The Emperor's Men 8

by Dirk van den Boom

  Inugami stopped and nodded, imperceptibly.

  A creator.

  He was not an administrator of anything.

  He created.

  And he didn’t want to stop until he took his last breath.

  Because only for that, he was certain, he had come here.

  26

  Ik’Naah rose and bowed her head in front of the image of the goddess. Ever since she was ordained as the highest priestess of the fertility goddess, taking over the reign of the Isle of Swallows, she felt the burden of this task weighing more and more on her shoulders. It wasn’t the numerous women who made the pilgrimage to be blessed, hoping that their wish for a child would finally come true. It was not the constant work of maintaining the temple without overburdening the island’s resources. It was not the recurring question of which city the temple is now subordinate to and to whom Ik’Naah has to swear allegiance, when she wanted nothing more than to preserve the old neutrality of the Swallow Island and a place of pilgrimage, peace and the chance to enjoy contemplation.

  It was the age that depressed her.

  Without age, all of these problems would surely be easier to deal with, with more energy, perhaps a little carefree. Seen through the glasses of all the years, every challenge piled up mountains that found her old bones more and more difficult to climb.

  It has been a long time since she came here. Many years since she found her calling as a servant to the great goddess. The earth and moon goddess Ixchel, after whom so many hopeful parents named their favorite daughters, was the goddess of protection for water, the rainbow and pregnant women, a powerful mistress and yet a being full of grace and wisdom, a force of kindness and not a deity who constantly asked for new wars. Perhaps that was why it was so difficult for her, as the mistress of the temple, to have to defend it against the desires of the neighboring cities. It had been easier for her to do when she was younger. Yes, she had a certain diplomatic skill, and for a long time she had been able to accomplish the task that the goddess had given her.

  But now she felt tired and exhausted. The prayer brought her no clarity, no more certainty, but more tiredness. She felt the limbs of her body, how they began to protest with every movement and how she became almost as tired during the day as at night – and yet rarely found sleep that would restore her strength.

  It was hard to admit that, but there was no doubt that it was time to choose a successor. There were many suitable candidates, but it was precisely in this situation that it was difficult for one of the youngsters to do the difficult task of keeping Swallow Island out of their neighbors’ disputes. One would not be afraid, of course, but Ik’Naah felt guilty about the fact and the silent fear that it was not youthful energy that was the deciding factor, but rather the experience of old age.

  The envoy from Zama who had arrived yesterday did not make things easier. Zama was the closest city to the mainland, and it was called the City of Sunrise not only because it was inclined to the east, but also because it was said that the blessing of the goddess would shine from the nearby island to the metropolis every day. For a long time she had gotten along well with the King of Zama, a city that owed a good part of its wealth to the numerous travelers who transited from there to Swallow Island, often daughters and wives of rich nobles, princesses, whose bodies did not want to take fruit and who came here to hope for healing from the goddess. But relations had deteriorated since the old king’s death and his young son’s coming to power. With the young one felt the need to step out of the shadow of the ancestor and to leave his own imprint in history. Wasn’t there an island full of priestesses and priests with a city dedicated solely to prayer to Ixchel?

  Ik’Naah found a good argument in not looking for a younger one to take her place. In any case, the big city of Zama hadn’t done well so far.

  Thus, Yo’nal Ahk, King of Zama, felt it was time to underpin the desires with deeds, and his envoy, though full of courtesy and awe, with a gentle voice and melodious words that were not intrusive, was quite willing to express his master’s wishes with great emphasis.

  Ik’Naah put her fingertips on the stone face of the goddess in front of her. The goddess looked to the side, she looked grim, determined, although she was a force of blessing, a guardian, a goddess of fertility and thus of life. She seemed to be looking past her highest priestess, into realms that only a goddess could see, and Ik’Naah’s grief may have been too void for her to deal with.

  No one knew better how moody the gods were in showing their favor than the priestess. Not everyone who prayed here got pregnant. And when the great storms came and the masses of water around the island lashed like walls, no amount of prayer could stop the destructive power of the element whose lord was the goddess. Ik’Naah could ask, and she would, again and again. But she had to take matters into her own hands and was not allowed to wait too long. Only those who acted gave the goddess the opportunity to influence something. Those who were passive couldn’t do anything even with the Great Mistress’s blessing.

  She sighed.

  She didn’t want anything else than a little rest.

  She realized that today she could not expect any further guidance or mercy from the goddess. Leaving the chamber deep in the heart of the temple, she climbed the carefully carved stone staircase into the large prayer room, which other priests were preparing for daily blessings at this time of day. The offerings were placed on the stone table, both as a grace for the goddess and for the maintenance of the temple. Many, especially wealthy supplicants, often brought whole loads of obsidian or gold jewelry to encourage priests to be particularly fervent in their intercession. Ik’Naah didn’t think much of letting the goddess’s favor be bought this way, though she would never admit it openly. She took what she could get, and maybe that was a mistake. Last but not least, Zama’s interest in the island was related to the richly filled treasury of the temple. It was always more than just the favor of the gods which attracted the greedy, the priestess had realized a long time ago.

