The Emperor's Men 7: Rising Sun

by Dirk van den Boom

  Everyone exchanged blank looks.

  “A daring claim,” Inugami said, though he seemed to have already accepted that explanation inwardly, as it offered him considerable opportunities to the extent of which he had already outlined. He felt, it was clear, as a conqueror who was chosen for great things, a man with a mission.

  “A claim that explains what we’ve just experienced.”

  “How is something like this possible?, the Captain asked.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “A natural phenomenon? I’ve never heard of it.”

  Sawada blinked. “Ships sometimes disappear under unclear circumstances, Lieutenant. We then assume storms or misfortune. But maybe … maybe something like this happens sometimes. It seems to have happened to us.”

  Inugami pressed his lips on each other. “How do we get back?”

  He had to ask that question, no matter how much it drove him home or not. As the boat didn’t even seem to be near the sea, it was almost rhetorical. Aritomo knew that he addressed this issue to the benefit of the crew. Nobody should think the commanding officer wouldn’t try everything. That would jeopardize the loyalty of his men.

  Sawada shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe never. You’ve already realized that, Lieutenant, right? Otherwise, you wouldn’t have wanted to take possession of this city for the Empire.”

  “Am I a king now?” the Prince asked. Everyone looked at Inugami for an answer, until it was Sawada talking to the boy.

  “If we do it right and make no stupid mistake, we may be able to achieve that goal.” Then he looked up and at Inugami. “We really need to discuss what we want to do next. We can’t hide in the boat forever. And we can not wait for too long. We have to keep initiative and momentum in our hands.”

  Sawada seemed to come to terms with Inugami’s plans. Aritomo didn’t mind. The primary responsibility of the teacher was the well-being of the Prince. He would do anything to ensure that.

  “That’s true,” Inugami said. “But first we inform the crew. By now everyone should be awake. If we don’t find inner strength, we can’t demonstrate it to the outside.”

  Aritomo wasn’t in any way opposed to Inugami’s words.

  But still.

  He didn’t feel easy with the turn of events. It was as if something had been set in motion whose consequences were barely foreseeable. They knew so little. How could one make grandiose plans?

  It was ironic when he thought of the submarine like a fish out of water. But this also referred to him as a person, and that was a most unpleasant situation.

  10

  K’inich Tatb’u, whom everyone called the Jaguar Skull, looked with great satisfaction at his old enemy, the Lord of Bonampak. He was called Bird Jaguar, the once proud king of the neighboring town, situated farther to the south, where the rich forests of the lowlands gradually made way for fields on higher elevations, located on artificial terraces. Bird Jaguar was an honorable name, as Tatb’u had to admit, since his own ancestor, the third king of Yaxchilan, his great-great-grandfather, whose grandfather again had once again been the legendary Yoaat B’alam, the first king of Yaxchilan, had also carried it. A venerable rule by his family, uninterrupted for more than 70 years and, if it was for Tatb’u to decide, unbroken until the end of days.

  At least the Lord of Bonampak would no longer doubt his supremacy, never challenge him anymore and present no obstacle to the rule of his city. The fight had been short and fierce, but the troops that had been led into battle by Tatb’u had at once proved to be clearly superior. Gone were the days of infamy, the stelae on which Bird Jaguar had dared to call himself and his family the superior ones, the rulers of these lands, had been shattered to pieces. Tatb’u had personally lashed out to smash the family stele of those of Bonampak with his obsidian axe – and in front of the humiliated king.

  The captive now awaited death. Tatb’u had returned to his city with him and many other prisoners of war, loaded with rich prey, and had announced a great festival. Everyone was in high spirits and full of pride because of the tremendous triumph. Tatb’u had never felt so strong, and he radiated this power clearly.

