The Emperor's Men 8

by Dirk van den Boom

  Köhler saw the legionnaires set out in groups of three to take a closer look at the immediate area. Angelicus had apparently now decided that they would stay here longer, because he had ordered those who stayed behind to get out of the boats the tarpaulins they had brought. The fact that he nevertheless began to place guards in a wide area spoke in turn for his caution.

  Köhler shaded his forehead. From here there was a hill about two kilometers away, which should actually allow a view of the interior of the island.

  “Centurion!”

  Angelicus stood next to him as quickly as if he had grown out of the sand. “Trierarch!”

  “Give me three men. I want to go up there and survey the island with binoculars.”

  Angelicus roared something, and within a short time three strong legionnaires had started, one of them a decurio, who immediately saluted and took the order. Köhler grabbed another bottle of water and began to march toward the intended target.

  24

  “Of course that’s the other alternative,” Bahlam, King of B’aakal, admitted thoughtfully.

  “It’s a better option than getting her killed,” his wife said, looking up from the work she was doing in the evening. It was relatively rare for Bahlam to find time to spend a few quiet hours with his wife, and she took the opportunity to provide her husband with advice in regard to his governance that he might otherwise have missed. Not that the massive man missed too much. He had an alert mind and was highly intelligent. But one couldn’t think of everything, especially in times like this.

  “It’s dangerous,” Bahlam said, looking at the empty mug in his hand.

  “I suppose she is. I saw her training with the old warrior. She hurls the atlatl like a man. The spear rests lightly in her hand. Did you see the muscles on her arms? She got her own ax with the sharpest obsidian, which she maintains herself. She can split one of your soldiers’ heads if you ever ordered her to be arrested. If you’re not careful, she’ll run past your guards like a cat and cut a big chunk of your bacon, and maybe more than you’re willing to give.”

  Bahlam looked at his wife. K’abel was usually a reserved woman who knew her place. Every now and then, however, she showed a tendency to express her own opinion, and Bahlam had learned to react with attention, since she was amazingly correct. Fortunately, since these instances were rare, he did not blame her.

  “It is very dangerous,” he said. “A fire is burning in her.”

  “She wants revenge for her mother’s death.”

  “She must never be Queen of Mutal. She will be powerful and strong.”

  “She’ll remember her friends.”

  Bahlam sighed. “Or look for new enemies. She’ll die, because I don’t need any more enemies for my son.”

  “Or she’ll be his wife and add her strength to the power of B’aakal, my husband.”

  Bahlam put the mug down. “That’s your suggestion, yes. But she is quite young.”

  “Not so young anymore.”

  “Can we keep her in check for so long?”

  K’abel smiled. “We have to, my husband. Do you seriously believe that the war against Mutal is over in such a short time? We need her as a symbol of our struggle. When Chitam sees that his daughter is alive and fighting for us, he will reconsider his loyalty to the messengers. To kill her too soon would be fatal.”

  Bahlam smiled back. “She scares me, K’abel. She is like a mountain of fire that is about to erupt. She is inspired by hatred and willingness to kill many warriors. I don’t want her to put a knife in my chest one day – or my son’s.”

  “I do not want that either. Marry her to him.”

  Bahlam nodded and pondered the fiery fire. It was dark outside, and the noises of the night came through the thick walls of the palace. The screaming of the animals from the jungle was hard to miss. It was a soothing background concert. The best time for the king to ponder the situation.

  “My son may not like this.”

  K’abel let out a snort. “Your son is not asked. He has to do his duty. We taught him that, my lord, if anything.”

  “He’s no longer a child.”

  “He is our son. He wants to be king. He’ll pay the price.”

  “Ixchel as a wife … that will be a high price,” Bahlam said with a laugh and shook his head. “I don’t even know if he will ever really be king or just the one who will follow his wife’s instructions.”

  “There are worse things.”

  Bahlam looked at K’abel inquiringly and forced himself to give an answer that would preserve domestic peace.

  “The worse thing would probably be to establish her as Queen of Mutal,” he murmured.

  His wife had noticed that there was another answer on his lips and allowed herself a look of punishment.

  “Or to have a young girl killed just for fear of who or what she might be,” his wife added firmly. She had formed a clear opinion about this and was not ready to take her husband’s perspective in this discussion. “The quick and easy way is not always the best, Bahlam. The gods thought of putting this girl in our hands. Remember that we have to implement their will and carefully consider every apparent coincidence. Have you spoken to the priests about all of this?”

  “Should I?”

  “You should.”

  His wife had always placed greater value on the priests’ opinion than he himself. That may have been due to the fact that he knew some of these men from childhood and knew that their explanations and prophecies were often shaped by their personal views less of those of the gods, if one was willing to see the difference. On the other hand, it was always good to be on the safe side. And it was expected of him anyway, not just in the eyes of his wife.

  “I will do it.”

  “Clever man.”

