The Emperor's Men 8

by Dirk van den Boom

  The man nodded and waved to a comrade.

  Inugami listened. No battle noise from the palace. A runner hurried into the throne room, paused briefly when he saw the dead king, then threw himself before Inugami. “Lord, the city is ours. There is still a little fighting, but many of the enemies have either fled or surrendered.”

  “Good, then it has be done.”

  Inugami watched Nachi Cocom being dragged out. He felt relieved and tired. His muscles trembled no matter how hard he tried to control himself. The sweat on his skin suddenly felt cold.

  It would take some time before the next campaign. Now his way led him back to Mutal to see if everything was right. And Chitam … the problem needed a final solution.

  He stared at Nachi Cocom’s feet dragging across the stone floor.

  Inugami thought that Chitam would do just fine.

  34

  Ik’Naah stood where the mainland boats usually landed and said nothing. The large ship, lying on the calm water just a few hundred meters away, with the escort ships further away from the coast, caught her attention. No Mayan king had ever built such a vehicle. Every description of her people was surpassed by reality. First, she didn’t believe any of this. As if the presence of the envoy from Zama wasn’t enough, now something like that. Ik’Naah concluded that the goddess either hated her or wanted to ennoble her through a special trial.

  The largest ships in the coastal cities, simple sailors, large rowboats, were nothing comparable to this could, as they could get a dozen people on board. Ik’Naah had also heard the stories about the arrival of the messengers of the gods in the distant Mutal and had given them no serious importance. They were rumors, nothing more, and she gave nothing to such murmurs. But this, this changed her perspective. Had the messengers come to her now? What message did they bring? What was expected of her?

  How could she use her arrival for herself and the temple?

  In any case, the envoy from Zama hadn’t spoken to her since the news had been spread by the strangers. Instead, he had hurriedly sent a boat to his master with the message. The man stood next to her now, staring at the ship no less astonished, and she could literally feel how he calculated the power of the newcomers. Even if the young king of Zama had ambitions, as long as these floating monsters lay in front of the city, he would think twice about a possible attack.

  Was that good?

  Or would she exchange one yoke for another?

  The thoughts whirled in Ik’Naah’s head.

  The rumors from Mutal were ambiguous, depending on who was on whose side. Ik’Naah felt that she had a thread of fate in her hand, the end of which remained hidden. Should she pull hard on it or let it go? And would it make a difference?

  She saw a rowboat launch. She couldn’t make out any details, the eyes were too weak for that. But the whispering of her companions informed her that Yatzak and his companion were safe and returned to her unscathed.

  She felt a great burden falling from her heart. That she would have missed the old man so much, a strange idea. The folly of youth in the body of an old woman. She would have to think about these things if she ever had the chance.

  Now she saw him return to her.

  Ik’Naah had sent the warriors away. The other priests had insisted on them, but she had prevailed. She might have been wrong, but the large metal pipes that were beginning to protrude from the hull of the ships neatly lined up, didn’t look as if they were elaborate decorations or just drained water that leaked into the interior of the ship. Any form of provocation was the wrong way, she felt that very clearly, and allowing warriors in sight would not send the right signal.

  The rowboat landed, and the men climbed out. No, she had to correct herself: men and a woman, as she noted to her delight. In addition to the two Maya, there were five tall figures in uniformly cut clothing that covered the whole body. She had never seen anything like it before. She was able to classify some of the weapons these men carried. Other things – like the long, dark sticks tied behind their back – seemed strange to her. The men moved cautiously and slowly, as if they did not want to provoke carelessness either. Ik’Naah relaxed, as she watched Yatzak seem to be on good terms with the arrivals. The old fool, who volunteered for all of this and took a great risk, pointed to the high priestess and said something. She heard her name. Apparently communication was already beginning.

  When the first of the men stood before her, he towered over her by more than a head. He smiled. It wasn’t an forced smile, and Ik’Naah replied, maybe a little fearfully. Then she turned to Yatzak, who stood next to her and looked as relaxed as if he was just inviting her to one of her usual chats.

  “This, noble lady, is a gentleman named Langenhagen. If I understand it correctly, he is the master of the big ship there. In fact, he may be the master of all ships, but I’m not sure. In any case, his orders are followed, and quite eagerly. He is a man of great power, Ik’Naah. But he appears to be of good will.”

  “Where does he comes from? What does he want here? How do you know if he has good intentions or not?”

  Yatzak shook his head, a little too forgiving for the old woman’s taste.

  “I can’t say exactly where he comes from. He showed me a map on parchment that I didn’t understand. I think he thinks he has traveled across the ocean from a very, very distant country in the east.”

  “These ships are no doubt capable of long journeys,” the priestess murmured. “And his intentions?”

  “Well, he hasn’t had anyone killed and has treated me well. What else he’s up to, I don’t know. We don’t speak a common language.”

  Ik’Naah nodded. That was, without a doubt, the biggest problem they faced. Even so, the possibility of misunderstandings was big enough. But without the words …

  “I gave him your name. Everyone sees that you are leading here, Ik’Naah. These people are not stupid.”

