Aritomo took a deep breath. “Saclemacal and Tayasal.”
“Yes, that’s it. We have to take care of them. They are currently without defense.”
Inugami paused and looked at Aritomo with a smile.
“This is the perfect time to strike. We should take advantage of the hour, Hara. We have to work out plans! We will attack!” He slapped Aritomo on the shoulder. “That will be great, Hara. Grandiose indeed!”
And then he started the ascent to the boat.
Aritomo followed him silently.
23
“There’s no doubt about it,” the priest said, looking Chitam straight in the eyes, and with a challenging self-confidence his father would’ve never allowed. It was these little gestures that showed him how shaky his position was and how little he could trust that the ancient traditions still had the same power as before.
Chitam bowed his head, avoiding being too arrogant or self-important. He couldn’t afford a showdown right now. The conversation with Inugami had shown this clearly. He, too, had had to back off, being very aware of his fragile position.
The clan leaders who marched against him were too many, and only too willing to contest the throne. All of them believed that Mutal now had to do everything to serve the will of the holy messengers. As long as Chitam seemed to agree completely, that was no problem at all. But if he showed too much resistance – or only persistently pointed out possible dangers of the chosen path –, it would only be a matter of time before he was replaced by a more docile candidate.
That was kind of weird, and Chitam didn’t miss the irony of the situation. Inugami wanted to fulfill his desires, which he himself had cherished for many years: a more active, military foreign policy, more campaigns, conquests, more subjugations – more fame and more victories. He differed in this request neither from the dead Tatb’u nor from the Lord of the holy messengers. But Inugami turned everything upside down. He ignored the traditions, first gently, but then surely it’d become more and more. He’d anger the gods.
He’d make a joke out of King Chitam.
There were, he was sure, enough nobles who were quite capable of bearing the heavy burden of this office and enough priests who would give such a process the necessary spiritual blessing. That worked hand in hand.
Chitam stood on brittle ground.
Certainly, the formal courtesy, the phrases and gestures of submission, all that was true. Also, the priests would continue to advance the preparations for enthronement – nobody was interested in a vacancy – and the people, well, the people …
Funny, usually a king of Mutal didn’t worry too much about the people. As long as the centuries-old contract was upheld, there was just the ruler and those who served him unconditionally. As long as the king, through his association with the gods, provided for harvest and food, as long as he performed the rituals and did everything to ensure the blessing of the heavens, he fulfilled his duty and deserved submission and servitude. Only if one day he could no longer fulfill this important function, his position would be endangered.
Or if someone showed up who gave the appearance – the very convincing, almost irrefutable appearance! – to do the job much, much better?
And that’s exactly where Chitam was standing for now, and he was very much aware of it. The number of his allies was clear, and there were quite a few who felt a new wind that would carry them higher – what did all the loyalties and customs count in this situation?
Chitam was distracted by his gloomy thoughts as the music grew louder. The victory celebration was in full swing. For three days they had all toiled and cleaned up, for three days the traces of the double-edged triumph had been eliminated. Now Mutal was on his feet, serving up what was possible – and many things were possible because all the supplies of their invaders had fallen into their hands. The prisoners of war were given only the most necessary rations, and so there was enough for a glittering party that would last well into the next morning. Normally, this would have been an occasion for Chitam to join in the celebration – although, under the critical eye of his wife, who inevitably took part in the celebration, the party mood would be somewhat diminished. But today he wasn’t so cheerful, because basically he wasn’t happy. His father’s death loomed too clear in his memory – and the end of the world in which he had grown up was imminent.
Chitam tried to hide, but that wouldn’t help him either.
It was a lazy evening, the music sounded happy, people danced.
For the first time, all the inhabitants of the boat were crawling out of the black belly, at least that was said. Chitam assumed that some were still left behind to guard this most precious possession of the messengers. Still, he had never seen so many of the strangers in a heap before, and many of them had never been more than a few yards from their vessel since arriving. They seemed confused, overwhelmed, like many of their braver comrades in their early days.
Chitam had made sure that shyness didn’t last too long. He might have no real power to strengthen his position against the holy messengers, but he had come to the conclusion that they were as much men as were his people, and that certain … confidence-building measures would take effect as soon as the opportunity arose to apply these. He knew that Inugami was critical of this and didn’t encourage the men’s connections with the women of the city, that he planned to control them.
Chitam considered this a pointless endeavor, and he did his part to substantiate his argument.
The victory celebration offered the perfect opportunity.
There was no shortage of young girls who were willing to be interested in the holy messengers without the king’s particular encouragement. A marriage with such a man promised, above all now, prestige and wealth, and for some farmer’s daughter the rise in areas of the society that otherwise would have remained closed to her. The strange visitors had begun to abandon their initial restraint. After some cups of chi and stomach stuffed with corn patty, they began to relax. The darkness of the dawning night, dimly lit by the fires and torches on the fairground, enveloped the girls’ bodies in auspicious flickering. No matter how much the messengers were of divine descent, and Chitam had developed some doubt in that regard which he wisely kept to himself, it was clear that they were also men. Men who had been trapped in their boat for weeks.
