Each codex was made of bark paper in long strips, folded like an accordion that fanned out when extended. The Maya harvested inner layers of bark from the wild fig tree, soaked and boiled it in maize water treated with lime or ash. Then it was rinsed and pliable strips of bark laid out on a wooden board. The first layer was lengthwise and the next was crosswise. The damp bark was pounded with a hafted stone beater into a continuous sheet of paper, some as long as three arms length. After drying in the sun, the paper was peeled off the wooden board and smoothed with a stone. Since the bark was never made into a pulp, it retained a fibrous texture that was not smooth enough for Maya scribes to write easily. They covered the paper with a thin layer of plaster before writing on it.
Natural dyes were prepared in many colors; black, red and yellow were much favored though blue and green also were used. The particularly lovely shade of Maya blue was made from indigo fused with palygorskite by the heat of burning copal incense in ceremonial bowls. Scribes used quills from turkey or wild bird feathers, dipping them in dyes held in seashells or conches. The monkey scribe or rabbit scribe were the animal uay-companions who represented the sacred art of glyphic writing, recording numbers and drawing pictures that filled the codices.
Ah Kuy sat on a raised platform covered with a woven mat. A rectangular wooden box served to elevate and display unfolded codices as he examined them. Positioned next to a window opening toward the west, he took full advantage of sunlight to improve his ability to see. Beside him sat three assistants, acolytes assigned to fetch and shelve codices and explain images he had difficulty making out. They also plied the old priest with warm cacao drinks and maize cakes to keep up his energy.
It was his third day of work, and he was beginning to wonder if his memory had failed him. After examining over 30 ancient codices, he had not found the one containing the Lakam Ha prophecy. He was certain there was such a prophecy; he clearly recalled having read it in his youth, but could not remember all the details.
This called for different tactics.
“I will sleep now,” he announced to his assistants.
They were perplexed, for they knew he was on a time-sensitive assignment.
“Master, is it not your intent to find the codex today? Very soon, is that not important?” asked one young acolyte.
“You are correct, that is my intent,” replied Ah Kuy. “My methods may seem strange to you. Now I am called to sleep, to dream and to remember in the dreamtime. In this way shall the codex come to me.”
Obediently, the acolytes prepared a pallet for the old priest in a darker corner of the chamber. Sighing, he reclined his achy body and soon was snoring loudly.
Patiently the assistants sat in vigil as the old man slept. The sun crossed overhead and began its afternoon descent, bright squares of light forming through windows and moving slowly across the floor. After a series of snorts that interrupted throaty snores, the old priest woke, blinked furiously, wiped his watering eyes and sat up.
His voice gurgled, requiring some coughing to clear his throat.
“Bring me the codex on the farthest shelf to the west. It is low and close to the floor. It is called the Noh Ek Almanac of Baktun 8 Katun 18. Be careful! Handle it gently, it is very ancient. From the times of our venerated lineage founder, Holy Ancestor K’uk Bahlam.”
As the assistants scrambled to retrieve the codex, Ah Kuy groaned and lurched to his feet, limping slowly to his scribe platform. Stretching and sighing, he sat cross-legged and reached to receive the dusty codex from his assistant. Spreading it and gently turning the flaps, he scanned through pages of Noh Ek (Venus) almanacs with neat rows of day and month signs, dot-and-bar numbers, and pictures of deities. Columns of glyphs along page edges or across the top added further information.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, bony finger tracing a glyph column that accompanied numbers and images. The three assistants crowded around, straining to see. They could not decipher the antiquated glyphic forms, though the numbers and deity images were familiar.
“What does it say, Master?” asked one assistant.
“Bring writing materials, copy this down as I read,” ordered Ah Kuy.
As soon as the assistant scribe was set up with new bark paper, quill pen and dye, the old priest read slowly:
“Dawn counts the drumbeats,
Counts the Katuns, the bundles of stones,
Dawn counts the guardian spirit of the sun-eyed torch
At the center of the sun, the Sun Eyed Lord of the Shield.
The sun-eyed torch at 12th Sky Place, B’aak (skeleton).
