactly. Isn't it fun?"

Actually, it was. But it was also highly frustrating.

She understood. "If you wish, I will desist all temptation. Tell me that you wish it."

And he couldn't do that. Because though he could never indulge in the culmination, the temptation itself was far more delight than he was ever likely to experience elsewhere. Melee was highborn, beautiful, and mischievous, and it was a joy to be close to her, by whatever pretext. It made it seem as if they were lovers, and that seeming had its own devious satisfaction. So he was silent, yielding yet another victory to her.

She nodded. "We understand each other. And it is true that if I were not sure you would never break your oath to my father, I would not tease you at all. With you I can be utterly free, and when you are gone I will never have such freedom again. So let us enjoy each other, in what fashion we may, and after this we can both say that you never touched me."

"You have shown me new definitions of non-touching," he said ruefully.

"And I do appreciate your appreciation. Sometimes I have wondered whether the desire of men is for my body or my position. Now I know that if I were a peasant girl, I could still arouse a man."

"You would have difficulty not arousing a man!"

She considered that. "Yes, I ought to learn that art too. How may I become unattractive?"

"You are serious?"

"Yes. What would make me be homely in your eyes?"

Dillon thought about it. "If you turned old and fat."

"No. Now, as I am."

He tried again. "If you had a bad disease."

"Yes!" She cast about. "The pox. Boils on my body." She was paddling, but became impatient with it. "Go to shore. I need markings."

He looked for crocodiles, and saw none, so it was safe for the moment. He steered to the bank. She jumped out, and scrounged for mud and decayed wood. She plastered her torso with brown sludge, and dotted her arms and face with spots of black. "How am I?"

"Still appealing. You look like a lovely girl caked in mud."

"Maybe if I aged. Paint lines on me."

"I can't—"

"Oh, forget it! I won't tell."

So he coated his finger with dark mud and carefully stroked her face, making age lines. He put crows' feet around her eyes. She brought out her stone mirror and studied her reflection. "Yes. I'm starting to look like Grandma. Now do my breasts."

"But lines won't—"

"Shading. Make them look pendulous and leathery."

"I suppose I could. But—"

"Don't be finicky." She grabbed his dirty hand and jammed it against her breast. "You haven't touched me."

She had abated that particular objection, and of course roused his penis again. He tried, patting shades of mud on the upper surfaces and making dark rings around the nipples. The effect wasn't perfect, but did make them look at least somewhat baggy.

"And my hair," she said. "If I make it wild and gray."

"Yes. But it would be uncomfortable, and hard to clean up."

"You're right. So I won't do that right now." She gazed at herself in the mirror again, then at her reflection in a clear pool of water. "You are good at this, Dillon. If I ever want to convince a prince he doesn't want to marry me, I will have you paint me."

"Maybe with age lines and disease spots," he agreed. "But even so, you may not fool him. You really don't look much like your grandmother."

"But I know how to try. Now we must wash." She doffed her skirt and squatted to splash water on herself. "You too; you're almost as muddy as I am."

So he stripped, and they splashed water over themselves and each other. Soon it became a splashing match, until she ended it by stepping into him and hugging him closely, not seeming to care about his continuing erection. Or perhaps that was why she did it. She kept finding ways to touch him with her body, and to have him touch her with his own. For a moment, under the surface of the water, his hard penis brushed against her groin and slid between her legs. They both pretended not to notice.

Then they dressed, got back into the canoe, and resumed paddling. "Nothing happened," she reminded him.

"Nothing," he agreed. What else could he do?

Melee continued to help paddle, becoming more useful as she developed better stamina and skill. Dillon was surprised and pleased by this, and glad to instruct her in the intricacies of such work. The labor tired her, so that at night she slept as soundly as he. But when he announced that one more day would bring them to Bata's lakeside residence, Melee became more playful.

"What would you do if I teased you at night, like this?" she asked, joining him when he lay down under his blanket. She was of course naked, and of course he reacted.

"I would tell you that I have already urinated," he replied.

She laughed. "So there is no point in softening you. Suppose I kissed you, like this?" She found his mouth with hers.

"You have kissed me before." He could not admit how much he liked it.

"And if I pressed against you, like this?" She hugged him closely, putting her thigh over his thigh and her breasts against his chest, squeezing his hard member against her soft belly. Each time she played with him, she took it farther. She evidently needed this kind of interaction, teasing herself as much as him. But the difference between their present contact and full sexual entry was becoming awesomely slight.

He decided that candor was best. "Melee, if I touch you, I die. You can destroy me just by telling me to enter you, for I think I could not hold back. Do you hate me so much that you want this?"

She paused. Then she answered. "No. You are a decent man. I will let you be." She got up and went to wrap herself in her own blanket.

She had surprised him once more, not by her approach, but by her abrupt cessation. It was almost as if she cared. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," she replied. "You will curse me soon enough."

What did she mean by that? Was she going to accuse him, when they arrived? He would have difficulty denying it, considering the types of experiences they had shared. But it would be his word against hers, and Bata knew his word was good. Yet he had spoken truth when he told Melee that she could make him touch her by asking him to. He could save himself only by requiring her to give her word first, but if she refused, she could still make him do it. She would not have to accuse him falsely; she could make him guilty. So he was truly at her mercy.

But what was this about cursing her? "I hope not," he said. "I bear you no ill will, and it has been a rare experience being with you. You have shown me much."

"We'll see." And that was all. He would just have to find out, in due course.

They arrived the following afternoon. Bata heard them coming, and met them by the river bank. "Am I dreaming?" she asked.

"No, Grandmother," Melee said cheerily. "This brute has forced me to paddle. He said if I didn't want to feel the paddle against my bare bottom, I'd better hold it in my hands."

"I'm sure," the old woman agreed. "And you made sure to show him your bare bottom, calling his bluff."

"Several times." She got out as the canoe went aground, and hugged the old woman. "How are you doing, Grandmother?"

"As ever. Are you going to behave?"

"Of course not." Melee walked toward the house.

"Beware," Bata said to Dillon as he got out. "She is up to something."

What an understatement! "She said I would soon curse her."

"And how was she on the journey?"

"I learned almost as much from her as I did from you."

"You did not touch her?"

He hesitated, knowing she would fathom the reason. "She touched me."

"Then it was not an easy time."

"Not easy," he agreed. "But not unpleasant. She—she is like you, sixty years younger. I tried to heed your warning." He started to unload the canoe.

"Don't bother with that," Bata said. "I know you are tired in more than the physical sense. Go sleep; Melee is in my charge now."

"Thank you, Grandmother." He went to the bushes to relieve himself, drank same water, ate some fruit, retired to his chamber and lay down. The accumulated tension of the journey sloughed off his shoulders, and he slept quickly and soundly.

He woke much refreshed. He got up and sought Bata and Melee, but they were not in the house. He found Bata packing supplies in a canoe. "Grandmother—surely you aren't going to travel!"

"Dillon, it's my fault. I didn't think she'd break this soon. You will have to go after her. I'm sorry."

"Melee fled?" he asked, realizing it was true.

"She took your canoe. I didn't think we needed to unload it immediately. My mistake. She must have gotten in after we were both asleep, and started downstream. She will know the route; she surely paid attention on the way in."

"She did," he agreed. "And she worked to improve her paddling. And she got me to teach her how to hunt with darts. I thought she was just flattering me."

"Never trust a woman," Bata said matter-of-factly. "She always has another agenda."

"She made a fool of me. I thought she just liked to toy with me, making pretexts to have me see her and be touched by her. She could so readily have compromised me." As Bata surely knew. The girl had probably learned some of those arts from her grandmother.

"You fathomed only the level she wished you to fathom." And of course he understood that, now, too late.

He nodded ruefully. "Now I know why she said I would curse her. She planned this."

"Of course she did. I am chagrined that she fooled me too. I am getting dull-witted in my dotage."

"Sometimes the rabbit makes an odd jump, and the hunter misses. It does not mean he is losing his ability." He was speaking of her, not himself. His own idiocy had been established.

"Thank you, Dillon," she said curtly. "Now go and rectify my mistake. You can catch her long before she reaches a town. This time, if you are in doubt, bind her."

Dillon hesitated. "Grandmother, I don't think I can. She—she was in charge of me, more than I of her."

She nodded. "Women are deadly. Do what you must."

"But she can master me. I am a fool, but not fool enough not to know when I am overmatched."

She turned her dim yet penetrating gaze on him. "She likes you, Dillon. Otherwise she would indeed have compromised you, and been rid of you. Instead she left you innocent, by fleeing after she was in my charge. When you catch her, make her swear not to flee you. If she will not swear, then bind her. She will let you do it."

"How can you know that, Grandmother?"

"Because I would let you. Now go."

This was beyond his understanding, so he didn't challenge it. He got in the canoe and took up the paddle. "I am sorry to leave you alone again so soon, Grandmother."

"I'll get by, dear boy." There was something in the way she said it that reminded him suddenly of Melee. Both of them flirted with him, but with Bata it indicated genuine affection rather than any exercise of power. It was endearing.

He shoved off, then paddled briskly downstream. He knew, as Bata did, that the girl would not have tried to paddle upstream, because the current was swift and the mountains close. She would be better off on foot than in a canoe, that way. But downstream she could go fast and far with minimal effort. He just had to make sure she didn't try to hide the canoe and wait for him to go by; he would never find her, if he got ahead of her. That meant he would have to limit his travel to daylight, so he could scan the banks.

As he moved, he pondered how she had deceived him. Bata was right: he should not have trusted her even partially. Melee had said she would not try to flee him, and she had not; she had indeed waited until she was in her grandmother's charge. But she had prepared for it throughout. Even when she had foraged while he slept, and made him a good meal, she had been rehearsing for the time when she would forage and cook for herself. Why hadn't he been suspicious? Because she had kept him distracted with her sex appeal, giving him so much else to think about that only an obvious break would have alerted him. Even the last night, when she had joined him under the blanket, tempting him: that had prevented him from pondering anything other than her desirability. She had let him think she was behaving, lulling him into fatuous complacency.

"Oh, Melee, you have taught me so much," he muttered. "But I learn readily, and you will not fool me that way again." Yet at the same time he had to admire the finesse of it. She had planned well and acted with dispatch to achieve her objective. Though why she should want to go to another town was perplexing; they had already discussed how pointless that would be for her. Obviously she did want to escape, but the reason for it was not clear to him. So he still did not understand women, her in particular.

And what Bata had said: Melee had spared him because she liked him. She would not destroy him, though she could. She would let him bind her. Because Bata herself would let him, were she in that situation. And Bata knew her granddaughter's nature. He had to trust the old woman's judgment in such a respect. But he was flattered too. When he and Bata teased each other, he had always assumed that were she really young again, she would toy with him exactly as Melee had, but never actually give herself to him. Because her intellect dwarfed his own. Now it seemed that her concern for him was more than that of mentor for student. He hardly deserved it, but he was enormously honored.

Meanwhile he watched the banks of the river, seeing no sign of departure there. He could readily read the indications; it was his skill as a hunter. So, as expected, Melee had fled straight down the river. What town did she have in mind? She surely would not return to her father's town, and the others hardly seemed worth her while. The mystery of her motive was as great as that of her location. He wondered whether she would tell him, after he caught her. Probably she would just tease him, making up obviously false reasons that would further tantalize him.

Yet he looked forward to that. He liked her company, though her behavior masked her contempt for him. Maybe she did like him, as Bata said, but probably it was like the affection a person felt for a pet puppy. Catching her, bringing her back again—would she play the stiff-penis game with him again, pretending solicitude for his incapacity? It was such sweet torture. Whatever sport she wanted to make of him, was welcome. Being tormented by her was better fare than compatible association with anyone else. And so, indeed, he could recapture her only if she let him, for whatever reason she let him. For teasing a cute but stupid puppy whose devotion was unshakable.

Toward the end of the day he spied something ahead. It was the canoe! But as he stroked toward it, he saw that it was empty. She was gone. What had happened to her? She couldn't have been so foolish as to swim in this water, for there were crocodiles.

He caught it and peered in. The paddles were there, and his spear and bow, but the food and darts were gone. That meant that she had taken what she could carry and use, and gone overland. But where? He had seen no trace of a landing by the banks.

Slowly it penetrated: she had never used the canoe. This whole thing had been another clever diversion, to lead him astray. She must have gone afoot, upstream. And by the time he could get back to the starting point, she would have a three-day head start on him.

Melee just kept making a fool of him, over and over. It was maddening, yet admirable. She was no pampered princess; she was as canny as any peasant girl.

He used a length of cord to tie the vacant canoe behind his current one, and started paddling upstream. Soon it was growing dark, and he had to pause to eat and relieve himself. The very thought of urination made his penis swell, because of his memories of Melee. So he pretended that she was there watching him, and after a time was able to do it. Then he chewed on dog meat, imagining her there with him. Finally he lay in the canoe to sleep, bunching part of the blanket as if it were one of her limbs touching him. He had never needed company before, but now he needed hers. What would he do, when she finally realized that she would be better off with a prince of her father's choosing, than languishing in exile? He would have to deliver her back to her hometown, and then return alone with his memories.

Would another girl ever replace his interest in Melee? He suspected not. Oh, he would find one, and marry, in due course; Bata had said he would, and she knew. But she would be a shadow of the sheer excitement Melee represented. Melee had forever spoiled him for any ordinary woman. That was surely deliberate on her part, but nevertheless true.

