The Emperor's Men 8

by Dirk van den Boom

  Along with the returnees from Mutal, those who were neither fallen nor slaves, Nachi Cocom had an army with which he would have gone into battle with some confidence under normal circumstances. But these were not normal circumstances. The returnees’ descriptions had startled him. At first he couldn’t believe all of this. But if even the envoy from B’aakal said that the danger was not imaginary, then there had to be something wrong with the rumors.

  The Mutalese army was large, one of the largest, and it was full of self-confidence, as one would expect. But not so long ago, the men of Yaxchilan had been able to find out how much that could be deceiving. The difference, however, was that Nachi did not own any miraculous godly weapons he could use against the enemy.

  If the reports from Saclemacal and Tayasal were correct, the arsenal of miracle weapons was also rather limited among the attackers. There were some impressive constructions, like huge bows that could do considerable damage, and Mutal’s soldiers, at least those warrior slaves, were equipped differently and fought in a new way, which seemed to be quite threatening, very organized, not following the known principles. The individual fighter was less important – it was the unit that counted –, and the way of fighting was the same as if everyone were just puppets that were pulled by invisible threads. No more space for individual fame, for outstanding deeds, for personal triumph, but possibly fewer deaths on your own and more on the side of your opponents.

  Ultimately, however, it was the simple superiority that posed the greatest danger, and knocking out this important advantage for the enemy was Nachi’s defense plan.

  It was a daring game. It could end in a slaughter that the history of the Maya had never seen before. Maybe plan was based on a fatal mistake on his part.

  But it was the only serious option, and it was the new king’s duty to use it. He would not throw himself in the dust like the rulers of the two smaller cities in front or let himself be largely defenseless. If he did so, the conqueror would be left unchecked, no one would seriously stand in his way, and the newly formed alliance of B’aakal would be weakened before it really intervened.

  Nachi Cocom had to try, even if it included the possibility of his own downfall.

  And his people were with him. He saw fear, of course, the same one that filled him. But he also saw determination, the courage of despair and the grief over the victims, whose cruel fate had already shaken them.

  He had talked to them for a long time. He had wanted to convince them, not just order something. Everyone was now familiar with his tactics. His men would now go into town and inform the population. They would go to any hut, to any family that had sent a warrior to Mutal who had not returned. When the messenger army approached, they would all come together and form their own force. They would not carry weapons, only women and children, at best boys just before they reached the age of majority. Mothers who carried babies in their arms and who should oppose the warrior slaves. Their husbands, brothers, sons and fathers.

  A dumb, defenseless army. No, Nachi corrected himself in thought. Not defenseless. Their power was not that of the atlatl, the spear and the ax. Their power was the carefully painted faces of women and girls, the big eyes of children. Their powers were the enthusiastic calls when a daughter or son recognized the father. A power from which only the completely heartless, the fundamentally changed, the brutalized and stupid could shut themselves off.

  Of course, this demonstration could fail completely. There were Mutal’s soldiers, the real enemy. They could press ahead with the attack, they could even turn against the slaves, drive them forward, threaten them with death. But how far would they go? Did the first woman, the first child of a warrior slave, die from a hurled spear, provide the tipping point where this new, so well-disciplined army would turn against its creator? Nachi calculated exactly with such a development, with this reaction. He wasn’t comfortable with it but lacked military power to defend himself conventionally. Yaxchilan had no fortified walls yet, although the new king realized that a new era had also begun for future urban layouts. A lot would change if they survived this war. The city would change. Not all old ways had proven themselves. The Maya had looked very much into the inside.

  It was time to look outside too.

  Nachi tilted his head back and looked up at the sky.

  Or upside, if the Mutalese stories were true.

  He stood alone in the throne room at Yaxchilan. His wife had said goodbye when all words had been said. She would now ensure that their children together with some companions would go to B’aakal to receive protection there. Nachi claimed this privilege if his fate were otherwise sealed in the event of a defeat. Even if he surrendered, chances were he would find death. He was a living symbol, and that was more dangerous than a martyr. Inugami seemed to be like someone who knew how to weigh his alternatives, and Nachi knew what he would do in the case, as a conqueror, as someone who wanted to establish an empire, a ruler like the Maya lands had never seen before.

  He understood what was attractive about this idea. It was just far more difficult not to be the conqueror, but to be conquered. It gave him … perspective.

  “Lord, the wife of Balkun, as requested.”

  Nachi jumped from his thoughts and nodded to the servant. He waved. Moments later a young woman entered the throne room, looking shy. She was strong, with calluses on her hands that showed hard work. She wore a simple robe, but it had been cleaned and patched up for the audience with the king, and looked as neat as a peasant woman could appear, whose husband had disappeared since the campaign and carried the burden to feed her family alone on her shoulders.

  She bowed deeply, obviously not quite knowing how to behave properly in the presence of the high lord.

  “Get up,” he said softly. “We’ll sit down there.”

