The Emperor's Men 7: Rising Sun

by Dirk van den Boom

  “Soon, sir. We still collect some supplies for the march. The priests are waiting for the right omen. The rituals are not finished yet.”

  The supplies were not a problem – after all, they had taken from Bonampak everything that had been possible to transport by human beings. But the omens had to be considered. Tatb’u had no doubt that Itzamnaaj was in favor of his plans. On the other hand – the gods were moody. It was better to make sure.

  In addition, the men fought with greater zeal when they knew that their god was on their side. Such motivation was worth as much as a thousand additional warriors. That wasn’t something Tatb’u wanted to do without. Despite all of his ambition, he appreciated good preparation and the use of every advantage. He was a powerful, active king, but no one had ever reproached him for being a reckless gambler.

  But even better than the motivation of a thousand additional fighters were … a thousand real additional fighters. And that was an issue that they both had to discuss now.

  “Where does the road lead us?” he asked Pakul.

  “I suggest we take the southern detour past the Great Lake of Peten-Itza through Tayasal and Saclemacal,” Pakul said. “There are several advantages, as you know. The Lord of Tayasal is the nephew of your father. He is not one of our vassals, but his proximity to Mutal certainly makes him suspicious of becoming a victim of their quest for power – and in the not-too-distant future. If we act diplomatically, he could give us some of his men and increase our clout.”

  Tatb’u nodded. He had wanted to hear that.

  “Besides, he’ll have more up-to-date information about what’s going on in Mutal. Information is important.”

  “What about Saclemacal?”

  Pakul smiled. “The Kowoj are a proud people, my king. Saclemacal is a fairly small town, but with a history that goes way back in time – some say even farther than Mutal’s, which considers itself the largest and most beautiful of all cities. Mutal is so much bigger and more powerful than Saclemacal that they have become tributary for some time – a deep thorn in the flesh of the local noble families. I am not only confident that we will be able to enlarge our army there once more, the tactical facts learned from the immediate neighborhood will be of considerable importance.”

  “That means you expect us to end up attacking with more than 3,000 men?”

  Pakul smiled expectantly.

  “If all goes well, my Emperor, we will be able to send 5000 to battle. A great alliance of three cities, led by the blessed K’inich Tatb’u. The entire lowland will speak of this campaign for hundreds of years, rest assured.”

  Tatb’u nodded and smiled. He liked it, as his general thought. Always the big picture in view. And all prepared in a way so that his King could send him on a campaign in whose course the fanatical warrior had the chance to bathe in the blood of his enemies. Well, the ruler of Yaxchilan was more than ready to fulfill that particular wish of the nobleman.

  “Tell me once everything is prepared,” he finished the conversation.

  “I expect about a week before we are ready to leave,” Pakul replied with a bow before retreating.

  Tatb’u stepped out of his chambers and looked down from the height of his palace onto the main square of his city. There, all preparations for the great sacrificial ceremony were made. The prisoners of war from Bonampak had lost the big ballgame despite an excellent performance, whereby the pleasure of Itzamnaaj had become visible for everyone. The men were soon to be sacrificed to this god, in a lengthy and very bloody ritual in which Tatb’u had an important role to play. It was a good preparation for the coming campaign as the ritual could be used to solicit special blessings for their great plan.

  About 5,000 men were available according to Pakul, and this would make a very considerable force. Mutal, even if well-prepared, would have a difficult time countering this onslaught. But Tatb’u knew that in the heat of the battle the atlatl could surprisingly strike, and the dead couldn’t cherish the triumph of their companions.

  No, he would make sure to instruct the priests at the upcoming sacrificial ceremony to focus all prayers on the very personal safety of the King. Tatb’u hesitated a moment, then sighed. And Pakul. He should also be named.

  The bloodthirsty general was just too talented. The King of Yaxchilan would still have use for him in the future.

  He should live and grow old and lead the men of the city to many more victories.

  13

  Aritomo and Chitam went for a walk.

  In the past two weeks, the Japanese officer had learned that the roughly same-age Mayan prince was a sympathetic person with a dry sense of humor. Since he was able to express this not only through words but also through facial expressions and gestures, both of them had quickly become friendly in the course of their intensive language studies.

  In general, the situation had eased during this time. There was still a certain distance, but in every sense of the word, the first exuberance of emotional stress, positive as well as negative, had passed. The ecstatic esoteric experience of the Maya, the fear and confusion of the Japanese, both leveled lower, both became manageable. Contacts became more regular, fears subsided, mutual acceptance – though not necessarily an understanding – improved rapidly. The men continued to live in the boat, but often stayed in close proximity to the confined space, lying on the foredeck, or scrambling around the half-ruined pyramid. They had learned by now that the destroyed building was actually supposed to be the tomb of the reigning king and that a new building would soon be constructed, because the ruler was – according to local standards – not the youngest anymore.

  Chitam would then become the next king, such were the current rules of succession.

