Chitam mused. He may not have been able to grasp all of this, but he was intelligent. Intelligent enough to realize that change was needed and that this change would be at the expense of many established ways and structures – and that it could well be that he would be among those structures that this wind would sweep away.
“I understood him that way too,” Chitam replied, quite sure that he got the idea. Aritomo had gone to great lengths to explain it, and there was not much doubt left.
“This will bring great change.”
“It will bring forth many deaths and probably the indignation of the gods.”
Aritomo smiled. “But you call us messengers of the gods.”
Chitam made a wiping gesture with one hand. “I see more clearly than the others, but it doesn’t make me more powerful.” He leaned forward. Every tiredness seemed to have left him. “Inugami doesn’t do anything in order to increase the glory of Mutal, but to accumulate his own. It’s supposed to be his empire.”
“Not yours,” Aritomo confirmed. “And not in his name. The formal ruler will be the boy.”
“Your own prince, yes.” There was no contempt in Chitam’s voice, more something like bitterness. He had no quarrel with the boy, only with his protector and … spokesman.
“Our own prince, indeed.”
“Is he ready?”
“Nobody asks of his opinion in the matter.”
Chitam nodded. He knew the situation.
“What role do I play in the Captain’s plans?”
“That of a helper to be disposed of should he begin to disturb.”
“When will I be regarded a disturbance?”
“I can’t say for sure.”
Chitam looked at Aritomo and frowned. “You’re the second behind Inugami. Why are you talking so openly about these things with me?”
“Because I don’t necessarily agree with his plans.”
“You don’t want to found an empire?”
Aritomo hesitated, as if he didn’t know a clear answer, at least not one that clearly affirmed or denied the question.
“Not like that,” he said almost as expected.
“You don’t want the little prince on my throne?”
“Not really.”
“And I could help you to prevent it?”
Aritomo laughed. “We can’t stop it. Most of my people follow Inugami. And after defeating Mutal’s enemies, many of your people will follow him as well. We finally proved that we are true messengers of the gods.”
Chitam looked at Aritomo with a smile. “You have nothing to do with the gods, do you?”
The man looked around involuntarily before answering the question, but then his face became very serious.
“Not that I know.”
“Your vessel …”
“Is craftsmanship. And absolutely out of place here. It needs the sea.”
“Craftsmanship?”
“From a distant land and a distant time. Don’t ask me how we got here. None of us has the slightest idea.”
“You really don’t know?”
“We know little. At least about these things. We’re as puzzled as you are.”
Chitam pressed his lips together, looking pensively into the glow of the fading fire.
“So what are we doing?”
Aritomo sighed.
“I’ll try to use my little influence on Inugami to keep things under control. You should try not to be too brash and demanding toward him. At the same time, you should look for allies among your own people, as I do among mine.” He nodded in the direction of Lengsley, who returned the gesture and remained silent otherwise.
Chitam followed this brief exchange with his eyes and frowned. “But that sounds like we’re pondering a kind of civil war, messenger. Maybe not now but sooner or later.”
Aritomo’s face had a very unfortunate expression as he grasped the meaning of the word.
“No I don’t want that.”
“It could come that way.”
“Then it will be up to you to take the risk.”
“And Inugami?”
“If he sees a real chance, he’ll grab it. He knows what he wants, and he calculates pragmatically. He accepts sacrifices, and he sees the possibility of success, many of them, especially considering the Maya who are ready to follow his dream. He is confident that he will prevail.”
Chitam nodded slowly. That was about what he had expected. Then, slowly and articulated, he said, “And he probably will.”
* * *
Aritomo was confused. He understood the man in front of him only with effort anyway. But how was he to classify the fact that if he offered Chitam a chance to win the upcoming power struggle, he probably wouldn’t take it? Why did they have this conversation? To assure each other of the fact how terrible the situation was?
Aritomo knew he had to ask himself that same question as well. It had been his decision – after a long discussion with Lengsley and Sawada, who had fatherly feelings for Prince Isamu and apparently enjoyed little to see him as a puppet of Inugami’s imperial interests – to approach Chitam. But what exactly he was expecting from this conversation and what the consequences would be … Aritomo had to admit that he hadn’t thought it over. Was there something like a basic trust into the omniscience of a monarch deep inside him, as he had been taught in school and academy since childhood? Had he transferred this belief in the infallibility and sanctity of the chrysanthemum throne to this ruler of Mutal, if only unconsciously?