When T’zek (scorpion) falls in the Waters of the Night.
Baktuns make 1, Katuns make 10, Tuns make 9 at Toktan,
Place of Clouds and Many Waters.
The Celestial Twins sit upon the Earth-Sky Band
Noh Ek the “Great Star” shines, the False Sun,
Begins the Count of Days of the Sun Passer, Noh Ek.
Lady Moon-Ix Uc ascends in Uo (frog), 8th Sky Place.
She dangles below her K’awiil Ek and Chak Ek
Above the Waters of the Night.
And the Katun Lord, he of the mirror scepter, K’awiil Ek
Turns around at the heart of 8th Sky Place.
It happens, it is done.
The Sun Eyed Lord of the Shield
He touches the earth, the 8 Ahau Lord,
And the white paper headband is handed over to him.
And great things come to the Place of Clouds and Many Waters.
So is it written upon the sky, so is it written upon the earth.”
As soon as the dyes dried upon the new codex, Ah Kuy had his assistants bundle it together with the ancient codex in soft white blankets. To their disappointment, the old priest gathered up the bundle himself and carried it to the chambers of the High Priest. Although he had translated the archaic glyphs into current language, and this they had carefully written in modern glyphs, they did not understand the arcane imagery. Nor were they likely to be told the meanings, for this appeared to be meant for the High Priest alone. Only so much were acolytes given to understand.
Pasah Chan sat alert and eager as the old priest displayed the two screen-fold codices, one still smelling of new dyes and the other musty and discolored with age. First Ah Kuy read the translation, then the High Priest re-read the glyphs himself. He looked over the ancient codex, understanding most of the glyphs, checking the translation. All appeared accurate, as best he could ascertain.
“Much here relates to the stars and zodiac,” he said. “When was the original codex written?”
“In Baktun 8 Katun 18 (397 CE), in the time of Holy Ancestor K’uk Bahlam. Our revered lineage founder was born in that Katun, and acceded when he had attained 20 solar years in the next Katun. He must have been a child when it was written,” Ah Kuy remarked.
“Let us examine these verses together. They begin with dawn and a count of Katuns that relate to the sun and some being ‘at the center of the sun’ called Sun Eyed Lord of the Shield. K’in Ahau, Sun Lord, is not called this way,” observed Pasah Chan.
“See the use of ‘Lord of the Shield’ that calls to mind young Pakal’s name, which is shield. But ‘sun-faced’? What make you of that?”
The High Priest pondered for a few moments, then his eyes lit as he exclaimed,
“Know you that the household of Pakal often calls him ‘k’inich’ or sun-faced? This I learned only recently. It appears his nursemaid gave him that appellation because he loves to lift his face to the sun. The boy seeks the sun, there was an incident where he wandered away from home all alone, and she found him sitting on a high rocky outcropping gazing at the sun.”
“K’inich Ahau Pakal, Sun-faced Lord of the Shield,” repeated the old priest. “But the boy’s other name is Janaab.”
“Is that not an old-fashioned way of saying Lord, Ahau?”
“Why, so it is!” chimed Ah Kuy, chuckling. “K’inich Janaab Pakal. Your memory is better than mine.”
“That is so. It is occurring when the zodiac sign T’zek, the scorpion, falls below the horizon. Then we have a distance number placing this event in the future, 1 Baktun, 10 Katuns and 9 Tuns from when the codex was written. At Toktan, the earlier name given Lakam Ha. Can you calculate this future date quickly? My mind is too weak for such calculations without figuring the numbers on paper.” The old priest chuckled.
Pasah Chan closed his eyes and ran the numbers internally. He had trained many hours to perfect this skill that required manipulating 5 sets of numbers in base 20. Since the Maya used zero, their count was from 0 to 19, except in the second lowest position when the highest number was 18. When the k’in (day) count reached 19, then the uinal (month) advanced by one. When the uinal reached 18, then the tun (year) advanced by one. When the tun reached 19, then the katun (20-tun period) advanced by one, and when the katun reached 19, then the baktun (400-tun period) advanced by one.