  “Are you talking to our son?”

  K’abel raised her eyebrows. “If you wish.”

  “And who teaches the wild lady? She might respond by throwing a spear at me.”

  “Then you should make sure that you speak to her in an unarmed moment, my husband.”

  Bahlam noticed that his wife was not taking his fears seriously. On the other hand, he was now the young girl’s guardian, and he had to make decisions. That he possibly saved her life was one of the aspects that he would better not mention in his attempt in persuasion. It would certainly not be a good thing to tell Ixchel that he thought she was a danger, nor that he tried to fight it by her premature death if she turned out to be unreasonable.

  “I’ll talk to the girl tomorrow. So it’s decided.”

  K’abel nodded. “Your son will submit. He is not stupid. He knows what’s necessary.”

  “He knows that.”

  “Ixchel will see it too.”

  “I don’t care. She’ll do what she is told.” Bahlam tried to make a determined impression now that the decision had been made.

  “When does the war start?”

  The sudden change of subject only upset Bahlam for a moment. He bowed his head.

  “I don’t know. The alliance is growing, albeit in secret. Mutal has spies everywhere. We have to make sure that the messenger hears about the danger late. The central point is: can Inocoyotl make our cause understandable to the Divine Ruler? With Teotihuacán at our side, victory is certain. But I have to accept that Yaxchilan will fall first – and possibly one or two more cities. The realm that Inugami creates will already be relatively large if we are able to attack. It won’t be an easy fight.”

  “When, Bahlam?”

  K’abel had never had much time for long explanations.

  “A year. Maybe a little earlier. I’ll have to consult the priests in this matter too.”

  “It is wise. But you will go to battle and my son with you.”

  “That is to be expected. He will soon be old enough for the spear and the ax. I can’t l
et him sit here. That would not do his fate justice.”

  K’abel nodded. “I will rule in your absence?”

  “I’ll take care of that. Every man who can carry a weapon comes with me. I need someone here I can absolutely trust.”

  “I will not disappoint you. Do the same and return, alive, whether victorious or not.”

  “A selfish view.”

  “The prerogative of a queen.”

  Bahlam smiled warmly and shook his head gently. “It’s not a promise I can give you. We are both old enough to know that no one can do this unless the gods are inclined to do so. And their advice is too unfathomable for me to rely on.”

  The queen rose, her face suddenly showing deep marks of tiredness and worry. It could also be the shadows of fire flickering on her features, but Bahlam assumed that she was more concerned about all of these things than he noticed, and regretted that he had to put this burden on her shoulders. Ultimately, however, it was the messenger of the gods who confronted them all with this conflict, and it was now up to them to prevent the worst.

  His own death, Bahlam realized, was by no means one of the worst things that could have happened. The subjection of B’aakal to the yoke of a strange, inconsiderate ruler who was apparently ready to break with good traditions and old ways was the worst.

  And at least in one thing the king could be sure: His wife agreed with him in every respect.

  However, that didn’t make it easier for him.

  25

  “Lord, we won’t be reaching Yaxchilan in two days, but the scouts’ reports have arrived.”

  The man was some nobleman from Chitam’s entourage who had not returned to Mutal with the king. Inugami had forgotten his name, if he had ever known it. These Mayan names were a terrible mess, and somehow all sounded the same. He didn’t enjoy memorizing each one, and usually it wasn’t necessary. He remembered individual men in terms of their functions, and that was the only reason why they were important. He knew Achak, the general who was to be found somewhere in the front, probably in the hope that a cheeky opponent would try something and could be cut to pieces. But the rest …

  They had left Tayasal after cleaning up and straightening everything out. Inugami had appointed another of his slave warrior officers as governor, a man who had shown himself eager to round up the extended family of the treacherous ex-king and at least publicly execute the male representatives. The city had been very quiet since then. This time Inugami had left only a small contingent of occupation troops. He promised to come back after the conquest of Yaxchilan to “make sure” a statement that caused the more rebellious elements in the population to think twice about doing something stupid.

  “What do the scouts report?”

  “It doesn’t look like they want to surrender, my lord.”

  Inugami nodded. He hadn’t expected that either. At some point, every streak of luck had come to an end, he had had no illusions about it.

  “The new king wants to fight?”

  “He is not alone, sir. The number of warriors can only be explained if one assumes that some of the surrounding smaller towns have dispatched men.”

  This was not a surprise either. Yaxchilan was a powerful city-state that claimed tribute from the surrounding towns, in this case in the form of soldiers.

  “How many men will there be?”

  “The scouts estimate about 2500, maybe a little less.”

  The force that the city could use to defend itself was slightly smaller than the remaining army of Inugami after having had to garrison two cities and Chitam had returned to Mutal with some warriors. The difference was that Inugami’s people were better trained and equipped, and they all believed in divine providence. Still, this would be a real battle, with real deaths. Inugami felt a bit cold. Tayasal and Saclemacal were small fish. But now there was a test that was tough. Here his dream of the empire would come true or he would fail.

