The Mayan Priest

by Guillou, Sue

  By this time, Bahlum Paw Skull had learnt of the arrivals and had stepped from his palace. He looked like the god he was, glittering in his pure white robe and golden headpiece. I resisted the urge to fall to my knees in respect, fully aware that each Mayan would follow my lead and further endanger the lives of the strangers who required urgent medical treatment. I could only pray I would be forgiven for my indiscretion.

  True to his greatness, Bahlum Paw Skull did not even mention my error, insisting that the strangers be taken to the guest wing of his palace. My respect for him had increased beyond what I thought possible. I humbly bowed as I passed through the corbelled arch and into the chamber adorned with friezes, murals of Tikal at war and red and orange swag curtains. In the corner stood a large vase full of quetzal feathers and on the bed lay three jaguar pelts to provide extra comfort. It was truly a magnificent room usually reserved for the lords of the neighbouring provinces.

  Two women, three men and a skinny boy about my age sat cross-legged on the floor mats while the remaining four men sat on the bed. My first belief was that they were traders from Yucatan Peninsula selling amber, turquoise, salt or shells, but they lacked the typical Mayan clothing and showed no evidence of the usual ear piercing or adorned teeth favoured by the Mayan women. They also spoke with a strange accent that I was unable to place with any certainty.

  My thoughts were interrupted as Bahlum Paw Skull entered the room and acknowledged one of the men with a raise of his royal hand. It was a rare practice for the King to lower himself from his god-like status to the level of a stranger, but the return smile from the visitor confirmed that they knew each other.

  ‘His name is Suya Chan. He is the prince of the “City of Gods”(Teotihuacán), a direct relative of Spearthrower Owl (a king of Teotihuacán who reigned between 4.5.374–9.6.439 AD) from whom I’m also descended. He needs to be treated as you would care for me,’ ordered Bahlum Paw Skull. I nodded in reply, lowering my eyes in respect and immediately began unrolling my bandages and preparing my medicines.

  The men and women had bruises, broken bones and were lacking water. I ordered a drink of mixed herbs and cacao to help with weight gain and a meal of easily digestible boiled maize and cassava. Kin Kawil manipulated the bones whilst I went to the boy. He was desperately underweight for his height and at first I thought he suffered from the same afflictions as the rest of the group but, his malnutrition was far more advanced than I had anticipated. It was evident from the protruding bones, taut skin and hollowed eye sockets that he had been without nutrition for many months. He was gravely ill and when prompted, he was unable to talk with any clarity.

  ‘We found him wandering the road without aim. We do not know who he is or where he came from although the jaguar tattoo on the upper right arm suggests he is of royal blood,’ offered Suya Chan.

  ‘I can care for him at home,’ I suggested as the King nodded his approval and the guards carried him for me. The following two days went quickly as I gave him a mix of cacao and deer milk every three hours until his dark eyes and his irregular skin had started to clear. The swollen, bleeding lips and mouth ulcers that were impeding his speech had begun to absolve and I learnt that his name was Yok Chac. He was short for his age, with an honest round face and solid limbs. He had a wide pointed nose, small ears and heavy eyebrows and was the son of the Zapotec king of Monte Albá n. He told me that his family had been murdered by a rival town and many of the craftsmen and lesser nobles fled to Teotihuacán for protection. Yok Chac had been kept hostage and was scheduled to be sacrificed to the gods when he had devised an escape. Unfortunately his weakened state meant that he had made it only as far as the trade route and collapsed due to extreme exhaustion where he had been found by Suya Chan. It became evident that the wounds suffered by the visitors were the result of their fight with the pursuing Zapotecs intent on recapturing Yok Chac.

