Balkun frowned.
Until what happened?
Would the Lord of the messengers get rid of Chitam? Twice the warrior-slaves had been brought before a young man, Balkun, without being able to remember his name, who had been introduced as the true divine king, as ruler of that distant land from which the vessel of the messengers came. He had made no particular impression on Balkun and his men, a thin young man who had stood there with his face without expression, saying no word and presenting himself as no more than … a shadow behind Inugami’s back.
What kind of king should that be?
One who finally did only what Inugami wanted, Balkun completed his train of thought. One who didn’t, like Chitam, tried to develop his own ideas, even if he didn’t succeed in implementation right now.
A puppet.
Balkun nodded. He saw Inugami’s way clearly before him. Everything fell in place wonderfully. And he began to fear for the life of the King of Mutal, who was once his enemy and who now threatened to be a victim of the victory which the messengers had bestowed upon him.
Balkun paused. He looked around. Everyone was busy. Everyone went his way.
Nobody would bother him. There was nothing unusual happening on the way to the construction site of the new palace. Some of the warrior slaves were still working on the restoration of the building. And Chitam lived in the great mansion of a noble nearby until his own lodgings were finished.
Balkun felt driven. It was worry that disturbed him and a strange sense of responsibility that had filled him since the night he’d saved the life of Chitam’s daughter – and probably many other residents of the burning palace. Balkun took this feeling seriously.
Although, he was pretty sure it would cause him great trouble.
31
“That’s a real bow!”
Lengsley pointed to the stones he had put together. The clay was not yet dry, and the construction was very shaky, but since each of the stones, broken from the remains of the palace rubble, was no more than five inches wide and only two inches thick, it didn’t matter. Beside him sat five builders from the city of Mutal, older men, not noblemen, but of high esteem and rightly proud of their achievements and abilities. Lengsley had tried to teach them the improvements as gently and respectfully as possible – and quickly realized that his worries had been completely unfounded. Not only did the five men know exactly what he was talking about, they had not the slightest problem with being taught by the messenger.
Lengsley endeavored to dissuade them from the practice of constructing the entrance arches of their buildings as false arches or cantilevered arches. Although these were easier to do by hand, they produced both compressive and tensile forces and were therefore less stable than a genuine bow that could withstand only compressive forces. A false arch, in which the capstone was not clamped between the other stones of the arch but put on it without any tension, made it inevitable that the archways had to be build narrow and tall. The advantage of their design was that they could be built without a scaffold and therefore be finished faster. But ultimately it required more building material due to the required massiveness and made the access to important buildings unnecessarily narrow.
Lengsley had always been a bit interested in architecture. When he realized what the builders were doing to rebuild the palace, he had noticed immediately that they were content with the historic precursor of what Lengsley knew from his time. He had then broken up a few smaller stones and cut them into uniform blocks to demonstrate the difference between the construction methods. His hands had been the scaffolding, and a small loan of clay was the connecting element that gave the necessary strength to the demonstration after a few minutes in the sun.
Lengsley couldn’t explain every details to the craftsmen – he still lacked the necessary vocabulary –, but his way of explaining the principle using the practical example proved to be perfectly adequate. The audience consisted of professionals, under their leadership mighty pyramids had been build. They didn’t have to be introduced to the basics of statics and materials science that Lengsley couldn’t provide anyway. On the basis of their many years of experience, they understood what the Brit wanted to show them and how he did it. And they learned.
They learned damn fast.
One of the men turned to the remaining stones and began copying the demonstration. With encouraging words from his colleagues and with occasional helpful hints, at first somewhat uncertain, but then with confident assurance and great skill, he copied the small, true bow that Lengsley had built for them. When he was done, the clay still moist and shiny and using the hands of his colleagues as a scaffold, he looked inquiringly at Lengsley.
He nodded and smiled. “An excellent job. You learned it!”
The man smiled back delightedly, bowing his head gratefully. “A valuable lesson. We thank you for the opportunity to learn.”
Even more thanks poured from the mouths of everyone. And before Lengsley could reply to that, one of the men brought more stones, and they all began with utmost concentration and mutual help to construct a true bow a third time, and this time the model was a little bigger and thus more difficult to construct. Lengsley didn’t understand everything they said, but it was as if they were already discussing the type and scope of the scaffolding that would be necessary to build a portal for the new palace that could only be described as royal.
Lengsley listened for a while, watched the progress of the third arc, not recognizing any need for further advice, and got up. He was politely greeted by all his students, and the Briton gratefully accepted their words, telling them to just keep going and not to worry about him.
His attention was focused on another person approaching, whose presence filled him with a whirlwind of his own kind. Accompanied by two servants, Princess Une Balam steered into his direction, looked at the eager craftsmen and their new toys, smiled delightedly, and nodded to them as they started to rise and greet her.
“I’m not here,” she said simply, waving to them. The men still bowed before returning to their discussion.