  “I will pay homage to the beaten king who deserves his name. No one should say I insult my own glorious ancestor by treating an enemy who calls himself that same unworthily, no matter how much he mocked me,” he told the assembled notables and priests. “He and his ilk are to play against us in the ballgame. The gods may decide their fate. If they are victorious, their lives should be spared. If they lose, they are to sacrifice to Itzamnaaj, the god of our city, the Lord of Heaven. Prepare them. The beaten king is allowed to choose his own team from the prisoners. Thus speaks the gracious K’inich Tatb’u, whom everyone knows by the name Jaguar Skull.”

  He hadn’t missed the expression of hope in the eyes of his old enemy when he announced his decision. And that was a good thing. Anyone who has hope for survival struggles. Tatb’u was aware of the outcome of the game. His players, including his own son, were unbeatable. They had been informed early on of the intentions of the ruler and had prepared accordingly. And even if it unexpectedly came to a defeat, Tatb’u would not have lost his face. He would accept the ruling of the gods and condemn the king and other prisoners of war to slave labor. For Bonampak, nothing changed anyway. He had already established a trustworthy man there as the new regent, someone who wouldn’t make himself more than he was, and knew that paying tribute to his overlord once a year was an important duty that to neglect caused dire consequences.

  “Pakul!”

  The nobleman stepped to his King’s side and bowed.

  “Come with me.”

  The ruler and his subject left the large room that was commonly used as an audience hall. They withdrew to the King’s private chambers.

  Pakul was no stranger here and was politely welcomed by the servants. As a member of one of the city’s most important aristocratic families, he was also the organizer of the campaign against Bonampak and thus an architect of the magnificent success he had been given to the King. And much of it had been discussed here, in relative seclusion.

  “Sit down, my friend. Chi?” The King pointed to two ornate stools standing in a corner.

  “Gladly, my ruler.”

  Tatb’u beckoned to a waiting servant. Moments later, she brought two cups of fresh chi and the men paused to enjoy the stimulating drink.

  “The war against Bonampak went well, and I am grateful for it,” Tatb’u began. Pakul knew that these were not empty words. Despite all the phrases and praises, the King knew very well that he couldn’t have achieved anything without the loyalty of his men. “Do you have any wishes, my friend?”

  “No, lord. Allow me to continue serving you.”

  Tatb’u grinned. “Then we’re already on the subject of our conversation.”

  He fully appreciated the apparent modesty of his general. Pakul didn’t lack wealth; he lived in a house that was surpassed only by the King’s palace. There were other cravings that the man demanded, and they had much to do with killing the city’s enemies and feeding on their whining as they writhed on the ground before him.

  A useful pleasure, which the King gladly used for himself and whose satisfaction he gladly granted to his general.

  He leaned forward. “Pakul, listen to me. When I say that our campaign was successful, you, like me, know that this is an understatement. We surprised and overpowered the idiots. We caught Bird Jaguar, as he put his cock in a servant. We have barely lost any men, as the resistance of our enemies collapsed as fast as chi flows down our throats.”

  To affirm this, the King emptied his cup and then turned it in his hands, pondering.

  “We have time and men for a second campaign,” he said.

  “That’s right,” Pakul confirmed. He smiled eagerly. His life belonged to war. All the honors his king poured out over him meant little. He wanted to push his spear into the body
of his enemies, and he wanted to plan campaigns that led to victories. There was nothing, no experience, that brought the same excitement as the ecstasy of a battle. He took every opportunity to take delight in it. “Who do we want to attack, Lord? There are a few smaller towns in the area that haven’t been remembered of us for a long time and might need some assurance that we are their overlords.”

  “But they all pay tribute and didn’t offend us. No. The gods will not be in favor of such an attack, we could be in danger of misfortune. Those who are loyal to us should remain untouched, otherwise chaos breaks out. I’m hunting for a bigger fish,” the King said, smiling. “We beat the smaller cities at any time, if they should ever be rebellious, and after our last victory, it won’t even come to any fight. They will throw themselves on the ground in front of us. That would be … unsatisfactory. We don’t want to waste our power and time on unworthy opponents.”