However, there were other things he could see and appreciate, but never possess, like the sun and the moon. And maybe, when he embraced that other woman, he could close his eyes and pretend it was Melee. So he would have a piece of her, in his fashion.

In the morning he resumed travel, and continued as rapidly as he could. But going upstream was twice as hard as going downstream, at this level, and there was no way to gain appreciably on its inexorable schedule.

He arrived at Bata's lake on the evening of the third day. "She tricked me," he said ruefully. "She sent the empty canoe downstream."

"Yes, I realized that after you were gone," Bata agreed. "That girl is cannier than I credited. As canny as I am. She must have gone for Oaxaca."

"Yes." He had made the trek over the mountain ridge on occasion, to trade with the folk of Oaxaca. They spoke a different dialect, but sign language sufficed. "That makes more sense. She could marry a prince."

"It's idiocy. She refused that prince, before."

Dillon was astonished. "She refused him? He was her father's choice?"

"Yes. So why should she seek him now? She is playing some deeper game."

"She practiced changing her appearance. Making herself look old, or ill. Maybe she plans to conceal her identity there."

"To what point? A woman alone is subject to any man who fancies her. An old, ugly, or ill woman would be fancied only by a similarly unappealing man. She will not like that. She is better off here, where we will treat her with respect."

"She knows it," he said. "She said as much to me."

Bata shook her head. "I must be suffering an erosion of wit in my dotage. Her strategy is too subtle for me."

"Could she be crazy?"

"Unlikely. Well, I will figure it out in due course." She shrugged. "Meanwhile, you must fetch her back. She has a three-day start on you, but you can travel twice as fast as she can. You can catch her before she reaches Oaxaca."

He nodded. "My arms are tired, but not my legs. I will go immediately."

"No, stay here the night. I will feed you and prepare a competent pack for you."

"Grandmother, you don't need to do such things for me."

"When it is my error, I must do all I can to correct it. Rest, Dillon; you will travel better tomorrow."

So he ate and retired to the floor of the chamber reserved for him. Bata was right; good rest and a good morning start were best. He was familiar with the trail, and should indeed catch Melee within three days. She must have assumed it would take him longer to catch the empty canoe and return, so that she would have time to lose herself in the town across the mountains.

Still there was the mystery: why should she seek a town outside the Olmec realm? Why either marry a prince she had refused, or hide as a commoner? Neither alternative should appeal to an imperious princess.

He heard voices and activity elsewhere in the house. Bata was instructing her maidservant in the preparations for his trip. The servant was a homely, dull-witted girl. Dillon had thought that Bata employed her from compassion, but now it occurred to him that the old woman had wanted no attractive young woman in the house. Because of Dillon's presence. That had worked; he had never had interest in the servant. But it had also left him inexperienced with respect to a woman like Melee. He had been like a deer before the hunter.

In the morning he set off, carrying bow, arrows, darts, knife, and the dry meat in his pack. He would have liked to bring his spear and atlatl, but their added weight would have impeded his progress. He was not on a hunt, but on a pursuit; speed was of the essence.

He followed the path upstream, moving well. He liked the exercise, and he liked being in the wild forest. He would have liked to bring Melee here, to give her another dart-throwing lesson, or whatever else she might want. Now he was pursuing her, a distinctly less delightful matter. Would she express her withering contempt for him when he caught her? Probably. But it was his duty.

The way soon became steep. This slowed him, but would have slowed her more, so it was good. She was a fine figure of a woman, but by that token lacked his lean physical power. He could see the signs of her passage; she had definitely come this way. She hadn't even tried to mask her bare footprints, though an intervening rain had washed out most of them. She knew that he would know where she was going; the trail led only that way, and there was no point in leaving the trail, for the jungle terrain became impenetrable to anyone in a hurry. Still, he watched to make sure her signs continued, lest she try some other trickery.

The river bore west, then south, then east, then south again, wending its way up the mountain. Dillon was sweating, though the air became cool. He wondered how Melee had managed; she was of much slighter build than he, with less muscle, and would have found this arduous indeed. Yet obviously she had done it; her signs remained.

He stopped at darkness, ate and drank, and chose a good tree to sleep in. Of course a tree was no protection from a panther, but his weapons were. He hoped Melee had not been stalked by any such animal, for with only darts and a knife she would have been in trouble.

He resumed next day, departing from the river to crest the mountain pass and start down the other side. The ground was bare and bleak, and there was a cold wind cutting across, making him shiver. But Melee had been here, braving it all for the sake of her escape. She was some woman!

The path followed the river on the far side, down into the new valley. On the third day he moved well, going downhill. There was an art to it, though it actually took more energy than traveling on the level did. He should be catching up to Melee soon; her traces showed how tired she had become. Perhaps she had underestimated the rigor of the trip over the mountains, where the very air thinned, making a person pant for no seeming reason, and the cold could be wearing.

And at dusk he found her, hobbling along, evidently in pain. "Melee!" he called.

She turned to see him. "So you caught me," she said dully. "Much good may it do you. I am worn and ugly."

"You will never be ugly."

"Thank you."

"Melee, there is nothing for you here. At least your grandmother and I will treat you with respect. Will you return with me voluntarily?"

"You will have to carry me."

"If that is the way of it, I will do it. But I don't want to force you."

"I mean I am lame. I will come with you, if you help me."

Oh. He got down to look at her feet. They were bruised and bleeding, the nails cracked from repeated contacts with stones. Her legs were scratched and somewhat swollen. "I will carry you to a better path," he said.

He put his arms out before her, and she turned and fell into them, so that he could lift her without technically touching her. As she came up, she caught his head with her hands and brought her face in close, and kissed him on the lips. "Thank you," she repeated. For a moment he felt as if the mountain were turning upside down, for her kiss was phenomenally sweet.

He carried her to a smoother section of the path, then set her down. "I will fetch a medicinal plant, and bind your feet. Then you will be able to walk."

"You are kind to me."

She sounded as if she meant it, but he wasn't sure. Certainly her feet pained her, so she would not run away. "I give you my pack. There is food in it. Eat and rest."

He moved into the forest, searching for the key herb; it normally grew not far from a river. Bata had made him fetch many such herbs for her, and had explained the use of each. It had actually helped his hunting, for particular animals sought specific herbs in certain seasons. Soon he found it, and cut out the part he needed, and brought it back. "This will ease your pain," he said, making a paste of it in his hands. "If you will put your feet on it—"

She lifted one foot and set it in his hands, thus nominally preserving the notion that she was touching him, rather than he her. He rubbed the salve around her foot, especially the toes and bruises. Then she lifted the other foot for similar treatment.

After the feet were covered, he looked up—and her knees were parted, opening the view under her skirt. "Gaze where you will," she murmured. "Go where you will."

"Aren't you angry that I caught you before you reached the Oaxaca town?"

"No. I like being with you."

There did not seem to be irony in her tone. "I don't understand."

"I know you will take care of me. It is better than walking alone. Take what you want of me, and I will say nothing."

He stared at her. "You know I can't do that!"

She returned his gaze. "I know you are not supposed to. If I accuse you, and you can not deny it, your life could be forfeit. But if I do not accuse you, no other person will. You will be safe."

"This is a cruel temptation."

"If I swear you my oath, by the Jaguar and the Serpent, and the Grandmother of all Things, that I will not accuse you of touching me—"

"No!" For he had experienced the way her games affected him. He had to balk at the outset, or inevitably be lost.

"And I do so swear. Take me, Dillon."

"You are trying to destroy me. When I am trying only to salve your hurts and bring you back to safety."

"I am trying to reward you for constancy and kindness. Take me. I have sworn."

"I can not trust you. You have deceived me at every turn, and made a fool of me."

"You can trust me now, Dillon. Take me. I desire you."

He laughed, bitterly. "And what would be the cost of believing you?"

"You have asked, and I am answering," she said evenly. "Before, I was playing with you, and I enjoyed it, knowing you could not touch me, however much your desire welled. Now I am not playing. I am tired, and hurting, and in much need of comfort. But first I want to pay for it. Kiss me, and plunge me, and I will give you such joy as no other can provide. My desire is to please you, and I will do that in full measure until you deliver me back to Grandmother Bata. Then I will not accuse you. She will know, for no secrets can be kept from her, but she will know also that I asked to be touched, and she will be silent. You will never be held to account. Nothing will be changed, except that you will have had your will of me with impunity. I do not see how I can make a better offer."

"No. I do not trust this." For he had seen how a seeming immediate victory over her could lead to a larger deception and loss. He still did not comprehend her real motive, and it was perilous to accede to any of her ploys without knowing where it might lead.

"Then I will have my will of you, in my own time. You will not escape me."

"You can make me desire you, but you can't make me take you." But he was bluffing.

"We shall see."

Almost, he capitulated then. But he had spoken truth when he said he did not trust her. He did not know what web she wove, but believed it would be disaster to become ensnared in it. Maybe if he kept reminding himself of that, it would stiffen his resolve.

She looked at him, half smiling, surely fathoming his thought. "As I said, I like it when you fight back."

"There is a better place to camp, farther up the slope. I will take you there." He put his pack back on.

"I think I can walk now. Your balm is helping."

"No need. I will carry you." He put out his arms.

But now she balked. "Why should I let you carry me, when you will not let me oblige you?"

That set him back. "Melee, I am trying to help you. Please let me do it."

"I could say the same to you." She grimaced. "But I will yield, for now." She put herself into his arms.

He carried her uphill. She was light, but her weight added to that of the solid pack was a considerable strain, and soon he was breathing hard.

"I will give you extra strength," she said, and kissed him again. The odd thing was that it worked; new power surged into his arms and legs, and he carried her the rest of the way before his arms gave out.

"You are tired too," she said, as he set her down. "Rest; I will fix a meal."

"You are the one who needs rest," he protested. "I am accustomed to hard work."

"So I see. But if you do not let me do something, you leave me no alternative but to reward you by seducing you."

He shook his head. "You are the princess. I am the guardian. You have no need to reward me for anything."

"No impersonal need. But you have made me want to reward you. That is a different matter."

"I preferred it when you were merely showing me things. Then you made no claim to desire. You were satisfied to give me partial pleasures, teasing me."

"The teasing is done. I will show you all those things." She parted her knees toward him. "But the pleasures need no longer be partial."

He ignored her and worked on the meal. He made a small open fire, lacking the brazier, and cooked meat and leaves together. They ate. Then she said, "I can stand on my feet only with pain. I would be more comfortable sitting and using the jar."

Was it really that bad for her? Or was she trying to tempt him with her sights, as before? Did it matter? He had to be proof against anything she might try. He fetched the jar and held it for her so she could urinate. As always, the sight excited him, as she intended it to. After all, she could have held the jar for herself. Instead she was treating him to the full view of her parted legs and the action between them, as she leaned back and streamed into the close orifice. In fact this position was even more arousing than the standing one had been, because it resembled the pose she might assume for sex. It was so easy to picture himself pressing in instead of the bottle, finding the place so close, disappearing into her.

"And I would welcome you," she said. "Now let me do you."

"There is no need. We are not on a canoe."

"There is a need of a different kind." She reached to his loincloth. "Free that serpent."

"Still you tease me."

"I do not tease you. Take your will of me, and thereafter you will be able to urinate."

"No."

"I do not understand, Dillon. I have given my word."

He smiled, somewhat grimly. "For once, it is you who do not understand me."

"Then let me help you with the jar, as before."

There was no real logic there, but it was easier to acquiesce than to continue fighting. So he removed his loincloth, exposing his solid erection, and sat beside her as she handled him. Only by letting her touch him as she wished, and remaining proof against it, could he get her to desist. Or was it that he wanted her to have her will of him, in whatever partial manner, and this was the only way he could justify it?

"You are doomed to lose," she said. "It is my will to have you inside me, and your desire to be inside me. Why must you fight so long?"

"I just must," he said.

In time he did urinate, though by no means flaccid. Then he stood, put on his loincloth and got out his blanket. They had now done what they had on the canoe trip, and his control over his desire was not weakening. But neither was it strengthening.

"It is too cold," she said. "I am not used to it. It was awful, alone, even with a fire. Give me your warmth."

She had a point. Normally the nights were warm, but up on the mountain it got cold. So he spread both their blankets, and they lay under them, close together. She opened her cloak so as to press her breasts against him, and her skirt hardly masked the firm warmth of her thighs as she slid one leg between his. They might as well have been naked, but he intended to sleep regardless.

"I will do with you as the great mother did with the Jaguar God," she said.

"No you won't."

"For back in the early days, when the six directions of the world were new, the jaguars and the humans did not associate," she said, starting the ritual narration.

"Melee, must we review this now? I want to sleep." But his words belied his emotion. He wanted to possess her.

"The Grandmother of All Things was then a young woman, more lovely than any since. She had borne many human children, and would bear many more, for from her infinitely fertile cleft issued all the tribes of mankind. But she realized that without liaison with the jaguars, there would always be strife between the species, and that was not good. So she sought a way to relate better."

Dillon realized that she was going to review the celebrated were-jaguar history regardless. So he joined in, so as to get it done with so he could try to sleep. "But the Jaguar God did not care to associate with the human folk," he said. "Because his kind were creatures of the forest, while the humans were moving into houses and villages and towns where jaguars weren't welcome. 'Come back to the jungle,' he said. 'Return to the state of your origin. Then we can get along well enough.' For it was not the distinction of species he was concerned about, but that of lifestyle. He felt the humans were going wrong."

