The Emperor's Men 8

by Dirk van den Boom

  Chitam, however, seemed to take Inocoyotl’s doubts more seriously than before.

  “My expectations are more hopes. Your ancestors from your city once helped my ancestors to rule over Mutal. You founded the dynasty from which my grandfather and father came. I hope nothing more than that the Eternal City will help me to preserve this legacy and to manage it in the spirit of the Divine Ruler. I am not clear about the nature of those who some still call messengers of the gods – but they are normal people in exceptional circumstances, I cannot describe them better. And they have plans, especially this Inugami who wants to forge an empire and is more successful than I ever thought possible. I want to stop him.”

  The Teotihuacán man felt that the question had to be asked that ultimately mattered when it came to the future role of his city and the whole alliance.

  “Would that mean Mutal would stop conquering once Inugami is beaten?”

  Inocoyotl did not miss the imperceptible hesitation with which Chitam replied. That was all too understandable. When a great gift fell into your hands that so wonderfully corresponded to your own secret desires and hopes, you didn’t spontaneously tend to give it away, just because you disagreed with how you got there. But Chitam was a realist, and if not when he took office, then certainly now.

  “I will reinstate the families of those places in their rightful offices and will not ask more than the usual tribute. Mutal will not strive for direct and lasting rule, not an empire, as Inugami intends to do.”

  Inocoyotl nodded. That was a clever answer, within the framework of the previous thinking of the Mayan rulers and thus acceptable for the other kings as well as for Teotihuacán. It made no difference whether Chitam would silently mourn no getting a new kind of realm – Inocoyotl was almost certain that he would –, it was all about the fact that Chitam did what had to be done not to replace the threat by the holy messengers with a new one, of which he was the author.

  Because the spear that would be directed against Inugami could also pierce Chitam’s chest when it was time. That the young king was clearly aware of this fact was shown by his well-chosen words.

  “I’m going to do the following now,” Inocoyotl said. “I will soon leave and travel home. It is time to report directly to my Lord and seek his advice. After that I will come back here if I am still welcome. If not, you’ll find me among Inugami’s enemies.”

  “Unless your king refuses our supplication.”

  “That’s true. But I don’t expect it. My Lord is of great wisdom. He sees the danger as yours and will do anything to eliminate it. We’ll meet again, Chitam of Mutal.”

  The king did not look convinced, but probably decided to continue to nurture hope.

  “It would be a good thing, noble Chitam, if you would live a life pleasing Inugami until then. You are of little use to all of us if dead, and if you start too soon, it will only lead to a waste of valuable energy. As soon as I have told you about my Lord’s decision, we plan the rest. And if, in the meantime, you succeed in getting inclined members of the messengers on your side, then this should serve us in due course. Maybe you can put the balls of one or the other in the hands of the right woman. The tactic appears promising.”

  Chitam was seen to have conflicting feelings fighting in him. The young king’s impatience was certainly hard to curb, his urge to retaliate for injustice suffered, especially his wife’s death, was his greatest problem. But then reason prevailed, at least for the moment. He agreed.

  “Noble Chitam, you must hold out now,” said the ambassador. “I know what moves you, and your feelings ennoble you. Still, it would be fatal to take the wrong action too early. If my overlord accepts the leadership of the alliance against the messengers, he will want to consult with the other Mayan kings. All of this will take time.”

  “During this time, Inugami not only conquers Yaxchilan, but other cities too,” Chitam grumbled.

  “That might be true. I never said it would be an easy fight. But we can only strike effectively when we are ready. If we let the events push us, we miss our target, and the catastrophe is even bigger. If we fail, Chitam, nobody will stand in the way of Inugami, and he will achieve his goal of changing the world according to his will. Who knows if the glorious Teotihuacán will still be able to resist him? And imagine that: What limits do people or gods want to impose on a man who can then call himself the King of the Maya and the great Teotihuacán? We’re playing a very daring game!”

  He saw that his words had effect on the young king.

  “I bow to your wise advice, ambassador,” Chitam said softly. “I don’t want to make mistakes. I’ve already made too many.”

  “What would you have done differently?”

  “The messengers of the gods should have been caught and killed immediately.”

  “Would it have been so easy? Or is the power of their weapons just a rumor?”

  Chitam laughed.

  “No rumor, noble Inocoyotl. Not a rumor. No, it would not have been easy to do. But we should have tried. Mutal has sold his soul to Inugami and his dreams. Everyone is only talking about the great empire that we are building. Priests see themselves as kings, nobles as governors of large areas. Everyone dreams of the wealth that we are given, the power, and not a few begin to look longingly at the other big cities. If no one intervenes against this madness, Inugami will have willing helpers who will do everything possible to fulfill this dream. That is not the way of our fathers. My father didn’t sacrifice himself for that.”

  Inocoyotl nodded. The story of the old king’s death had affected him more than he expected. It was hard enough to inherit a throne this way. To see it slip out of one’s hands like Chitam now was a special burden.

  “We will do what we can, King of Mutal.”