Chitam hadn’t gotten the impression that physical love among men was particularly favored by the holy messengers. It wasn’t uncommon among his own people and wasn’t punishable as long as it was nonviolent, which in turn was subject to harsh sanctions. But the ravenous gaze with which the visitors, released from the confines of their vessel, looked at the bodies of the girls, actually said everything that Chitam wanted to know.
And he did everything to provide ample opportunities.
Even otherwise, the festival left nothing to be desired, at least according to its own standards. Chitam had ordered the best of what the kitchens gave. Mounds of cornbread filled with chili peppers, beans or meat had been prepared. Pumpkin meat was also presented in numerous variations. Peanuts, pekari and deer meat as well as many different fruits rounded off the menu. Nobody on the King’s table should lack anything, and everything was replenished immediately. And the guests ate vigorously. It seemed to them to be rude to leave the table earlier than others, and they consumed as if they hadn’t eaten for days.
Chitam provided what was needed, but ate and drank, contrary to his usual custom, only with great restraint. Instead of indulging in these joys, he spent his time watching the revelers and tried to draw conclusions from their behavior.
The first thing he found out was that he wasn’t the only one who preferred observation. For even the one who bore the name of Aritomo Hara only made moderate use of the offerings, sitting beside the old teacher, whom the messengers had brought with them, and spoke sparingly to his table mates. Sawada himself spoke more, sitting himself next to Itzanami, and both used the time of socializ
ing to provide each other with additional vocabulary. Chitam saw the two men taking paper into their hands to take notes, and he had to suppress a smile at this extraordinary learning, as it would have been unseemly. The other man next to Aritomo was someone whom Chitam had met during one of his visits to the boat. He looked a little different than the other holy messengers, especially in the face. Aritomo had tried to explain to him that the man with the difficult name was from a faraway nation and actually didn’t belong to the people possessing the vessel. But it seemed that there was a good understanding between him and Aritomo Hara, for both kept putting their heads together and talked seriously. Worry clouded their faces, and though Chitam couldn’t hear what they were talking about, he felt a strange kinship with them, as if he knew they were pondering the same issues as he did.
Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start a conversation with both – on a suitable occasion. If possible so that the leader of the messengers didn’t notice.
Inugami himself, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy himself royally. He drank and ate, and laughed loudly, even louder as the evening progressed. He was also devoted to female society, more than Chitam had expected of him, and looked like a real nobleman of status, with the measure of both contempt and implied dominance in regard to all the carnal pleasures expected of him. If he behaved accordingly, no one would blame him, for he was the one who had brought Mutal, with the weapons of the gods, victory over an insidious enemy.
Most of the other visitors showed no excessive restraint. However, as Chitam discovered, they had apparently been ordered to follow some general rules of behavior. Thus, even after two hours of feasting, no one who was really drunk, and though the pleasant company of willing femininity didn’t fail to affect any of the men, there didn’t arise any kind of forcible abuse, which was regarded with great disapproval even among the powerful of Mutal.
In short, the behavior of the guests was fully acceptable, and this fact alone was disturbing enough. Because it meant that Chitam had no arguments in his hand to shine a slightly worse light on the messengers in the future.
At an advanced hour, the first of the guests disappeared with accordingly animated accompaniment into the darkness. They would find corners where a cotton mat could be rolled out quickly and taken to action. By midnight, well over half of the messengers had bidden their goodbye from the circle of tablets to continue the rest of the night in a different way. It was remarkable that Inugami, too, had finally stood up, with each arm twisted around the waist of a bride, still somewhat insecure despite the support, walking out into the darkness. In addition to a number of guests who could finally preferred more of the chi and other drinks than the company of a woman, Aritomo Hara and the man with the strange name remained seated as well, and Sawada and Itzanami were mainly concerned with providing the names of the food items and writing them down.
Chitam’s gaze wandered over the crowd of remaining revelers, whose volume was now decreasing, either from fatigue or from the effects of the drinks, or both. The new ruler of Mutal felt dearly how leaden tiredness tore at his limbs. Just a few weeks ago, the celebration would’ve just begun for him at this time, but now he was starting to falter. It was as if the burden of events had dumped many extra years of life on his shoulders, and these would now prematurely claim their toll. He still didn’t enjoy the feast and was saddened that the dark clouds over his heart had apparently robbed him of the ability to live the day – and the night – away from all the worries. He had feared something like that. That’s why he’d never hurried to follow his father. But he didn’t expect it to crush him so severely.
His eyes remained on his own family, his brothers and sisters, of which he had many, for besides his official queen, Chitam’s mother, Siyaj had cherished many mistresses.
He frowned when his eyes caught Une Balam’s. His younger sister had been in a particularly good mood. She was originally supposed to be married to a prince of the ruler of Tayasal, a man she had never met, of course, and who was said to be considerably older than she was. His bones were reportedly burned to ashes on one of the heaps of corpses and thus used as fertilizer for the fields of Mutal. Une Balam was relieved to witness this kind of termination of a long arranged engagement. It was now up to Chitam to agree on a new, suitable connection, but the newly enthroned master of Mutal, who, like many of his siblings, was very attached to Une Balam, was in no hurry to accomplish of this task.