Now he was required to subtract, and the mental gyrations were demanding. Soon he worked it out, and again his eyes lit with excitement.
“Although we do not have the exact day and month, the other future time positions arrive at Baktun 9 Katun 8 Tun 9, which matches when Pakal was born. I can check the exact day and month using the other astronomic clues. They are quite precise. The Celestial Twins, Noh Ek (Venus) and Xux Ek (Mercury) are close to the horizon when Noh Ek appears as Eveningstar. This begins a new Noh Ek cycle that initiates the count of days until he becomes Sun Passer as Morningstar. The Moon rises in the eighth zodiac sign of Uo (frog), and below her in a line are K’awiil Ek (Jupiter) and Chak Ek (Mars). They are just above the western horizon at dusk. K’awiil Ek is resuming his forward motion after being still.”
“Ah, there we have it. The Sun Eyed Lord of the Shield – young K’inich Janaab Pakal – is born, he touches the earth. Was he not born on the day 8 Ahau?“
“It is so. And he will receive the white paper headband of rulership. The verses finish by saying this brings great things to Toktan, now our city Lakam Ha.”
Both priests settled into silent contemplation, each pursuing his thoughts. Ah Kuy was pleased that his service to the High Priest was so successful; gratified that in his waning years he could still accomplish something significant. Pasah Chan was astonished at the clarity of the ancient prophecy, and its congruence with everything Sak K’uk and her mother Yohl Ik’nal had envisioned. He felt certain that when he checked the records of the sky’s configuration on the date of Pakal’s birth, he would find exactly the astronomical pattern the codex described.
“May I ask, honored High Priest, what you will do with this information?” Ah Kuy was curious. “Needless to say, this information shall I keep solely to myself.”
Pasah Chan smiled warmly at the aged man, sincerely appreciative of his help.
“It is you who are the honored one, Elder Priest, for your exceptional work. This shall I do; I will take the boy Pakal into training early to become a shaman-ruler.”
The old priest nodded and chuckled.
“It is fitting. Now have I one request for you. Allow me to teach the boy also, while I have yet the mind and strength. For he should know the antiquated language of our forbears and study their prophetic codices.”
“It is done.”
SAK K’UK – II
Baktun 9 Katun 8 Tun 14
(608 CE – 609 CE)
1
The prow of the long canoe sliced through still water, leaving a frothy wake in the green lagoon. Distant roars of waves crashing against the seaward side of the barrier reef drifted over the flat grassy peninsula punctuated by brackish ponds. Seagulls circled and cried, seeking easy prey in disturbed waters. The canoe, carved from a single tall tree, was the length of eight men and nearly as wide as two men. It required six paddlers and could carry 20 passengers in addition to cargo. These long canoes were used by coastal traders to navigate the Great East Sea that spread past horizons to the east and north, called K’ak-nab.
Most of the forward portion was filled with bundles, trade goods intended for elite nobles of the Ka’an polity. From inland came corn and cacao, pottery, jade, obsidian and grinding stones of volcanic basalt. From the coast came conches, shells, stingray spines and spondylus, the highly valued spiny red oyster shell. Salt was a commodity needed by everyone, harvested from shallow ponds along the length of the peninsula.
In the aft portion several passengers crouched, taking advantage of the swift canoe to shorten their journeys. Travel by waterways was much quicker than overland through dense jungles. Many rivers coursed from western mountain ranges toward the Great
East Sea. The canoe’s captain showed his passengers a canal recently cut through the shortest portion of the north peninsula. This, he explained, gave canoes access from the lagoon to the sea at a point above the dangerous barrier reef where many boats with valuable cargo were lost.
Two passengers watched with particular interest as they passed the mouth of the narrow canal, where low-growing mangroves dipped skinny roots into the water.
“These must be cut back often,” the canoe captain remarked.
“A great work, this canal,” replied the older passenger. He shifted position to straighten his right leg that became achy from an old injury when he kept it flexed too long.
“Go you frequently upon the Great East Sea?” asked the younger. “How far north have you gone?”
