The Emperor's Men 8

by Dirk van den Boom

  Chitam made a snapping sound that expressed either contempt or unwillingness. “That’s true. But did your soldier act without orders and just promised the arsonist the highest honors and titles out of a whim?”

  Aritomo listened to the details of what Balkun – and only he could have meant – had heard that evening. No, no matter that Inugami didn’t appeared personally, it all pointed to him. And he, Aritomo, had the opportunity to finally resolve this matter.

  He stood up. There would be no use delaying the inevitable any longer. “My king, I will go now and investigate.”

  Chitam also rose and looked almost pleased, as if Aritomo’s actions met his expectations. “I think that’s necessary. What will you do if it turns out that my guess is true?”

  “Then I’ll go back to you in need of your advice.”

  Chitam looked a bit surprised at Aritomo. “My advice?”

  “How should someone behave who realizes that his master is completely wrong and threatens to destroy everything?”

  “Destroy?” Chitam laughed, it was a cynical laugh, a sound of despair, as if to express all his piercing thoughts that had been torturing him for days.

  “What a naive man you are, Aritomo! What kind of destruction? Saclemacal is conquered. Tayasal should already have fallen. I have no doubt that Inugami will also win Yaxchilan. And then what? Who wants to stop him? My house may vanish. But Mutal becomes the center of an empire that the Maya never saw before. It’s not a downfall, it’s a beginning, someone building something big!” Chitam laughed again. “How did I press my father in the past to show Mutal’s power in the world, to put neighbors in their place, to strengthen the city’s fame, to let the warriors march. He didn’t want to, wasn’t a man of permanent war. I didn’t despise him for it, but I never understood it. I dreamed of the glory of the battlefield and kings kneeling before me.”

  Chitam paused and sighed.

  “Inugami achieved what I dreamed of back then. That particularly worries me. He achieves a lot more, thinks differently than we do in our run-in ways. He pushes me and mine into the darkness of oblivion. His star shines brightly. I stand in his shadow. Soon, I’m afraid, I won’t be standing anymore at all.”

  A good part of this discouragement, Aritomo was certain, was due to the death of Tzutz. But another part simply spoke a truth.

  But he did not miss the lurking look that the king now directed at him. Chitam expected a response, more than a promise to take care of it. A kind of expression of loyalty, perhaps, a word that indicated how far the deputy distanced himself from the actions of his commander.

  But Aritomo was not ready for such a word. Not yet. Once he had certainty, final certainty, he would speak to Lengsley, perhaps Sawada and Sarukazaki, and after that, a decision had to be made. He felt very uncomfortable with it and knew that he was disappointing Chitam’s expectation, who may now be ready to reach for any straw that promised support and confirmation.

  But Aritomo was looking for that himself, and he didn’t know where to expect it.

  He said goodbye to the king, left him alone, a man who had lost the support of his life, who until recently he had never known how much she had kept him on the right track.

  He marched toward the Japanese shelter, where everyone who was not guarding the boat was staying. As he entered the courtyard, silence fell over the assembled crew, which had appeared without orders, driven by rumors and the need to learn more. Aritomo would not meet their desire now but beckoned to one of the two bodyguards Isamu’s who had stayed here. Even if he wasn’t the one who carried out the arson attack, he was sure he was aware of the goings-on of his comrade who accompanied Inugami on the campaign.

  The soldier followed silently. With a wink, Lengsley and Sarukazaki joined. They entered Aritomo’s room, and the officer got straight to the point.

  “Kato! I have an important matter to discuss with you!”

  The bodyguard, a wiry man in his early 30s, was met with prying eyes and stiffened. It was, as always, the escape into discipline that made a good Japanese soldier when there seemed to be no alternative.

  “Lieutenant!”

  “Have you recently carried out a private command from Captain Inugami?”

  The man pressed his lips together. Aritomo saw how conflicting feelings worked in him.

  “I don’t understand exactly what you mean,” the man said.

  The officer leaned forward. “You were ordered to shut up?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “You got an order?”