  I learnt a lot about Yok Chac through those successive days. He had been raised with all of the privileges of the elite, but his father had been cruel and manipulative, imposing firm rules that he expected his family to follow without question. Any misdemeanour was punished by whipping or forced solitude and Yok Chac had a network of interconnecting scars across his back, buttocks and manhood. The pain he had endured at the hand of his father provided a survival instinct that allowed him to remain calm and determined during the chaos, and whilst his family had their hearts torn from their chests, he had escaped through the hole he had fashioned during the times of solitude. I was amazed at his resilience and told him this, receiving a smile of thanks in return.

  When I reflect on it, this was the one defining moment of our friendship, the beginning of it all. I had shown Yok Chac respect and he had acknowledged my kindness.

  Three days later, Tikal was host to a magnificent celebration honouring its illustrious guests. They were entertained by skilled musicians, choreographed dances by people in jaguar, deer and monkey costumes, a number of richly clothed dwarfs telling humorous tales and a complete re-enactment of a distant victorious war. Three criminals were sacrificed to the gods and the almighty Bahlum Paw Skull ordered a feast to the likes that I had never seen before. There were platters of deer, rabbits, wasp larvae, manioc, pumpkin filled tortillas, maize bread, plump avocado, breadnuts, honey flavoured atole, more fruit than I had ever seen in one place and luxuriously shaped chocolate pieces. It was a ceremony to remember.

  The following four years flew by very quickly with little changing in our illustrious city. A previously agreed trade arrangement between Tikal and the ‘City of Gods’ that involved swapping salt for obsidian had been a success, but the needs of our neighbour had outstripped supply. There were stories of increasing famine and displeasure at their leader’s ability to provide food for his people, which led to a growth in sacrifice. In a bid to beg for assistance from the gods, a greater number of people gave up their lives for the good of their community, but little had been forthcoming.

  In our own city, the continuing infertility of Lady Hand was a subject of much displeasure for the King. The child I had helped bring into this world had died two years previously from a spider bite, leaving Bahlum Paw Skull without any trace of his blood to leave on our earthly planet. It was with a heavy heart that the King had decided to find a new principal wife. I knew that this decision did not come easily to him as he loved his wife and unlike his forefathers, he did not hold a steady group of minor wives for his pleasure. In my time with him there had only been two lesser wives, both of whom had died.

  As part of our continuing agreement to assist the ‘City of Gods’, Bahlum Paw Skull had reluctantly agreed to marry one of their two royal princesses. Whilst this did not improve trade it would improve the ’City of Gods’ standing and help promote their good name. I felt it was a good decision although I admit to being shocked when the king chose me to collect her as a representative of Tikal. What an honour although I did admit to suffering from a small amount of trepidation at being separated from Yok Chac for the first time in seven years.

  When Yok Chac had first arrived in Tikal, Kin Kawil had housed him in a room next door to my own. At the time I was both glad and irritated. I had become so used to my solitude that I did not know how to cope with the constant intrusion of another person my age. I underwent moments of anger at being followed continuously from the study room to the kitchen and out into my favourite garden, but I quickly adapted and gradually learnt to enjoy the company of another who could relate to me on the same level. My tolerance of him grew as did my understanding that he was in a place that he was unaccustomed to. He had lost his home, family and friends and although he was not treated with kindness in his own homeland, it was nonetheless familiar to him.

  Increasingly my pity transformed to an acceptance and eventually an agreeable friendship. I soon found myself asking him for his opinion on certain topics and valued his often intelligent and insightful responses. Yok Chac also had a sense of humour originally quashed but allowed to flourish in Tikal
and much to my dismay, we found ourselves scalded by Kin Kawil for misbehaviour. Still, we had developed a strong bond that I had come to depend on and enjoy. He had become my best, and only, friend.

  ***

  Gillian climbed off the bed to pour a glass of water. She had been so enthralled by the story of Kinix that she barely realised five hours had passed since she had first opened the journal. She quickly swallowed two paracetamol tablets to ward off any adverse reactions to sleep deprivation and was about to recommence her fascinating story when her father walked into the room without knocking.