Une Balam looked at Lengsley. Her brown eyes were searching, her delicately drawn mouth gently shaped into a smile that immediately captivated him. Again, the gap in her teeth caught his attention, as it gleamed between her lips. For a moment he wondered if he was expected to bow, but the young woman placed a confident hand on his forearm.
“Come with me, Lengsley. You look tired.”
Lengsley was tired. He got up early and had worked hard for the past eight hours, sweating a lot and pausing only for a quick meal. As if the words of the princess had reminded him of this, he now felt the leaden exhaustion in his limbs – and was suddenly aware of his body odor, a mixture of sweat and dust, and clay, which surely offended the fine royal nose.
If so, then the owner of said nose didn’t show.
Lengsley first noticed that he followed the princess’ invitation like a sheep that had no will of its own when they almost reached the building. Since the palace had served many people as a home, some of the surrounding houses had been requisitioned by Chitam, and this seemed to be the temporary residence of the king’s youngest sister. As she had a number of servants, the relatively small house was nearly full, and the hustle and bustle therein showed that it was not actually designed for such a number of residents. Where the original owners of this property – certainly important nobles – had disappeared, Lengsley couldn’t guess. He suspected that the displacement of the social hierarchy had continued downward: The inhabitants of this house had snatched up one of their clan’s people, who were a little less important, and they had continued to do so until somewhere out there at the outskirts of the metropolis, a simple peasant squatted with neighbors or immediately built a new hut, since nothing else remained for him to do.
Une Balam had the privilege of having a beautiful, spacious room for herself, and once the servant, who had just started sweeping with a brush, had
been dragged out, she herself adjusted the two heavy curtains that replaced a door to cover access to this room.
“Sit down, Lengsley.”
Her tone didn’t allow for any objections, and Lengsley saw no reason to resist unnecessarily.
The Briton was pleased to learn that a simple meal had been prepared, consisting of baked corn patties, often stuffed with vegetables or meat, which were the staple food of the Maya, and whose variations Lengsley now knew in detail. He had found taste in this food, which, despite its consistent appearance, had a remarkable variety of ingredients. But he had no illusions that this variety and the care of preparation were a privilege of the upper classes. He had to assume that the lower social ranks had to settle for less. On the other hand, he had not seen any signs of malnutrition or massive deficiency symptoms. No matter how big the differences were, no one was starving here, at least in good times.
“What do you want to drink?”
Lengsley struggled with himself, but then decided to play it safe. “Only water, noble princess. Please, I’ll take it myself …”
“Not at all.”
The tone of Une Balam had again been decidedly crisp, and Lengsley was trained to discern authority, not least because of his extensive experience with the military. In this situation, he felt it was better to obey, and the tiredness in his limbs made that easy for him. Why not enjoy a moment of calm and caring? It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve this. When was the last time someone cared for him? He tried to remember, but soon lost his thoughts. It was as if the time before his arrival in Mutal was increasingly hidden behind a veil.
The water was clear and fresh and Lengsley drank it with gratitude. Une Balam settled down next to him. A considerable portion of her well-formed, cream-colored legs became visible as she sat sideways on a pillow, lifting her robe. Lengsley tried not to stare too openly, but the princess’s slightly mocking, but in no way reprimanding glance hinted that she was well aware of the British’s unilateral attention.
“The palace is making good progress,” the engineer said in an attempt to start something like a conversation.
“As I saw, your contribution is important,” said Une Balam, who picked up a cup of water and took a tiny sip. “This archway thing … the builders were thrilled. They learned a lot today.”
“I just wanted to help.”
“Not all messengers want that, I have the impression.”
Lengsley was silent. He guessed what the princess was alluding to, especially the campaign that caused the city to break into hectic bustle. It was a feeling of great expectation and enthusiasm, and Chitam made a good face, hiding his feelings. But it was clear that this was the war of the messengers and that the king only played the role of a spectator, even though he formally gave the orders to the city’s soldiers.
“I can’t speak for others,” he said finally. “I’m not commanding. I am a servant.”
“A servant?”
“I have no authority on the vessel. The boat.”
“Ah, yes, you call it the boat. It’s so much more for us.”
“That’s going to change. Maybe someday, when everyone sees it for what it is. A big iron boat.”
Maybe someday it would be like that, especially now as they had proved that Inugami’s orders to bring the boat back into the water as soon as possible couldn’t be carried out. Inugami hadn’t been pleased about it, but had ultimately been unable to ignore the facts. Now Lengsley considered how to turn the pyramid into a permanent seat for the boat, a symbol of Mutal’s new power, and at the same time a gun platform – and defense in case of emergencies.
Une Balam set down the cup. “Until then, the Lord of the messengers will have replaced the reverence for the Sacred Vehicle with another form of fear and respect.”
Lengsley bowed his head. This woman had a sharp mind and knew exactly what Inugami wanted. But what use was this knowledge, if not even the first officer of the Japanese, whom Lengsley considered a reasonable and thoughtful man, could do something about it?
“That’s true,” he said, trying not to look too worried.