Then they were in the story, assuming the parts: he the jaguar, she the grandmother.

But the Grandmother Goddess replied, "You must not judge us without understanding us. We are learning to love maize, and it feeds us so much better. Now we have strength and time to play our wonderful ball game."

"What ball game is this?" the Jaguar God asked. "I know of no such thing."

"Then you must come to play the game with us," she replied. "Only then will you properly appreciate its wonder."

So the Jaguar God, partly from curiosity and partly to see what he could do to get the humans to return to what he felt was the proper way of life, agreed to go to the ball court and play a game of ball with her. "But what are the stakes?" he asked. "For no game is worthwhile without significant stakes."

"Why, the issue we were discussing," she replied. "If you win, we humans will give up our square houses and villages and return to the jungle. If I win, you jaguars will give up the forest and come to live in houses and villages. What could be higher stakes than these?"

"None," the Jaguar God agreed with a shudder. "How many games shall we play to decide the issue?"

"Three," she decided. "For a single game may be decided by chance as much as skill, while three games are more likely to establish the superior player."

"Agreed. I will meet you at the game court tomorrow."

"Come today, for then we can spend the night there and be ready to start early in the morning before the heat of day."

So the Jaguar God accompanied her to the game court. When the people saw them, they were amazed, for no jaguar had come there before. But the Grandmother said to them "We are here to decide the residence of humans and jaguars. Go tell the jaguars, so that they may come and watch too."

At once the people ran out into the forest and notified all the jaguars they saw, and those jaguars notified their brethren, and they all ran toward the game court to watch the big game.

Meanwhile the people prepared a great feast for themselves and the jaguars, and enjoyed it tremendously. Then the Grandmother thought of something. "Do you know how to play the ball game?" she inquired.

"I will learn," the Jaguar replied.

"I will explain the rules to you tonight," she said. "Come join me in my house."

So the Jaguar went to her house. "Come lie down with me," she said. "Make yourself comfortable, and I will describe the game."

So he lay with her, and she said "There are four hoops set high on the walls, two at the ends and two at the sides. There is a big heavy ball. You must put that ball through one of the hoops, but you may not touch it with your hands or your feet or your legs or your arms or your head. Just your torso. Each time you succeed, you score a point. The one who scores the most points wins."

"That seems simple enough," the Jaguar said. "I have no hands or arms. But how do I move the ball?"

"You must strike it with your hip or your belly or your chest or your back."

"I can do that. But suppose it flies out of the court, or falls on the ground and lies there?"

"Then the judge will throw it toward the one who did not touch it last."

"That seems fair." Then the Jaguar, being full with the meat and wine of the feast, put down his head and slept.

The Grandmother tried to get around or under him, but he was curled up tightly with his belly down, and she could not budge him. So she kissed his ear and settled down to sleep leaning against his spotted back, and was comfortable.

In the morning they got up and went out to the arena. The judge threw the ball into the middle of the court, and the Grandmother ran to intercept it and bumped it so well with her hip that it flew through the nearest hoop. She was ahead by one point. The people cheered, but the jaguars were silent.

The next time the ball was thrown in, the Jaguar ran for it. But he was unused to the game, and did not bump the ball through the hoop. So he concentrated on preventing the woman from doing it again. When the game ended, the Grandmother was ahead by that point, and she won the game.

"I will do better tomorrow," the Jaguar said. Then they retired to the feast, and had a wonderful time, and so did all the other people and jaguars.

That night the Jaguar shared the Grandmother's house again, and they talked of incidentals, and then he laid his head on his paws and slept. She got around to his front, and tried to roll him over, but could not budge him, so she kissed his nose, put her head against his spotted side, and slept.

The second day they went out again to play. This time the Jaguar bounded for the first ball so swiftly that the Grandmother was left standing, and bumped it right through a hoop. The jaguars cheered, but the people were silent. They played longer, but he kept the lead, and won the game.

Again they feasted with much relish. Grandmother urged more and more wine on the Jaguar, for the third day would have the deciding game. He staggered as he walked to her house, fell on the floor, rolled over with his feet in the air and slept soundly. This was what she wanted. She got on him and kissed him and rubbed her body against him, so that he dreamed of endless mating. When his penis became hard, she lay on it and closed about it so that his seed shot into her. In that manner she conceived by him, as she had wanted to do, but he did not know it.

In the morning, refreshed, they went out for the third game. They fought hard, but were evenly matched, and neither was able to score. So in the end it was a tie, and the issue was unsettled. So the jaguars returned to the forest, and the people returned to their houses, and that was the way it remained ever since.

But the Grandmother of All Things birthed a were-jaguar, and it spoke the languages of both the people and the jaguars, and was worshipped by both, and many statues of it were made, and many altars were raised to it. It became a god in its own right, and was associated with rebirth and fertility. The Grandmother raised it among the people, so it associated more with them, and their luck was greater, and they prevailed over the field and forest and became great. All because the Grandmother had obtained the seed of the Jaguar. She had not won the ball game, but by her cunning she had won everything else.

At last they had finished the legend, and Dillon had the chance to relax. He succeeded. But in the night he woke and found her on him, her body pressing hard against his. "What is this?" he demanded.

"I am around you," she said. "I am having my will of you, as I said I would. As the Grandmother of All Things did with the Jaguar God."

He suddenly realized that it was almost true. He must have been erect in his sleep, and she had drawn his loincloth aside and was trying to set herself on him. Emulating the role of the Grandmother, as she said. Now he understood why she had insisted on reviewing that story. She had given him fair warning.

He put his hands on her shoulders and lifted her with brute strength, hauling her body off his and breaking the connection. Then he let her drop down again.

"I think no other man could have done that," she said. She was not referring to his physical strength.

"I knew you were not to be trusted."

"But I am to be trusted. I have said I desire you. I have said I will have my will of you. I have said I will not accuse you. All these things are true. What must I do to persuade you?"

This time he answered. "You would not need to accuse me. I would accuse myself."

"But if you will just lie there, you need do nothing. I will touch you, as I was doing. Had you not awakened too soon, it would have been complete."

"You will destroy me."

"No. I will make you happy."

He shook his head in the darkness. "Melee, I beg you: do not take me like this."

She sighed. "You have asked me, and I must agree: I will not do it by stealth. I will make you touch me."

"And I will not." He closed his eyes, her body against his. This time, for once, he had won. But there were still several days' travel ahead. Was he going to be able to make it? With each of her sieges, his resistance weakened.

"You will," she murmured, snuggling against him.

Then he slept. He woke briefly several times thereafter, but she was not doing anything. She did seem to be keeping her word. For now.

In the morning he found her kissing him. "You said you would not," he protested after a moment.

"I said I would not do it by stealth. This is not stealth. This is open solicitation."

"It is a pretense of affection. That is stealth."

"By the Great Jaguar!" she swore. "Must you ruin all my fun?"

"Retreat to showing me, instead of touching me. That should be fun enough."

She grimaced. "Then let's go to the river and wash."

"Can you walk today?"

"I think so. The night in your arms has healed me much."

"It is your touch that is magic, not mine."

She laughed. "I thought you a dullard, but you have left that behind without footprints."

"Experience is an effective teacher."

"So is Grandmother Bata."

He had to agree. "She warned me about you."

He stood and waited while she got up. She winced, but stood unaided. "Show the way, Jaguar."

"I think I should carry you, old woman."

"I think you should not, but I would like it if you did." She took a step forward, biting her lip.

"Does it embarrass you to be helped?" he asked.

"Yes, when it is because of weakness."

"Then I will help you." He stepped to her and put out his arms.

"You are getting good." She fell back into them. "But I will make you regret it." She stroked his ear with her fingers, then leaned her head in and sucked on the lobe. The effect was seductive.

He carried her to the small stream, where it pooled briefly. "This is cold."

"I know. Let me drink first."

He set her down, and she flopped on her belly and put her face to the water. Then she drew back, getting on hands and knees, making way for him to drink. He lay beside her, seeing her breasts elongating below her chest, forming globes, and put his mouth to the pool. The drink was good; his thirst had developed during the night.

He lifted his head, and felt her body on his. "Why did you not lie on me like this?" she inquired, stretching out on him. He realized that she had slipped off her skirt. "You could have taken me from behind."

"Fortunately you can't take me from behind."

"I can't? Let me see." She lifted her hips somewhat and reached back and down, sliding her hands around his buttocks and down between them inside his loincloth until her fingers touched his testicles. She tickled. It was excruciating pleasure. "You can," he gasped. "Now let me up."

"Oh, go on into the water. It's time to wash." She rolled off him. Dillon pulled off his loincloth, crawled forward, and splashed into the pool, which was about waist deep. The water was numbingly chill, but that was what he needed. He turned over and looked back at Melee. She was squatting at the edge, her knees toward him and parted, as usual. He stared, compelled to look though he knew it was what she wanted. Every new view of her was intriguing.

"I'll splash your face," she threatened, putting her hands down to the surface.

He put up his crossed wrists to fend off the mock attack. She grabbed them in both hands. He jerked his arms back, hauling her with him. She made an exclamation and fell into the water. She shrieked as her body hit the cold liquid. Then she wrapped arms and legs around him, trying to dunk his head. He was at a disadvantage because he couldn't touch her, and found his face being squeezed against and between her slick wet breasts. He opened his mouth to breathe, and she shoved a nipple in and fastened her arms around his head to lock him in. He tried to speak, but his tongue was depressed by that nipple.

"Do you yield?" she demanded.

He stretched both arms upward in surrender.

She pressed in closely for another moment, then drew back. "Now lick off the other one," she said, proffering the other breast.

"But then I would be touching—"

She jammed it into his mouth. Obediently he licked that nipple too. "Think how much fun this would be if you agreed to touch me," she said. "Now let's wash, before we freeze."

He nodded. She ran her hands over his body, scrubbing away supposed dirt, then took his wrists and made his hands stroke her face, breasts, legs, and buttocks. "Now we are clean," she decided, shivering. "Lift me out."

He extended his arms, and she laid herself into them. He put his feet down and stood, carefully, lifting her out. He stepped around, finding firm footing, and carried her up the bank and back to their blankets. He set her down on one, then picked up the other. He hesitated.

"Wrap your hands in the blanket," she said. "Then you are not touching me."

He did as she bade, and rubbed and patted her body dry. Then he left her swathed in the blanket and went back to fetch their clothing. She had made the simple act of washing into a memorable occasion. He knew that next time he washed, he would remember her breast in his mouth. She was right: he longed to do it of his own volition.

They dressed, ate, and resumed the trek. Melee's feet did seem improved; she walked slowly, but without obvious difficulty.

They spent the next night high on the mountain. There was no question of separation; the air was cold, and there was a wind. They snuggled into a sheltered crevice, wrapped themselves in the two blankets, and clung close for shared warmth.

"Tonight is too cold for games," Melee said. "But if you should change your mind, I am ready."

"Just sleep and let me sleep."

She stroked his buttock and pressed her face into his shoulder. "As you wish."

He woke several times, but this night she was behaving, as she had promised. She did keep her word, once given; he just had to be wary of the words she didn't give. Meanwhile, it was extremely nice being with her like this.

"Oh, come on," she murmured in his ear. Somehow she always knew what he was thinking, perhaps because any man this close to her had to be ruled by passion. She maneuvered her hand until she caught his wrist, and hauled his hand down inside her skirt so that it cupped her rounded buttock. "How would I know whether you touched me, when I'm asleep?"

"I wish I could," he replied, giving her a squeeze. Her muscle twitched in response. His desire surged, and then faded into sleep. He had become used to living with unsated desire; it was a chronic state in her company. It had its own odd comfort.

In the morning they were still clasping each other's bottoms. "Maybe you are right to wait," she said. "If you ever sate your desire, you will not be as warm at night."

"I am burning," he agreed.

"But when the nights are warm, you will succumb."

"When the nights are warm, you will be able to sleep by yourself."

Her mouth quirked prettily. "Able; not willing."

They crested the chill pass, walking together, their arms around each others' midriffs, wrapped in the blankets. "This is much better than when I did it alone," she said. "Your warmth and strength make all the difference."

"Your warmth and softness make all the difference," he agreed.

"Anyone seeing us will know us for lovers."

"They will be mistaken."

"No they won't."

He didn't argue. She was fixed on seduction, and refutation seemed only to encourage it.

"We have done everything except one detail," she said. "And that is only a few days away."

He still didn't debate the matter. It was more fun to share her fantasy than to refute it.

They started down the other side of the mountain. It was a relief to reach the cover of some trees. Then Dillon spied the traces of peccary, the wild pigs. "We need fresh food," he said. "I will get it." He set up his bow.

"Aren't you afraid I will flee, if you leave me?"

"With those feet?" Her feet were healing, but remained tender. "And how will you seduce me, if you are gone?"

She sighed. "Not to mention where I would go. What do you want me to do?"

"Sit here and rest. Make a fire, if you wish. I will return soon." She nodded and sat. They had been walking at her pace rather than his, but it was clear that she was tired. The trip over the mountain had depleted her, and though she didn't complain, she was weak.