  Kato was silent, staring straight ahead, past everyone and through Aritomo.

  The latter nodded. “Lengsley, look at Kato’s place. Bring me his rifle and search for suspicious items.”

  The Brit frowned. Aritomo suspected that the question was what exactly should be regarded as a “suspicious” item, but he did not want to say so in the presence of the bodyguard to not undermine Aritomo’s authority. He saluted laxly and turned away.

  Aritomo’s eyes went back to Kato, who had frozen into a monument. “Kato, who is responsible for the arson attack on the palace?”

  He saw the man’s eyes widen slightly, only briefly, but it was response enough to tell Aritomo the bitter truth. How could the lieutenant know about this? Clearly, the man considered this question. It didn’t matter whether he had instigated the arsonist himself, whether it was his colleague – or another member of the crew who was blindly willing to follow Inugami. The bodyguards were Inugami’s closest confidants. They knew more than Aritomo, and that alone was enough in this case.

  The man said nothing.

  Aritomo didn’t blame him. He hadn’t learned it any other way, knew no other behavior. That made him a docile tool.

  Lengsley came back and shrugged. Instead of letting it go, he leaned over and whispered something in Aritomo’s ear.

  He nodded imperceptibly. “Soldier, where’s your weapon?”

  The bodyguard could no longer tense any of his muscles, he was so stiff.

  “I want to know where your rifle is, soldier. It is your duty to present the weapon at any time. I want an inspection.”

  The man didn’t move an inch.

  “I’ll put you under arrest if you keep refusing my orders,” Aritomo said slowly. “Not only did you ignore a superior’s direct question, you also lost your gun. And before that, if I may say so, your protégé, the Prince.”

  With that, he had hit the man. Apparently he wanted to say something, opened his mouth slightly but then changed his mind. The fact that the Prince had managed to disappear under his watchful eye had to bother him more than any wickedness he had committed on behalf of the captain.

  “No answer, soldier? Not a word?”

  Not one, as Aritomo was able to determine. He would not get on like this.

  “You’re under arrest. Sarukazaki, tie the man up. Collect everything, his sword, pistol, and then lock him up. He remains tied up until the captain is back and takes care of it.”

  Aritomo had no illusions about what Inugami would do to the man. His freedom was guaranteed. The captain needed loyal and disciplined followers, and the soldier no doubt belonged to this category.

  When Sarukazaki started the procedure, Aritomo noticed that he no longer considered himself loyal and disciplined. That made him restless. If he was no longer able to follow the captain unconditionally, as his duty dictated, where should his life go?

  Sarukazaki left, and he was alone with Lengsley.

  They looked at each other silently before the Brit spoke. He looked restless, excited, had probably figured the case out quickly.

  “Inugami is behind everything? The arson attack? The murder of Tzutz?”

  “I am convinced of it. He’s crazy.”

  “But could he succeed in his plans?”

  “For how long?” Aritomo shook her head. “His
empire is built on sand, Lengsley. One day he will overdo it and end up with an assassin’s knife in his heart. Then his work will collapse, and we – we fellow time travelers – will feel the revenge of the Maya. We will not even be able to hope for a gracious death. I don’t think everyone will differentiate between him and us then. I’ve already been able to experience this firsthand.”

  “Not a very nice outlook.”

  Aritomo smiled weakly. “We’re cowards, aren’t we? We just want to survive while the captain tries to change the world. We are faint-hearted, Lengsley. Maybe the captain is right, and this is a unique opportunity to write history.”

  Lengsley didn’t look too convinced. He looked at Aritomo as if he wanted to know if the Japanese really meant it. “I prefer to live in peace. I also can achieve great things and change the world, if only by teaching the Maya things that they do not yet know. Such changes are more radical than any conquest. They have a long-term impact. I’d rather be a teacher than a conqueror.”

  “Says a man from the British Empire, the greatest nation on earth.”

  Lengsley grinned and ran a hand through his hair. “The Empire is a bigger burden than you Japanese think.”

  “We want one ourselves.”