“There have I journeyed past the large island of the upper east coast,” said the captain, “but not into the Nab’nah (Great North Sea). That I desire to do, gods willing, but it is a very long voyage. This boat I take upon the K’ak-nab three or four times each tun to settlements near the large island. Most of my trips are past the peninsula into the Chetumal and Wukhalal (Bacalar) lagoons, to the many cities in the region.”
“When do we arrive at the Wukhalal shore near Dzibanche?” asked the older man.
The captain lifted his bronzed and weathered face toward the sun, now nearly overhead. He checked landmarks, subtle coastal features that appeared all the same to untrained eyes.
“By dusk we shall arrive there,” he said. “We will camp overnight before starting the land journey, for that will require most of the day. Many bundles of fine goods have I for the Lords of Kan, and they reward me richly for such luxuries.”
“The Kan dynasty prospers, so you say. Of this I am pleased to hear.”
“Seek you dispensation from the Kan Lords?”
“Dispensation of a certain type. Not their wealth, but their power.”
“Ah, powerful indeed is the snake of Kan. Under the leadership of Uneh Chan, Ka’an K’uhul Ahau, their influence has spread from Uxwitza in the south to cities along the K’umaxha-Sacred Monkey River in the west. Only the Zodz (Bat) dynasty of Uxte’tun thwarts their dominance of the eastern lowlands.”
“Indeed. Let us speak more of this later.”
Ek Chuuah’s eyes caught those of his son, Yax Chapat. They traveled together on a mission that involved both the Kan and Zodz dynasties, but it was ultimately targeted at the Bahlam dynasty of B’aakal. Slight lowering of the father’s eyelids was signal enough for the son to remain silent on this subject.
Calls from the front rowers summoned the captain forward to assess passage through sandbars, which shifted with every voyage. Ek Chuuah leaned against the smooth canoe sides and rubbed the back of his knee. His fingers moved across a wide scar, feeling again the knotted hamstring that still caused him to limp after so many years. Bitterness surged as he recalled that distant Flower War where this injury changed his life. The deep and serious cut delivered by the seasoned Usihwitz warrior, in violation of the sacred rules given by the gods, was no accident. He had not a shred of doubt that Kan Bahlam had masterminded
the wounding to remove him from Lakam Ha and dismantle the core of opposition. His grudge was not against the warrior, but against his former K’uhul Ahau and descendents.
Above all, Ek Chuuah wanted justice. It was intrinsically wrong, deliberately flaunting the Triad Deities and their laws meant to control base motives of humans. Yet no divine retaliation had fallen upon Kan Bahlam, and his dynasty continued through his daughter Yohl Ik’nal and now grandson Aj Ne Ohl Mat. How had justice been served? He admitted that his life in Usihwitz was successful, that he had attained a high level of power and respect in his adopted city. But not high enough. He coveted the throne, now for his son. Yahau Chan Muwaan, current ruler of Usihwitz, had been placed in office only a year ago by the influence of the Pa’chan ruler, probably following orders given by Kan ruler Uneh Chan. Pa’chan had long been allied with Kan and did their bidding.
Yahau Chan Muwaan was not a legitimate ruler, in Ek Chuuah’s estimation. The new ruler was of a different patrilineage than preceding ruler Joy Bahlam, whose young son died under questionable circumstances. The true ruling lineage continued through the daughter, recently married to Yax Chapat.
The irony did not escape Ek Chuuah. It was a parallel situation to the accession of Yohl Ik’nal. That woman who so enraged him, now served as a model for his own son’s access to power. They would learn from her example, use strategy and manipulation to strengthen their family’s position and establish their dynasty. No woman would rule in Usihwitz, he vowed. Yax Chapat would become co-regent and soon take over rulership. This trip to Kan was a large part of the strategy. Ek Chuuah sought assistance from Kan for another attack on Lakam Ha, this time carefully planned to bring about destruction and humiliation. Such an impressive victory would boost his family’s standing, bring booty to his city and enable his forces to unseat Yahau Chan Muwaan and place his own son on the throne.
The Controversial Mayan Queen: Sak K'uk of Palenque (The Mists of Palenque) Page 3