  Her eyes fell again on the big ship. “I assume so,” she said softly. Then she looked at the man named Langenhagen and watched him bow low in front of her, a sign of respect that he accompanied with sounds that, among other things, she was certain, contained his name. “I greet you at the Temple of Ixchel. My name is Ik’Naah; I’m the highest priest and mistress of the city.”

  She said it slowly, and the man’s face brightened at the sound of her name. After all, the introduction was successful.

  Ik’Naah made an inviting gesture. About a hundred meters away, still well in view of the large ship, she had a feast prepared. She was convinced that an invitation to eat would be a positive gesture for any people, and she had consciously taken this risk. She saw the joy on the faces of the visitors and was relieved that her guess was correct.

  “You’re smart, dear mother,” Yatzak said confidentially, as they all slowly walked toward the low table with the heaped dishes. “I was also invited to dinner that was prepared in front of my eyes. Foreign dishes, but not without attraction. It seems we have something in common here.”

  They offered places to the guests and crouched on the floor. The strangers politely waited for Ik’Naah to reach for a meal, and first watched the other guests as they ate and what manners they showed. They showed great respect and tried to adapt as much as possible. But before everyone had given up their caution and the meal could begin properly, the man Langenhagen rose and bowed again to Ik’Naah, who had just settled down and felt little joy in having to get up again now. That was obviously not necessary, as the man had already kneeled next to her and handed her something with a smile.

  A gift!

  It was a leather case, as used by the Maya for the storage and transportation of documents. It could be opened at one end, and Langenhagen nodded to do just that. A rolled-up paper lay in the tube, which she now took out and spread out. It was a very beautiful, artistic and colored representation, which Ik’Naah only identified as a map after a few minutes. T
he man showed her an area of land and then tapped a certain place with his finger. It was another moment before she realized that he was referring to the island.

  Then he pointed to another place, far away, on a land mass that was much larger. Ik’Naah took note of this enormity, apparently unmoved. She smiled gently and rolled the card back up to put it back in the container. She was unable to classify this information. Did the man point out his country of origin? And if not – what did that mean? How long did the journey take from that place? And what was the reason for such an elaborate voyage?

  The high priestess suspected that answers to these questions would be a long time coming. One of the men, an older gentleman, almost as old as Yatzak, seemed to be listening to the conversations with special attention. He also made notes on a wad of paper in a small, strangely simple font that was far from the symbolic wealth of the Mayan equivalent. Ik’Naah did not have to have prophetic gifts to understand that this was a scholar who tried to understand them better.

  She beckoned to a man about the same age. “Daa’k, come to me.”

  The priest moved to her side. “Mistress?”

  “You see that man, old and frail like you?”

  “The priestess is very kind to me again today.”

  “He writes and writes. Take him aside. Show him the script, read the letters, slowly, like a child. Give him some of our words – simple texts that you use for learning, clear texts, written with large characters. Hurry up to your chamber and get everything. I have received a gift, and I want to return one.”

  “But I’m old and frail. Rushing is nothing …”

  Ik’Naah playfully slapped the man on the shoulder and laughed before he rose laboriously and, within his means, headed fast for the nearby buildings of the city.

  The visitors had paid attention to the exchange and smiled when they caught the friendly atmosphere, the humor in the faces, and the way they dealt with each other. Everyone now seemed a little less cramped and they grabbed food, tried the dishes, and made appreciative sounds, either out of courtesy or out of genuine joy at the pleasure.

  Ik’Naah also ate, because there was nothing else to do. She watched the woman who observed the area with open eyes and the old man who continued to write more than he ate.

  “Mistress?”

  “What is it?”

  A servant had approached and crouched behind Ik’Naah.

  “One of the pilgrims asks to be allowed to sit at the table.”

  The priestess frowned. “I’m really not happy about it. What does she want?”

  “She just arrived yesterday, Mistress, from Mutal, and she says she wants to see if it is the same messengers of God who have visited her city.”

  Ik’Naah controlled himself. O the stupidity of old age! Naturally! Why hadn’t she thought of it at once?

  “She should come and sit down immediately. Make room for her!”

  The strangers looked at the scene with rather casual interest, as there was constant coming and going at the table. When the young woman came up and sat next to Ik’Naah and across from Langenhagen, she said nothing. The priestess felt some regret for her. The pilgrim was almost a girl, maybe 16 years old, and the fact that she had been sent here to fight her supposed infertility through prayers and rituals said more about her husband than about herself. Her clothes, however, showed that she was a young lady from a high house, and there was no fault with her posture either. She just sat there, eating more to satisfy appearances than out of real appetite, and listened.

  Then she looked at Ik’Naah and shook her head gently.

  “They are very different men than those who visited Mutal from Heaven. Built bigger. Only one of them looks like them, a great builder named Lengsley.”