And given the observation he was making, the haste subsided even more. Because although Une Balam joked and laughed and showed herself relaxed and happy in the company of her family – for good reason –, Chitam noticed that her eyes were always directed to glance at Aritomo Hara, who behaved so differently from the celebrating men around them. Was it his seriousness and ability to keep self-composure that interested her? Was it his exotic status as one of the leaders of the messengers of the gods? Was it his polite but certain way of rejecting the advances of the other young women who saw him as interesting and worthwhile prey?
Chitam couldn’t be the judge of it, but it seemed to him that it might make sense to have a conversation with Une Balam and possibly create a suitable occasion within which she could again have the opportunity to meet Aritomo Hara. Maybe in a slightly more private, less public environment.
That should be arranged.
Over the next few hours, the audience thinned out more and more. The morning was already approaching when Chitam officially disbanded the table, signaling to the most stubborn guests that the festivity had come to an end. Some of the revelers had already fallen asleep on the edge of the food trays and were now gently woken up by their friends or servants to indicate that they should continue their night’s sleep elsewhere. From the messengers, Aritomo and the man with the strange name remained until the end, as if they had been waiting for something. When Chitam got up, the two men did the same and approached him with determination. The prince narrowed his eyes and ran a hand over his face, trying to dispel the burning tiredness. If they had been waiting for something, it was obviously an opportunity to have a relatively unobserved conversation with the new Lord of Mutal. Aritomo Hara was also accompanied by the man named Sawada, who, despite his advanced age, had endured longer than Itzanami and still looked awake and interested. Whatever energized the scholar, Chitam wanted a little of it.
He sighed and struggled for self-control. He couldn’t complain about his fate and make plans, while preferring the night’s rest to a potentially important conversation. He was the King. He had duties.
Aritomo and his companions bowed to the Mayan ruler, showing a degree of genuine respect that the captain of the strange vessel generally lacked. Chitam decided that it would be really inappropriate to walk away too hastily now, even if his body longed for his bed. Instead, he nodded to Aritomo in a friendly manner, concentrated on his language skills, and began the difficult process of a conversation in two languages, some directly, some translated, some with intense gestures and often enough with endless repetitions.
Probably everything would make sense very quickly. He turned to the remaining messengers, earnestly trying his language skills. He was now almost accustomed to certain meanings and statements.
“I hope you enjoyed the party,” Chitam said, using the most predictable of all questions.
“I’m very happy,” Aritomo replied. “The food was tasty.”
“I too thank you,” Sawada replied, indicating a bow. The third man, whom Aritomo again introduced as “Lengsley,” made a gesture of approval. He had the weakest language skills of all and could only help by using the language of the messengers. They would now all try their best to translate in every direction, and both Itzanami and Sawada seemed eager enough to try their skills in earnest.
“Let’s talk for a moment,” Aritomo requested. “We are worried.”
“I feel so, too. Maybe our worries are the same.”
They moved to one side and sat again close to one
of the few still burning fires. Chitam sent the remaining servants to remove the remnants of the celebration and leave him alone in the company of the messengers. With deep respect, they rushed to comply with this request.
Somewhere outside in the darkness, they heard voices, the laughter of a woman. The celebration was obviously going on elsewhere.
Aritomo stared silently into the fire for a few moments before beginning.
“My captain wishes to embark on a campaign against Tayasal and Saclemacal.”
“A wise decision. Both cities must be punished.” Chitam reacted in the spirit of tradition. Of course, both areas were now on the top of a counterattack list, and even if the divine messengers wouldn’t push for it, he would soon have thought about an appropriate punitive expedition himself. Their interests met here, and maybe Chitam would’ve been more annoyed if they’d disagreed.
“My Captain is pursuing more far-reaching plans than just punishing those who opposed Mutal,” Aritomo said.
Chitam nodded. “That’s what I expect.”
“He wants to build an empire,” Aritomo said simply. Chitam needed some time to understand the underlying principle of what the Japanese wanted to make clear to him. The Maya were familiar with eternal rounds of conquest and submission for centuries, but they rarely conquered anything permanently. Defeated cities were made to pay tribute and to formally recognize the suzerainty of the victor, but in fact they remained autonomous in many ways, and once the memory of the lost battle faded or leadership changed, it could very quickly come to renewed fighting – sometimes with an exactly reversed outcome. The idea of a permanent, well-organized territorial state, which encompassed many cities and spread over a wide area, was quite understandable for the Maya as a concept, but wasn’t part of their historical experience in general. Many of their wars had a ritualistic character and were necessary to affirm their own view of cosmic balance. The opportunity to wage these wars was more likely to exist when there was a certain permanent selection of potential adversaries. An empire was anxious to consistently reduce this choice, as it ultimately sought absolute supremacy over everything achievable and defensible. It would necessarily transform many of the traditional behaviors and spiritual commitments of the Maya – or even deny them altogether. It would probably trigger a social shock.
The Emperor's Men 7: Rising Sun Page 17