  He pointed to the two stone stools. In front of it was a low table on which the servants had served food, enough to satisfy them. The woman sat as ordered and hardly dared to look at him openly. Nachi sighed inwardly. That made this conversation neither easier for him nor for her.

  “I need to talk to you about your husband, Balkun, if I’m not mistaken,” he said, and immediately noticed how the woman’s body stiffened and a fearful expression shaded her face.

  “That’s his name. Do you have any news? Is he alive?”

  Nachi nodded.

  “As far as I know, he’s fine. Actually very fine. Yesterday a refugee from Tayasal told me what kind of fate befell him.”

  The fear did not want to disappear from the woman’s eyes.

  “Your name is Bulu, right?”

  She smiled.

  “Your husband is alive. He has risen. The messenger of the gods made him king of Saclemacal, by his grace. He rules the city in the name of the new conqueror.”

  Bulu stared at Nachi in disbelief, which made him smile.

  “At first I couldn’t really believe it. Tell me about Balkun.”

  The woman seemed to be awakened by this question. Perhaps it was also the realization that she was now the wife of a king that made her lose a little of her shyness. “My husband … he’s a simple man.”

  “I heard that he increased his family’s wealth in his life.”

  Bulu nodded. “He was the fourth son of a farming family, without any inheritance or land rights of any kind. He married me and built our house. He works hard. Our store is filled with corn, the children wear clothes. My eldest son is very intelligent. A master builder took him on as an apprentice. Balkun worked very hard for this. He is a good man.”

  The last sentence came out a little weak, an indication that the woman was telling the king not simply a story but the truth. A good man who was now working for the enemy. After all, he would not be part of the army, and Bulu and her children would not be part of the human wall the king sought to build.

  It was significant that Bulu’s question took up precisely thi
s thought. “Will he come to Yaxchilan, my lord? Will he be among the attackers?”

  Nachi shook his head. “It is unlikely. Balkun manages the past conquest of the messengers. His task is not to expand the realm, but to secure it. He’s in Saclemacal, as far as I know.”

  Bulu’s face clouded. “What should happen now?”

  Nachi nodded. A legitimate question and the reason why he asked her to come to him.

  “Balkun is simple, you say, and yet it seems to have certain qualities. He is hardworking, I understand, and he has fought bravely on several campaigns, as I have been told. So he’s not a man without courage.”

  “That’s right, sir. But now he’s a slave to the messengers.”

  “There are slaves of different kinds. Status doesn’t say much about a man and his influence.”

  “I can’t judge that, sir. We have no slaves. We’re glad we’re free.”

  “So the status must weigh on Balkun.”

  Bulu nodded without hesitation, and Nachi had the impression of openness and honesty again. “He loves his freedom and that of his family. We never got into debt or got into blood feuds. Balkun has wisely kept us away from all of this. I lack his protection.”

  The last sentence sounded weak again, a little shaky, and Nachi decided he was doing the right thing. “The enemy will attack soon. I’ll defend the city as best I can, but I don’t know how the battle will end.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Bulu said worriedly.

  “How big is your family?”

  “Two daughters and a son, sir.”

  “The daughters still live with you?”

  “They’re too young to get married.”

  Nachi nodded. “I want you to collect your family and pack supplies. I will give you one of my men who will accompany you. You are traveling to Saclemacal, and as quickly as possible. To not meet the soldiers of the enemy, you will make a detour, so the journey will take a little longer. You should collect sufficient food and new sandals. Go to Saclemacal and return to your husband. You will be safe there, and you and your children will be fine.”

  Bulu looked at her king in amazement … and with suspicion.

  Nachi smiled inwardly. He liked it when people reacted that way. It was a sign of intelligence to suspect a ruse behind a ruler’s blessing. Nachi’s respect for this peasant woman grew.

  “Should I deliver a message to him?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Should I … advise him on something specific?”

  “No.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Leave and live with your husband in peace.”

  Bulu still had that searching look, but it was obvious that she couldn’t think of another question. She hesitated, glanced at the dishes that none of them had touched. Nachi because he wasn’t hungry, and the woman hadn’t dared to eat in the presence of the king without being asked to do so.

  Which Nachi had, of course, missed. He sighed. “Eat, Bulu, eat. I’ll have something to eat too.”

  To emphasize his words, he picked up a flatbread and bit into it. As always, the food was excellent. The woman also took a heart and started nibbling on something. She looked very thoughtful. She was probably wondering what kind of fate would await her in Saclemacal and whether the difficult journey would be without incident.

  “A clever plan, high lord,” Bulu said then, without being asked. “You send me to my husband as a sign. You remind him of his king’s loyalty and generosity. He should have a guilty conscience that he is now serving the enemies of Yaxchilan and should be prepared for when you or your allies ask for his help.”

  Nachi put the flatbread aside and looked at Bulu with a mixture of wonder and respect. He knew that simple people should not be considered stupid simply because they were not noble or had no education. “Good, you can read my mind,” he said softly. “A bad plan in your eyes? Will you advise him not to go this way?”