Dillon tracked the spoor of the pig. He did not want to take time to lie in ambush; he wanted to get the meat and resume the trek to the warmer region below. So he followed swiftly, holding his bow ready. And soon he caught up to a sow and several small ones. They squealed and scattered, but his arrow caught the shoat he sought, impaling its hind leg and crippling it. He ran up and cut its throat with his stone knife. He picked it up and carried it back.

Melee had made the fire. Dillon butchered the piglet and laid the pieces around the fire to roast.

"I never even tried to use the darts," she remarked. "I thought I could hunt my own food, but I couldn't. Nothing came near."

"Animals are wary of the hunter," he agreed.

"I couldn't even forage much. So I went hungry."

"You will have all you want, now."

She nodded. "There is something about a man. He always has what he needs."

"No. The woman has what he needs." He glanced at her. "You are forgetting to show it to me."

"Oh!" she said, mockingly appalled. She turned sitting to face him, and spread her lifted knees so that he could see under her skirt. Despite the humor, the sight was compelling, as always.

"I suppose I am foolish to think that you have grown accustomed to my presence, so forgot that you never want me to relax."

"That would be foolish to think," she agreed. "I just wanted to make you ask."

"I didn't ask. I merely commented."

"In much the way you haven't touched me."

He considered that. "True. I should not have mentioned it."

"And I should not have forgotten."

They smiled at each other. They were both enjoying the contest, on this level. But it remained serious.

The smaller sections were ready. Dillon sharpened a stick and speared a roasted piece for her. She chewed on it avidly. He should have realized how hungry she had gotten. He had shared his rations with her, and she had never asked for more, but she needed more.

"Your hunger," he said, as he fetched his own fragment. "Why didn't you say?"

"I was ashamed."

"But you made a good escape. You tricked Bata and me."

"I couldn't make it on my own."

"Well, you're a woman."

"I wanted to be free."

"What is the point in a free woman?"

"None. But I dreamed."

He shook his head. "If I thought you could survive, if your father hadn't charged me to keep you safe, I would let you go."

"You tease me cruelly."

"No! I would. And pay the price. But you would perish alone."

"I almost did." She finished her piece, and he gave her another. "Do you really mean it?"

"I would let you go," he repeated. "But I can't."

She set down her piece, wiped her mouth, stood, and circled the fire to join him. She got down on her knees and took hold of his shoulders. She kissed him, and kissed him again, pushing him to the rear. When he fell back on the ground she pursued him, kissing steadily. She fell across him, still kissing.

After a time she relaxed, pinning him to the ground, but her passion remained. "Why?" he asked.

"Because you would," she said. "Because you can't." Then she kissed him some more.

"I still don't understand women."

"You would grant me my dream, if you could," she explained. "But you can't, because you know I couldn't survive, and because you honor your duty to my father."

"Yes. Why the kissing?"

"You are the first who has cared what I might want. And who cared whether I survive."

"Your father cares."

"No. He wants only the political advantage my marriage to a prince would bring him. Because no prince could stand me if I didn't agree, he has exiled me to the wilderness to make me agree."

Dillon was taken aback, realizing that she was right. "Your grandmother cares."

"Does she? Or is she merely doing the will of my father? Do you know her secret thought?"

She had set him back again. "Bata knows more than anyone. But I do not know her secret thought."

"Think how crafty and guileful I would be, at her age."

"I do not know your thought now."

"Well, you are a man." She kissed him again.

"Yet I have the feeling that for a moment you acted without calculation. That you were really pleased."

"For a moment," she agreed. "But you are right: I should be seducing you." She rubbed her body against him suggestively.

"Why do you want to seduce me? I doubt that you have much real interest in my welfare or my passion."

"Because then you will be in my power. Once you touch me, you will exist at my sufferance. You will know that if I tell, you are dead."

"But you promised not to tell."

"And you believed me?"

"Yes."

She smiled. "Here is the trap: once you have touched me, you will hunger eternally for more. I promised not to tell the first, but I will not promise the second. Or the third. So you will possess me physically, and I will possess you emotionally. There will come a time when I can tell, without breaking my word, and you will know it. Then you will do my bidding, which will not be arduous. But the power will be mine."

"The power is already yours."

"No. You still honor your duty over my convenience. When I make you compromise that duty, my convenience will govern. We will continue much as before, but I will no longer be your captive."

"You made me your captive in the canoe."

"But didn't free myself of your honor. So it was an empty victory. To truly prevail, I must not only compromise you physically, but also bind you eternally to my will."

"I appreciate the logic," he said. "And if those kisses were true feeling, I value them."

"You should. Here is one more." She kissed him again, lingeringly. "Now can I seduce you at this point, or would the effort be wasted?"

"It would be wasted, on the level you wish. I know better than to let you become my eternal captor. For one thing, then all the teasing and closeness would stop."

She cocked her head, considering. "Not necessarily."

"If you took away your desire to make me subject to your will, how much passion for me would remain?"

She thought about it some more. "This is a good question. Some would remain, but perhaps not a lot. On occasion I do crave entertainment. You know we are not talking about love."

"I know. So if I like your closeness, it behooves me never to touch you."

"But you are as cynical as I. You do not love me; you merely desire satiation in my body."

"And to fulfill my duty."

She nodded. "I liked it better when we understood each other less well."

"So did I. I think I will see less of you, and feel less of you, now that you know I will not yield."

"But you will yield."

"So you think. You can seduce my body when you choose, but not my honor."

"Suppose I promised to let you see and feel as much after, as before?"

"Your heart would not be in it. Your attention would wander."

"True. But you would have only to remind me. You could say 'Melee, lift your skirt, open your legs,' and I would do it."

"It would not be the same."

"Why not? You know it is all calculated now."

"Now you pretend you want it. Then you could show me, but scowl and revile me, dropping the pretense. The sight would be the same, but the feeling would be worse."

"Would it? Suppose I screamed, not loudly, and protested, not strongly, and cursed you while opening my legs for you? Have you never taken an unwilling woman?"

"Never. And I never will. I would hate even the pretense of unwillingness."

She made a small fist and pounded him gently on the chest. "You drive a hard bargain. I will ponder some other promise, that may be better for you."

"It doesn't matter. I will not yield to you."

"It does matter, because your resolve will weaken if you know the cost is diminished. When you are weak enough, you will succumb." Then she kissed him once more, and got off him.

They ate heartily, while the remaining pieces cooked slowly and dried over the fire. They would be carried for future meals.

They did not travel much farther that day, but did find the beginning of the river. They drank, and made camp. It was warmer here, but still cool enough to warrant sharing the blankets.

"Suppose I guaranteed pretense?" she inquired as she snuggled close.

"I would know it for what it is."

"But you know it for what it is now."

"No. I have the faint hope that some of it is actual desire. Maybe the knowledge that you truly need something from me makes it better. Once you no longer need it, the effort will become more apparent. Anyway, it is not to be."

She kissed him savagely. "Stop saying that! It only delays the inevitable."

"I wish I could kiss you as you kiss me."

"That's it!" she exclaimed. "I will let you kiss me like that. Then you will generate the passion. You will become willing."

"No." But he spoke with less force than before.

"I am gaining on the prey," she said, and closed her eyes.

She was indeed gaining on the prey. He had every intention of holding out, but what if she found something that really did make a difference? He had to hope they would get back to the lake before that happened.

He slept, but dreamed of her. He was trying to fight it, but her constant attention was tiring his resistance.

And she knew it. "One more day? Two? Surely not three."

"We'll be back in three."

"So my victory must be in two."

They got moving. He thought she might try to delay things, to give herself more time, but she didn't.

Down the slope he spied new traces. "Jaguar," he said, feeling a chill. "I don't see any footprints."

"They don't necessarily leave prints. But one passed this way."

"Anyway, the jaguar is sacred. We should have nothing to fear from it, should we?" She paused, sobering. "Unless it's a ghost."

"This one is real. And hungry. They don't stalk men, but if we surprise it there could be trouble." He made sure of his knife, and strung his bow, ready to use it quickly.

"You speak as if it's an animal."

"It is an animal. Priests may worship it, but it's a beast, like the others, only more dangerous. Stay alert."

She looked around, shuddering. "You may be sure of that." As they proceeded, the traces disappeared. "The jaguar is elsewhere," Dillon said, relieved.

"How do you know? I mean, couldn't it be lurking, watching us?"

"No."

"But they do lurk, don't they? And they're cunning? Even the physical ones?"

"Yes. But I know their signs. It's not here."

"You are so sure."

He was sure, for he had hunted all his life, and knew the ambiance of different creatures of the wild. He could wind them, and hear them, and see their days-old traces. He knew their habits. But how could he persuade Melee, who knew none of these things? "I am as sure as you are that you will seduce me willingly in two days."

She looked at him, assessingly. Then she walked on down the trail. It was warmer that evening, but Melee insisted on sharing the blankets with him. "It's not the cold," she explained. "Or the seduction. It's the jaguar."

"But it's far from here."

"So you say."

And why should he object? After this trip, there would be no delightful maiden in his arms. So he acquiesced, and they embraced, as usual. She kissed him. "I'm not fooling you, but you accept it."

"Yes."

"Never again will you have a girl this pretty, this eager to have sex with you."

"Never again," he agreed.

"Suppose I let you possess me, at will, for a set period of time? A month, two months—how many do you want?"

"Ten years."

"That's too much. After this year you must return me to my father, and it will be over.

"Unless you still refuse to marry a prince."

"True. But he may ship me off to some other wilderness, in the care of someone else. Then you will have lost your opportunity."

"It won't matter, because if I make that deal, I will be dead."

"No, I won't report you, if you obey my whim. You will be free."

"No. I will be the ultimate captive."

"Your head is made of wood," she said in exasperation, kissing him.

"No. With you here like this, it is my penis made of wood."

"I know. I would have more room against you if we softened it."

"Go to sleep, maiden."

She rubbed her loin against his, and closed her eyes. Still he wondered: what made her so sure that tomorrow would finish his resistance?

Next day they moved farther on down, getting into the thick jungle. For the first time in days they were hot. "Let's bathe," Melee suggested. "We're dirty, and you know you like me wet against you."

"There is a pool below. We'll be there later in the day."

"I want to be there now. I'm burning up."

"We can reach it quickly, if you have the courage."

"Courage?"

"We would have to jump in from above."

She shrugged. "That sounds like fun."

So he led the way to the overhanging hammock. The roots of a giant tree held it secure, but below it dropped an awesome distance. The sound of the river's falls was loud.

Dillon took off his pack and the blankets and set them against the tree. They would only get in the way. "Hold on to a branch," he suggested as they circled the tree.

"Why? I have good balance." Then she saw the drop-off, and screamed. She reeled, starting to step forward.

Dillon caught her arm and hauled her back to the trunk of the tree. She clung to him, terrified, not even noticing that he had touched her. "It's the edge of the world!" she cried.

Actually it was only several man-heights, but that was awesome enough. He had first spied this place years before, and had been overwhelmed by its grandeur. Melee, coming upon it suddenly, was suffering that dizziness of height.

He put her hand on a low branch. "Hold on. After a moment, it passes, and you can enjoy the sight."

She nodded, clinging to the branch with both hands. Dillon let her go and turned to peer down. Yes, the pool was still there, its deepest section just beyond the plunging water of the falls. It was important to jump into that portion, where there was room to plunge well below the surface without colliding with the bottom. He had explored the pool carefully before making his first leap. It had been an exhilarating experience, that brief fall through the air and sudden immersion in deep water. Melee should love it, once she got up the nerve to do it.

Melee screamed again, piercingly. Dillon turned quickly, afraid she had lost her grip. If she fell, she would land in the wrong part of the river, and suffer serious injury. But she was hanging on tightly, facing the tree, staring upward.

His eye followed her gaze. Then he saw the serpent. It was a large anaconda, coiling its way down along the branch. Melee's pull must have shaken the branch, disturbing the snake. It was simply seeking a more secure repose, but the girl didn't realize that. She let go of the branch and pushed herself violently away. She was about to fall backwards off the edge.

Dillon leaped to intercept her. He put one arm around her and grabbed the branch with the other. He wasn't trying to stop the fall, just to direct it, so that they would drop into the deepest pool. He swept her in toward him, and leaped.

She screamed and screamed as they plummeted. He held her until they struck and plunged under the surface; then he pushed her up, and followed. In a moment they were both there, before the falls, bobbing in the frothy water.

But she had swallowed water, perhaps unsurprisingly, as she had been screaming as they struck. He put one arm around her again, and stroked one handed for the bank. In a moment his feet found it, and he hauled her out and laid her down on the grassy slope. He turned her over onto her belly and pounded her back, encouraging her to cough out the water.

Soon she recovered, and sat up. He was relieved; now he realized how afraid he had been for her. She flung her arms around him and kissed him with wet passion. He kissed her back; he couldn't help it. The relief was overpowering. It was just so good to have her all right.

Then she was tugging at his soaking loincloth, and he was tugging at her skirt. Part of him thought they just needed to get dry, but part of him knew better. Naked, he hung back.

"This you have to do yourself," she said, spreading her legs. "You must possess me." She smiled encouragingly.

He desired her overwhelmingly. She could so readily have fallen and been grievously injured, and it would have been his fault. How much better to embrace her, than to hurt her! But it was his honor and his life at stake.

Tears showed at her eyes. "Please."

The tears did it. He embraced her and kissed her, and she kissed him back, avidly. He sought her cleft with his member, and she moved to accommodate him. In a moment it lodged in slickness, drove on in, and spurted with all the power of the extended seduction of their association. He was touching her, jetting inside, and it didn't matter. Nothing mattered, other than this precipitous culmination.