  She went outside after checking that the preparations were proceeding properly. That morning two large rowboats had arrived from the mainland, each with twelve pilgrims on board. They would be received and then taken to the prayer room to undergo a fertility ritual that sought to fulfill their desire for children after the donation of their offerings.

  Ik’Naah wished them all the best. She herself was without a husband and without children, and sometimes she wondered whether her decision to dedicate her own life entirely to service in the temple had been the right one. On the other hand, her personal asceticism raised her above other priests, and her reputation increased. She had to take every advantage she could, especially because after the ritual ended, she would no longer be able to escape the envoy. He had asked for another conversation after the morning prayer, and since the goddess had refused further inspiration to her servant, Ik’Naah would have to rely on her own abilities alone.

  She went down the stairs to the temple entrance, let the early breeze run through her wide robe. Already, an hour after getting up and having a poor breakfast, she felt the weariness and the constant pain in her joints. It wouldn’t be long before she had to use a stick to move around reasonably safely. From there, this was clear to her, the way was not far to the end. That wasn’t a thought that made her bitter. What kept her busy was their inheritance that she would leave behind, not for children or families but for the temple, its status, and its masters. It was the last major challenge of her life, she knew, and she had to find the strength to face it.

  “Mistress, the guest house is full,” she heard the voice of a priest who had approached her respectfully. “The supplicants are ready.”

  “Have they been prepared?”

  “We have instructed them.”

  “The prayer room is also ready. Send the procession as soon as I’m out of sight. I’m too tired today to lead the ritual myself.”

>   “Two of the pilgrims brought a box of cocoa beans with the request that the high priestess will do the blessing personally.”

  Ik’Naah suppressed a sigh. Cocoa was one of the most valuable commodities, highly coveted, and an entire box was a significant asset. Someone wanted to invest heavily in her offspring. She smiled devotedly.

  “Make sure the Zama emissary doesn’t get wind of it. I don’t want to arouse his desires unnecessarily.”

  “He’s far away from the guest house, and we hear he hasn’t woken up yet.”

  “Keep an eye on him. Don’t hinder him, but he should be accompanied at all times.”

  “Mistress.” The man bowed and left. Basically, there was no need to fear that the envoy would discover the temple’s treasury. It had been wisely set up near the most sacred rooms, hidden deep in the foundation of the temple, where only consecrated persons to the goddess had access, and even of them just a select number. The ambassador would never dare to ask for access.

  But if the king of Zama seized sovereignty, he might not be as reluctant to secure his share. The city priests would come up with a suitable cleaning ritual if it became necessary.

  The old woman continued on her way until she came to one of the large stores where the temple’s food supplies were kept. Due to the large number of pilgrims who flocked to the island, the temple had to provide more food than was consumed by the servants. Not all pilgrims were rich and could afford to make generous donations. Many poor women came for whom the trip was the greatest adventure of their life, and they too had an honest desire to ask the goddess for fertility. Just like everyone else, they were subjected to the ritual, and the priests made sure that the process itself made no difference as to the origin. Those who took the long and often arduous journey were not rejected, and those who had nothing to eat were catered for.

  The administrator of this house was a man about the age of the high priestess and no less frail. Ik’Naah had known him for a long time. When they were both young, they had enjoyed the joys of their bodies together. Had these joys brought fruit back then, the man might have been her husband today. In this way, however, they had separated into friendship without ever losing sight of each other.

  “High Priestess!” Yatzak greeted the woman and he bowed. Ik’Naah waved it off.

  “Don’t do that. Your back won’t take it anymore.”

  “Honor to whom honor is due.”

  “Show me your respect by offering me some water.”

  Yatzak’s chamber was large, and the stone shelves held inventory records, carefully kept and, she knew, always up to date. Yatzak’s responsibilities were more manageable than hers, so she visited him regularly, a little time to reflect on her sorrows. The steward would continue to work, no matter who ruled the island, because there would always be pilgrims, and there would always be a need to eat and drink.

  The crumpled old man did not miss the chance to serve her personally.

  “How’s it going?” she asked, holding the mug of water.

  “We lack a number of fruits and ingredients for chi,” said the old man. “Without chi there are no rituals, so we have to go into the woods. Cocoa is also lacking.”

  “I got some.”

  “We have to go to our own plantations, Mistress. Some of the plants will soon be ready.”

  Ik’Naah nodded. As a warehouse manager, Yatzak was also responsible for part of the temple’s economy. He was assigned some of the corn fields, some of the sensitive and valuable cocoa plantations, parts of the forest with its numerous products. With ten men and women under him – beyond the farmers who regularly worked the fields –, he made sure that everything was there that was needed.

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Still today. I take eight men with me. I would also like to look for the rare medicinal plants when we are already on the road. It doesn’t hurt to have enough of everything.”

