Siyaj suddenly knew how his distant predecessor, the last representative of the old dynasty, must have felt shortly before his end. What had it been like to look at the mighty northern warriors, knowing that he himself was powerless to oppose this force? It must have been a devastating feeling, especially when one could look back on a long line of ancestors that was about to be eradicated and send to oblivion by the attackers. Siyaj couldn’t really complain – if that hadn’t happen, he wouldn’t call himself King of Mutal –, but he’d never felt the need to feel like someone on the losing side of such a historic process.
But the comparison didn’t quite fit.
The holy messengers were with them now.
Somehow at least.
He had thought about it for a long time, especially after talking to his son.
Siyaj took a step forward, a sign for his entourage to follow him. He had only a few dignitaries: some priests, a few men of his bodyguard, no great number. His goal wasn’t to offer Tatb’u a battle, but rather to talk to him.
On the one hand.
The advance divisions of the united adversaries had long since seen him and his followers, and it took only a few minutes before Tatb’u and a number of nobles and soldiers stepped forward to march toward Siyaj. It was the first time that the two kings met, and their mutual mistrust was almost physically palpable. When they had approached within a few yards of each other, Siyaj ordered his companions to wait. He alone walked the last few meters which separated him from the confidently smiling Tatb’u.
There was an expectant silence, as they faced each other. It was as if the whole world held its breath.
The two men measured themselves briefly. Tatb’u was much younger than the Lord of Mutal, and his muscular body showed that he didn’t shirk from hard work or the hardships of battle. Siyaj had heard about it and knew that this added to the respect this man enjoyed. It would be stupid to ignore or underestimate this aspect.
“You have traveled a long way, my brother,” Siyaj greeted the man from Yaxchilan, indicating a bow, a greeting among equals.
Tatb’u did the same. “A quick trip, master of Mutal, and one that certainly surprised you.”
Tatb’u could certainly afford a certain complacency. Siyaj didn’t let that irritate him.
“I’m not as prepared as I’d like to be, yes. What exactly has challenged your indignation so much that you must wage a war against us, my brother?”
Tatb’u laughed. “In your question lingers all the arrogance of Mutal, an attitude that more than answers your query.”
Siyaj nodded thoughtfully. “I understand.”
“May I offer you chi?”
“But of course.”
Tatb’u waved, and a servant stepped out with cups and a pitcher. He poured them both, and Siyaj drank without hesitation. Tatb’u was an honest warrior and wouldn’t resort to treachery by poisoning the Lord of Mutal. He had no need of such humiliating behavior in the face of the forces at his disposal. His counterpart drank without hesitation and waited patiently for Siyaj to empty his cup. The drink had refreshed him.
“You have come to offer us your surrender, noble Siyaj?” Tatb’u then asked casually, as they had emptied the cups and put them out of their hands.
“An interesting thought, but that doesn’t match our arrogance,” Siyaj answered with a regretful undertone. “We at Mutal think we are invincible and supremacy is ours … right? How can we waste a moment thinking of surrender?”
“Yes, that’s to be expected. A bad trait. An instruction seems to be appropriate. Mutal is learning slowly. First came the gentlemen from Teotihuacán and chastised the city, now the successors of those disciplinarians have to learn a lesson in humility. Mutal is stubborn, isn’t she?”
“So you are Mutal’s new master?” Siyaj asked, showing no emotion as to whether Tatb’u’s words offended him.
“And a stricter one, should the student prove to be insufficiently docile.”
“Ah, I understand. I’m afraid that we have a certain amount of stubbornness that is hard to control even through the exercise of heavy beating. In that sense, your point of view is correct. We learn things very slowly because we find the lesson unnecessary.”
Tatb’u grinned. “I will do my best.”
“I have no doubt about that.”
“We can really cut this short,” Tatb’u said, looking so patronizing that Siyaj had to struggle to stop himself to start the battle by widening the king’s grin with his sacrificial knife. “I’m even disposed to some mercy. You may name those whom I should exclude from the thanksgiving ceremony after our victory. I will do my utmost to fulfill this wish. Your wife or your son? I am not without magnanimity, King of Mutal.”
Siyaj bowed his head, not so much out of courtesy, but more so that the man couldn’t see the hatred in his eyes too clearly. He was here to provoke Tatb’u, not in a crude and direct way, but with the degree of subtlety expected of a man of his position. It was necessary to do things with a certain understanding of style, that had always been his view – even an endeavor with a fateful outcome.
“Your generosity honors you, noble Tatb’u,” he said with exemplary self-control. “But I would do my son wrong if I took the pleasure away from him to lower his blade into your breast.”
The king of Yaxchilan grimaced. That wasn’t exactly the answer he expected.
“Mutal’s arrogance is anything but a rumor,” he said, and the jovial undertones were gone from his voice. “It’s not a myth, but it obscures your senses like a shield that you carry before your eyes. Take a look around, master of Mutal. My army includes the men of three cities. Mutal is big and powerful, I’m always ready to admit that – that’s why I’m here to feed on this wealth. But I’m prepared, and you are not. Your troops are fewer in number. You will lose this fight. I’m not afraid of this battle, but I give you the chance to avoid it. We want to be reasonable, Siyaj. You are not a fool. Overcome your arrogance, and I want to be a gracious winner. Remain stubborn, and the streets of your magnificent city will be the rivers through which the blood of your people flows.”
