The sun was high overhead when the two noble women left the market, now crowded with shoppers during the midday break. The sound of voices questioning, remarking and bartering rose in a steady murmur. Parting company fondly, the two friends returned to their tents for a meal and rest. But Yohl Ik’nal was too excited to doze. This afternoon Hun Pakal would compete, and the new fabric kept stirring her romantic imagination.
Clouds gathered on the western horizon as the contests resumed. Towering thunderheads rose above flat gray bottoms, promising rain later. Rumbles of distant thunder rolled across the plains. Elite ahauob surged onto the contest field, wearing little but embroidered loincloths and paint. Their skins glistened with oil for hand-to-hand contests of strength and agility. As if pre-planned, contestants from different cities faced off, although to observers it was difficult to distinguish them.
But not for Kan Bahlam. The Lakam Ha ruler recognized his men instantly, knew each by name and disposition, knew family and friendship links. His eye sought Hun Pakal and cadre, but instead saw Ek Chuuah with his followers on the closest side of the field, in front of the royal family’s mats.
“They have deliberately positioned themselves in front of me,” the ruler mused. He was displeased with Ek Chuuah’s smirk, no doubt intended to throw insult, though not obviously at the royal family. Body language spoke eloquently as the warrior strutted in defiance and supreme self-assurance. His men fanned around him, some mimicking their leader’s stance.
Once engaged in conflict their focus shifted to opponents, arms and legs entwining and twisting, chests heaving and shoulders bulging. No direct blows were allowed, so finding the correct grasp to down an opponent became paramount. They could trip each other or pin arms behind the body, and use neck clasps that choked and cut off breath. Ek Chuuah was strong and cunning, and quickly downed his opponent. The referee cut off the man’s ponytail signifying defeat, and the man retreated to the sidelines. Immediately Ek Chuuah engaged another opponent and displayed prowess by bringing that man down in a short time. Other warriors in Ek Chuaah’s contingent were similarly successful, only a few losing the struggle.
Kan Bahlam simmered and clenched his jaw. This demonstration of strength, with its undercurrent of defiance, was insolent. It was indeed well that tomorrow this vexing scorpion would be taken out of action.
On the mat next to her father, Yohl Ik’nal strained to see across the field without rising. She anxiously sought sight of Hun Pakal without alerting her mother. Too many contestants writhed and groaned close-by, flailing arms and legs blocked her view. Absently she noted the performance of Ek Chuuah and his men, wishing they were on the other side of the field. Although aware of his trouble-making, this was far from her consideration at the moment. When she saw one of Ek Chuuah’s followers defeated, his ponytail cut and his sagging form reluctantly retreating to the sidelines, it dawned on her that Hun Pakal might suffer the same fate.
She drew a sharp in-breath and shifted position, trying to see more clearly. A surge of combatants pushed through Ek Chuuah’s group and thinned the space. Near mid-field she saw Hun Pakal struggling with a larger opponent. Fear gripped her as the man threw Hun Pakal to the ground, but the agile warrior from Lakam Ha immediately sprang up and slipped a leg between the opponent’s knees, causing him to fall. Hun Pakal pounced upon the fallen man and pinned his arms behind his back; fight as he would the trapped man could not rise. This soon brought the referee to cut the man’s ponytail in defeat.
Yohl Ik’nal sighed in relief, earning a sharp glance from her mother. Turning her eyes to the side, Yohl Ik’nal stretched and yawned, remarking:
“The contests are long.”
“Our men perform well,” her mother replied.
“Yes, but surely they will not fight much more. Many have already battled three opponents, that is sufficient.”
She fervently hoped Hun Pakal had fought three and would stop now. Looking toward where he was last seen, she found others struggling. Her eyes swept the periphery of the field, but could not detect him. She looked down at her hands, fingers tensely intertwined, and waited.
“Ah, Hun Pakal seeks another opponent,” her mother observed.
Yohl Ik’nal looked up and he was there, right in front, so close she could almost touch him. Mesmerized, she watched the struggle that seemed interminably long. Sweat dripped from both men, and the sound of heavy breathing and bodies colliding assaulted her ears. Slowly Hun Pakal wrestled his opponent down, though the man resisted mightily, and finally the victory was attained.