  No one had told him that Inugami would only be ready to accept him as the vassal of a Japanese emperor, as a servant of a Japanese ruling class whose purity he sought to preserve for as long as possible. Aritomo himself was not sure how Inugami wanted to achieve “purity” when there were no Japanese women within reach. It was absolutely unavoidable – though he wisely kept that assessment to himself – that it would be Mayan women with whom the men would sooner or later get involved. None of them made vows of celibacy or had otherwise renounced carnal pleasures; they were sailors, young men who had pretty clear ideas about their leisure time activities. At some point, the inevitable would happen. Just as inevitable was everything that necessarily resulted from such bonding.

  At least Aritomo had no intention of ending up as a virgin, no matter what Inugami seemed to consider as appropriate.

  The language studies had progressed so far that simple content could be communicated and the rest resulted from wild hand movements. And so Aritomo approached Inugami with the idea of improving the current tactical situation through information gathering and exploring the city. Of course, the true idea behind it had been different: to leave the narrowness of the boat, to seek variety, to gather new impressions, and to enjoy the thoroughly amusing and relaxed company of the Prince, whose companionship would also ensure Aritomo’s safety.

  With Inugami, the military argument went better as expected. He had given his approval, albeit not enthusiastically.

  And so they both left one morning, and Aritomo showed himself to Mutal, a settlement which, he was quick to discover, was far greater than had been supposed, and at least for him, the abilities of these “savages” began to shift increasingly into a different light. Yes, he still thought about the natives with a certain arrogance, but then a few days ago he had asked Sawada which year they probably had, and the teacher had speculated that they were somewhere in the fifth century AD, according to Western chronology.

  “And in Japanese counting?” Aritomo had asked.

  Sawada had laughed and shaken his head, knowing exactly where this conversation would take them.

  “We talk about the Kofun period, young friend. The time of the kingdom of Yamato, the era of the Five Kingdoms. I don’t
want to say it too loud, but if we travel to Japan now – and Inugami has already philosophized about it –, we would find a society that has not progressed much further than this one here, and in many ways. Of course, there are differences – we were a seafaring nation at that time, which evolved naturally from the island situation. And you may have noticed that while the Maya know the wheel as a shape, they do not use it to accelerate means of transport. There are no carts, but otherwise … Other tools, yes. Other raw materials, yes. But a great difference in the evolution of civilization? I say no.”

  Sawada had then stopped and smiled no longer.

  “Do not talk about it to Inugami. He doesn’t like the idea much.”

  Aritomo had asked many more questions, and the longer he studied the careful observations of Sawada, the less inclined he was to maintain his arrogance toward the Maya. With Inugami – and many other crew members, down to the simplest sailor – this was still the other way round. It was as if looking at one’s own superiority, even that sense of being chosen, was the only way to maintain mental health in a foreign environment.

  But the walk with Chitam and the content of their conversation affirmed Aritomo in his changing attitude. The architecture of the Maya was breathtaking!

  The boat had landed on an unfinished structure that belonged to a group of pyramids, all therefore temples or tombs of past rulers. Directly in front of the crash site stretched a large square, which was completed at one side by the royal palace.

  Chitam and Aritomo kept left and walked down the main square until they came to an artificial lake. Sawada had looked at this and another near the palace from the boat’s foredeck, and had come to the conclusion that they weren’t ornamental but had a very practical use: They had to be water reservoirs. In times when there was no rainfall, the supply of the population was assured, and the apparently intensive cultivation of crops could continue. He hadn’t quite figured out how the water was distributed but suspected the existence of channels and ditches. Aritomo could confirm that now, for from the reservoir a web of canals, many of them underground and accessible by entrances, descended in different directions. His respect grew. This was an architectural feat, and he learned now that it was by far not the only one.

  Opposite the water reservoir to the north was another square, the same size as the one in front of the palace. From here, one had a good overview of the north side of the city. The buildings lined up tightly together, and the closer they were to the central square, the bigger and more magnificent they were. Further away, they became a bit smaller, often no longer made of stone but only of wood and clay. Aritomo assumed that in the city center, the nobles lived, while the common people spread to the outer districts. There was steady traffic, goods were being transported, and the wide and well-developed roads were busy.

  Where the buildings were not whitewashed, they offered colorful paintings, and these too became more numerous and impressive as one approached the city center. Aritomo regarded these sometimes very complex depictions as absolutely fascinating. They showed powerful rulers in various scenes, often courtly in nature but also successful wars, the subjugation of enemies. Religious representations were very common, especially at the temples of which he visited two with Chitam. Aritomo struggled to understand the Maya’s religious beliefs, but it had become clear that they were anything but simple, even though they gave rise to bloody human sacrifices. He suspected that the Japanese were seen as emissaries of a sun god, who enjoyed the highest prestige in the city. Although apparently male, this deity reminded him of Amaterasu, the sun goddess of Japanese mythology, who was said to have founded the Imperial House. Aritomo was a man of the present – whatever that meant at the time – and had been educated with popular Buddhism shaped by the convictions of his mother. He personally couldn’t connect well with the belief in a sun goddess but had to agree that the parallels were there and could be used by the Japanese for their benefit. At least, Inugami had paid close attention to Sawada’s presentation on this subject.