“You said that very poetically,” Siyaj said approvingly. “I’m sure you’ve practiced those words so many times that you can recite them in a dream.”
“Arrogance!” Tatb’u snapped, and he slowly looked like he was losing his patience. He had to save face here, where all his followers were witnesses of the altercation. If he looked like a fool in this banter, that wasn’t good for his image.
Siyaj steeled himself. Now came the part of which he had said nothing to Chitam. He sent a heartfelt request for forgiveness to his son, whom he would now put a burden on his shoulders that might be too much to carry. He himself had come to the conclusion that he was no longer the right person to lift that kind of weight.
He had to ignite in Tatb’u, the only one here, who radiated true arrogance, burning and blinding scorn. The Lord of Yaxchilan had to act carelessly, hurriedly, quickly, had to run into the great trap, so that the roads of Mutal would turn into rivers, just as Tatb’u had prophesied.
But it was supposed to be the blood of the attackers to flow in these channels, not that of Mutal’s men.
Siyaj was an old man, and he hadn’t had many battles lately. But the long obsidian knife he wielded was a carefully crafted, high-quality blade as sharp as it could be. A beautiful piece, with wonderful ornaments on the knob, worthy of a ruler of Mutal.
He wore it open at his side, for it was a weapon that suited him, and no king would refuse him to come before him without it. Siyaj had thoroughly practiced this movement, and he was sure she would not miss his target.
Everything was very fast, almost fluent. The weapon, one moment still in its sheath, carefully tied around his waist, and then suddenly in his right hand. Tatb’u’s eyes widened, surprised, taken by the sudden movement. Would the Lord of Mutal humble himself in his fear, the King of �
�?
No, he wouldn’t.
The blade jerked forward, describing a semicircle that ended in the chest of the man standing next to the King of Yaxchilan, silently following the conversation.
Siyaj had the man’s likeness described in particular detail by his agents, over and over again.
He was confident that with this powerful movement that sank the obsidian blade deep within the body of the utterly surprised and defenseless nobleman, he killed the commander of Tatb’u’s forces, the man named Pakul.
Siyaj let go of the blade. The falling body of the man almost tore it from his hand anyway. Tatb’u stared with terrified eyes at the corpse of his companion, his lips silently forming his name, and Siyaj read “Pakul” in it.
Satisfied, the ruler of Mutal took a step back, raised his arms, then received the spear of Tatb’u, who, guided by a sure and skilled hand, now dived into his breast.
Siyaj died without emitting a sound.
His men turned around. They were only a few confidants going with Siyaj, and no one had been forced to do so. Everyone had been informed of the King’s plan. Everyone had agreed to accompany the ruler on this last journey. They ran away, conscious that their escape was futile, and the swarm of spears, powerfully fired by the opponents’ atlatls, mowed them down in a few moments.
Many voices of rage echoed from the throats of those of Yaxchilan, and the loudest shouting was done by Tatb’u, who had lost his faithful general and adviser. Arrogance and cowardice, both shown by Mutal, and now it was no longer all about prey, glory and the will of the gods. Now just anger and the deep need for revenge filled the men of Yaxchilan.
A war cry rang out from the throat of the Tatb’u. It was picked up by thousands of throats, reinforced in many voices, repeated, and the spears and shields were raised in the air as a sign that they were all more than willing to be Mutal’s stern and merciless master.
And then, slowly, but with a sure step and ever greater speed, the warriors of Tatb’u ran, led by their King, who brought them all closer to the glory of a just and absolute victory.
The streets of Mutal, of which they were sure, would become rivers of blood.
The time had come.
19
Chitam watched his father die, and he felt betrayed.
He stood on top of the roof of the palace and could only make out the details because he had been given one of the magical glasses that the messengers of the gods carried with them to make distant objects visible. He lowered the heavy glass and handed it to Lady Tzutz, who was standing next to him, taking it without hesitation and raising it to her eyes.
“He didn’t tell me,” Chitam muttered softly, accusing his wife, as if she were responsible for the omission. Tzutz knew what it meant, and her face reflected the sadness her husband felt at that moment.
“I’m not surprised,” she replied softly as she returned the glass. “Your father was old, Chitam, and he was increasingly angry and anxious about the changes that came with the arrival of the holy messengers. He felt insecure and felt that the world he knew was threatened to get out of hand. Didn’t you notice that?”
“A bit.” Chitam recalled their last conversation, in which the King had already made it clear that he felt a little overwhelmed by all of it. Maybe he could have read the signs correctly, enough to talk to the father and to implant him with a little more confidence, however limited the amount was Chitam himself was able to feel. Then maybe this act could have been prevented.
Then he wouldn’t feel this deep hole torn into himself as he did now, a hole that he would plunge into if he didn’t take care of himself. He felt Tzutz’s hand on his arm. She knew him better than anyone and knew what he felt. She would hold him as he stood on the edge, staring down into the void that had become a deadly temptation for Siyaj.