  Ik’Naah nodded. Yatzak was always careful to have enough supplies, not a man who valued any risk. There was no better warehouse manager than him.

  “It’s good.”

  “What does the envoy from Zama do?” The realities of the world didn’t ignore Yatzak. Or maybe it was his connection with the priestess that helped him develop interest in these things.

  “He’s sleeping.”

  “What will happen when he wakes up?”

  “He’ll have breakfast.”

  Yatzak sighed. “Ik’Naah, the wise, the impenetrable. I hope that our problem can be solved as easily as quenching the envoy’s hunger.”

  The priestess laughed. “What answer do you expect, man? I don’t know myself. It is clear what the Lord of Zama intends to do. The question is, do we go into it and risk an attack or not?”

  Yatzak looked pensive. “Who are our allies?”

  “Yes, that’s the question, isn’t it?”

  “Have you sent messengers?”

  “I sent messages.”

  “When does the answer come?”

  “Maybe never.”

  Yatzak looked at her with incomprehension.

  Ik’Naah sighed. “Strange things are happening on the mainland, my old friend. We are talking about gods that fell from the sky and a mighty war that has started. Something happened in Mutal, and not everyone is happy about it.”

  Yatzak clicked contemptuously. “Mutal is powerful. This naturally ensures that others are not happy.”

  Ik’Naah shook her head. “This is different.”

  “Tell me what you know.”

  “Too little. But if even half of the rumors are true, it can be that everything that happens here is only of secondary importance, and even those who would otherwise stick with us are busy with other things.”

  Yatzak’s glance showed his concern. “That means we’re at the mercy of Zama?”

  “That means we have to represent our interests ourselves.”

  “I’m sorry for you.”

  “Thank you, but your sympathy doesn’t help me.”

  Yatzak nodded slowly. “Yes, I’m no help.” He looked seriously sad.

  Ik’Naah felt the warmth of genuine sympathy fill her heart and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Help me with your warehouse being full so we all have enough to eat. Having worries and being full is far more pleasant than having to worry about being hungry.”

  “That’s true, but it’s not very satisfactory for me,” Yatzak murmured.

  Ik’Naah rebuked an index finger. “You should have taken me as a wife. Then I would be in your ears every day.”

  Yatzak frowned and was apparently looking for an answer that should express both his relief at the missed opportunity and his continued regret for it. Ik’Naah gave him the opportunity to deal with this impossible task and enjoyed the silence of the chamber but then decided to redeem the old man who didn’t deserve to be tortured by her any longer.

  She rose and smiled at Yatzak. “My friend, I’m going. Rich ladies ask for my blessings, and unlike the goddess, I depend on their benevolence. Let me do my duty before I meet the envoy from Zama and try to put a stop to his desires.”

  Yatzak nodded and also got up, put a hand on her forearm, and tried to smile confidently, an effort that was obviously difficult for him. “You can come to me anytime and rest. But today I’m going to the woods and the plantations. Tomorrow too. But in the evening I drink from chi without conjuring up the goddess’ visions. A mug will be ready for you.”

  The priestess returned the smile with genuine warmth and affection. It may be that she would soon bow to the king of the big neighboring town, but at least there was this old man who would comfort and accept her. It was a very nice prospect, and Ik’Naah felt great gratitude.

  Then she turned and walked away. It didn’t help to hide from the day’s tasks, no matter how threatening they seemed. She was old but
not yet old enough to pretend a weakness she didn’t feel at all.

  Her joints ached.

  But her mind was still working properly.

  27

  “Well, Angelicus?” Köhler looked expectantly at the centurion. The beefy man had just received the last of the returning patrols and reported. The tents on the beach were set up, and three watch fires were burning.

  “Everything calm in the area, Trierarch,” said the soldier. “We don’t have a settlement nearby, just the buildings you saw from the hill. It seems like a real city.”

  Köhler nodded. He didn’t hide the fact that the sight he had enjoyed still impressed him. The buildings of the local residents were different from those he knew from Rome, but Köhler had been able to convince himself from afar that the Maya architects were outstanding experts in their field. Pyramids were popular basic forms, so the buildings reminded him of the ancient Egyptians. The construction was different, and the size of the buildings was not quite as impressive. Köhler had been able to observe the streets and fields from his viewpoint, laid out as if cut with a compass. He estimated that the city he had seen had a good 8,000 inhabitants and was therefore of an considerable size. The central buildings had given him the impression of serving sacred purposes, possibly temples, but perhaps also palaces of the local ruler. In any case, they had not arrived in the country of any primitive savages, but at a civilization whose achievements were clearly visible in the eyes of any observant visitor.

  That made things easier on the one hand and more complicated on the other. A civilization of this level of development was certainly capable of engaging in convincing military activity if it thought it was right. However, Köhler found it remarkable that he hadn’t seen any fortifications. The city was open, freely accessible from all sides. Sure, the mighty central buildings were good to defend, but there was no trace of a city wall or defensive tower. Did this mean that this was a peaceful people who knew no wars, no conquests?