The Emperor's Men 7: Rising Sun

by Dirk van den Boom

  “I’ll sit with them,” Aritomo said again, lest Inugami hear his doubts and concerns. The captain seemed content, took another sip of water and glanced at his watch.

  “Another hour of endurance training,” he explained. “Then we take a break for a quick meal. This afternoon we will start with drill exercises. Marching, correct placement, basic commands. We have to make them a coherent unit, and nothing helps more than a proper march formation, a few clear drill-maneuvers, and …”

  He paused.

  “A song.”

  He looked at Aritomo.

  “We need a song, Second Lieutenant. Our song. Ours alone, the song of the Imperial-Japanese army on Mayan soil, one we will all sing when we go into battle, a song which will carry fear into the hearts of our enemies.”

  Inugami’s flow of ideas really didn’t end, and this particular one proved that he was aware of the psychological component of his plans. The idea was absolutely obvious. The Maya knew many songs – he had already heard a few –, but a loud, harmoniously war song, supported by …

  “Drums,” Aritomo said almost against his will. “The Maya have something similar, they call it tukul. It consists of a hollow tree that is struck with a kind of rod.”

  “That’s not enough. Real drums. A hard, penetrating tone, with eight or ten of them, perfectly tuned, a rousing rhythm.” Inugami looked piercingly at Aritomo. “Drums, Second Lieutenant. And a song. Take care of that.”

  Aritomo bowed his head.

  Inugami was on the right track. He created a devoted army that would be more disciplined and scary than any previous Mayan force. And he would use it. He would let it grow up in battle, shared experiences. He would equip and cherish them and praise them, and their reputation would rise, and only to him would they obey and do whatever he commanded.

  Inugami was on the right path, and he thought of everything.

  But where would this path lead to …

  It was time. Inugami got up, shouting something. There was movement in the crowd, swift, obedient, without any delay. Nobody wanted to be chastised.

  The men rose. One hour of endurance training.

  Aritomo was grateful for that.

  26

  Lengsley left the palace and involuntarily stood under the opened canopy of the side entrance. An ominous thunder greeted him. The sky had darkened, like a leaden wall that seemed to swallow the light of the sun. The Briton watched as Mayan women, with children in their arms, quickened their pace. He saw how the windows on buildings were covered with mats. There was a bustle everywhere, despite the sweltering heat of midday. Normally, every activity stalled at lunchtime, and Lengsley couldn’t blame anyone. It was sultry-hot, and every movement seemed to lead immediately to violent outbreaks of sweat. Breathing was sometimes difficult and every movement was agony. Even in Japan there were warm summers with almost tropical temperatures, but the climate here tested the Briton’s endurance.

  The Maya had grown up in this environment, but they too were just humans. At midday one sought the shade, tried to rest, did only the most important business. There was a nap inside the buildings or under one of the wide-spreading trees that were planted all over the city – and for good reason, as Lengsley now realized. Even the animals looked sluggish and slack, now that the sun was highest. A serene calm covered the metropolis at these times.

  Today it was different, and the cause was the violent weather that was ringing in the sky. A tropical storm would soon come down on them and have both positive and negative effects. It would purify the air and lower the temperatures a bit, it would bring air movement, and thus cooling within the houses. And it could be potentially destructive if the masses of water hit with pristine force like a wall that hit the roofs with sudden gusts of wind, a real force of nature. The city had been cleverly built, all the major boulevards and squares were either slightly sloping or had drainage channels, so there was usually no stagnant water to worry about. The large reservoirs had drain valves that were opened to release any surplus. But out in the suburbs, where the fields were planted, the situation was more difficult. The terraces were able to soften and sink, precious earth could be washed away. And the simple clay buildings of the farmers, not as magnificent, elaborate and stable as the buildings of the city center, threatened to be destroyed as well.

  Lengsley was no expert, but the dark blue wall of cloud that swept all over the sky and came steadily closer, sending off the first gust of wind, which blew through his hair and caused the tarpaulin shading at the entrance to the palace to chatter, suggested a particularly intense event. He looked down the street in the direction of the submarine and wondered if he would make the path to it with his feet still dry. No sooner had he formulated this thought than a thick drop of water fell on the floor right in front of him and splashed dust away.

  That was probably the answer to the question.

  It took less than ten seconds for a wall of water to break down the tarpaulin. He felt a hand on his arm, which pulled him back a step, and then one of the wooden supports collapsed, the tarp slid down and poured an extra barrage of water on the floor of mashed soil, which in a few moments turned into a mud bed.

  Lengsley glanced around and saw a young woman, dressed in the robes of a high-ranking lady, nod her head and then gesticulate. Lengsley looked at her hands, which were surprisingly long and delicate, not just the hands of a lady who had never seriously worked with them. Lengsley was a man who trusted his hands and had to rely on their skills over and over again. The hands of this woman had never skinned animals, never washed clothes, never mashed corn, never cut hard with the obsidian knife. But they had the powerful grace of a movement that pointed out that they …

  Lengsley bowed, rummaged for the chunks of Maya in his head – now, after all the weeks of daily, several-hour study in the class of the Sawada, maybe a little more than just chunks – and then said hopefully, “Thank you, noble lady. You saved me from a great misfortune.”

