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The River meandered its way through the canopy of Tropical Forest.

The overhanging trees left the canoes floating along the low banks in shadow.

Cooler than the direct sunlight, but no less stiflingly humid.

Every now and again, the trees gave way to open space and a view into the distance.

The men and women dipping their paddles into the water cut sight fields of ripening mace

and a series of mounds rising up from the low-lying ground.

The canoes slipped around one final bend and passed into open, treeless space once more.

They saw another mound, much bigger, and the silence of the river was broken by the

sounds of human activity.

They heard voices, laughter, a crack of sharpened stone tools on wood, and the grinding

is mortars crushed mace kernels into flour.

The sounds grew louder as the party left their canoes behind and walked toward the plateau.

It got bigger as they approached.

It passed by clusters of huts through fields of cotton and mace, and passed the earthwork

fish traps that would channel the flood waters and catch their prey when the river

rose as it did every year.

The party looked at all this was something like awe.

They had never seen so many people together in one place, and their ultimate destination

still lay ahead.

The visitors followed the path that led them up the side of the plateau until they could

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