  “It will be your downfall, just like ours, at some point an unbearable burden. I am not a colonialist, Aritomo. I’ve seen a lot of the world, and I tell you, one day a lot of shit will fly in our faces.”

  “Another time and no longer our problem.”

  The Brit nodded. “So what are we doing about our problem at this time?”

  Aritomo smiled. “In any case, I want to prevent anything from flying into our faces.”

  In that, he saw, there was complete agreement between the two of them.

  15

  It took a while for Inocoyotl to gather all the information he needed, but it was not his first mission of this kind, and he was therefore not inexperienced in such matters. A brief audience with the suffering king had been rather unproductive, if not pointless. Then he had asked around, accepted invitations, moved around the higher circles of the city. He encouraged his soldiers to talk to the farmers, the artisans, the girls who were sent by their hosts to entertain them.

  Everyone had reported to him directly, and Inocoyotl had taken note of every detail, rumor, and joke. He encouraged those who turned out to be mouth-lazy by asking questions, and he met others who had a lot to tell with great patience. It was rarely the case that a single source brought complete knowledge. Usually, one had to assemble reality together from its facets. The ambassador was good at that. It was sometimes annoying, often boring, and in the end it became exhausting, but the procedure as such was inevitable.

  Everything came together in one picture.

  Inocoyotl had concluded that Chitam of Mutal was not the driving force behind his city’s expansion, that he was becoming increasingly distant from the messengers of the gods, and that the pain of his wife’s death prevented him from clearly seeing the way in front of him. Inocoyotl, an outsider, a man from afar and with only the pain that resided in his limbs after a long day, saw where Chitam’s journey was going. Two paths were open to him, no, basically three. Inocoyotl was not quite sure which one the king would choose.

  He might have to help a little. That was when the delicate part of his visit began.

  Queca listened to his master’s monologue in silence. The ambassador had made a habit of using the leader of his bodyguard as a wall against which he threw his ideas and arguments to see if they penetrated, caused scratches, or simply fell to the ground uselessly. Queca was of practical intelligence, although his arrogance sometimes stood in the way. But he sometimes managed to let the wall reflect, as if a ball ricocheted off it, and Inocoyotl particularly enjoyed that. Ultimately, he played a game here, and the rules have always been the same.

  “Three alternatives, sir?” Queca asked.

  “Three. He can give up and surrender to the dictates of the messengers of the gods, becoming an instrument that will outlive its usefulness at some point. He can immediately abdicate and hope to be able to enjoy a private life. And he can stand up, face the seemingly inevitable fate, and do whatever he can to save his city and throne.”

  Queca looked at Inocoyotl questioningly. “How should the latter work? If I understand the reports correctly, the Mutalese are enthusiastic about the holy messengers. They saved the city. They expand power and influence, take revenge on the attackers, bring new miracles, and lead the city to a position above everyone else. And many still believe that they are real messengers of the gods and that following them is a sacred duty.”

  “Very well observed, Queca,” Inocoyotl said. They sat in the assigned accommodation, comfortable and equipped with all amenities. It was late afternoon, and they had eaten well. If it weren’t for the situation in the city, the threat, the imponderability, Inocoyotl would have felt almost at ease. However, he would only be able to really relax once he had made a decision. Doing so was also one of the goals of his exchange with the officer, though he did not know how he was really helping his master in this moment.

  “He’ll need allies. He is the king, but he needs allies to win over the followers he still has and offer a real alternative,” Queca said musingly.

  “Allies like us. Or the alliance that is now forming. If we can get Chitam on our side, it would be a wonderful symbol for their endeavor – and a reason for the Alliance to claim full legitimacy in their resistance.”

  Queca nodded. He understood these kinds of arguments. Of course, there was only one symbol, one legitimacy, that he would ever follow. But he rightly assumed that the Maya had exactly the same behavior here that drove hi, too. “How can we get him to do this?”

  “By giving his revenge a goal.”

