“Forget you that my ancestors too are buried in that house? My own father and mother, and their predecessors also? Be reasonable, T’zul. We can exchange houses; you move your family into my current place, and I move mine into yours. It is all so very reasonable!” Ah Nik was becoming frustrated.
Tears were streaming down T’zul’s face as she turned to Pakal and pleaded her case.
“Oh wise and kind Holy Lord, see a widow’s grief! Have mercy upon a suffering one and let me have my small comfort. Do not separate me from my husband’s bones!”
Pakal raised a hand, commanding silence. Everyone present hung on the moment, wondering how the young ruler could decide this emotional mess equitably. Several courtiers sat on mats lining the walls of the throne room, the royal steward Muk Kab stood attentively nearby, and a handful of other petitioners hovered along the stairs rising to the chamber.
“My heart is pained by the conflict in your family,” Pakal said softly. “Yours has long been a kind and loving family, generous to your workers and responsible in tribute. My parents spoke of the assistance you gave as our city began to recover after the villainous attack by Kan. Now remember what has come before. You dishonor your ancestors by such dissension. Take a moment, each of you, and look within your heart and conscience. Ask yourself, T’zul, what would your husband want? And Ah Nik, ask yourself what your brother would say of this argument.”
The two petitioners hung their heads, feeling abashed. Until recently, their relations had been congenial and both did regret their current strife. Neither was yet willing to relinquish the position they had taken, and waited in silence.
“T’zul, it seems the most important consideration for you is your husband’s shrine, is this not so?”
Wiping tears from her eyes, T’zul nodded.
“Ah Nik, for you the need of a larger complex for your family is uppermost. You are willing to exchange houses. Would you also be willing to provide labor and materials should T’zul need to enlarge that house in the future?”
“That I would gladly provide,” Ah Nik replied, brightening.
“Let me emphasize how important I consider the sacred shrines to our ancestors. These are the very foundations of our culture, for we seek ancestral guidance in every aspect of our lives. This is why we bury their bones in the central chamber of our homes. It is not common, but there are times when ancestral bones must be moved to other locations. This is undertaken with utmost care and all proper ceremonies must be performed.”
The young ruler focused his gaze on T’zul and compelled her to look directly into his eyes. Her eyes widened as she was drawn into mesmerizing pools of darkness, from which flowed a force of overwhelming compassion. She felt a pinging sensation in her chest followed by a wave of relief. A sense of deep comfort descended upon her, and the anger she held for her brother-in-law dissipated.
“T’zul, if you will agree to the housing exchange, I will personally conduct the ceremonies to move your husband’s bones. You may rest assured these will be done with complete correctness, and his spirit will be satisfied that it is truly honored. He will be happy with his new home, and continue to bless you with his presence.”
The widow could not respond for several moments, overcome with gratitude. She had never imagined this solution, and it resonated deeply in her soul. Finally she spoke.
“Blessed are you, K’uhul B’aakal Ahau, that in your wisdom you could see this path to mending the troubles of our family. With much happiness do I accept your suggestions, and with deep appreciation your personal effort in our behalf. No greater honor could be bestowed upon my husband, than the ceremonies for moving his shrine be performed by our Holy Lord.”
Fluffy white clouds moved slowly across the blue sky, making a stately procession overhead. Gentle breezes stirred leaves of Ramon and Pixoy trees, and rippled the summer grasses covering the hillsides. A flock of green parrots darted from one cluster of trees to another, squawking exuberantly. From the distance came the throaty roar of howler monkeys, echoing over forest canopy and resounding from steep mountainsides. Life was everywhere in the tropical jungle, bursting with song and sound. Even the insects added their incessant humming and clacking to the chorus.