  Suddenly there was silence, and Ik’Naah looked around in surprise. Something had happened. The old man with the notes stared at the pilgrim and frowned, whispering something to Langenhagen. Then he asked the intimidated girl who had suddenly attracted the attention of all strangers. He spoke in his strange language, but the word “Lengsley” was also recognizable for Ik’Naah.

  “Speak to them, child. It seems they know your messenger from the gods,” she then encouraged the pilgrim, when she clearly hesitated to say anything else.

  “What can I say?”

  “Repeat the name you mentioned.”

  “I could do more. My brother received lessons in messenger language. It’s called English. My mother allowed me to attend the class if I remained silent. I picked up some of it. I could say a sentence.”

  Ik’Naah saw the strangers waiting politely and smiling. Her whispering did not arouse any resentment. Well.

  “Do that. It’s worth the risk.”

  The girl nodded and turned to the old man.

  “Lengsley came down from heaven,” she said in awkward English. Ik’Naah didn’t understand a word.

  The man with the notes made a sound of surprise and began to talk to Langenhagen. Eyes widened. While all the strangers began to talk excitedly, only two of the visitors looked at the girl inquiringly, but by no means unkindly, namely that Langenhagen and one who had been introduced as Köhler and who was obviously also a man of some authority.

  These exchanged meaningful looks.

  The group’s scholar turned to the pilgrim, asked something in the language the girl had startled her with. The latter shook her head.

  “I don’t know more,” she said in English. “Unfortunately, I can’t say more.”

  The man nodded soothingly and pleased, and the pilgrim looked relieved. Then there was a lively conversation among the visitors before turning back to the food, and Langenhagen bowed again to Ik’Naah and said something that sounded like an apology.

  “No reason to regret it,” said the priestess gently. “I wanted this. It also taught me a lot.”

  She turned and beckoned to one of her servants. It was important to use what she had learned, and to keep her own knowledge to herself might prove fatal.

  “A messenger to Mutal, my dearest, as soon as possible. He should ask for someone there who can come here and speak the language of the messengers. I am writing a short letter. The man is to leave today. Prepare my seal and a gift for the King of Mutal. Who rules there? The good Siyaj?”

  “Siyaj is dead,” the pilgrim murmured. “Chitam, his son, is King of Mutal.”

  Ik’Naah nodded gratefully. “You have to tell me a lot more about everything that happened in your city. I want to give you the grace of a private ritual with the goddess for it.”

  The girl smiled a little shyly but seemed to be pleased and honored. “Thank you, great mother. I want to tell you everything I know.”

  The servant was already hurrying away.

  When Ik’Naah returned to her guests, she saw that the man named Köhler had got up and went to the bank. He signaled to the ship, and she watched a second, smaller rowboat launch. He apparently intended to return to the sea monster alone. Ik’Naah felt that this had to do with the conversation that had just ended. Was there someone on board the ship to report to?

  It would take a while before she could correctly interpret the strange ways of the visitors, she was sure of that.

  The table disintegrated into smaller groups than most had eaten their fill or at least did pretend so. The old man with the papers looked up when Daa’k came up to him with his writings and signaled that he wanted to show them to him. They sat to one side and stuck their heads together, excitedly engrossed in the characters, and soon the priestess could tell from the mouth movements of the visitor that he was already busy trying the sounds of those strange words. Langenhagen also observed this with visible satisfaction and nodded in the direction of Ik’Naah when their eyes met.

  Yatzak came up to her and took her arm.

  “Come on to the big ship and see for yourself the miracles. They’ll defin
itely invite you.”

  “I’m not sure I should go on such an adventure at my age,” she said doubtfully.

  “It’s calm weather. You won’t fall into the water. And what does age mean? I was on board and really enjoyed it.”

  “You are a man and therefore easily a victim of recklessness. You are also easy to impress. And I’m older than you.”

  Yatzak smiled.

  “Your high opinion of me is both a compliment and an inspiration, great mother.”

  Ik’Naah smiled back at him and pointed to the visitors who had gathered a little apart and whispered quietly together.

  “What are we going to do with them now?”

  “Learn from them. Above all, we have to be able to speak to each other. That is the basis of everything.”

  “Daa’k is already working on it. We want to give them time.”

  “Then I would suggest that we let things that can be seen speak for themselves. Show them the city. Guide them through the temples. If anything will impress them, it’s the way we pay homage to the gods. Our structures are our soul, Ik’Naah. Let us show them our achievements as they showed me theirs.”

  “A good idea.”

  She walked toward Langenhagen and gestured toward the city with a sweeping gesture, smiling invitingly. The man frowned briefly but then nodded, spoke to his companions, and they all immediately joined him.

  Ik’Naah sighed. The day had been hard enough, almost exciting. Now there was still a hike ahead of her. She pulled herself together. The city was right in front of them, and there would be enough opportunities to take a break so that the facilities could properly affect their visitors. And who knew, maybe the goddess would give her an inspiration this time if she passed the temple. It could be that the presence of the strangers confronted her in their own way with the fact that things changed.