She was still kissing him and moving with him, her arms and legs clasping him. "Give me everything!" she gasped, thrusting her tongue into his mouth.

But all too soon the pulses ebbed, and sanity returned. "I touched you!" he cried in horror.

"You touched me," she agreed. "And what a touch it was. I think you would have burst if you had waited any longer."

"Now I am dead," he said.

"Now you are alive." She kissed him again. "Wonderfully."

"But this was what—I knew I shouldn't have—"

"I promised not to tell, and I will not. Rest, and soon you can do it again, more slowly. I want to savor your virility. You saved me from horror, and I am grateful."

Almost irrelevantly, he remembered. "The supplies—they are up there. I was going to throw them down before we jumped, but—"

"We shall have to go back up for them. That will extend our time together. Does it matter? You have no need to hurry back, now."

She was right. "There is no hurry," he agreed. "You rest here; I will go up and get the equipment."

"Shouldn't I remain with you?"

"You are tired, and recovering from near injury or death. I prefer to have you rest."

"And you can do it much faster without me."

"Yes."

She kissed him again. "You are uncompromisingly truthful."

He shrugged. "What other way is there to be?"

"Conniving, calculating, and sneaky, like me. You are hopelessly naive."

He looked at her, knowing that she was correct about this too. Yet she had also treated him honorably, in her fashion, giving him warning. "I am just a country hunter."

"And I am a city schemer. We are well matched."

"Well matched? I don't understand." Or perhaps he just didn't want to.

"Of course you don't." She kissed him once more. "Go fetch our things. I promise to wait."

Unsettled, he left her there and made his way swiftly up the steep mountain slope. She called him naive, and herself a schemer. That far, he understood. But how were they well matched? He was a man, and she was a beautiful woman; apart from that, they were no match at all. And she had, by her wiles, destroyed him.

In due course he reached the tree. He thought about tossing down the supplies, but concluded it would be safer to carry them down.

He circled the tree and peered down to see whether he could spy Melee. And she was there, standing at the edge of the pool, waving to him. Then she cupped her breasts with her hands and spread her knees, leaning back, inviting him to clasp her again.

And suddenly he wanted to. He had done it once; another time would make no difference to his fate, and she was infinitely desirable. So he fetched the pack, made sure it was tight, and flung it down to the brush on the other side of the pool. He did the same with his bow and arrows. Then he leaped, aiming for the center of the pool.

He heard her scream as he fell. Then he struck the water and went under.

As he swam to the surface, he saw her body there. She was swimming out to meet him, her breasts and belly showing from below, her legs spreading and coming together. She was lovely.

He came up beside her. She came in close and kissed him. "Take me here," she said. "You reckless show-off."

"You beckoned me. I had to hurry."

She laughed. "I thought I was teasing you." She wrapped her arms around his body. "Do it now."

"How can I, when I must swim or drown?"

"In the shallows, then, where your feet can stand." They moved there. She jumped high and clasped him with her legs around his waist. Her breasts nudged his face, begging to be kissed. "But this time I am not promising to keep silence."

"It doesn't matter." He put his hands on her hips and drew her down onto him. It had been not much more than an hour since they had had sex, but his eagerness was almost as strong as before. She seemed as ardent, holding his head between her hands, kissing him throughout. He thrust deep within her, and she met him with her own push down, and clenched herself around him so as to heighten the pleasure of his release.

"You seem to be good at this," he remarked as the passion subsided.

"I told you I had experience. I made sure to learn how to make a man finish swiftly."

"It was wonderful. But next time, make me finish slowly."

"You are thinking of next time already?"

"You have destroyed me. I might as well enjoy my last day."

"But this is not your last day!" she protested. "I did not promise to be silent, this time, but neither did I say I would speak. I want only your knowledge that I can speak, when I choose."

"It doesn't matter."

"So you said. But it does matter. The distinction is important. I am not breaking my word to you."

"You have no need to." Then he lifted her out of the pool and set her on her feet on the bank.

"I don't understand."

He smiled. "The schemer doesn't understand the bumpkin?"

"That's right. Why doesn't it matter?"

"Because when we return, I will tell Bata, who will tell me to kill myself, and I will do it."

Melee was appalled. "I never intended this!"

"You knew it was death for me to touch you."

"Only if I told! I never intended to tell, only to have the power of the threat of it."

"No one ever had the power of a threat against me."

"But this makes no sense! It is only a struggle for dominance. I meant to abuse it no more than you did."

"What you meant does not matter. The penalty for violating my trust is death."

"Dillon, no!" she cried.

"You pretend you didn't know?"

"I knew, but thought—" She moved her hand in a gesture of incapacity. "I think I don't understand honor as you define it. No one asks for his own death."

"A warrior does."

She grabbed him by the shoulders. "This is a power ploy, isn't it? To take back your authority? What do you want? I will give you my promise, and my body."

"It doesn't matter," he said a third time.

She stared into his face. "Dillon, I beg you! My tears are real. What can I do?" Indeed, her tears were flowing. She was beautiful that way, too.

He felt awful, for making her cry. But there was nothing he could say. It seemed that she had after all meant the seduction innocently, but the damage was done. He turned away.

"Dillon." There was a new tone.

He turned. She was holding her knife to her throat. "While you remain with me, you must protect me," she said. "But you can't protect me from myself. Promise not to tell Grandmother."

He thought she was bluffing, but wasn't sure, for she was capable of high emotion. So he hung his head, and spread his hands—and as she relaxed, he swept the knife out of her hand. "Must I bind you to keep you safe?" he asked.

"Yes!" She dived for the knife.

He caught her before she got close to it. She struggled, then collapsed. But he was not so stupid as to let down his guard. "Promise not to harm yourself, or I will bind you."

"No!"

"Melee, I don't want to tie you."

"You will have to," she said with bitter satisfaction. "Unless you promise not to tell."

"No."

"Then I won't promise either. Bind me."

Dismayed, he let her go. The pack with its cord was on the far side of the pool. He picked up her knife and tucked it into his belt. He looked around, making sure there was nothing else she might readily use to harm herself. Then he dived into the water and swam across.

He thought she might run, but she stood unmoving. He fetched the pack and bow, walked downstream to avoid the pool, and waded through the river. He returned to her, opened the pack, and brought out the cord. She held out her hands before her, her wrists crossed, her eyes closed. She was, indeed, submitting herself to be bound, as Bata had said she would.

"No. Behind you."

She put her hands behind her. He made a loop of cord, circled her crossed wrists, knotted it, and drew it just tight enough to be snug without chafing. He knew how to make a knot that would hold. Then he addressed her feet.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, surprised.

"I am hobbling you, so you can't run and throw yourself into danger." He paused. "Unless you promise not to."

"Hobble me," she said grimly.

He made loops connected by a cord long enough to enable her to walk normally, but not to take long steps. He knotted the loops carefully, so that they rested lightly on her ankles but could not readily be untied. It was done.

"Suppose I jump into the river, and can't swim?" she asked.

"I will pull you out."

"Suppose I trip and fall into a tree, breaking my neck?"

He nodded. "You could do that. So I must control your movement." He made one more loop, and put it around her neck. "This is not tight," he explained. "I will hold the end. If you move suddenly, the cord will go taut, and the noose will tighten around your neck, cutting off your breath. You will suffocate, losing consciousness, if it remains too long. I will release it, but it will be uncomfortable and will leave a mark around your neck. So it is better not to move in such a way as to tighten it."

She eyed him with a new appraisal. "You are good at this."

"I have had to lead balky animals."

She chuckled bitterly. "And I am that." Then, in sudden appeal: "Dillon, promise me, and all this is unnecessary. It is your life I am trying to save, not mine."

"I know. I appreciate it. But I must do what I must do."

"I thought I knew you. I did not know you at all. You are twice the man I thought you to be, and I curse you for it."

"I deserve your curse," he said. "I hate putting you through this humiliation. But I must deliver you safely to Bata, and talk with her myself. After that you will be free."

"I will not be free!" she exclaimed in tearful anger. "I will be responsible for your death, when I never wanted it."

She spoke the truth, and there was no answer to be made. He picked up the pack and his bow and arrows, and took the end of the cord around her neck. "We must go on to a good camping site. Tomorrow we will be there."

She walked before him, unbidden. She stepped carefully, so as not to run afoul of the hobble and trip and fall. He walked behind her, and from that vantage watched her flexing buttocks. He desired her more than ever, but knew that that aspect was now hopeless.

Before long they reached his selected campsite. "I will untie you, if—"

"No. Unless you promise."

He sighed, and went about the business of making a fire and preparing a meal. He was afraid she might refuse to eat, but she squatted and sat on the ground, leaning back against a tree trunk, and when he brought her a piece of meat and held it up, she bit into it. "I will free your hands, if—"

"No."

So he fed her, and held a jar of water for her to drink, and ate and drank himself. Then, feeling the fullness, he needed to urinate, and realized that she would need to also. "I can free you for—"

"Just hold the jar."

So he held the jar close between her parted thighs, up under her skirt, and she streamed into it. The sight had the usual effect on him, so that he couldn't urinate immediately.

She glanced up at him mischievously. "I can't hold a jar for you, but I can enable you to piss. Take off your loincloth."

"The only way I could do it soon is not—"

"Yes it is." She parted her knees farther. "Do it."

"But you are tied!"

"And must remain so. But you can hold me, and get into me."

"Melee, I am trying to preserve your life, not rape you!"

"There is no rape. I want you."

"But I thought—"

"That I would be angry, and refuse your desire?"

"Yes."

"I am angry, but not at you. At myself, for so misjudging you, and putting your life in peril. I would not have done this for all the world, had I realized the mischief I was making."

"You acted as you thought appropriate," he said. "I am the one who did not."

"Dillon, I set out to seduce you from the start. How could you resist?"

"I should have, nevertheless."

"Do you know why I fled over the mountain, when there was nothing there for me?"

"It seemed strange to me, and Bata did not understand either."

"Because I wanted to be with you again, alone. I knew you would pursue me and catch me. And it worked. Here I am, traveling with you."

Dillon's jaw dropped. "You did it—to be caught?"

"To have more time to seduce you. As I did. I desired you, Dillon. I still do. I love you."

He thought he had misheard. "What?"

"I love you."

"You can't! You are a princess."

"And you are a good man."

But he was catching on to her ways. "And you are a schemer. You think I will bow to your will if I think you love me."

"No. I think you will bow to my will if you love me."

"So you are trying to—" He paused, and tackled it more sensibly. "Promise me the truth, Melee."

She sighed, and laughed. "I should never have taught you smartness about women. The truth is I do not love you, but I do want your love. I thought seduction would give me power over you. I was terribly mistaken. But now I think love may do it. Could you kill me if you loved me?"

"I can't kill you anyway."

"But if you knew that your death would precipitate my own, because though my feeling fell short of love, my remorse would leave me no other way out? I do have some honor. It is more devious than yours, but it exists."

"I must do what I must do," he said seriously. "My personal feelings do not matter."

"I am sick of that phrase!" she exclaimed. "Feelings matter most of all."

He looked at her, and felt unmanly tears at his own eyes. "Melee, I care, but—"

"Then take me! Take me now. I give you the gift of myself, and of the love I could feel for you, if you live."

All that was beyond his competence of the moment. "I will take you," he agreed, removing his loincloth to expose his taut erection.

"Yes! Do not wait."

He approached her, and she spread her knees wide and lay back. He got on her, and she kissed him avidly. He drove into her and erupted, kissing her, feeling her tongue against his, her breasts pushing up against his chest. It was as intense as the first time had been.

As he faded, he realized that her position had to be quite uncomfortable. "Your hands are bound under you!"

"Yes, they hurt now. But there was no other way. I had to have your love."

He got off her and drew her to a sitting posture. "I must free you." He reached for her hands.

"No! You must not."

"But Melee—"

"Give me your promise."

That stopped him. "I hate this."

She smiled sardonically. "And here I thought it was great passion."

"It is passion. You have given me experience that would fulfill a full lifetime. But to possess you like this, bound and hobbled—"

"It is different," she agreed. "But since I can not be trusted, so it must be. Only, if you would, this last night—"

"Anything within my power, as you understand it."

"Stay with me. Now, close. Your arms around me."

"Gladly." He embraced her, and kissed her.

"You asked for it slowly, but this was not," she said.

"I forgot," he agreed, embarrassed.

"But I will give it to you. If you enter me now, it will be slow."

"Yes," he said, realizing.

"But one favor, first."

"What?"

"Go piss. That was after all the point of this."

He laughed, covering his embarrassment. Then he stood, walked to the bush, and relieved himself. After he had done it, he realized that he had not even thought to do it away from her sight. Her hand had guided his urination; there was no secret to keep from her.

But there was one thing to establish. "It was a pretext, not the point," he said as he returned to her.

"Of course. After this you will need no pretext."

"And with you, the distinction between pissing and passion becomes indistinct." They both laughed, for it was true in ways others would not understand.

"Now turn me away from you, on my side, and cup me," she said. "I think I can be comfortable, that way."

"But your hands—"

"Just don't press them hard."

So he set her up as she asked, on her right side, and lay behind her, his legs against her bent legs, his belly against her crossed wrists. He was becoming erect again, but without full force, so was not ready to enter.