  “Who is our enemy?”

  “Someone big. An enemy that presents a challenge. An adversary who, when defeated, brings us such riches that no one has to work for a year. And an opponent who doesn’t expect our attack. Who thinks he is safe or directs his mistrust in a completely different direction.”

  Pakul licked his lips, not because they were wet with chi. That sounded very auspicious to him. He nodded.

  “Lord, name the city, and I’ll start preparing right now!”

  Tatb’u smiled.

  “Our destination is Yax Mutal, my friend!”

  Pakul’s eyes widened. First he looked almost as if he wanted to accuse his king of madness, but then he saw the scope and genius of the project.

  Truly, a real challenge.

  He bowed deeply.

  “It shall happen as you command, my Lord!”

  Tatb’u waved. “More chi.”

  He looked again at Pakul, behind whose eyes the military genius had already begun to work.

  “Let’s drink to that, my friend.”

  11

  “We’ll stay inside the boat first,” Inugami said after briefing the crew on the current situation. With the exception of Lengsley, who frankly exposed all of his feelings, as one might expect, the other crew members kept tight self-control. Most of them seemed to have taken it easy, though their face showed faint traces of worry. Everyone looked indignantly at the Briton, as he let his emotions run wild, while Aritomo had kept them all in sight, as they had gathered in the open air on the foredeck of the submarine, watched by the Maya, who surely entertained their own speculation about what was happening up there.

  Only two of the men, still very young, had burst into tears. Inugami had looked at this for a moment, then he had bent back and slapped them hard. The clapping sound had been heard loud and clear. The crying had turned into a painful whimper and was quickly suppressed. Inugami liked to beat, as he said, to maintain discipline. If properly angered, he wouldn’t have a problem with hitting his first officer as well.

  Nobody else stirred. In the men’s eyes, the fear of the new situation mingled with fear of the captain. Aritomo knew that wouldn’t last long. They were not in Japan anymore. The country was far, and the longer they stayed, the more this knowledge would sink in.

  If Inugami overdid it, the men would eventually run away from him.

  “We can endure for some time, because the air supply is secure, and we have enough food. There is no need to hurry. The savages aren’t hostile and are quite impressed by us. We will explore the situation. We will, of course, always look for a way to take us home. But I admit, at the moment we are at a loss. We don’t know how we got here and surely don’t know how to reverse this process. But don’t be afraid. This place gives us other opportunities, new chances to create something great. We should all show confidence and hope. This is a special moment in many ways, and it is our privilege to experience it. The Prince is in our care, men. That alone should give us more than enough incentive to continue to do our best.”

  That was the official address.

  Aritomo, Sawada and Inugami, who formed something like the leadership trio who made the decisions, had some other nuances to discuss among themselves. Above all, Sawada had emphasized the need to get out of the dead end of the boat as quickly as possible and to establish itself within the city in a way that would make it possible for them to survive long-term. Inugami and Aritomo had agreed in general, but they differed on the strategy to achieve this. While the commander continued to advocate a tough approach with the establishment of clear authority, Aritomo pleaded for learning more about their new world and to try to develop a more friendly relationship with the natives in order to avoid counter-reactions, perhaps even hostility. They were so few, the Maya were so many. To be rash and ruthless was risky.

  Inugami didn’t want to hear about it. He thought only in the categories of ruler and ruled. Sawada also seemed to have his doubts but didn’t say so, because all the time Inugami stressed that he didn’t see himself as this ruler but that the young Prince as a member of the imperial family was predestined to build a new empire here if there seemed to be no option to return anymore. Anything else – a life side-by-side with these savages, probably even under a king from among them – was absolutely unacceptable to Inugami. Either they would rule, or they would die trying to gain dominance. There was no alternative for him.

  Aritomo complied. He yielded with a sense of impending disaster, but the obedience to his superior had been implanted deep within him. He knew that another important condition for their survival was inner cohesion. They had to work as a unit. Otherwise, no strategy would be successful.