Hun Pakal was obviously exhausted, but he raised his head smartly and smiled directly at Yohl Ik’nal. Her gaze was lost in his for an eternal moment, and she did not try to hide it. He was victorious; he was not a captive going to another city. That was all she cared about.
Xoc Akal observed the silent interaction, and it confirmed her suspicions. She allowed hope to well for her daughter’s happiness, for Hun Pakal was consolidating his position with his victories. To the relief of both women, Hun Pakal left the contest field.
That evening Xoc Akal went to the tent of her husband. The promised thundershowers had arrived at dusk with dramatic swords of lightning fanning across metallic skies and deafening booms of thunder heralding an intense but brief downpour. Now light rain fell and the ground released fresh earthy fragrances. As they sipped hot cacao and chile, the royal couple conversed privately.
“It is happening as you hope, the flower war?” asked Xoc Akal.
“It is well, our men bring many victories and our strength is rightly displayed,” replied Kan Bahlam.
“This flower war is wise, my husband, you have led the people properly. Think you the dissention among polity cities will end?”
“End perhaps not, but decrease it will. Should our victories continue tomorrow, few will care to challenge Lakam Ha.” After a thoughtful moment, the ruler added: “What Ka’an polity is capable of, I am not certain. Many generations of Ka’an leaders have meddled in affairs of other polities. Their on-going rivalries with Mutul are a good example. I fear more is brewing with them. There may be troubled times ahead.”
Xoc Akal nodded and murmured:
“Only so much can one man do. Ultimately the patterns of stars determine our destiny, and the whims of the gods shape how it plays out in our lives. You are doing what you can to mediate their influences in the Middleworld.”
“It is so, you speak wisely.”
They drank frothy, spicy cacao in silence for a while.
“Have you settled on a husband for Yohl Ik’nal?” asked Xoc Akal.
“This event will bring him forth,” her husband answered. “This I will announce at the closing ceremony.”
“Who do you consider the most likely candidates?”
“Several men of Lakam Ha have performed very well. Of these Hun Pakal stands out, and his bloodlines are excellent. The younger son of the Yokib ruler has deported himself admirably. An alliance with Popo’ would be prudent, but I have not seen a man of high enough lineage who stands out in the contests. Among our people, a cousin of Mut Yokte fought impressively today.”
“Hun Pakal has a large following, and his men had many victories,” offered Xoc Akal.
“So it is. Tomorrow we shall see if their prowess holds true.”
“Tomorrow will be dangerous for armed battle as rain makes the field slippery.” Xoc Akal glanced at her husband with furrowed brow. “Must you fight tomorrow? You are not so young now, it would not be dishonorable to decline.”
“This, to fight in the flower war, I must do,” said Kan Bahlam firmly. “All must see that the ruler of B’aakal is still strong, an opponent to be respected. But I will only fight once, with the Yokib ruler Cauac Ahk who is near my age. Do not worry.”
Xoc Akal sighed.
“Worry is the part of women when their men battle. Even when we know it is a ritual battle without serious wounding. Mistakes happen, or warriors become overly aggressive. Men have died in flowe
r wars.”
Kan Bahlam wondered if his wife suspected his plan for Ek Chuuah, but chose not to speak of that. Keeping silence even with intimates was the wisest course in such controversial leadership decisions.
“It is true, that I also will be relieved when tomorrow’s contests are over,” he admitted. “Lakam Ha has not lost many men to service in other cities, but enough will be going. I should much regret losing such good men as Hun Pakal, though I doubt he will be anything but victorious. He seems to have high motivation to out-perform everyone in these contests. Think you he has ideas about our daughter?”
They caught each other’s eyes and smiled. Rulers seldom missed subtle cues about their peoples’ intentions; this was key to their ability to lead.
“Think you not?” she teased.
“Think I so,” he chuckled. “Hun Pakal may indeed be my choice.”
“That would please Yohl Ik’nal.”
“Ah.” Kan Bahlam realized he had not been aware of his daughter’s feelings toward the young man. It pleased him to think that her heart’s desire might be fulfilled as he accomplished what was needed for the dynasty. Everything depended on what happened tomorrow.