A raised and plastered walkway, called a sakbe or white road, left the eastern edge of Lakam Ha and wended between hills, curving as it followed low ground between the temples rising toward the sky. At the summit of the closest hill stood the Temple of Nohol, dedicated to the warming yellow light from the south that brought growth and ripening. A nearby hill served as base for the Temple of Lak’in, facing the eastern sunrise and expressing the awakening powers of red light that brought new beginnings. Swinging around this hill, the sakbe ended and a footpath ascended a steep hillside before it dipped toward the Otolum River burbling merrily toward a wide grassy meadow stretching eastward. Across the river was the crest of Yohl Ik’nal’s mortuary monument, a temple situated atop a low hill that nestled among others of greater height.
Pakal stood on the hill across from his grandmother’s pyramid temple. From this vantage he could see the far edge of the meadow, where the terrain changed suddenly and plunged over a cliff. The Otolum River crashed into tiers of cascades as it plummeted down the precipitous mountainside, joined by its parallel sister the Sutzha River in smaller cascades. Breezes ruffled Pakal’s hair and cooled his sweaty skin. He wore only a white loincloth with green and yellow waistband, his hair tied into a topknot, for the day was hot. His eyes sought the small stone building situated next to the river, in the center of the meadow. The walls were partially collapsed and the roof had fallen into a pile of rubble. It once was used by hunters, but was long abandoned.
Memories of his previous visits there floated into awareness, and even from this distance he could faintly sense the vortex of energy around the ruined building. His powerful experience of this vortex had convinced him that here was the site to construct a new portal, to build a new Sak Nuk Nah, to re-establish communication with the Triad Deities and divine ancestors.
Standing alone on the hill, Pakal relished his solitude. Rarely did he have an opportunity to be alone, surrounded as he was by courtiers, advisors, attendants, administrators, petitioners and countless others who either wanted his assistance or simply wanted to view their ruler. It was no small accomplishment to carve out this time alone. He used a visit to his grandmother’s tomb as the excuse, explaining that he wished to commune with her spirit and bring offerings, and needed privacy to establish these sensitive and subtle connections. His personal attendant Tohom tried to insist that someone was needed to carry water and mats, and his courtier friends offered support by waiting outside, but he graciously declined.
It had not been easy, but he prevailed. Actually, there was truth in his excuse, for he greatly admired his grandmother Yohl Ik’nal, who had ruled in her own right for 22 years and steered the city through several crises. He did want to pay homage at her tomb and renew their spirit connections. His actual motive, however, was a secret meeting with the young woman Yonil.
She would be arriving soon, and he must complete his ritual first. He hurried down the path, splashed across the river and climbed the narrow stairs to the temple on top the pyramid. Sitting before the altar, he recited invocations and placed a round piece of amber over Yohl Ik’nal’s name glyph. He had no means of lighting copal incense, and brought no food offerings. In his heart, he knew simply offering his love was enough. As he concentrated and sensed his grandmother’s presence, the amber glowed as if lit from within. He asked for nothing, no guidance or information. He only wanted to experience the deep connectedness between them. Time passed; Pakal kept focus until he heard splashing in the river below. Thanking his grandmother, he bowed and rose to meet the young woman eagerly racing up the pyramid stairs.
The sight of her took his breath away. Her slender form perched on the edge of the temple platform, framed by verdant hills that brought her white huipil to startling clarity. Breezes fluttered th
e soft fabric so it outlined her thighs and clung to her breasts, where a multicolored band anchored it firmly leaving her shoulders and arms bare. The shift ended at mid-calf, and her supple ankles and feet slipped into embroidered sandals. Her shining black hair was tied in a topknot, as was his, but hers dangled a long ponytail that swayed languorously.
She clasped her shoulder and bowed deeply, throwing her ponytail to the floor and exposing the graceful curve of her neck and back. A delicate necklace of copper and white shells clinked softly.
“Greetings, Holy Lord of B’aakal,” she murmured without lifting her head.
“Please rise, Yonil,” Pakal replied. “And please call me by my name.”
He enjoyed watching her uncurl her form, movements full of grace and ease. She stood a full head shorter, her crown at the level of his shoulders. As their eyes met, he felt an unfamiliar jolt shooting through his body that left his insides humming.