"Take my breasts," she said. So he reached over her side with his left arm and took her left breast in his hand and stroked it. That strengthened his erection.

Then she moved her hands, and took his penis, surprising him. Her wrists remained bound, but one hand was in position to find him there. She gently massaged him.

He kissed her shoulder and the back of her neck, where her hair fell away. "That feels almost like love," she murmured.

"I must not love you."

"Why not? If you live, you will enjoy it, and if you die, it won't matter."

It took him a moment to fathom the flaw. "You want me to love you, so I won't anger you by telling. So I will live a lie."

"You won't anger me by telling. You will grieve me. I beg you again—"

"No." He hesitated, feeling her body stiffen. "Should I withdraw?"

She relaxed. "No! If I must see you die, I want as much of you as I can have, now while you live." She squeezed his member again. "And I think you are coming to life."

"Slowly," he agreed. "Remember, I have possessed you three times already today."

"Not really."

"Not?"

"I have possessed you, You never had true self-will. You couldn't help yourself."

"That could be true. I have never been so mad for any woman before."

"And so it was I who did it. You were merely the chip on the surface of the river."

She had interesting ways of seeing things. Meanwhile, her hand on his member was making it increasingly difficult for him to think clearly. "I suppose."

"So you agree," she said, inhaling so that her breast filled his hand more perfectly. That, too, was compelling more attention.

"Yes."

"Then you have not touched me," she said victoriously. "I touched you—more intimately, more forcefully, but it was my doing."

Oops. "I didn't mean—"

"Therefore you have nothing to tell Grandmother."

But his attention had not yet wandered that far afield. "You told me that this I had to do for myself, and I did it. The blame is mine."

"And when we fell off the high bank into the pool, unnerving me so that I had to have you, the blame was yours?"

"Yes. I should have been more careful."

"You are determined to die."

"I can't blame you for being angry. Had I been stronger and more careful, this would not have happened."

"Not angry!" she repeated. "Desperate. You are surely the finest lover I have had, and I am losing you."

That sparked a curiosity. "How many lovers have you had?"

"Does it matter?"

"No, if you do not wish to tell."

"Three. Two, perhaps."

That further piqued his interest. "There is doubt?"

"Three if I count Grout."

"Who?"

"The man I tended, four years ago."

He remembered. "But you were a child."

"I was twelve. My breasts were budding. I already dreamed of embracing my big sister's husband, not that he ever noticed me. I used to try to show him my legs, which were better than my little breasts, wishing he would be tempted and come to me in the night. But of course I knew that would never happen. He was a completely honorable man. Even if he noticed me, he would never betray his wife. That's what made such dreaming safe. So I was ready to discover sex. And here was this other man I could play with."

"But he was a sick man."

"Whom I got to urinate. But I was curious, so when he couldn't sleep I calmed him by massaging his member, like this." She squeezed more authoritatively. "And in time it spouted, sending out several pulses of slippery whitish fluid with an interesting smell. I was much intrigued. Did that count?"

"I think not. It did not spout in you."

"Two, then. What of you?"

"I would rather not."

"I told you. You must tell me."

In his distracted state, the logic seemed valid. "Two."

"What of the first?"

"I was twelve. She was grown, the mother of many. I had delivered a turkey I had hunted, repayment for chili peppers she had given us. Her family was out, and she was bored, so she paused from her work and asked me if I would like to learn something. I thought it would be some funny story, so I agreed. Instead she said she would show me what my penis was for. I thought I already knew, but my ambition had been limited. She held it as you are doing, and licked it with her tongue. In a moment it was large, and then she had me lie on her and put it in the opening in her cleft. I was amazed; I had not known there was such a place for it. She had to take it in her hand and steer it, and then it sank down inside most readily. When it was as deep as it would go, she had me pull it back some, then thrust again, several times, until it—you know."

"I know." Melee guided his member down and into her, then caught at his hips with her fingers.

"She wasn't even pretty," he continued. "She was fat. But ever after, that was where my penis most wanted to be. And she knew it. It was just so nice, deep inside her. I made pretexts to deliver other things to her, and she always took me in. I think she enjoyed playing with an innocent stripling."

"So do I."

He laughed. "And you have been doing it since we met."

"My second was much more straightforward," she said. "I was thirteen, and for a time was coincidentally alone with a priest of the region. He was looking at me, and I realized that he was seeing me as a woman. Flattered, I asked him if he wanted me. He said no one was allowed to touch me. I asked if that meant that I would die untouched, and he said no, I would one day marry. I asked what about if I didn't marry, and he said I could still touch others. That was how I learned. I said I wanted to try it. So he sat on the floor, with his loincloth pulled aside and his penis pointing up, and I didn't even lift my skirt; I sat on him. We both knew that we could be discovered at any time, which added to the excitement. I was dry, and didn't know exactly how to guide him, so there was some fumbling before we found the place. He spouted almost before I got him in, and he wasn't in far. That was just as well, because it was uncomfortable. Then he left quickly, and I washed. It wasn't much, but it had satisfied my curiosity of the moment, and whetted my appetite for more. At least at that point I knew exactly what went where, and what it did there. Later I got a young man, who had no status and did not dare tell me no, so I could tell him to stop at any point and he did, so I never needed to suffer discomfort, and with him I learned the mechanics of full penetration and male fulfillment, as well as how to gain better satisfaction myself. I found that when he had spouted once, he could not do so again immediately, though soon he could get hard. So if I got him in me then, I could in time gain my own rapture. That was a marvelous discovery."

Dillon found her narration fascinating. He was ready to climax at any time, but not so urgent that he had to, so he remained inside her without moving. "My second was a girl. She was ten, and curious, and when we were alone she asked me. She had no breasts and wasn't beautiful, but the thought of showing someone else excited me. The woman had shown me about oil, when a woman wasn't ready, to make it slippery, so I put some on her clean little cleft and on my member, and went in slowly so it wouldn't hurt her. She was much smaller and tighter and I had to push hard, and I kept asking if it pained her, and she kept saying no, and then I gushed in that taut crevice and it had a power and sharpness lacking in what I had done before. I think it did hurt her, but she wouldn't admit it. She said she liked it, and maybe she did, because she kept coming back on other days, just as I had with the older woman."

"She had a crush on you," Melee said. "She wanted you to like her, and that was how. A woman expects pain, the first time; it is part of the initiation experience."

"But she was a child."

"She was a woman child. Women learn these things younger than men do, because they want to conceive."

"Maybe so. I wouldn't have looked at her, but for that. But under her skirt it was great. I would close my eyes and pretend she had breasts. She came back for a year, being my lover. We never spoke of it elsewhere, but we liked being lovers. And she did get better, learning how to make it easy. She became looser, and I think larger, but was always firm. She kept asking me to kiss her. Then she was sold in marriage elsewhere, and I never saw her again."

"You had surely taught her how to make her marriage work."

"Actually she taught me as much as I taught her, after the first time. I liked being inside her—I would have liked being inside any woman—so I asked her what pleased her, and she told me as she discovered things. It was mostly the kissing; I think nobody else ever kissed her. She preferred it slow, with a lot of hugging first. And she liked words, like 'love' and 'need.' She wanted me to talk love to her before I went in, and when I did, she was warmer and wetter and it was better."

"Yes. She was definitely a woman. You were fortunate. Talk to me, Dillon."

"But I can't say those words to you."

"Why not?"

"Because they might be—" He stalled, not able to say what most readily came to mind.

"Because they might be true?"

"Yes," he agreed, abashed.

"Since what hour do you refuse to speak the truth?"

She had him there. "I can't love you, Melee. You want to corrupt me."

"I want you to live, I will do anything to make you agree to live. Say the words."

"But you are not saying them."

"Because I can't be trusted. You would know they were false. I don't want to be false to you."

"So you do care, some." As Bata had said.

"More than some. Dillon, if I truly love you, will you live?"

"You mean, if I knew your love wasn't pretense? I don't know."

"If I love you, and you die, then you will have hurt me more cruelly than any other way you could have. You are pledged to safeguard me from harm. So will you live?"

She was shaking his resolve. But she had not won the case. "I can not believe that you love me. You just want me to live, so that you need feel no guilt."

"The two are connected. How can you be sure my love isn't true?"

He thought about it. "I don't know."

"I will promise."

"Not to kill yourself? But I haven't promised not to tell."

"Take me, Dillon. Then free me. I will not harm myself. I love you."

The need to finish, barely quiescent, became too strong to resist. The words did have power, and they heated his head and his loin. He thrust, and his seed drove into her as she nudged her soft bottom back to meet it. He felt her reacting, inside, and her breathing quickened. This was the third, no the fourth time he had possessed her this day, and though all were different, this one was special. Slow was better than fast, because of the words and the feeling. "Oh Melee," he gasped. "I love you!"

"I love you," she echoed. Then she echoed his unexpressed thought. "You took me on the bank, and in the water, and bound, and slow, and the first was memorable because it was the first, after my fright, and the second because of the novelty of the water, and the third because of the innovation of being bound, but this is the one I will most remember, though we did not kiss."

"I kissed you."

"On my neck and shoulder, and that was nice. But I did not kiss you. Normally I need the kiss to truly feel it, as your little girl did. But the words, and the shared experiences gave meaning. We know each other better now."

He lay for a while longer, holding her breast, subsiding deliciously. Then, without quite disengaging, he reached down to untie her hands. She moved them clear, flexing her wrists, and he hugged her closely.

When he was ready, she rolled over and kissed him. "Take the rope from my neck," she said.

"But your hands are free now."

"You must do it. You must free me."

She took her symbolism seriously. So he removed it, then undid the hobble. "Remember, you promised," he reminded her.

"And I keep my promises. May I have my knife back too?"

"Yes."

She fetched it. "You know, if I killed myself, it would not have changed anything for you, since you already plan to die."

"But I do not matter. It is you who must live."

"I will live," she agreed. "But so must you."

He shrugged.

"I love you," she repeated.

"You are making me hurt."

"I will make you hurt worse. How can I prove my love?"

"I don't think you can. You will lie to me, to make me live."

She sighed. "Yes, I am lying. But I can lie more. I will tell Grandmother it is all a lie. That you never touched me."

"She will know the truth."

She sighed. "She will know the truth," she agreed.

He looked around, realizing that it was now completely dark. "We must sleep."

"Together."

"Together," he agreed. He got the blankets, then picked up his loincloth.

"Naked, tonight," she said. "If you wake and find me on you and around you, do not push me off. That issue is settled."

"But how can you want more, after all this?"

"I want your love."

Without giving him her own. He let that be. They lay down, and she pressed herself against him. He stroked her hair. "I think I am glad you destroyed me," he said. "All I knew before was a fat woman and a child. I think I would never have known one like you."

"Surely so," she agreed. She reached down and took hold of his penis, gently retaining it. Then she slept.

He lay thinking for a while. He knew he would die, but it didn't bother him intensely. It was the price of Melee, and he had known it when he first took her. "I love you," he whispered into her soft hair, thinking she could not hear. But she must have, because she squeezed his penis in response.

He woke later, and she was indeed on top of him, fitting him into her and kissing him. This time he let it be, and she settled back to sleep, connected. Apparently this was a closeness she desired. Certainly it was pleasant enough.

In the morning she was on her stomach and his hand was on her bottom. Was it chance, or had he put it there—or had she put it there? It hardly mattered. He squeezed the mound, and felt her answering flex.

"Oh, Melee, I wish I could live," he said.

She shifted her head. "I have prayed to the Jaguar, and been answered. It will intercede. You will live."

Could it be true? Dillon did not have experience with prayers, but she was of a class far removed from his. Maybe she could solicit the Jaguar's intercession.

"Do you desire me?" she asked.

"Always."

"I possessed you in the night."

"I know."

"Lie there. I will do it again."

He lay there, and she mounted him. "Lie still and I will have my will of you."

"It is my will."

She fitted herself to him and began to move, not strongly, but enough. Her breasts slid slightly, tantalizingly. They tickled him exquisitely. He brought up his hands to touch them, and she did not object. She kissed him. "There are so many ways to do it, and we will try them all."

"Now?"

She laughed. "In the coming year. I love you."

They had been over the business of the lie. There was no point in rehearsing it. "I love you."

She gradually increased her pace, until he swelled and burst inside her again, in the midst of a kiss. Once again it was different, this ecstasy in stillness.

She shuddered, and then lay still. "This way, I feel the joy too," she said. "I am glad to make you thrill, but sometimes I like it for myself."

"Teach me how, and I will always do it for you."

"Already you are resigned to living."

"But I will tell Bata."

"You will tell, but the Jaguar will change it."

He doubted that, but he much preferred to have her believe it. He was finishing out his life in the most pleasant way possible.

At last they got up, washed, dressed, ate, and resumed their trek. The closer they got to the lake, the tighter Dillon's chest became. Finally he stopped walking. "Melee, I don't believe. I think I do love you, but I must tell. Please forgive me."

She kissed him. "I forgive you. I love you. You will see."

He embraced her closely. "And if I die, it will be loving you."

Suddenly she melted. "Dillon! I beg of you—don't tell! Don't tell! Take my body, take my tears, take anything, but don't tell."

So she did not truly believe. "All I need is your love."

"You have it! Dillon, I will run away with you!"

Yet again, she had astonished him. "But that can't be."

"Yes it can! We can run and hide. I will be a peasant girl for you. I don't want to be a princess, if it means your death. No one will be able to find us."