  Chitam said nothing. It was evident from his face that he was now embracing melancholy, and it was clear that their conversation had ended. Inocoyotl muttered a few polite words of farewell before moving away from the king’s presence.

  Queca was waiting for him when he returned to his quarters. The officer looked at him expectantly. Even before he went to Chitam, Inocoyotl had told him to prepare for their early departure.

  “We’re ready to leave Mutal at once,” Queca greeted him. “All the men rested and ate. If we start walking right away, we will still be able to cover a fair distance today.”

  “It’s good, my friend. In an hour. I will give the Mutalese an opportunity to say goodbye. It’s not fitting for us to disappear from the city like unwanted supplicants who have been turned away.”

  “Have we been turned away?”

  Inocoyotl smiled.

  “No, I do not think so. So my job here is done. Now we return home, and I report to the ruler. He will decide whether I acted well or have been in error.”

  Queca bowed respectfully and left. What remained unspoken between them was that this decision could also be a life or death decision for the envoy. And that Inocoyotl had only spoken of himself only, meant protection from the King’s anger for the officer.

  As far as that was possible.

  20

  “Lord, what does that look like?”

  Balkun stared at the builder. The older man behaved appropriately respectfully, and Balkun was ready to believe him that the question was serious, of real interest. It was one of many questions asked today, and he knew that many more would follow. The problem was that he didn’t know many of the answers.

  “Lord, how should the warriors be trained? We don’t understand the new ways!”

  Balkun was able to answer this question at least in part. He had been trained in these new ways and had acquired a certain level of competence. Inugami’s command – “Make me an army!” – wasn’t easy to implement, but he knew where to start. And the willingness of the men of Saclemacal to learn was there. They had noticed how to lose to a new, a modern army, and no matter w
hat happened, they didn’t want it to happen a second time.

  “Lord, what should the walls look like?”

  That’s where the problems started. Balkun was a farmer, not a builder. He didn’t build anything. The largest he had ever built was his own mud hut. He had no idea, but Inugami’s command had been: “Fortify the city! Build walls!”

  The fact that the builders from Saclemacal asked him for advice on such things was of course out of spitefulness. They were competent enough to build a city wall. But they didn’t want to go forward so readily, think and plan for themselves. They wanted the Governor, who spoke in the name of the messengers of the gods, to have problems piling on his lap so that he would eventually sink under the burden of his tasks. And they wanted him to say silly things that they could enjoy and by which they proved the governor’s unsuitability.

  They were on the right track with that.

  “Lord, what should the sacrificial rituals look like? It will soon be a full moon!”

  One of the orders that Balkun was most likely to sign was Inugami’s clear instruction that human sacrifice would be banned in the future. Instead, only ritual slaughter of animals was permitted, and the priests had been made absolutely clear that any violation would be punished with their own execution. This did not stop an eager representative of the gods – Balkun had already had to carry out this judgment before – and the priests, as the most powerful group in every city, persistently showed themselves to be inconsistent. He knew the rituals as well as any peasant. And now he should give the priests instructions on what exactly should be changed? He wasn’t ready for it. As long as the basic command was carried out, he didn’t care.

  “Lord, how much tribute do we pay to Mutal?”

  This was as difficult to understand for Balkun as it was for the governing elite of the conquered city. Inugami had introduced a two-tier tax system – on the one hand, Balkun was required to levy a tax to keep his administration running and to care for a standing army consisting of the Mutalese garrison and a Saclemacal regiment. He also had to pay a regular tax to Mutal, which consisted of obsidian blades and food. All the other common tributes – gifts for the kings, gorgeous clothing, and the like – had been done away with. Inugami had invented a word for it that Balkun had a hard time understanding: “War economy.” The orientation of all production was toward one goal: to wage a war of conquest and enable the armies to operate every day of the year. The instruction had been clear, but the former masters of Saclemacal had difficulty understanding the concept behind it. Balkun felt with them. But it changed nothing.

  “Lord, when will the great Inugami come back?”

  Balkun had no illusions about the motivation for this question. There was no ardent need to see the Master of the messengers again in order to feast on his delicious personality and extensive wisdom. It was more of a fear of control from the new ruler and the question of how long you had to manipulate the stupid peasant son Balkun. Because that’s exactly what it was all about – overwhelming him with problems, then apparently submissively offering their own solutions, gradually letting the city administration slip back into the hands of the old elite in order to relieve the poor governor and provide distractions at the same time. Balkun had never been such an attractive man before, so beautiful, the city’s daughters gathered around him and vied for his favor. Never before had Balkun been offered so much exquisite food and drink. If he decided to do so, he could spend his waking hours with permanent lust and gluttony. He felt the temptation one time or another, he admitted it to himself.

  But they didn’t know the stupid peasant well enough.

  Balkun knew what he really wanted. Secure his position so that one day he could be reunited with his family. Inugami would take his home, there was no doubt about it. The Lord of the messengers had previously ensured that unnecessary slaughter on the ordinary population was avoided. He saw every Maya as the material he needed for his plans, and killing women and children would unnecessarily reduce that material and its potential expansion. So there was a good chance that his wife and children would survive the attack, especially since the warrior slaves had little interest in killing their own families.