“Did I interrupt you? For this am I sorry,” she said, glancing into the temple toward the altar.
“No, no. I had just finished doing homage to my grandmother.” Pakal glanced beyond her toward the footpath, relieved to see that no one was in sight. “Let us depart from here, people come often to honor our Holy Ancestor and it is best they do not see us. There is a secluded place I know, and want to show you.”
She nodded and followed him down the stairs. At the base, he led her to a faintly visible deer path running alongside the river. The grasses became taller as they entered the large meadow, with an occasional tree casting shadows. Pakal helped Yonil step over some fallen branches, and then re-cross the river where it was shallow, hopping on stones when possible but ending up knee deep in clear, cold water. They laughed while splashing onto the bank, and Yonil took a moment to wring out the hem of her huipil. Pakal led to the partially collapsed building, heading to the far wall that stood highest and blocked them from view. They found some smooth stones and sat, breathless from their efforts, laughing again at nothing in particular.
“Was it difficult for you to get away?” Pakal asked.
“Not so difficult. I am not constantly surrounded by attendants, as must surely be your lot. It is not unusual for me to leave home and visit my girlfriends. My father was away and my mother occupied with weaving, so I just slipped out unnoticed.”
“Ah, yes. Much easier for you. I had to make excuses and almost plead to be allowed a visit to my grandmother’s tomb alone. This is a rare moment for me.”
Yonil lowered her eyes, blushing faintly.
“Truly am I greatly appreciative for this moment that we can share,” she said softly.
“Tell me about your life. What do you do all day?” Pakal felt sadly ignorant about details of non-royal lives.
Yonil began an animated description of her daily life, but Pakal found he was not paying attention to her words. Instead, he was fascinated by her movements; the way her arms made delightful arcs, her supple finger signs, how she tilted her head to emphasize a point. The lilt of her voice was intoxicating and he could almost catch the scent of honey on her breath. His body pulsed with the rhythm of her words.
Pakal felt both elated and disconcerted. Since the moment when their dancing at his adulthood ceremonies had ignited his interest in Yonil, he found very few opportunities to speak with her. These few occasions were always in the company of others, and he was aware that his mother disapproved. She gave him a lecture about the importance of not demonstrating interest in the young women of Lakam Ha, not encouraging their aspirations, because the process of selecting his wife was soon to begin. The High Priest, his mentor and spiritual trainer, also took him aside and reminded him about conserving his sexual energies, so vitally important to his ability to carry out demanding and esoteric rituals. Pasah Chan’s admonitions were fresh in his mind about the character-sapping dangers faced by rulers – selfishness, greed, pride, sensuality – that would snare their energies and entrap their spirits.
In years of intense training, Pakal had learned how to master the forces of his sexual drive and move them according to intention. He learned these through experience with Lunar Priestesses, specially trained women dedicated to initiating young ahauob into the physical and psychic aspects of using sexual energies, the most powerful creative force in the Middleworld, the earth-cab. He knew that combining male and female sexual energies in sacred ways would release immense creative forces. He fully realized how he was expected to channel and sublimate his sexuality.
However, he had not anticipated his body’s reaction to Yonil. Even sitting beside her, every cell was vibrating with excitement and desire. He could begin now using breath techniques and meditation to control these sensations, but he did not want to. Instead, he reached an arm toward her and cupped her chin, lifting her face to his.
“So beautiful!” he whispered, his eyes devouring her features.
Yonil was an exceptionally lovely woman. Her face was oval, with the narrow nose and long straight brow line leading to an elongated skull, the hallmarks of Maya nobility. Tilted almond eyes showed flecks of gold, wide and doe-like, soft as downy feathers. High cheekbones set off smooth cheeks, her lips were wide and full and voluptuous. Her well-formed chin dipped to a long, graceful neck and softly rounded shoulders. Skin the color of light cacao glowed with health and vitality. In her small ears were tiny amber earspools that reflected the gold in her eyes.
