Free Shadow of the Lords by Simon Levack

head.
    â€˜Now take us up on to dry land, before we all get foot rot! I want to see this slave pick up the trail where you lost it!’
    I stood aside as the line of warriors shouldered their way through the rushes. My master’s steward and Handy brought up the rear of the column. The steward passed me without a glance, casually swinging his elbow so that it all but connected with my chin. Behind him, Handy stopped by me for a moment.
    â€˜I heard that,’ he muttered. ‘It’s crap, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Of course it is,’ I whispered back. ‘If that idiot’s footprint is shallower than the other one it’s because he’s wearing sandals
and they spread his weight. Also the boatman was running, so of course his print was heavier. But it worked!’
    â€˜Can’t wait to find out what your next trick is!’
    â€˜Neither can I,’ I murmured ruefully, as I set off after the rest of the line.
    Â 
    Beyond the rushes the ground became firmer and started to slope steeply towards the wooded hill called Chapultepec.
    The maize fields around the base of the hill were bare at this time of year. They formed short terraces, bordered by bushes and broad, low, fleshy-leaved maguey plants; apart from these and a few scattered huts there was nothing to obstruct our view of the countryside. I looked up at the hill, conscious that everyone else was staring at me.
    â€˜No footprints at all,’ Fox said. ‘There was a frost two nights ago, and it’s exposed here, so the ground would have been too firm.’ He shot me a challenging look. ‘So where did they go next?’
    I lowered my eyes. Fox was, as usual, right: the earth here offered neither a clue nor, which was more to the point, anything I could manufacture a clue out of. I thought about the trees on the hill above us. The idea of leading these men into the woods and losing them there was tempting, until I imagined myself treed among them, perched on a high bough, a helpless target for Fox’s throwing-stick and spear.
    â€˜Your men have already searched the woods,’ I said to the captain. He grunted his agreement. ‘Well, it wouldn’t have been the first place I’d have looked. Maybe they rested up there for the night, or maybe not – but either way they’d have moved on. Now the question is, where?’ I was aware of my fingers rubbing one of my torn earlobes, an old nervous habit. I was trying to look like a man concentrating fiercely, while in reality my mind had suddenly gone blank.

    The man we were really following, my master’s errant boatman – where had he gone? Where would I have gone, in his position?
    The captain grinned at me. ‘You’re going to tell us where – aren’t you?’
    I glanced helplessly at Handy, just because his was the least unfriendly face I could see. The muscles of his jaw were oddly contorted: if our situation had not been so desperate, I might have thought he was trying not to laugh. Then he saw me looking at him. His expression froze for a moment. The corners of his mouth drooped dejectedly. Then he seemed to make up his mind about something, and, with his voice faltering only a little, he spoke up.
    I might have wept with relief. He was my friend, after all. At the very least, however afraid he was of the Otomies and however annoyed he was with me for getting him involved with them, the stubborn commoner was probably more angry about being bullied by the captain.
    â€˜They wouldn’t be out here at all,’ Handy said. ‘If they stayed in the open you’d hunt them down in no time. It wouldn’t take a squad of warriors much longer to flush them out of the trees if they tried hiding out on the hill. They both know what old Black Feathers is like, don’t they?’
    â€˜They do.’ I picked up his train of thought. ‘They’d be expecting a regiment to come after them, and they’d