“The Ix Chel priestesses have assisted Homay to conceive.” Pasah Chan allowed the words to roll from his tongue deliciously, savoring their impact.
Sak K’uk could not conceal her shock. Hun Pakal looked crestfallen.
“Only two days ago was I informed of this momentous event,” continued the High Priest. “As you can imagine, the Ix Chel priestesses will be at her side every moment, and continue to apply their skills to support the pregnancy.”
“Ix Chel be praised,” Sak K’uk managed to mutter. “Truly her priestesses are exceptionally skilled, may all go well.”
“When is the child to be born?” asked Hun Pakal.
“In seven moons.”
“Should all go well. Truly remarkable. Yet the child may be a girl, leaving Pakal the more logical choice,” Hun Pakal observed.
“Given the great difficulty Hohmay had conceiving, perhaps it was impossible to follow all procedures to assure the child’s gender,” Pasah Chan admitted. “Although the Ix Chel priestesses do believe the child conceived is male.”
“But they are not certain,” suggested Sak K’uk.
“That is true. We will see, there is much that must pass until the pregnancy is culminated. Concerning Pakal, I will reflect upon his early entry into training.”
“This we deeply appreciate,” said Sak K’uk. Eyes bright with intense passion, she directed a piercing look at the High Priest.
“Pakal is destined for greatness. I have been given many signs of this, and have no doubt of its truth. My mother Yohl Ik’nal also envisioned Pakal bringing Lakam Ha to its zenith. He must be trained soon.”
Pasah Chan blinked, bringing himself into the present. That look in Sak K’uk’s eyes had shaken him, and her mother’s visions were always to be taken seriously. Was Pakal destined to rule Lakam Ha, to bring forth its apogee?
The High Priest intended to become even more important than his position demanded. He wanted to be the most powerful man in Lakam Ha, the shaper of its course, the master of rulers. Watching the current ruler Aj Ne Ohl Mat, observing the weakness of his leadership and his passive personality, gave Pasah Chan reassurance. He could easily influence and control this ruler, and most likely his progeny. The Council was divided and contentious, they could be manipulated and one contingent played against the other. Should rulership remain in this line, his goals were as good as accomplished.
But rulership in Sak K’uk’s lineage was another issue. Already Hun Pakal and Kan Mo’ Hix aggregated a strong group of supporters, ready to follow their leadership. Rumors circulated that Kan Mo’ Hix should be made ruler. He would certainly bring a stronger hand to leadership, but his impulsiveness might spark serious disruptions. Just how far the opposition group would go was an unknown. Civil strife and possible internal battle were unappealing possibilities.
If it was true that Pakal was destined for greatness, for rulership, then Pasah Chan was cultivating the wrong branch of the family. Maybe Hohmay would bear a son to keep succession in their line, but that was far from certain. He doubted the pregnancy would end successfully. If Pakal did become heir, and if he trained the boy from an early age . . . then his opportunity for influence was immense.
His brows knitted, Pasah Chan struggled to remember ephemeral images from ancient codices written in early forms of the Mayan language. Was there some distant prophecy about a great ruler, one whose mission was to guide his people to remember their celestial mandate, to inspire art and architecture that reflected cosmic harmony, to spark a creative vortex that would draw admiration from all parts of the world? Just beyond the fringes of memory some tantalizing fragments danced, but remained elusive. He must consult with the elderly priest who was the most revered codex expert.
The High Priest ascended the temple plaza as the sun caressed verdant peaks of the western mountains, sliding toward the distant great waters. Although the afternoon was warm, the old priest sat bundled in his blanket, cross-legged upon a low wall bench flanking the plaza. From this uppermost plaza of the High Priest’s Temple, a spectacular view spread below. Hazy plains rolled toward the horizon, patches of green mingling with golden fields of maize and olive leafed orchards. Like a traveling serpent, the Michol River curled across the plains, as towering trees that lined the river trailed lianas in its turbid waters. A few canoes plied the swift currents, hugging the banks as pilots propelled them with long poles.
The old man seemed oblivious of his visitor, eyes closed and head nodding in the sunlight. Pasah Chan noted the deeply wrinkled face, each crease representing cycles of time. Surely the old man had passed 104 tuns, twice the 52-tun age of elders. It was said that when 104 tuns were attained, the person had completed all the cycles of life and became living repositories of history and wisdom. Young people would sit in their hallowed presence to reflect upon time’s passages and the phases of earthly and celestial life. Simply to touch their wrinkled faces and hands was to receive blessings and attain deeper understandings.