  Balkun wasn’t even sure if they would attack the city’s defenders. That was the big uncertainty factor now. Could Inugami rely on this army? It had worked in Saclemacal and Tayasal, certainly because the majority of the slave army originally came from Yaxchilan and had no extraordinary sympathy for the two smaller cities. But now the warrior slaves were coming home. Would Inugami be careful in his approach? This was unlikely given that the bulk of the army consisted of Mutal’s free fighters. The slaves would die if they turned against their new masters. And if the fight was fairly light …

  If. But.

  Balkun looked at the petitioners and notables in front of him. For them, the new governor seemed to be distracted a bit. Some seemed to be pleased. A ruler who was not completely on the job could easily be manipulated, looked overwhelmed and could not grow on the job. Was he dreaming? One would neither disturb him nor burden him with unimportant details.

  Balkun smiled and turned to one of them. He took a deep breath. “I will take over the training unit for the new warriors myself in an hour. I wish that the best of them are in the front row and pay particular attention to what I do. I have worked out a precise plan. Some of my garrison comrades will act as instructors and implement the plan. If there are problems with this, contact the instructor. You are responsible for the new warriors.”

  One bowed.

  Balkun continued to smile and turned to another. “The sacrificial rituals are the prerogative of priests alone. I don’t want to touch your sacred duties, and I do not want to interfere unduly. Inugami’s order must be carried out so that no more human sacrifices may be made. The priests decide which alternative sacrifices are suitable, and I want to accept their judgment. They should ask the gods for guidance and inspiration, and I am sure they will have an answer.”

  One bowed.

  Balkun, still smiling, turned to the third. “We pay the amount of tribute to Mutal that is possible after the next harvest. The great Inugami told me to send a tenth of all food to Mutal. However, we only pay tribute to equipment and weapons after our own troops are well equipped with everything. We send the obsidian alone, which we do not need, together with the food, and only when the harvest is complete. That is my order.”

  One bowed.

  Balkun rose and turned to everyone. He wasn’t smiling now. “Yaxchilan is falling soon. The big city will become a slave to Mutal, like we are all slaves to the new empire. On the way back to the capital, the great Inugami will also pass by and ask if everything has worked out as he ordered. I advise you to make sure that is the case, because the Lord of the messengers is not a gracious Lord. Where he punishes me, the punishment also falls on you. My pain will only be mine, but yours will be felt everywhere, in the whole city. If you wish not to be punished, do your best to carry out all the orders. I can be missing and replaced, as Inugami wishes. But his hand around your throat will never come loose, I assure you.”

  His words hadn’t failed, he could see that. He looked around, as if inviting contradictions, but nobody spoke.

  “The audience is over,” he said then, raising both arms. “Go.”

  Everyone bowed.

  Balkun smiled again.

  The throne room emptied except for the servants and guards. Balkun sat on his throne and looked again into the void.

  Now he was allowed to ponder and dream a little. There was so much to decide and prepare, not least the best plan how he could reunite with his family, and how he would, one day, betray Inugami and Mutal.

  There was no doubt in his mind that he had to and wanted to do that.

  Perhaps the defiant men of Saclemacal would help him.

  21

  “It’s not the army we once had,” Nachi Cocom sa
id, looking down at the warriors that had gathered in the main square of Yaxchilan. “It’s not the army we wanted to use to defeat Mutal.”

  It was a statement, and he tried to keep the melancholy out of his voice as much as possible. But it was difficult for him. When he thought of what was lost, completely irretrievably, he simply felt melancholy.

  “It’s more than we can expect,” his wife replied, nodding to him. “The surrounding towns have sent us men, as far as they can, to help defend our homeland. We are not Tayasal, my lord. We are not cowards.”

  Nachi Cocom had become the ruler of Yaxchilan without having specifically applied for it. At the time of the old king’s departure, when he embarked toward Mutal, so full of anticipation and certainty of victory, Cocom had been lying sick on his bed, shaken by the fever. It was as if the gods had made sure that he couldn’t take part in this fateful attack. He had not become a slave to the messengers, and his blood did not flow down the streets of Mutal. Instead, he, one of the city’s highest nobles, had been made the last representative of an elite, of which most remained on the battlefield. He had let himself be driven more by the events than to actively control them, and when he took on this position, he knew immediately that he was facing a gigantic task. The expectations that lay on him were enormous. The mere fact that he did not act timidly and desperately raised him above many others in the city.

  However, it had become a more interesting job than he had initially imagined.

  The emissary of the alliance, a hurried traveler from B’aakal, had stretched out his hand in friendship, and he had taken it like a drowning man grasping for a piece of driftwood. The envoy had come with 200 warriors who had traveled the distance in hard marches, dispatched as soon as Saclemacal’s case had been reported in B’aakal, and then contingents of other, smaller towns from the area had been added. All of them had to pay tribute, and Nachi had done nothing more than claim his right.