Misty tendrils undulated from the combat field as morning sun warmed the wet earth. Shallow puddles settled in depressions packed down by hours of stomping feet. Small clusters of grass hung weakly making a futile attempt to recover, while much of the field was bare ground. Although it was early, many observers were already placing mats in choice positions to obtain better views of the final day’s contests. This was the most exciting and dangerous day, the day of one-on-one combat armed with flint knives as long as a man’s forearm.
Fewer warriors participated in armed combat, this being reserved for the higher elite levels. Full regalia were customary, resplendent in design and color, rich in symbolism. Quilted cotton vests with colorful patterns protected the trunk, at times augmented by similar cotton jackets that hung to the knees. Pants or skirts covered the thighs, also quilted and patterned. Among the K’umaxha River polities, flexible shields made of thick woven mats were folded around the left forearm, used to block knife slashes. Some warriors preferred round wooden shields covered with deerskin, painted with lineage emblems or war deities and decorated with feathers. Sturdy sandals were bound with leather thongs about the ankles.
Headdresses were elaborate and significant. Most were shaped as stylized heads of the warrior’s uay, his spirit animal. Among rulers the jaguar was frequent, and shields bore depictions of the jaguar sun god, deity of war and the Underworld. Headdresses sporting various bird effigies were common, including hawks, eagles, cormorants, macaws, and parrots. Serpent headdresses were used by snake lineages, less often seen among the cities of B’aakal although some families bore the Kan name. The serpent, Kan was the uay of the ruling family of Ka’an polity.
Conches announced the arrival of contestants at the field. Multiple conches sounding together created discordant harmonics, fitting for the edginess settling over observers. Next came assorted drums in rapid cadence as warriors grouped on the field according to their city. Each group was led by the city’s ruling ahau or sahal.
Kan Bahlam, K’uhul B’aakal Ahau appeared on the field wearing the jaguar headdress that represented his primary lineage. A small K’awiil perched above the jaguar’s head, representing the patron god of rulers. A huge stream of feathers fanned back in a graceful arc, a shimmering iridescent rainbow of ocellated turkey and quetzal tail feathers. In front a smaller feather arc dangled above the forehead. Around the neck was a splendid collar of jade mingled with red, blue and golden beads. Cuffs of leather extended from wrists to elbow, borders adorned with copper and silver discs.
He wore cotton armor quilted with golden and blue threads, and a flared waist-collar of leather and metal discs. His wooden shield bore the face of the jaguar god of the underworld, a sun with closed eyes surrounded by white flower petals. Brilliant blue quetzal feathers alternated with those of the red macaw at four points around the shield.
The bobbing and swaying feather headdresses created a festive appearance. Sunlight glinted off metal and beads as the last wisps of mist disappeared. Conspicuously placed around the field periphery were teams of healers, priestesses and priests of Ix Chel, goddess of health and healing. They carried soft cloths for bandaging wounds, salves and powders of soothing herbs, unguents to stop bleeding, brews for relieving pain. Wounding was expected; the victor in each contest was the warrior who drew first significant blood. Tiny nicks frequently occurred, but to win the cut must be large enough to produce a flow of blood. Most commonly these cuts occurred on the neck, upper arms, thighs and lower legs. By long established protocol, the face was never a target in these ritual battles.
The contests between the four city rulers took place first, in the center of the field: Lakam Ha against Yokib, Popo’ against Usihwitz. It was agreed among these rulers that the defeated man need not serve in the victor’s city but would substitute another ahauob, or the service might be waived completely. This contest was primarily for prestige and to demonstrate prowess, and everyone took it most seriously.
Kan Bahlam of Lakam Ha and Cauac Ahk of Yokib were both middle-aged men, although muscular and vigorous. They cautiously circled, feinted and parried seeking advantage, as both were seasoned warriors. Quick strikes were deftly deflected by knife blade or shield. Rapid twists or leaps allowed them to escape slashes aimed at the lower legs. Cauac Ahk drew first blood with a prick on Kan Bahlam’s guard hand, but this was too small to count. The other pair of rulers followed similar maneuvers, at times slipping on wet ground.