  And since the incident that night, the thought of a possible failure hadn’t left his mind. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, the attack had tarnished his self-confidence, and not only because he had been looking around for a threat ever since.

  He resisted the impulse to check his pistol. Of course he would fight on the front line, and his miracle weapon had to make a good impression. The onagers and catapults that he had built would also be used, and he would mix the army of his warrior slaves with the most fanatical of Mutal’s soldiers to ensure that no one dithered when he attacked his old homeland. Since everyone believed that the Yaxchilan criminals had the queen and her daughters on their conscience, there was nothing to complain about the angry determination of the Mutalese warriors.

  “Then we should send more scouts to investigate the city’s defense efforts. Do we have other reports? Are there refugees?”

  “We didn’t find anyone. The streets are clear. I suspect there are a few scouts from our opponents in the area, but everything else is free.”

  “Who rules in the city?”

  “A nobleman named Nachi Cocom was crowned king, he seemed to be the highest-ranking survivor to be found. We don’t know him. He did not play a prominent role before the last ruler died, at least not to the outside world.”

  “But he seems capable enough – and determined – to organize his city’s defense.”

  The man bowed his head. “A worthy opponent.”

  Inugami pressed his lips on each other. What did that remark mean? Was this Nachi suitable to test whether the messenger could actually do what he had promised all along? Were even his most loyal followers ready to bet on a sign of their silly gods to confirm his policy with a victory or show their rejection with a defeat? Inugami felt contempt and scorn for the ridiculous ideas of these savages boiling in him, along with anger at the lack of confidence expressed by these words.

  He knew that if he gave in to his feelings now, it was a sign of weakness. He forced a smile.

  “Worthy, no doubt,” he said. “Tell me as soon as there are new insights.”

  “My lord.”

  The man turned and left. Inugami stared down the street. The march had been interrupted for a short pause. The sun was high in the sky, and the warriors were eating corn patties and drinking water. Everyone was exhausted, so the conversations were nothing more than a low murmur that was largely masked by the sounds of nature. Inugami took some water himself, then strolled along the line of resting warriors, accepted their greetings, watched everything with open eyes. Nobody would openly show him any doubts, but they were certainly there. The garrisons in the cities of Tayasal and Saclemacal consisted almost entirely of Yaxchilan prisoners, which Inugami had ensured. Nevertheless, the warriors from that city still made up the majority of his army, and he had to make friends with the prospect that one or the other loyal fighters would pinch the upcoming battle – even if this might mean his death. The attachment to their homeland was great among the natives; Inugami was willing to accept it, he even built on it and tried to manipulate this fact wherever possible. It would be stupid to assume that the new king of Yaxchilan did not consider this perspective. He appeared to be an active and determined man, and whether or not he was really a worthy opponent, he was the first to probably deserve this term.

  Inugami realized that he was not looking forward to this battle. And when he thought about why that might be, he realized that it had nothing to do with the risks, the uncertain outcome or the like. He knew that after a victory he had to return to Mutal to consolidate his reign and find a solution once and for all for the actual king – whatever that might be. He would have to go back and start what was the least fun for him … negotiate, seek allies, promise and redeem favors, make threats and carry them out, in short everything that was part of politics. That was not his way. He wanted to be the conqueror, the one who took historical steps, a man of determined action. The big gesture was his profession, the wide movement, the
decisive step. He was the one who brought down the old order, who questioned everything that was before and who indelibly burned his name into the minds of his subjects. But all of this could not be achieved if he submitted to the intrigues, turmoil and imponderables of normal court policy, which all had the bad aftertaste of constant lies, denying everything and everyone, acting behind the back and pretending wrong facts. It was not his world.

  He was Inugami, the bringer of the new order, the root of the new age. He did not want to decide on water pipes and where a new terrace for growing corn was created. There should be people for that. People who served him faithfully and kept all this everyday, annoying and boring stuff away from him.

  He still had far too few of these people.

  And that’s why he didn’t want to go back to Mutal.

  He wanted to continue marching, to see cities fall before him.

  He wanted to plant fear in the hearts of his enemies, crush their ranks, burn their temples. He wanted to break up their covenants, to show them the senselessness of their actions. He wanted respect, esteem, fear, myths that clung to his position, exalted above all and everything, a true messenger of the gods, but on his own strength and not because a priest said it. That was his way, that was his dream. In Mutal, however, the small mind, the limitations, and the terribly unbearable necessity would clasp him again. The very word “necessity” was like a slap in the face. The submission associated with this term created an almost physically palpable dislike in him. There shouldn’t be anything like that for him. No rules, no constraints, no circumstances, no framework, but only the absolute and unrestricted freedom of his equally absolute will. Shaping the world the way he liked it. He was a creator.