"I will not deny you your heritage. You can never be a peasant," he said sadly. Then he resumed walking.

"Dillon—" But she saw it was useless. After a moment she firmed her jaw and walked beside him.

They reached the house together. Bata stood at her door. "Speak," she said. "I can't see you."

"We have returned," he said.

"Returned," Melee echoed brokenly.

Bata turned to her. "My dear, what happened?"

"Spare him, Grandmother! I love him."

The old woman turned to Dillon.

He nodded. "I touched her."

Bata's expression grew grim. "I must talk to you."

"I know. I betrayed my trust."

"Grandmother! Please! Anything. Only let him live." Melee was openly crying, a rarity for her.

"Alone," the old woman said firmly. She turned and entered the house.

"I love you," Dillon whispered. Her profession of love might be a lie, but his was not. Then he followed Bata inside.

Bata took her favorite chair. "Sit down, Dillon."

He sat at her feet.

"What have you to say?"

"I touched her. I must die."

"You couldn't just run away with her." It was a bitter statement.

"I love her. But I must die."

"And does she love you?"

"I think she feels a little of it. But it is because she fears for me."

"It is because you are worthy. You mastered her."

"She beat me every time. She mastered me."

"But she could not break your honor. So you won."

"I should not have touched her."

"She set out to seduce you. No man living could withstand that, if she had time with him. Remember, I taught her, though I pretended ignorance of her dalliances with the priest and slave youth. I made sure she knew how to handle a man. Any man. It isn't sex so much as continual suggestion. When did it finally happen?"

"Yesterday, at the falls pool."

She shook her head. "I thought she'd have you before you crossed the mountain pass. You are truly heroic."

"One more day, and I would have made it."

"You fool! She would have had at you for a year! You never had a chance."

"But you would have stopped her."

"No. I would have let her."

He stared at her. "Bata—did you want me dead?"

"No, dear boy. I wanted you married. And now it shall be."

He continued to stare, baffled. "Married?"

"Swear secrecy."

He raised his hand. "I swear."

"You are the man we chose for Melee to marry. But we could not tell her. Or you, for she would worm it out of you."

"But I am common!"

"Listen closely. Badu is my son-in-law. He married my daughter, and became chief. The line goes through the females, not the males. That is why Melee is so valuable. Her refusal to marry a prince has put the kingdom into deep jeopardy, for her father is dying."

"Dying!"

"She had either to marry a prince who could bring power to support the kingdom, or a peasant who could hide her in anonymity. For the new powers will seek to kill her, to be sure of their line. Since she would not marry, we had to go the second route. I recommended you, and Badu trusted my judgment and made the priests issue the writ. But Melee must not know. If she learns—"

"She will refuse," he said.

"Therefore I charge you not to tell her. When she demands to marry you, you must go with her to the capital and obtain her father's reluctant agreement. Then you can marry her. But if she learns, all will be lost—including her life as well as yours."

"I will not tell," he agreed, awed.

"Now I will tell her that I have postponed judgment until my old mind can come to a conclusion. That will give her time to dazzle you into submission. Do not yield too easily, or she will suspect. Do you understand?"

"I understand, Grandmother."

"Enough. Now we must go to her."

Melee was waiting. "Girl, you have done much irresponsible mischief," Bata told her severely. "You may have destroyed my favorite young man. But there may be a way out. I am postponing my decision until I know whether it is possible to save him."

Melee looked up with sudden hope. "Grandmother—what way?"

Bata snorted. "Nothing I would tell you, you disreputable gamine! Now go away while I ponder."

"But what of Dillon, while you decide?"

"He has plenty of work to do, thanks to the loss of time chasing after you." Bata turned and reentered her house.

Melee turned to Dillon. "She didn't tell me to stay away from you."

"I do have work," he said gruffly, walking away.

She pursued him. "Is she sparing you just long enough to catch up on that work?"

He paused. Could it be? Could Bata have told him a story, to give him hope, so that she could have his help until she could get a replacement? No, he couldn't believe that. Bata had never lied to him. "No."

"But you aren't sure. Dillon, I know she likes you, and wants to spare you. She is giving you opportunity to run away."

"She knows I will not."

"You're impossible!"

He walked to the storage shed and picked up a covered basket and a pair of gloves. "The toads are coming into season. I must forage for them."

"The magic toads? I will help you."

He shrugged, and walked toward the canoes.

She grabbed another pair of gloves and followed. "Dillon, this morning you said you loved me. Now you won't talk to me. What did she say to you? Did she forbid you to be near me?"

"No." What could he tell her?

"So it makes no difference now. You have touched me. You can touch me again a hundred times, or never. It is all the same."

"It is all the same," he agreed. "As far as others are concerned."

"So touch me! There may be little time remaining."

He wanted to, but was mindful of Bata's warning: not to accede readily. He had to make her pursue him. "This morning I thought I was going to die. Now I don't know."

She nodded. "I thought so too. Now it is changed. So maybe we spoke love under the goad of fear. But I do like you, Dillon, and respect you, and want you to survive. You have made me cry. I don't do that often. Not when it's real. What can I do to help you?"

So her passion for him had abated after the crisis passed. His interest in her remained high, but the decision was not his to make. He had to win her true love. He doubted he could do that by indulging in constant sexual passion with her. Probably good hard work was best; she would be impressed, or bored, and that would bring her to him or drive her away. His future was in her hands, or rather, her feeling. "If you are good at spying toads, that will help."

"I will try."

They got in the canoe, and he paddled out onto the lake. The best place for the toads was some distance from the farther bank, at dusk.

"We are back in the canoe," she said, paddling in the center. "I like it."

So did he. But did he dare admit it?

She took his silence for negation. "Dillon, I'm sorry! I wanted to seduce you, but I had no idea of the cost. I can't blame you for being angry. But I don't know how I can undo it."

She could marry him. But he couldn't tell her that. "If I had been stronger, I would have resisted you."

"If there is a way to save you, I will find it," she said. "But until I do—can't we be friends?"

He didn't answer, though his silence hurt him.

"Would it make you feel better to hit me?" she asked. "Punish me, Dillon! Do what you must. But don't deny me."

This was becoming too painful. He had to speak. "Melee, I am not angry with you. I don't want to punish you. I would rather love you."

"Then love me!" She shipped her paddle and turned to face him. "Here, now! Take me. Anything you want." She lay down in the center, spreading her legs toward him.

Desire surged, but he resisted. "I spoke of love, not sex."

"But sex is love's most ardent expression. Dillon, please!" She gazed pleadingly at him.

Should he do it? Or would that merely ease her guilt?

"Dillon, please!" she repeated. Her eyes were wet again. "I have no more to offer." That was surely the truth: sex was as close as she could come to love.

He could not resist her. He shipped his own paddle and moved toward her. He got on top of her, and she clasped him and kissed him eagerly.

And so they did it in the rocking canoe, and it was different yet again. She clung to him after he subsided. But she did not say she loved him. It seemed she was done with lying to him.

"Dillon, I have your penis but not your mind. What more can I do for you?"

"You can love me!" he exclaimed before he thought.

"But I am a fickle creature who loves no one. And what if you die?"

"I would rather die after being loved by you, than after not being loved."

She sighed. "You want too much."

"I know." He got off her and returned to his place.

"But I will try," she decided. "If my love is the penalty for destroying you, I will try to pay it."

That was hardly the way he wanted it. But he couldn't say so. So he resumed paddling, and after a moment, so did she.

It took about three hours to cross the broad lake, and they were tired. Dillon knew that they both should simply have rested after their arduous trips across the mountain pass, but he had been unable to think simply. Maybe getting tired, and sleeping well, were what he needed.

"We won't find them at night," he said. "Tomorrow will do."

"Here we are, camping again," she remarked, smiling. When he did not respond with a smile, she came to him. "Please, Dillon. Tell me what will please you. I will even sleep by myself, if you prefer; it's warm enough. I can't stand to have you aloof."

He was living a lie, and he hated it. So he decided to abate it to the extent he could. "Melee, Bata told me something, and swore me to secrecy. I know why she spared me, and I can't tell you. If I am diffident, it is not because I find any fault in you. I wish I could please you, and I don't know how."

Her eyes narrowed. "You know? And won't tell me?"

He nodded. "So I have no anger at you. But you may have it for me."

She came to him and put her arms around him. "You know I will worm it out of you, in time, for I can't abide defiance."

"You must not, lest you destroy us."

"Again." She squeezed him. "I should not have seduced you physically. Now I must not do it mentally." She smiled. "But with that assurance, can we be as before?"

"We were opposing each other!"

"Yes! It was glorious. The thrill of the chase—I love it. Let us make this another chase. You know something. I want to learn it. So I will try to get it from you, and you will resist. So we have reason to fight. Only this time you must hold out longer."

"Melee, this is no game! You put my life in jeopardy once; must you do it again?"

"It is the way I am. I am not your passive dull peasant woman; I must thrill to the chase. Would you have me otherwise?"

And once again she had surprised him. She was indeed no peasant woman, and she excited him because of it. "No. You are more like a jaguar than a sloth. But your embrace is deadly."

"What is more beautiful than a deadly jaguar?"

"Nothing," he admitted. "But I would not sleep in the embrace of one."

"Nor would one embrace you without disemboweling you. But on the mental level, these are the stakes."

"These are the stakes," he agreed. She was right: the idea of engaging in another contest with her was powerfully alluring.

She stepped back two paces, and caught her skirt in both hands, lifting it only a little. "Tell me, and I will show you this."

"No."

She lifted the skirt part way. "Here is part of what you will see. Tell me."

"No."

She lifted it the rest of the way. "Tell me, and you can have this." She moved her knees, opening her thighs.

"No."

She frowned. "I see you are proof against my charms. But suppose I make you love me?"

"I already love you."

She shook her head. "Not enough, for you will not tell me." She dropped her skirt. "You have missed your chance, and may you long regret it. We must eat."

It was foolish, but he did feel real regret. He had possessed her so many times in the past day and night, yet desired more. Still, he had said what he had to, and given her a basis to relate to him. He realized that he had loved the temptations she had offered on the river trip, and on the mountain trip; now they had a similar framework. She would never give over as long as she lacked the secret. All he had to do was keep it.

He made a fire, and she used the supplies in the canoe to make a meal. She sat cross-legged opposite him, her skirt lifted by her knees so that the flickering firelight illuminated her inner thighs not quite far enough. The sight gave him an erection.

"Be fair," she said. "Take off your loincloth so I can be as tempted by you as you are by me."

He didn't argue. He stood, removed it, and sat again. She nodded approvingly. "I wonder how long I can prevent you from pissing?"

"Be fair," he said. "You must not piss before I do."

"That's fair," she agreed. "Who pisses first loses." She paused, considering. "But that means I must make you flaccid instead of hard."

"So I must not let you make me flaccid before you piss."

"This will be a hard night," she said with mock resignation. Dillon agreed, for he was already uncomfortably bloated.

When the meal was done, they brought out the blankets. She removed her skirt. "Naked, together, and touching," she decided.

What was she up to? "That will keep me safe."

"But the other can't stop what one does."

"But you could hit me with a paddle!"

She reconsidered. "Then the other can say no."

That seemed safe. "Agreed."

She took hold of his penis and began to massage it. He started to say no, for she could quickly make him jet, but thought of an alternative. There was a game he had played with the young girl that had had a special effect. He reached down and tickled her cleft with a finger.

She laughed and squirmed, squeezing her legs closed, pinning his hand. "Don't do that! I can't stand to be tickled there."

"Are you saying no?"

"No! I mean, I'm not saying no." For then he would say it too.

"Then don't close your legs."

She sighed and parted them again, giving him access. She increased her effort on his member, plainly knowing what she was doing. She was laughing, and not from mirth, as his fingers tickled her mercilessly. But she kept her legs apart, and squeezed his member with almost painful vigor.

But he had the advantage, and in a moment the tickling compelled her performance. "You toad!" she cried as she threw off the blankets and urinated on him.

He laughed, and thrust his member into her before she finished. Bathed by a puddle of hot urine, he climaxed within her. It was one more quite different experience.

"So you won," she said, kissing him. "That time." She grabbed his member as it subsided, and rubbed it, forcing his own urination, which splattered on her.

Then they went to the lake and immersed themselves, laughing. Piss and love: it was their way. They set up the blankets at a new site and lay down together, now craving neither urination nor sex.

"Dillon, you're good," she murmured as she closed her eyes. "But I won't play that game again unless you tell me."

"I love your games," he replied. "I wish I could play them all my life."

"You may well do that, if you don't survive long."

"Then we must play them all quickly."

"After we get some sleep."

He was more than ready. "I love you, though I die for it," he whispered.

Her body stiffened. "You say this, with neither piss nor passion driving you. But will you tell?"

"No."

"Then you lie about love."

He wasn't sure about that, for his definitions differed from hers. "Will you say you love me?"

"Dillon, if I loved you, I would make no demands of you."

"So it will be true love only when you don't ask my secret and I do answer."

"That must be it."

She took hold of his penis—it seemed to be her mode of possession—and he put a hand on one breast. They slept.

In the morning they searched for the toads. There were frogs all over, but not the toads they sought: the ones whose skin yielded the substance that gave men bright visions. "I thought the season was right," Dillon said. "But it must be still too early for them."

"Maybe our game annoyed them, and they hid."