Pasah Chan cleared his throat noisily. Slowly the old man turned toward him, watery eyes blinking and toothless mouth opening. His corneas were clouded and whitened. He tilted his head to obtain better view of this visitor, wrinkled lips pursing and popping like a gasping fish. His thin, clawed hands picked tremulously at the blanket.
“Greetings of the afternoon, Ah K’uch, Honored Ancient One,” said Pasah Chan. “It is good to enjoy Father Sun’s warmth, is it not?”
“K’in Ahau is good, he warms my old bones,” replied Ah K’uch in a high reedy voice. “Greetings to you, Pasah Chan, High Priest. How passes your day?”
“It is well, and I am happy to be with you again. May I join you?”
Ah K’uch nodded and gestured to the bench beside him. Moving his clouded gaze to the view below he gave a gummy smile.
“Such beauty does Hun Ahb K’u, the Infinite Creator of All give to this world. So shall I miss it, when I traverse the sky in the Celestial Canoe.”
“Let us hope that is yet far in the future.”
“Ah, hah,” the old man chuckled. “Not so far, not so far.”
Both men fell silent, each contemplating their destinies and life’s temporality.
“There is a task you might yet do, something of great importance to our city’s future.” The High Priest spoke softly but with crisp enunciation. “It is something that means much to me. A personal favor.”
Ah K’uch tilted his head back, looking upward into the young priest’s face.
“What would you have me do?”
“Search among ancient codices for a prophecy for Lakam Ha. A prophecy for these current times, about a great leader who is destined to bring Lakam Ha to its highest point. It is likely that the leader would also be the ruler, one yet to come, but soon.”
“Why do you ask me? You are a codex expert yourself, you could do that search.” Ah K’uch shrugged and wagged his head. “Here am I, a very old man. My wits are not as sharp as yours. My eyes are failing me. My limbs are frail and weak.”
“Your knowledge of codices far surpasses that of any priest, myself included,” Pasah Chan replied. “You say your wits are not so sharp, but your memory is boundless. It is such that should you command it, focus your mind, set your intention, that you can remember which among the thousands of codices speaks of this prophecy. I vaguely recall some prophecy concerning Lakam Ha’s destiny, but would spend countless days in fruitless searching. You can summon it to mind, scanning your memory.”
“Ah, perhaps that is so. Might not it take me countless days also? I have fewer days to count than you.” Enjoying his own humor, Ah K’uch chuckled.
Pasah Chan smiled, giving the hand sign for losing a point.
Time passed as the men sat in silence. The sun hovered at the mountain’s edge, sending golden beams across the plaza. Birds called in the forests, jostling for position among branches. Pasah Chan sighed, resigning himself to doing the search. It would take a long time, and Sak K’uk would keep pressing him to train Pak
al. He had hoped to get the information quickly upon which to base his decision.
“I will do it.” The old priest’s reedy treble startled Pasah Chan.
“Something to amuse my old mind before I join the ancestors. Yes, I know where to begin. It is a good thing, High Priest, that you reminded me of my memory.” He coughed and chuckled simultaneously while the younger man bowed and smiled.
A special chamber in the Temple of the High Priest was devoted to housing the codices. It was the uppermost chamber of the temple school, chosen to receive maximum light and air. The school was a two-tiered square building opening into a secluded courtyard. On the lower level were numerous classrooms; the upper held small chambers for meditation. The entire western-facing side of the upper level was a series of interconnected rooms with stone shelves lining the walls. These shelves held thousands of codices, the heritage of untold years of scribal work reaching far into Lakam Ha’s mythohistoric past. The codices held the arcane knowledge of the Maya: astronomy, astrology, divination, sacred geometry, numerology, healing arts and herbalism, calendars, alchemical recipes, history of dynasties and rulers, tales of gods and ancestors, philosophy, language, arts and music. It was an unparallel library, a hidden font of wisdom from ancient times.
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 K’uch 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 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 K’uch. “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 slowing 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 K’uch 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 K’uch.
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 K’uch 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 K’uch 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 acce
ded when he had attained 20 solar years in the next Katun. He must have been a child when it was written,” Ah K’uch 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 K’uch, chuckling. “K’inich Janaab Pakal. Your memory is better than mine.”
“That I doubt,” Pasah Chan smiled. “You found the codex from memory. Let me see. This Sun Eyed Lord of the Shield is guardian spirit of the sun when it rises at dawn at 12 Sky Place of B’aak. That is the twelfth zodiac sign, the skeleton.”
“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.
The Visionary Mayan Queen: Yohl Ik'Nal of Palenque Page 30