The royal women of Lakam Ha clasped each other’s hands tightly, sitting close together on their mat. Sak Nicte kept an arm around Yohl Ik’nal for support. Xoc Akal moaned softly when her husband’s hand was nicked, but kept her gaze steadfastly upon the contestants and held her head high. Yohl Ik’nal felt confident that her father would prevail; it was Hun Pakal she worried about.
Soon her intuition proved correct. In a cunning feint toward Cauac Ahk’s legs, Kan Bahlam unexpectedly swooped his knife upward as his opponent spun away and sliced deeply enough into the upper arm to cause a gush of blood. The cut was skillfully done, cutting just through the full skin thickness while not severing muscle. Cauac Ahk dropped his knife and knelt. Waiting a long moment so all could observe the victory, Kan Bahlam touched his opponent’s shoulder and spoke clearly that no service was required. The defeated ruler rose, and both men saluted then left the field.
The Popo’ and Usihwitz rulers were younger men, and fought longer. Both had several small pricks before the Usihwitz ruler Joy Bahlam placed a significant cut on Popo’ ruler Zotz Choj’s thigh. As the wounded ruler knelt, his opponent demanded a substitute ahauob for service and the elected man came to kneel beside his defeated ruler, subjecting his ponytail to the knife. It was a bitter moment for the Popo’ ruler, and he seethed with anger at his opponent’s victory strutting. Even the soothing ministrations of the Ix Chel priestess binding his wound did not calm his ire. Soon the analgesic brew she urged him to drink brought welcome drowsiness.
The field filled with finely attired ahauob, grasping sharp obsidian or flint knives and seeking suitable opponents. The array might have resembled a dance, with a sea of bobbing feathers and glinting metals, had not the ground become splattered with blood. The shouts and cries of combatants mixed with groans of pain, screeching blades and thudding feet. Action was fast and the Ix Chel healers stayed busy.
Again Yohl Ik’nal strained to see Hun Pakal, no longer trying to hide her concern. Sak Nicte stayed close, murmuring reassurances in between exclamations about deftly executed moves by various of their warriors. She was enjoying the contests, not being attached to any combatant and feeling assured that no serious injuries would occur.
“See how clever he is!” Sak Nicte remarked.
Yohl Ik’nal had no idea which warrior her friend meant. Her attention riveted upon Hun Pakal fighting
mid-way across the field. His opponent looked too large and strong, but soon she realized he was not as clever as the man her friend admired. Hun Pakal confused the larger man with rapid slashes that were clumsily deflected with an arm shield. With the opponent on the defensive, Hun Pakal moved in close and placed a good cut just above the neck collar, drawing enough blood for victory. This win secured, he moved toward the field’s edge seeking another combatant. Soon he was re-engaged in fight strategies with a smaller and quicker warrior.
“Why must he fight more?” whispered Yohl Ik’nal.
“The better to win you,” her friend whispered back.
“It is so frightening.”
“You must be brave, for overcoming fear will often be your lot,” Sak Nicte said not unkindly. “Remember your destiny. Much more there will be that you must withstand.”
In later years Yohl Ik’nal would recall her friend’s prophetic words.
With dry eyes and drier mouth, Yohl Ik’nal steeled herself and kept watch as her beloved won another victory, and engaged yet again. In the third struggle, he suffered a small cut on the upper arm and her heart dropped sickeningly. The referees did not consider it enough although a trickle of blood crept down his arm. When she felt almost unable to bear more suspense, Hun Pakal made a decisive cut on his opponent’s lower leg that gushed blood profusely. After the victory hair-cutting, the man limped quickly to the waiting priestesses and Hun Pakal strode proudly to the royal family’s mats.
He bowed low, right hand clasping left shoulder, to Kan Bahlam. The ruler nodded acknowledgement and smiled, for he was growing in conviction that this young man should become his son-in-law. No other had performed as well or as consistently in the flower war. He gestured to the side of his mat.
“Stay beside me, Hun Pakal,” the ruler said. “Bring him drink and tend his wounds,” he directed his attendants.
The Visionary Mayan Queen: Yohl Ik'Nal of Palenque Page 11