The princess frowned with her shapely forehead. “I have come to the conclusion, Lengsley, that not all of the messengers take advantage of our girls to the same extent, though there is no shortage of opportunity.”
Lengsley blinked at this change of topic. “It’s like that,” he began cautiously. “Inugami has given orders to exercise restraint, which is not something everyone is equally aware of.”
“I have heard of that.”
Lengsley thought that had been one of the captain’s more meaningful instructions. They’d had to find out quickly that there was a difference between the King turning a blind eye to a banquet for some amusement or a normal Mayan lady in everyday life. The morality of this people was relatively rigid. For example, adultery was punished by slavery or even capital punishment. Marriage was a serious matter, often arranged, which was by no means dissimilar to Japan. Inugami had quickly realized that this was an area in which it was better not to provoke anybody. On the other hand, the adventurous crew members – and curious Mayan girls – caused the commencement of the natural course of things. But the attitude that all women were fair game for the Japanese was something the captain had quickly expelled from their thoughts, although some in their arrogance – or naivety – had assumed exactly that. At some point, things would develop as expected, and the Maya would find that the messengers were just as good or as bad men as their own. Lengsley believed that, despite the captain’s resistance, this normalization would eventually lead to lasting partnerships. It was absolutely inevitable.
“I see a good development in that,” the princess said. “Men must be kept under control.”
Lengsley didn’t know what to say, mostly because he wasn’t sure what the lady meant – or if he misunderstood it because of his lack in language skills.
“You yourself, I hear, are also very cautious, though you look different from the rest of the messengers and … there was certainly interest. You are the stranger among strangers. That makes you interesting. There must have been offers.”
Une Balam smiled gently. “Am I right?”
The Briton cleared his throat. “There was … yes.” Meaningless to deny it.
“And?”
“I have been very busy. There is much to do.”
“That didn’t stop others.”
“I try to be as polite and restrained as possible with my hosts.”
“We are your hosts? Not everyone sees it that way.”
“I can only speak for myself.”
“This is true.”
Une Balam paused for a moment, her lovely forehead still in thoughtful folds. She took a deep breath and leaned forward to reach for the plate on the low table. Lengsley couldn’t help but notice that the cleavage of her dress was cut slightly wider than usual, so that he could take a look at the pleasant curve of tapering breasts.
Une Balam acted as if she hadn’t noticed, and Lengsley came to the conclusion that he was the victim of a carefully orchestrated drama, a play of which the script he hadn’t read, and which was directed by a mistress who had a very clear idea of the last act. The Briton wondered if he was really that easy to influence and if that was what she meant by “keeping things under control.” He came to the conclusion that the answer to both questions was “Yes!” … and that he didn’t care.
Une Balam was a woman of intelligence and culture, and she was used to the fact that others were considerate of her wishes. Otherwise, Lengsley recalled, her father would’ve married her to a nobleman or the King of a neighboring town a long time ago. Dynastic marriages were as common among the Maya as in Europe, there was actually little difference.
Anyway, why bother? If she wanted to manipulate him, he was quite ready for it.
“We Mayan women may be ugly to your eyes,” she said quietly.
�
�Not at all,” Lengsley hurried to say. “Not at all.”
“I hope that includes me.”
Lengsley felt his throat go dry, and he took a sip of water.
“Indeed … I have seen few women of your people who were more charming.” The words sounded awkward and stilted, but it was apparently an acceptable answer, for Une smiled contentedly and straightened up.
“Now I have another question, Lengsley.”
“I’m happy to answer.”
“You are the tallest man I have ever seen in my life.”
Lengsley lowered his head, feeling a little bit embarrassed. He couldn’t help it. For one thing, Europeans generally seemed to be bigger than Japanese and Maya, at least according to his impression. He didn’t make the mistake of deriving any kind of superiority from this fact; actually, he felt quite clumsy sometimes. It was simply a plain observation of facts, and it caused trouble for him – especially in tight spaces like on a submarine, which were particularly limiting for him. On top of that, he was also regarded as tall for his British compatriots. Une’s head reached up to his shoulder. Chitam, like other men, could look him in the nose from below. The same was true for the Japanese although they had never shown him that they were annoyed about it. His size and his somewhat coarser limbs were considered by many rather haughty Asians as an indication that he came from an inferior race and were therefore a cause for amusement and ridicule, also something that Lengsley had learned to endure. Anyone who was very tall, his father once told him, learns to be more humble or at least pretend to be so.
“I’m quite tall,” he said, nodding. “It is not easy. It’s often a hindrance.”
“That’s it. Now tell me, your manliness … is it as tall, too?”
Lengsley’s eyes widened and stared at the princess, dumbfounded. He hadn’t really expected that question, and … he was by no means sure how to react to it. The adolescent years, in which something like a comparison still had a meaning, had long been behind him, and he had always been of the opinion, whether true or not, that size didn’t matter in sex, but the question posed by this woman next to him, who looked at him with expectantly gleaming eyes and seemingly filled with serious curiosity, suddenly put his certainty in question.
The Emperor's Men 7: Rising Sun Page 25