  He must have been reasonably correct, for the young woman smiled and waved him back inside the palace. “Follow me, messenger. It will take a while.”

  Lengsley glanced outside and found that the sky was now dark, and the tropical storm began to affect the city badly. No one who was reasonably sane remained in the open air.

  For lack of a reasonable alternative, he followed his savior. They didn’t walk for long but soon ended in a larger room that looked like a workshop. The Briton now recognized where the impression of power and experience that the young woman’s hands had given him came from. She sat here amidst feathers, fabrics, and other utensils, and seemed to be busy making headscarves that Mayan noblemen liked to wear on special occasions, and whose artistry and splendor gave a more accurate account of their respective social status than Lengsley was able to gauge so far.

  “Sit down,” she said, pointing to a stool on the wall.

  The Briton obeyed. The young woman, too, squatted down, looked at her manual work for a moment, then picked up one of the head plasters and arranged feathers. She said nothing, was engrossed in her work, and Lengsley was able to familiarize himself with the movements of her hands, which radiated the certainty of years of practice, showed a remarkable speed, and seemed to work almost without the conscious intervention of her mistress. Then his eyes fell on the concentrated face of the woman; he admired the flawlessness of the light brown skin, the large, dark eyes that were constantly fixed on the headdress, the deep black hair tied back. Her face was quite narrow, which Lengsley’s impression was unusual for the Mayan women, and he had already noticed at their brief meeting that her otherwise beautiful teeth lacked the upper right incisor.

  The rain drummed on the palace, and thunder repeatedly swallowed every other sound. Even if Lengsley had known the words he would use to start a conversation, it would’ve been difficult to communicate clearly. There was nothing left for him but to wait for the end of the storm.

  His
attention was distracted by a suddenly appearing maid who gave Lengsley a questioning sidelong glance but otherwise just dropped to her knees beside the working woman and whispered something in her ear, answered by a nod. Then she whispered back a bit, and the servant hurried out of the room, only to return a short time later with a wooden tray and some food, including the usual stuffed corn cakes, and silently put it in front of him. Lengsley was indeed hungry, but he shied away from eating for fear of being considered rude. Only when the woman with the headdress looked up and made an encouraging gesture in his direction, he decided to accept the offer.

  The rain continued.

  Lengsley’s regret over this fact was limited. He was sitting in the dry, with a full stomach and a very agreeable company, who gave him a very charming smile at regular intervals, which somehow got a particularly cheerful feeling resulting from the gap in her teeth, though that was surely only an interpretation by himself. He always tried to return the smile and to avoid any impression that he felt bored in her presence. Eventually, however, his knees hurt from sitting on the quite low stool, and he got up cautiously, took a few steps to start the blood circulation in his legs again, and looked around a bit, although he had already thoroughly inspected the room with his eyes.

  “I’m Une Balam, a sister of the king,” the woman suddenly said.

  The Briton was a little embarrassed at once – it would probably have been necessary by etiquette if he had first introduced himself, and he hadn’t even tried, because he was extremely uncertain of his language skills. He hurried to introduce himself, and he liked how the woman – a royal princess, not less! –, rolled his name around in her mouth until she got the pronunciation amazingly perfect.

  “Do people in your country carry such a thing?” she asked slowly, pointing to her handiwork.

  “No. There are many ways to cover one’s head, but not such a way. Our rulers wear a metal crown. It is very heavy.”

  Une Balam smiled. “This is heavy, too, once I’m done with it.”

  “I believe that.”

  “It is as hot in your country and it is raining as intensive?”

  “That’s possible, but much rarer than here. It’s usually colder, and the rain is weaker, but it lasts longer.” Lengsley sighed as his memory of the rainy British weekends came to life. “Much longer.”

  “You miss it?”

  “I’m not feeling at home yet, if that’s the question. It’s all very strange.”

  “You are afraid of many things.”

  “Many things and the future.”

  “Ah, but that’s stupid.”

  Une Balam made a reprimanding gesture. Lengsley didn’t feel offended, though the woman spoke to him as if he were a naughty child. He found it a welcome relief to the conversations of recent weeks, which had always been about planning war or defenses, with a silent threat that had laid above every word.

  “The gods finally determine everything. It will happen as it should. We can ask for mercy, but ultimately we are at the mercy of higher powers. Do we know exactly when we enrage the gods and when our behavior is pleasing to them? The priests claim to understand it, but with all their wisdom I can hardly believe it.”

  She paused, as if to make sure Lengsley understood everything well. She spoke slowly and emphatically, and once she used an English word, so she had come to enjoy one or more language lessons at some detour. Itzanami, the docile priest, was probably a very, very hardworking man during this time, and taught his throat to hoarseness, without the crew of the submarine learning too much about it.

  “So what are you afraid of? Everything happens as it should. Just look. Outside, a rainstorm is raging. Suddenly the roof can break in and kill me. I can take a step outside, and lightning strikes me down. Floods swell and carry me along. Why the worry? I sit here and do my work, enjoy this beautiful piece. That’s far better than thinking about what might be.”