  “I’ll advise him not to have a guilty conscience,” the woman replied in a brave voice. “He went to battle and was caught and enslaved. If anyone is supposed to feel bad, it’s Tatb’u, the old king.”

  “As far as I heard, he felt the consequences of his arrogance. But what will you advise your husband to do?”

  “That he should do what he thinks is right. That has helped us all in the past, why shouldn’t it continue to do so in the future? Balkun is not a fool, as you have rightly noticed. No fool is made a slave-king of a whole city. Balkun knows what he’s doing, he always knew.” She looked at him and paused for a moment as if to consider her next words carefully. “I know my husband. When the day comes when you want to send him a message to get him to rebel against the messengers of the gods, he will read that message and consider its content. But I tell you right away, it is not the question of the legitimacy of a king that drives him, but the question of what kind of world his children should grow up in. If he takes pleasure in obeying this Inugami, only extortion will keep him from following his heart. And here you are doing one thing, if you allow me this judgment: With sending me, you give away the instrument with which he could be blackmailed. That is exactly what will increase the weight of your words – or those of your friends – when one day they are spoken.”

  Nachi nodded slowly. A long speech for a peasant woman whom he had little confidence in and which contained wisdom, the right conclusions, and the desired perspective. Nachi felt strengthened in his decision. He would use the families of the other warrior slaves as a leverage, as he had decided, and this act might diminish his good impression on Bulu. But on the other hand, she was smart enough to know why he was doing everything he was.

  Nachi looked at the flatbread he had picked up again. For a moment he wondered why he suddenly valued this woman’s opinion. It may have had its own guilty conscience to carry.

  No, most definitely, he did.

  He sighed, now clearly audible, and smiled at Bulu.

  “Eat in peace, wife of Balkun, and then leave in peace.”

  “Thank you, noble sir.”

  “I’m not half as noble as you think.”

  Bulu returned his smile.

  “It’s surely sufficient for me.”

  22

  The sandstone shattered under the steady chisel of the artisan. Aritomo saw him skillfully use the obsidian tool and drive it into the stone from above with a flat mallet. He worked in a way that had two effects at the same time – the sandstone only lost as much of its consistency as was necessary to fit seamlessly into the wall, and the chisel was used as little as possible. However, it was common for such a chisel to have to be recut after one day and often to be no longer usable after a second. There was a whole chain of artisans who stood invisibly behind this man and who had to provide the tools he needed for his work. The lack of metal tools was a difficult handicap in the eyes of the Japanese. Iron ore was certainly found in Central America, and they would look for it, begin with simple mining and smelting, and not only revolutionize Mayan construction but certainly weapon technology as well. But until then, the locals mainly used the softer precious metals to which they had access but which were rather unsuitable for tools.

  Aritomo shaded his eyes. The section of the wall here, directly on the street to the west, was the first to be built. They had already planned the wide opening for the gate, and the two parts of the wall that joined to the right and left of the street were each a good four meters long. The height should be three meters, with a wooden walkway behind it. The thickness, decided based on security and urgency, was no more than one meter, enough for the time being, in order to withstand an attack of enemies unfamiliar in the art of a proper siege. The building of the wall was necessary because everyone, including Inugami, knew exactly that any new military technology would spread like wildfire. The kind of onagers and catapults they built today would be part of the arsenal of those who resisted
the Mutalese expansion tomorrow. The sooner and the better they prepared for that day, the longer Mutal would survive. It was in everyone’s interest.

  Building a city wall was not a particular challenge for the city’s builders. Anyone who was able to build gigantic palaces and pyramids, understood the concept of a fortification with ease. It was surprising that the Mayan cities were largely unprotected, despite the fact that their external relations were often warlike. It had to have something to do with the tradition that Inugami had now started to break – to renounce the permanent conquest and occupation of an inferior city and, after a sufficient symbolic submission, to deploy at most one new dynasty and be satisfied with a tribute.

  “A wall,” Chitam said, looking at the work of the builders, who were concentrating on what they were doing and were not put off by the presence of the high visitors. “We’re building a wall around us. This shows very well how we now act and think. I am not sure if this the will of the gods.”

  Aritomo did not know whether the last sentence really had to do with a newly awakened spirituality on the part of the king. Chitam had never seemed particularly pious to him.

  “The wall protects the city,” he said simply.

  “From enemies that we wouldn’t have had without your intervention.”

  Aritomo had not missed the sarcastic undertone. “You had enough enemies, too, and Mutal would have been attacked. The difference now lies in the nature of the struggle. I disagree with many things my commander does. You should have noticed that by now, noble majesty. But I think there’s nothing wrong with protecting your own home as well as possible, and this wall protects the valuable life of warriors and residents alike.”

  Chitam wiped his forehead. “Ha! ‘Majesty’ no more. I think my title has lost a lot of shine in the past few weeks. My priests, the clan chiefs, are all raving about the new age that is now dawning. The wall is only a tiny aspect. They are all blinded by the prospect of power and glory. They see this structure more as a symbol of military rise and strength. Am I the only one who sees a fence that hugs us like animals?”