  After a short discussion, the commander prevailed, and that was the tenor of his speech to the crew. Despite his volatile reaction to the crying men, he finally seemed to hit the right note, because the men accepted his vision. Those of them who were gifted with a great deal of imagination quickly began to think a life in luxury, with servants and willing native girls, which heightened the general mood. Those who thought a little further frowned at these reveries. The one who lived in wealth and at the expense of others should better strive for his subject’s loyalty, otherwise, one morning he’d wake up with a blade in his chest. The numerical inferiority of the Japanese was something that no one could overlook, who didn’t intentionally close his eyes.

  Inugami then proceeded methodically, something he was quite good at.

  On their first night, the two bodyguards left the boat. Of course, the savages knew of no lighting, had only a few watchfires built around the boat, and still at a respectful distance. The two men managed to sneak undetected to the ground without problems to carry out Inugami’s orders. The Maya made it easy for both of them: At one of the watch fires, only one group of three men had gathered next to a single guard, two of whom had earlier joined their reception committee. Sawada was convinced to see them as notables or priests. In any case, his argument had been, they belonged to the upper class, most likely to those who could read and write.

  That was sufficient for Inugami’s plans. The bodyguards had been ordered to kidnap one of these men and bring him aboard. There he would be placed in the care of Sawada, with the aim of working on joint language studies. Inugami had formulated two intentions: The Japanese had to learn the savages’ language – that there was no way around, he quite accepted that –, and the savages should also be taught, but not in Japanese – that should remain solely the language of the new ruler’s elite – but English, which both the two officers and the two senior NCOs were quite familiar with. A barbarous language, good enough for savages of all kinds, and much easier to learn than Japanese.

  Again, Aritomo agreed that this decision wasn’t stupid. And again, he got a bad feeling in the matter – especially with the approach of the commander to force their first teacher and student to his lessons. That could surely be achieved in a different way.

  When the two bodyguards returned, they had an unconscious man with them, limp in their arms. They had
caused a bit of commotion, but Inugami had asked them not to kill anyone, and they said they had stuck to it. Aritomo helped to put the man on the bunk in the captain’s cabin, as far as the glorified cabinet was to be called a cabin. It was one of the four men who had visited the boat during the day, no doubt about that. He slept peacefully.

  Inugami posted guards and ordered everyone else to rest. The men made themselves comfortable at their stations, mostly on thin, roll-up mattresses. The air in the boat smelled strange. The slightly stale, metallic smell they were accustomed to now had a richer, deeper note, heavy with moisture, a bit moldy. The odor of the tropics, the jungle. He was not uncomfortable. Aritomo would get used to it.

  The next morning, they looked for the abductee. He had just awakened, staring fearfully at his guards. Interestingly enough, he didn’t seem to panic. Aritomo suspected that the man was a priest and responsible for all manner of cruel and demanding gods. The savages would probably offer human sacrifices and indulge in dark rituals. Such things were done only by a fearless, a cold – or a very confident man. He was scared, sure. But he was certainly not a coward, and whoever spoke to the gods expected the unexpected.

  He was served a breakfast of Japanese canned food, and he regarded the food offered with astonishing pleasure, ate it with fervor and great speed. Once again, Aritomo found that the only explanation for this behavior was that this man believed he was taking the manna of his gods, a special favor, and that he might receive supernatural powers from eating it. Aritomo was reasonably sure that the standard rations could keep a healthy man alive, even if one might argue about the taste. But supernatural abilities were out of reach of dried fish.

  When he had finished his breakfast, the prisoner looked at his captors with almost cheerful expectation. This was the opportunity for Sawada to begin his work. He had writing utensils with him. Sawada was a fairly good draftsman, as Aritomo had discovered. This would help him in teaching the first vocabulary. The old teacher sat down next to the Maya, put the paper on his thighs and began.