Eyes now wide and mesmerized by Pakal’s gaze, Yonil parted her lips as if to catch her breath, her small firm breasts rising and falling rapidly. Pakal’s hand dropped to her warm, bare shoulder then moved down, brushing against a breast and wrapping around her waist. She leaned into him, or did he draw her to him? Sparks ignited as their torsos touched; he brought his lips softly against hers then followed her chin to her throat, nuzzling the soft hollow at the base. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she gasped in ecstasy as his arms encircled her waist.
Pakal savored the sensation of her breasts heaving against his chest, aware that he was fully aroused. She was nibbling his ear gently, causing bolts of electricity to shoot through his groin. He could take her now, she would not resist. Her sexuality was exploding through every pore, eager and receptive.
He had to stop it. He could not let this happen. Somewhere, from some depth of determination, he summoned up the willpower to end their embrace. Lifting hands from her waist, he removed her arms from around his neck and gently pushed her body away from his. Still quivering with passion, he stood and walked a short distance away. Now he used the cooling breath technique with vigor, sucking air between nearly closed teeth in deep, steady in-breaths. Simultaneously he chanted a calming incantation until he felt his pulse slowing and the fire in his body retreating.
When he turned back to Yonil, he saw tears glistening in her eyes.
“Yonil, we cannot become lovers,” he said with voice not quite steady.
“Why not? It is what we both want. This passion that I feel, I also feel in you. Why must we deny it?”
“You know why. It is because of who I am. Yonil, as much as I desire you, I am bound by duty to my dynasty and the people of Lakam Ha. I must follow the traditions expected of me, and marry the woman selected by my parents. We both know that will not be you.”
“Your mother hates me!” Yonil was crying now, tears streaming down her cheeks. Between sobs, she gasped a few words. “She . . . always disliked me . . . from that first time . . . we danced together.”
Her tears tore at his heart, and he grasped her hands in his, pressing strongly.
“It is not you, she does not even know who you really are,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “It is that . . . that your family lineage is . . . not suitable for a royal wife. Please do not take offense. You are lovely, so beautiful you cannot imagine. Any man would be fortunate to have you for his wife.”
His earnest praise seemed to comfort Yonil, and she stopped crying. Wiping her eyes, she glazed wistfully at Pakal.
“Any man but you,�
� she murmured.
“Not so! I also would be fortunate, but . . . it cannot be.”
“Then take me as your concubine.” Her gold-flecked eyes locked onto his with the force of a female jaguar. “You are the ruler. You can have any woman, or all the women, that you desire. Your word is law. Your command is as binding as death. To be with you is all I want . . . to love you.”
“Ah, Yonil . . . my heart is aching. There is so much you do not understand, cannot possibly know about me, my destiny. About what I must do and how I must do it. Truly am I sorry . . .”
His voice trailed off as her fierce eyes continued to bore into his.
“You can do what you want. You are K’uhul B’aakal Ahau.” Her eyes softened into pools of honeyed delight. “All you have to do is command, and I will become yours.”
A tiny fount of possibility surged upward from the desolate place within Pakal. What she said was not impossible. He knew of other rulers, not in Lakam Ha but in Pa’chan and Uxwitza, who had married secondary wives, and who kept concubines. He was ruler here, and might he not begin a new practice in his dynasty?
He smiled and she relaxed, breathing out a deep sigh.
“Come,” he murmured. “Let us part on a sweet note. As you wisely observe, many things may be possible, even for a ruler.”
She melted into his arms, snuggling against his chest, reveling in his masculine scent and hard pectoral muscles. He lightly wrapped one arm around her and stroked her hair with the other, fingers combing through silky tresses, murmuring under his breath “So beautiful, so exquisite.”
Neither wanted their embrace to ever end. Long moments passed while the breeze sighed and the river warbled. White puffy clouds bunched over the southern peaks, forming tall thunderheads with gray bellies beginning to fill with rain. The sun was dropping closer to the horizon, sending lengthening shadows across the meadow.
The Controversial Mayan Queen: Sak K'uk of Palenque (The Mists of Palenque) Page 29