  ‘Just had some news from the personnel I sent to Tikal. The room containing your friends is actually an ancient variation of a modern lift and whilst we are unable to get inside, our GPR system (Ground Penetrating Radar) was able to detect some interesting sub-surface images. It appears that the lift is free-hanging on a very old length of twine.’

  ‘Fifteen hundred years at least,’ concluded Gillian quietly.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Dale as he continued, ‘The walls and roof of the shaft are made from a solid sheer rock – most likely obsidian – and the depth of the vertical passage is one hundred feet from top to bottom. It is impossible for us to dig our way in and split the rock without risking the rope breaking. On top of that, the lift is hanging five to six feet from the face of each corresponding side, making it almost unachievable to reach. In short, any attempt we make to enter from the top or sides will most probably end in disaster.’

  ‘What about the bottom? You didn’t mention anything about that,’ said Gillian desperately. She had hoped they could save them without the need to unravel the ancient mystery that may prove impossible to solve.

  ‘Our GPR has revealed that there is a subterranean tunnel that interconnects with the shaft, separated only by a slab of rock which I would assume was a door. It is my presumption that it will be a coded door in the same manner as the entrance, probably leaving us with no option but to use explosives. It’s just too risky.’

  ‘You might be wrong. It could be a simple obstruction,’ said Gillian, realising she was fast running out of options.

  ‘Perhaps, but by the time we cart the tools required to dig the hole and complete a full excavation, it’s going to be too late anyway,’ said Dale with an expression of sympathy. ‘So, if I were you I’d continue reading. It’s going to come down to you and the boy from Australia,’ noted Dale casually, his flippant demeanour causing Gillian frustration.

  ‘Oh, and the Australian will be here in an hour or so,’ concluded Dale as he marched out of the room and pulled the door determinedly behind him.

  Gillian sank despondently onto the bed and fingered the diary thoughtfully. She desperately hoped it contained the information required to save her fiancé and friends, but it was looking to be a far more arduous task than first thought.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Despite his best efforts, Richard had been unsuccessful in locating an escape route and sorely felt the trials and tribulations of his investigations in his ageing muscles and bones. In normal circumstances, Richard was considered reasonably fit and energetic, but the combined mixture of heat and lack of fresh air had sapped his energy. He was frustrated and angry and to make matters worse, he could see the ropes that stood between life and death visibly stretch and fray. The fact that the 1500 year old ropes had remained intact at all was testimony to the ancient Mayan manufacturer and the lack of corrosive weather elements.

  In order to keep up spirits they had spent a few hours learning about each other and telling tales of adventures. Richard had been surprised to discover that Mitchell had a passion for spider collecting, Redmond was a Stars Wars fanatic and Fred admitted somewhat sheepishly that he liked housework which caused Julia to clap with approval. Richard contributed to the discussion by revealing his lesser known love of the Shakespearean era including works by Shakespeare, and Irish beer, but it was his quick succession of jokes that had the group in stitches.

  Julia even managed to entertain everyone with her surprisingly good voice and they all sang for a while until exhaustion took over and sleep beckoned.

  Redmond woke first with his young keen ears picking up the distant sounds of digging. ‘Richard, there’s someone out there. I think we’re being rescued.’

  Richard heard it too, quickly making out the distinctive whine of a commercial borer. Over his years in archaeology he had often seen these large machines take core samples of deep, ancient soils and ice. These were used to determine the age of certain areas of the planet and had recently assisted in mapping the earth’s cycle and project the course of global warming.

  Why they had one here was a question he wished he could answer. His only fear was that someone would be silly enough to dig them out.

  Julia grabbed Richard’s hand in a quiet show of understanding. He noted that she was shaking and Richard knew it was likely that Julia was fearful of dying too soon. They were both young at heart and had many good years ahead of them which they had hoped to share with their children Sophie and Evan and their beloved grandchild Eva. Their daughter-in-law, Frances, was six months pregnant with their second grandchild and they longed to see this new addition to their family.