  “Does he seek revenge? He seems to me very introverted, immersed in grief, and …”

  “Anger. Queca. Something is bubbling inside him that is looking for a way to break out. Chitam is an intelligent man and not without self-control. He looks for his way, but may choose the wrong one. Maybe he wants to fight against the messengers all by himself. Or perhaps he believes that Yaxchilan has to fall first, since they are responsible for his wife’s death. But does he believe in this connection? Does he doubt the official explanation? His relationship with the strangers is not perfect, that’s easy to see. We have to show him a way, Queca. It is in our interest and in the end also in his.” It was clear to the soldier that the former was far more important to him than the latter.

  “Will he listen to you, sir?”

  “I am the Messenger of Teotihuacán. He can’t afford not to listen to me.”

  “Quite so.” Queca moved restlessly. It wasn’t his way of arguing with a king’s envoy, and it had taken him a while to realize that it didn’t hurt him. Nevertheless, it could be noticed from time to time that he had to force himself to contradict Inocoyotl in a field of expertise where he really had nothing to say as a soldier. “But are you important or influential enough to convince him?”

  Inocoyotl smiled. Queca really didn’t need to much effort to come to this simple question. “No. That would also be the wrong approach. I cannot stand and mark the important man from Teotihuacán, who, with an imperious gesture, announces the truth and expects the King of Mutal to take this at face value immediately. Let us not forget that our city was involved in Mutal’s affairs long ago. The first rulers may have deliberately referred to us in their buildings and chronicles, but look around. All steles of the dynasty testify that one quickly created one’s own identity, which was more in line with the Mayan traditions and did not push the legacy aside, but let it take a back seat. Not disrespectful but necessary. We are the distant brother, the bond of loyalty is weak. I won’t be able to renew it with a mere visit, Queca. No, it is my words themselves that have to bear their own weight. Either the meaning of what I’m saying is convincing, or I’ll nev
er get to Chitam.”

  “So you have to choose your words carefully.”

  The ambassador sighed. “And place and time to say them. Everything is difficult, because the latter in particular runs through our fingers. We can’t stay here forever, we have to report to the Alliance and, more importantly than that, I have to go back to Teotihuacán urgently to subject my actions to the judgment of the Divine.”

  Queca’s expression remained a mask, which was only a good thing. As reasonable as her king seemed, it was absolutely unpredictable how he would react to the very autonomous behavior of his envoy – especially when Inocoyotl suggested that he’d participate in an alliance against Mutal, even assume leadership, and therefore a long and in all likelihood a bloody war, the outcome of which was anything but certain. Queca was wise if he didn’t identify too much with what Inocoyotl was doing or not doing. If the king disagreed with what his envoy had accomplished, the shadow of his displeasure could quickly fall on the captain. And if such a shadow fell, the very best of fate was slavery. On the other hand, the priests’ hunger for suitable victims for the high holidays was insatiable. A strong, handsome man in the prime of his day would do well on the sacrificial stone.

  Inocoyotl smiled when he noticed that such or at least comparable thoughts shot through the soldier’s head. He did not resent the man’s reluctance. Inocoyotl knew that he was dancing on the edge of a very sharp obsidian blade. There were many risks. But with all fear of the arbitrariness of his ruler, the older man was still a patriot and convinced of the size and dominance of Teotihuacán. The fact that this sometimes had to be helped a little was part of the business.

  “Queca, I wrote a letter summarizing all the news and my assessments. Which of your men is the fastest and most enduring runner?”

  “Tecal is the best. Nobody catches up with him, and he never tires. With light luggage and the seal of the king, he will travel quickly and safely.”

  The ambassador carried several of these seals with him, neatly drawn on paper. They were considered a passport and a symbol of protection and power. Whoever bore this seal could invoke the Divine Ruler of Teotihuacán, and anyone who disabled or killed a seal bearer would have to expect the terrible revenge of the most powerful city in the world. The Maya were very careful about this. They either did not like the sovereignty of the great city at all or only recognized it by name – Inocoyotl had no illusions about it –, but throwing stones in the way of an official messenger would not occur to them either. Not even their gods would come up with this absurd idea if asked about it.