  When they left the western square, they turned to the east, walked past the palace again, and came to a third, large area, from where a mighty road led north. This too was dominated by the vast royal seat. When they finally passed the building, they came across an interesting building where they were expected. Chitam grinned and was happy as a child when he saw Aritomo’s surprise. It was a sports field, big and arranged as Aritomo knew it from his time, in many ways even more splendid and spacious. A crowd of people had assembled on tribunes around a playground, a mashed field of exact dimensions, a neatly arranged quadrangle, the walls of the stands decorated with numerous representations of men playing ball.

  A playing field. A sports stadium. Aritomo was totally baffled while he was led by Chitam to the seats of honor reserved for the rulers of the city. He had been invited to a sporting event! And it all looked so … perfect and familiar that he didn’t even realize the differences or the rules of the game.

  Chitam apparently didn’t even try to explain the game to him. Chi was served, and the Prince leaned back relaxed. Aritomo therefore decided to just watch. He could barely communicate; therefore, he wasn’t capable to ask the right questions anyways.

  The two teams seemed to consist of eight men each. As far as Aritomo could tell, it was a question of throwing a small ball through a stone ring embedded in the wall on the long side of the playing field. There also seemed to be something like a referee who warned players if they violated rules. So it was obviously not allowed to touch the ball with the hands. It was played with the hips, the knees and the arms. It was not a sport for the occasional exercise, nothing to shake off the wrist. Aritomo understood immediately that only real professionals would play well and effectively.

  The two teams seemed to be well-trained and coordinated. The game was fast and dynamic, with rapid rallies. If the ball banged against one of the perimeter walls, it gave a hard crashing sound. He had to be very tough. Whenever he, intentionally targeted, impacted on a careless player who didn’t parry or catch in time, a murmur went through the crowd. It had to be painful to handle this game if a player didn’t pay attention or wasn’t trained properly. The players were protected – all wore a kind of armor around their hips and wrapped shin guards –, but if a direct hit was made on the shoulder or even on the head, the risk of injury had to be great.

  Not with these two teams though. These were, as Aritomo was soon able to establish, in fact real professionals, whose ball control put him in fascinated amazement. He was so taken by the rapid and perfect game play that he didn’t notice the way the Prince looked at him smiling and making his own thoughts, whichever they were.

  After more than half an hour – who was in the lead or not, Aritomo had not quite understood, because he hadn’t managed to distinguish the two teams beyond doubt – was paused. The players were refreshing themselves, the spectators as well, as baked corn bread was served. Aritomo felt that he was hungry. Among the crowd, a friendly mood had developed, a cheerful exuberance, a general babble of voices. Undoubtedly, there was much to talk about, judging the performance of individual players and discussing the prospects for the rest of the game. Maybe even bets were made. The commencement of the game was close, for the men kept their protective gear on, wiping their sweat with damp cloths, drinking water and putting their heads together, obviously to discuss tactics for the rest of the game. Aritomo felt himself becoming impatient and excited. He wanted to know how it went and to enjoy the impressive virtuosity of the players and the acrobatic speed of their movements.

  This was a lot of fun!

  Add to that the colorful ambiance. The Maya hated monotonous clothing. Of course, Aritomo had to assume that everyone had dressed up especially, because the whole drama had undoubtedly been arranged by Chitam to impress the guest. But the Japanese had no problems with that. He was ready to be impressed, indeed seduced.

  Not only by the spectacle of this competition. In other way
s, and mindful of his previous doubts about some of Inugami’s cherished plans, it quickly became clear that different seductions were on offer as well.

  It had not escaped him that after the break, when the game started again and quickly picked up speed, some young girls joined them in the stands, beckoned by the Prince. The fact that they sat in the vicinity of the guest of honor and threw him quite expressive looks, usually accompanied by a magical smile, was absolutely not to be overlooked.

  Aritomo still tried to maintain his dignity, answering the young women’s wink with no more than a friendly nod. Whether he lived up to expectations or not, he couldn’t see. For him, it was clear that women held a subordinate position to the men with the Maya, on the other hand, they talked quite freely with their male companions, and all equally offered subservient respect to Chitam. The glances with which the Prince was observed were not marked by fear. Attention, certainly also because of his authority as heir to the throne, and readiness to serve were needed, but the submissiveness to Chitam had something … relaxed. It became clear to Aritomo, as far as he correctly interpreted this behavior, that Chitam was the son of a popular ruler who hadn’t done anything that could’ve caused the displeasure of his subjects.

  After the game was over – Aritomo still didn’t know who won before Chitam rose to honor the victorious team with well-chosen words and some gifts – they left the ball court and marched back to the west, this time obviously to reach the palace. Aritomo, who had eaten plenty of the food offered during the game, found his fears confirmed: He was now invited to a meal, and not in the king’s chambers, but in those of the Prince.

  Aritomo considered how he could explain to the young man that he wouldn’t be able to bring down another bite in the foreseeable future. But before this question could become a serious problem, he was asked to go to a larger room. It was richly decorated with colorful murals, with mats on the walls and on the floor, frugal furniture, but all in all a very appealing atmosphere. No food was served, just cups of chi, the drink that Aritomo slowly began to get used to.