"Toads urinate all the time when handled," he said. "They should understand."

"Maybe we forgot to pray to the Frog Goddess."

"I did forget!" he said, appalled. "No wonder they hid."

"It is my fault. I distracted you."

"I don't think so. I never thought of it at all."

"How could you think of anything but me?"

She had a point, again. He remained obsessed with her.

They returned to the canoe and paddled back across the lake.

So the time passed. Melee helped him in all his chores, and played games with him, and seduced him so often that there was no counting the times, and it seemed impossible that any time in his life could have been happier. She seemed to feel that every sexual act brought him closer to love, and therefore her victory, and it was possible she was right. But it was her love that was needed for the final settlement.

Without warning one night she woke and sat up. "That's it!" she exclaimed.

"What, do you love me?" he asked sleepily.

"I must, for I have your baby in my belly."

"What?" Suddenly he was wide awake.

"You don't understand how it happened?" she inquired archly.

"I never thought of it. Melee, you can't have my baby!"

"Yes I can. And that is the answer. Now I must marry you."

She had thought of it! But he dared not accept it immediately. "Melee, you are a princess. You must marry a prince. I am just a diversion."

"But I love you. For I have conceived by you."

That was her definition? "But I am common."

"If I marry you," she said firmly, "you must live. For a married woman can be touched by her husband. And you will be common no longer. That is what Grandmother was hoping for."

"Bata wanted this?" He knew she did, but acted confused.

"Yes. If you touched me, you had to die—unless I married you. And I will marry you, for I have your baby. You will live."

"I will live," he agreed, feeling a great relief. She never questioned his acquiescence, nor did she need to.

"But Grandmother could not tell me to do it, for that would implicate her. It had to be my decision. And it is. I will tell Father that I have chosen, and it must be you. He will have to accede, lest I humiliate him by bearing a bastard baby."

She had come so close to the truth, without quite getting the whole of it. "I love you, Melee."

"And I love you." She lay down and kissed him. Then, hesitantly: "Is it all right if we don't have sex, right now?"

"Whatever you want is all right," he agreed.

"I'm afraid the baby might change its mind. I don't want to lose it." Then she settled back to sleep.

Dillon lay awake for some time. Thus unexpectedly had Bata's ploy worked! Melee would marry him, preserving his life—and she had not caught on to the rest of it. But she might think to ask tomorrow, and he could not afford to answer. That could make her angry.

In the morning they went to Bata. "Grandmother, I have figured out the way. I will marry Dillon."

"But child, he is a commoner!" the old woman protested.

"And I never wanted a prince. I think I was saving myself for him. I have his child within me, and I will bear it, with him or without him. Give me your blessing."

Bata nodded. "It is not me you must persuade, but your father. You may not marry without his consent."

"I know it. But he will more likely give it if you support it."

"You are sure you want this?"

"Yes."

Bata glanced at Dillon. "And does he agree?"

"Of course he agrees! How could he not?"

The old woman smiled. "But did you ask him?"

Melee paused, surprised. "I suppose I should. She turned to Dillon. "Can you stand to marry me?"

Dillon laughed. "How could I decline so eloquently phrased a proposal?"

"You couldn't. See, Grandmother—he agrees."

"So I see. Then you have my blessing. I know he is a good man. Were I fifty years younger, I would never let you have him."

"Fifty?"

Bata grimaced. "Sixty, then. To make me your age."

"If you had wanted him, you would have seduced him yourself."

"And ruined him for you? I think not."

Then they all laughed. But Bata shot Dillon a warning look: it wasn't over yet. He had to keep the secret.

"Now that you have decided, do not delay," Bata warned. "Your father is ill. He suffers sieges of the fever, and they are getting worse."

"I know. But Father always gets through. He's tough."

They packed the canoe and set off for the capital city. Melee remained diffident about sex. "But there are other ways, Dillon. I can satisfy you without disturbing the baby."

"That baby makes you love me. I don't want to disturb him either."

"I think she will be beautiful, like me."

They camped at night on the bank, for Melee no longer wanted to play games with urine. She remained demure, showing him nothing special. But she did share the blanket with him, and did alleviate his ardor in an alternate manner, using her mouth. She was acting much more like a prospective mother than a wild woman, and he appreciated this side of her too.

In the morning, Dillon studied the banks of the river. "Someone has passed, going upstream."

"You can see traces on the water?"

"Under it. There's a gouge in the bottom, where a paddle wielded too strongly struck. He must have been in a hurry, to be moving before dawn."

"Some message for Grandmother, maybe. She will handle it."

"Yes." But he wondered what could be so urgent. However, they had an urgent mission of their own, and couldn't delay to check on something else. So they resumed their travel downstream.

They reached the great sea, and in due course the proper river. Then the paddling became harder, though Melee did her share. They took their time, because he did not want her to strain herself.

In several more days they were close to the capital city. "I hope Father doesn't give me trouble," Melee said pensively. "He did want me to marry a prince."

"Maybe he was resigned to your refusal."

"Resigned," she agreed. "In fact, he might even—" She froze. "Why, that treacherous lizard! He set this up!"

Dillon was afraid to comment. But he could not get away with silence. She turned on her seat, facing him. "What is your secret?"

"I can't—"

"If you love me, Dillon—"

"Melee, I do! But—"

"If you will not speak it, neither will you lie about it. I challenge you to deny it. Did my father arrange for me to marry you?"

Dillon did not answer.

"If you don't deny it, you admit it," she said ominously. "That is the secret Grandmother told you. That is why she spared you. Not just in the hope, but in the knowledge. You knew all along!"

"Not all along," he said lamely.

"But when she talked to you, after our return, when you told her you had touched me."

"Yes," he said faintly.

"And you wouldn't tell me!"

"I couldn't."

"Because then I wouldn't marry you."

"Oh, Melee—"

She lifted the paddle. "I will knock you into the water! May there be a crocodile close!"

Dillon set down his paddle, letting the canoe drift backward, and spread his arms, inviting the blow.

She hesitated. "No, a crocodile is too good for you. I will have you executed instead. My father will have to do it, when I tell him you touched me. Then I'll shame him in turn by bearing the bastard baby. I will make him pay for his scheming."

The horror of it was that she wasn't joking. She was in such a fury about being deceived that vengeance was the only thing on her mind. She would destroy Dillon, her father, and herself, rather than accept the course others had planned for her. She was beyond reason. She was a wild panther.

"Pick up your paddle," she said grimly. "Take me into town." There was no trace of compassion.

He took the paddle and moved the canoe forward. Melee sat in the front, facing forward, absolutely still. She would not relent. Nothing he could say would sway her. He was doomed.

They reached the dock. Melee got out. She turned briefly to face him. "If you are smart, you will flee now. That will give you a head start before my father's men come after you."

"I will see you safely to your father," he said.

"Please yourself." She turned and marched toward the palace.

Dillon followed. Maybe there had never been a real chance for happiness with her. She would have found out some time, and would have been as angry then, even if already married. She valued her independence more than her welfare. More, even, than love itself.

They came to the palace. A guard met them. "I will see my father," Melee said curtly. "Now."

"Lady, you can not."

"What?"

"Lady, he is dead."

Melee fell back as if struck, her face blank, her eyes staring.

Dillon spoke. "When? How?"

"Ten days ago. He was ill with the fever, and this time he could not overcome it. Did the messenger not summon you for his funeral?"

"The canoe!" Dillon said. "That was the messenger we missed!"

"Well, you are here in time. It is scheduled for tomorrow."

Dillon glanced at Melee, who remained blank and silent. "The princess will be there." He faced her. "Where will you stay the night?"

She turned and shuffled to another building. He stopped at the door, but she reached back and caught his arm, drawing him in with her.

Inside, she stepped into his embrace and wept. Then she drew back and gazed into his face. "It is all meaningless without him. There is no game any more. I will marry you. It was his will." Then she put her head against his shoulder and cried some more.

Dillon held her, not speaking. He did not understand her abrupt shifts of mood, but it seemed he had been redeemed by her father's death. She had been playing a game with her father, too, trying to establish her will over his. Now that Badu was gone, she couldn't fight him or shame him, so she was apologizing by doing his will.

She lay down on the bed, and he lay with her. There was no sex. She cried a while, then drifted into troubled sleep. He held her, unable to assuage her grief. Yet he wondered: she had been ready to shame her father in the worst way, and now she wept for his memory. She had seduced Dillon, and spoken love to him, then been ready to destroy him, and now was accepting his comfort. What was he to make of this?

Yet perhaps there was an answer. Melee did not understand why he put his honor before convenience or love. He did not understand the way she put her games before family or love. Maybe one day they would each come to understand each other's oddities. Until then—it could be a most interesting experience.

After an hour Melee woke. She went to a small chamber where there was a pot for natural functions, used it, then gestured to him. He wasn't used to doing it inside a house, but realized that it was no worse than doing it in a canoe.

There was food in another chamber. They ate cooked beans and sweet potato with honey, and drank berry wine. Then Melee lay down again, requiring Dillon to be with her, and slept with fewer tears.

She was up before dawn. She stripped naked and washed. As the first light came, she got a sharp stone knife and brought it to her head. Dillon watched, alarmed but not speaking. She beckoned him, gave him the knife, and indicated her hair.

Oh. She would sacrifice her loveliness for grief. He took a hank of hair and cut it off. He laid it on the floor, then cut another. In time he had cut it all off, leaving her with a patchwork of oddly cut fur across her head.

Then she took the knife and cut his hair similarly. Normally he wore his head shaved under his headgear, as was the custom among men, but he had never thought of it during his distraction with Melee, and it had grown somewhat. So her cutting of his hair was symbolic rather than significant, and the result would be concealed under his helmet anyway. But by that token he knew that she intended him to be with her at the funeral. He would go along with whatever she wanted, in the hope that she was serious about marrying him.

She donned an elegant dress and shawl, and found a robe for him. Then she got ashes and painted both their faces in streaks. They were ready for the funeral.

They went together. The ceremony was simple: the people of the city gathered, and stood in a great circle around a huge pyre. Most of them had hair similarly cut off. The priest set fire to it, and they all watched as the wrapped body was bathed in flames. Badu had been sent to the other realm.

After that they proceeded with the ritual defacements of the things of Badu's reign, which was now over. Under the supervision of the priests, the craftsmen set about cracking altars from the corners, beheading statues, and scouring steles. No other ruler would use these things; they would join Badu in the other realm.

Then Melee brought Dillon to stand before the huge head statue of Badu. This one was not to be defaced, as it was plainly Badu himself, resplendent in his leather helmet. A number of the other folk followed. A priest came too.

She addressed the statue. "Father, your daughter bows to your will. I, Melee, hereby marry this man Dillon. I will remain with him in this life, and bear his children."

The priest stepped forward with a jug of oil. Dillon and Melee linked fingers, and the priest poured the oil over their hands.

Melee kissed him. "I will make you glad for your patience," she murmured.

"You already have," he said. But he suspected that their relationship had by no means settled down.

The chief town of the Olmec for the years 1200-900 B.C. was at the site now called San Lorenzo. Its name and exact layout are unknown, but it was obviously a ceremonial center with a population of up to one thousand people. The nature of Olmec government is unknown, so what is described here is conjectural. It was probably somewhere between a chiefdom and a kingdom. Thus the ambiguity here: the ruler is a chief, and his daughter a princess. The huge heads were mostly at San Lorenzo, probably representing its succession of chiefs, but some were also in other towns, perhaps indicating their allegiance to the chiefs of San Lorenzo. What is known is that circa 900 B.C. the monuments of San Lorenzo were destroyed or defaced in a ritual manner, and the town was abandoned. The most influential Olmec town then became the one at the site now called La Venta, shown in passing here. Between 400 and 300 B.C. La Venta was similarly defaced and abandoned, and the primacy of the Olmec was over. Most scholars believe that these towns were raided and destroyed by the conquerors, but there is no real evidence of conquest from outside. There could have been a plague that took out the chief and leading officials. So it may be that San Lorenzo faded in power and lost its artisans when its dynasty of chiefs ended, and La Venta assumed the leadership without actual conquest. We just don't know. The defacement of ritual objects could have been an act of respect, sending them "killed" to join the leaders in the other realm. They might also have been treated to take away their spiritual power, which otherwise could be dangerously uncontrolled after the death of the figure to which they were attuned. We of the science age lack proper understanding and respect for the ancient forces of magic, no longer being subject to its rigors. Think of a nuclear power plant being deserted without being properly shut down, to get a notion of the magnitude of their concern.

Human sacrifice was established in all the great central American cultures, beginning, it seems, with the Olmec. Other parts of the world generated meat for human consumption by raising herds of cattle or other large creatures, but in the Americas only dogs were raised commercially for meat. Thus there was a need for more, and so the most prolific and accessible source was utilized: mankind itself. It may have been second only to snook as a source of animal protein for the Olmecs, and would have been much in demand, as it continued to be through the Maya and Aztec cultures.

The Olmec culture was the first approaching our definition of civilization in central America, and its influence extended to Oaxaca to the south, the valley of Mexico to the west, and the Maya to the east. Its actual level of organization is doubtful, but it seems to be the origin of all the great central American civilizations. So while it was no empire, and perhaps not even a kingdom, its significance in this region makes it the mother culture. Yet today the main memory of it is probably its nine-foot-tall statues of human heads.

CHAPTER 7