  ‘It’ll be fine, love,’ he whispered.

  ‘There is no possible way that they could know about the obsidian. Even if they did, what is the chance that they are aware of the condition of the rope? We will die in this hellish place,’ complained Fred as Mitchell elbowed him in the ribs.

  ‘Shut up, will you. If they were going to dig us out, they wouldn’t be using a borer. They would be using an excavator.’

  Fred scowled which Richard ignored. ‘Shoosh, I am trying to listen,’ said Richard as he heard the machine close slowly in on their position. He was suddenly optimistic. A borer is capable of a much greater speed than being demonstrated at present which allowed Richard to hope that they were aware of their predicament.

  The minutes passed slowly as everyone waited in trepidation! No one said a word as the drill moved in on their position until Richard detected the machine slow slightly and come to a stop. A soft splutter was heard and a small shudder vibrated down the rope and into the lift.

  ‘Quickly, lift me onto the roof,’ ordered Richard as the men hurried to hoist him up through the gaping hole.

  He took the opportunity to check the rope and noted to his dismay that the join where the four ropes intersected had continued to deteriorate at an increasing rate. He estimated two days at best. Sighing in frustration, Richard lay on his stomach and shone the torch at the wall directly opposite from the original entrance. At first nothing was visible, but persistence paid off when a metal pipe appeared from the hole in the wall and pushed outward towards the lift.

  Richard immediately understood the intention and quickly calculated that the pipe would strike the lift almost halfway up, around the same position as the obscure painting of a doubled lined square that Julia was viewing earlier.

  ‘Julia, give Mitch your hammer and chisel. You need to dig a hole into the wall right where my torch is shining,’ his determined voice not giving them any room to argue.

  Within moments the pipe was pushed across the gaping abyss and into the gap they had just created. Richard knew without a doubt that the accuracy shown in inserting the pipe meant that their rescuers were using GPR, which explained their actions. They understood the gravity of the situation.

  Wrapped food bars and tiny bladders of water quickly fell out of the pipe and the little group gave a cheer of delight. Their situation had somewhat improved, but Richard’s good humour was drastically diminished. The fact that they were delivering food instead of getting them out did not bode well. It usually meant that it was going to be a long wait and the one thing they didn’t have was time.

  With spirits improved, everyone became more talkative, but Richard remained silent. Julia instantly picked up on his mood.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked as she nudged him gently. ‘I’ve spent most
of my life with you, Dear. I know you better than you know yourself, so there’s no point in keeping secrets from me.’

  He knew that she was right. ‘The rope holding this lift is disintegrating quickly,’ said Richard, purposely raising his voice so everyone could hear him.

  There was a lengthy pause.

  ‘It doesn’t matter anyway. We’ll be saved before then,’ said Redmond with delight in his voice.

  ‘I would like to think that is the case, but we all know that they cannot breach this obsidian wall without risking even greater trauma to the rope. By delivering the food and water, it means they want to buy time. There is every possibility we will be dead by the time they discover a way out.

  ‘I’m sure Gillian will be here before then. She never lets me down,’ added Fred who sounded as if he was convincing himself more than anyone else.

  ‘Gillian is a wonderful woman and I know she will do her best, but our situation is quickly becoming a disaster. We need to save ourselves,’ concluded Richard.

  ‘No disrespect, Sir, but the last time we looked, you were unable to find anything to help us. What makes you think that will change now?’ asked Redmond.

  ‘Richard has escaped a tomb in Egypt, a catacomb in Rome and an underground temple in China. If anyone can get us out, it will be him,’ said Mitchell as Fred coughed in a manner that could be construed as defiance.

  Richard shone his torch directly at Fred. He considered himself a patient, even-tempered man with a great sense of humour, but he did not tolerate rudeness. He was prepared to give Fred a piece of his mind when the torch caught the shape of the double lined square he had seen earlier. It was as if someone had just flicked a switch on in his brain. This tunnel was also square.