His father had died an honorable death, there was no doubt about that. It had also been a meaningful death, robbing the enemy of his general, inciting him with blind revenge, and giving the soldiers of Mutal motivation to defend the city with particular tenacity – now led by a young man …
Oh, he was king now!
The realization came to Chitam with some delay. Adding to the sudden sadness about what had just happened, he now felt the heavy burden that had come so unexpectedly on his shoulders. He wasn’t prepared for it. Or maybe he was. But he would have liked it to be a bit more … foreseeable. Not so abrupt. And not as a result of a …
He felt Lady Tzutz’s hand in his own. She was his queen now. That was certainly a greater blessing for this city than his taking office, he thought. She would keep him from acting on uncontrolled emotions. She would probably make smarter decisions than he did. Had his father set his hopes more in her than in him?
As if she had guessed his thoughts, he heard her whispering in his ear.
“Your father doesn’t want you to act like a maniac now. Stick to the plan. Let Tatb’u come to us.”
Chitam nodded. She was right, as always. And no specific request was needed to hurry the King of Yaxchilan.
Tatb’u came. The shouting from his army was loud and clear, and even the naked eye saw that his men were rushing toward the city, eager to shed the blood of Mutal’s men.
Chitam took a deep breath.
“Why didn’t he tell me?” Again his accusatory gaze met his wife, who accepted it with equanimity.
“Because he didn’t want you to stop him,” she answered. “And because he wanted to be a real king for a last time, before things slipped completely from his hands.”
Chitam nodded. “But that also means that I may not become a real king anymore.”
Tzutz smiled. “Maybe, my husband. But you are more likely to face this new situation successfully than your father could ever be. If anyone can lead the people into this new age, it is you. Siyaj recognized that well. He has paved the way for you. Be grateful to him.”
Chitam snorted. “I find it hard to be grateful right now.”
“Make an effort. Later. Now there is something else to do. Tatb’u is coming. Let’s make sure he takes the right road and follows the right steps. Your first task as a military leader is to lead. You can grieve later. Hurry up.”
Chitam squeezed his wife’s hand again, then turned away abruptly. He hurried down to the entrance of the palace, where the leaders of the family clans, and at the same time the officers of Mutal’s army, were waiting for him. From the grim and determined faces, Chitam realized that they, too, had learned of the end of Siyaj through the numerous scouts on the rooftops of the city.
The main dignitaries came forward and threw themselves to the floor. Chitam looked down at them.
He was now ruler of Mutal.
Everyone knew it. Everyone could see it. And they all now expected him to fill the newly gained position with life.
His joy was expected to be limited. And no one cared.
He raised both arms.
“Rise!”
Everyone followed his orders, looking at him intently.
“The enemies of the city killed our King!” he intoned aloud. He saw the anger and outrage in the men’s faces in front of him. “The holy messengers have shown us the way to destroy our enemies. We now want to act wisely and deliberately and not risk our victory by carelessness. My father has provoked Tatb’u in a well-calculated manner and thus created the conditions for our triumph. His sacrifice was considered. Now we have to show respect for him by accepting this sacrifice and acting just as smartly and deliberately. Let us take our anger. It should burn deeply in our hearts and purify our minds. We control it and use its power to make the right decisions at the right time.”
“The men are ready!” one of the noblemen cried. “Fighting has already begun.”
Chitam nodded.
“Then let us retreat at the right time, and lure the enemies into the city, so that we may prepare a feast of special kindness for the holy messen
gers.”
He looked around, still seeing expectant faces, still seeing anger and outrage but also the willingness to do it the right way.
Chitam smiled.
It was weird that he was flooded with confidence at that very moment, but he sucked in the feeling and refreshed himself through it.
Then he extended both arms again, this time to one side, and felt his spear and shield being pressed into his hands. Chitam knew that his job was to join the fight in order to gain legitimacy. He hoped he would meet Tatb’u. He would seek the king of Yaxchilan and challenge him if time and opportunity arose.
He held the spear in the air.
“Mutal!” he shouted as loud as he could.
“Mutal!” The reply came in many voices.
Chitam felt the power of response. He smiled again, shaking his spear in the air, and left the palace to join the fighters. He looked to the side, saw the god boat on the pyramid, which should have been the tomb of Siyaj. What irony, he thought suddenly as he marched down the street. The god’s messengers had destroyed the mausoleum of Siyaj with their arrival, and at the same time …
He frowned, remembering his wife’s words.
And at the same time they brought about his father’s death.
Chitam grabbed the spear tighter and stepped faster.
He couldn’t afford to lose his enthusiasm now.
20
Aritomo looked at Isao Imakura and nodded to him. The gunner perched on the seat of the gun, the two loaders crouched beside him, ready to reload or intervene whenever a problem arose. Aritomo didn’t expect any problems, the gun was brand new and hadn’t shown any malfunction in trial shooting before their maiden voyage. It was in excellent condition, and Imakura was an excellent gunner, using the deadly weapon with dreamlike confidence. Aritomo would be almost superfluous if not for having the responsibility to give the order to fire.
The Emperor's Men 7: Rising Sun Page 14