  Lengsley was not sure which devil rode him when he formulated his answer. “When the floods come and carry you away, I will do my best to save you, Princess. That is the least with which I can repay your hospitality.”

  Une Balam smiled mischievously then set aside her handiwork and looked Lengsley straight in the eye.

  “So, you see, I don’t have to be scared. Why are you? Didn’t I save you from the rain, messenger? And from hunger? And from boredom? Three times you have already escaped a desperate fate today. From this you should learn a valuable lesson.”

  The Briton indicated a bow. “I appreciate your wisdom, princess.”

  “I hope you find something else worthy of me. Otherwise, you would hardly want to plunge into the floods for my rescue.”

  “You are a princess. It would be my duty.”

  “Ah, duty.” Une Balam smiled back through her tooth gap and shook her head. “How convenient that you can always go back to that one word.”

  Lengsley didn’t quite understand what she meant – or he lacked the vocabulary –, so he decided to give up on an answer and remained silent. The rain outside seemed to relax a little, if one trusted the sounds. His stay here came to an end, and he was surprised to find that the prospect was not pleasant.

  He remained a little hesitant. How did he say goodbye in a way that was not considered rude and made a bad impression? The princess didn’t seem to attach much importance to a certain etiquette, but above all he didn’t want to appear ungrateful and not too brusque …

  He had an idea.

  “I’d like to reciprocate your hospitality,” he said several times, until he was reasonably sure the lady had understood his intent. “Assuming the captain of our vessel agrees, I’ll invite you on board and show you the inside.”

  In fact, Inugami regularly agreed to such sightseeing tours because he was keen to impress the Maya. As the cramped interior of the boat also provoked near-claustrophobic reactions in many of the visitors, adding to the fear of the strange apparition – and those who “mastered” it –, this was definitely a welcome effect.

  Lengsley’s intention wasn’t to scare the young lady. But if she was curious, he wanted to give her the opportunity to satisfy her interest.

  Une Balam didn’t seem to want to ponder the offer for too long. She seemed to be quite pleased. An expectant glint was in her eyes, and her approval came immediately.

  “I would be very happy if that was possible. So far I’ve only had to listen to the men’s descriptions.” She paused. “It also seems that the messengers don’t carry women with them. Are there so few of us in the country you came from?”

  “Not at all,” Lengsley hurried to say. “But we do not usually take them on dangerous trips.”

  Une Balam nodded; this practice may have been known to her as well. It was rather uncommon for women to go on military campaigns, though not impossible – the Maya also knew female rulers, who often went to war with the same fighting spirit and determination as their husbands, and were not very apprehensive when it came to exterminate their rivals.

  Rightly, Une Balam’s interest in visiting the boat could also be related to the fact that, according to Lengsley’s memory, not a single woman had ever been inside the vehicle. Sure, there were women who climbed the pyramid, usually heavily laden with food, which they brought to the messengers for their daily provisions. But this was then deposited on one of the pyramidal steps, or at best on the foredeck, and brought inside by the men. A woman … no, the Briton didn’t indeed remember that a woman had ever entered the interior of the boat. If the princess could claim to have been the first, perhaps this had an impact on her reputation among her mates? Lengsley could only assume that, he had no knowledge of the relationships of women in the upper class of Mutal to each other to be able to evaluate this conclusively. But Une Balam’s zeal would be explained by this.

  It was, in any case, only proper.

  His offer had also been the ideal prelude to his farewell. The rain had stopped. A
s he stepped outside with the Princess, they both took a deep breath. The pleasant smell of the refreshing cool air wouldn’t last long, but for a moment it was a treat. Lengsley said goodbye once more and was dismissed by Une Balam with a gracious wave of her hand.

  As the Briton marched across the damp and slightly muddy ground and headed for the boat, his thoughts kept wandering back and forth about his recent meeting with the young woman. In his mind’s eye, what a weird combination, the smile with a tooth gap mingled with skilled, quick fingers.

  He was looking forward to her visit and decided to ask Inugami for the small tour soon enough.

  When Lengsley reached the boat, he came to the surprising conclusion that he was in a really good mood for the first time since his arrival in this strange world.

  27

  It was late evening when Balkun curled up on his mat and closed his eyes. He felt every one of his bones, and no matter how he lay down, something tweaked and ached in his body. During the long day of training they had been scrutinized by the messengers and been given sufficient food and drink. After the exercises the order was given to retire immediately. They were all slaves and did as they were told. Balkun was no exception. He wasn’t willing to provide beatings or other punishments by mere stubbornness, and he was indeed terribly exhausted. Obedient he had laid down, judging his fate to consist of the seemingly endless row of exercises and lectures. But whether it was the heavy cornbread in his stomach or the ubiquitous pains that run through every fiber of his body, or the thoughts, the memory of his life before the great defeat, in any case, he just couldn’t find sleep. He struggled with himself for a while. His mind was busy and restless like never before in his life, not even like when he had begun the campaign of conquest under the command of the King of Yaxchilan, which had ended so disastrously for all of them.