If so, he’d made a mistake. And Chitam’s answer indicated that the barrier between them was still terribly large. It consisted of a lack of knowledge of the right words but also of the fact that two different cultures, not only separated from each other by geography but also by time, met here. What this actually meant was sometimes masked by the hustle and bustle of the past few weeks, or they just didn’t want to believe it. Those who acknowledged such differences had to deal with problems and hurdles that cost a lot of energy to deal with. It was so much easier to fade those things out and succumb the illusion that everything was less problematic if one didn’t think too much about it. Aritomo, who considered himself more of the brooding type, wasn’t allowed to take this escape. He had expected either too much or too little of their hosts.
He met Chitam’s gaze, who was alert, not uncritical but also seriously curious. The young ruler was not sure about things, not even about himself. He needed advice and guidance. But was someone like Aritomo the one who gave advice to a king? Had not the officer quietly come here to seek guidance from a ruler?
“I confused you,” Chitam said.
Aritomo winked approvingly.
“I explain it to you,” Chitam said. “We will lose through a civil war. It’d make Mutal vulnerable to its enemies – and we will amass enemies, more and more of them. If we want to prevent your captain from creating an empire according to his ideas – an empire that would be nothing more than a continued foreign rule, as if the conquerors from Teotihuacán had not only occupied Mutal in the short term but permanently incorporated it into their own empire –, then this can’t be undone by a civil war. But your captain wants to make us Maya the slaves of his plans, establish an army dedicated solely to his glory. He doesn’t understand us.”
“He doesn’t want to understand anyone,” Aritomo explained. “He doesn’t think it necessary.”
“Yes. He doesn’t want to understand anyone,” Chitam repeated. “But we’re not fighting for glory and power alone, we’re fighting because the gods sent the signs, and the stars point the way. If they do not, we won’t raise our weapons. If we are not allowed to sacrifice the prisoners, then we can’t be sure of the favor of the gods. What kind of life shall we lead when we just begin to pay homage to your Captain but forget whom we really should owe allegiance and respect?”
Aritomo said nothing and just listened attentively.
“There will be no civil war with me,” Chitam said again. “It won’t happen because it only causes damage and nobody gains from it. If it comes to the point of fighting for my throne and the future of the true Mutal, then there is only one chance of success: We seek help from outside – from others who understand the danger of Inugami’s plans, the threat within these concepts, and they must rally around me to avert this danger. That alone is a promising way.”
Chitam closed his eyes. He had shot his powder. Sawada translated a few things for Lengsley, so there was enough time for Aritomo to think what he could possibly reply. He hadn’t even considered the matter from this side. The world outside Mutal was intangible to him. It had come to him through the attack of the Yaxchilan-coalition, but he hadn’t really understood the conditions of this area. Was Inugami far enough in his understanding? Or did the other Mayan cities didn’t bother him at all, their existence mere cornerstones of a campaign that would lead to something in which formerly independent cities would play only a minor role? Points on a map? Stones in a big game?
“So we’ll delay what we won’t be able to prevent in the long run,” Lengsley muttered in Japanese and looked questioningly at Aritomo. “In that case we should prepare, Lieutenant Hara. We should prepare ourselves for the inevitable.”
Aritomo nodded slowly. He didn’t quite understand the extent of this kind of preparation, but Lengsley’s thoughtful expression showed him that the Englishman was evidently already making quite precise plans.
Aritomo looked at Chitam as the King rose.
“We want to sleep,” the ruler of Mutal said. He smiled at Aritomo. “I invite you to the palace once you have rested. Let’s have a breakfast together to discuss how to get the big boat off the pyramid. I don’t think it should or can stay up there forever. It was already quite shaky when the mighty fire-atlatl spoke.”
Aritomo nodded. The volleys had begun to crunch their construction in spite of all supporting measures. They had all been happy when Inugami had given the order to stop. “It’s a good topic,” Aritomo said, not least because the captain also thought he needed a solution.
“Then come to the palace, if you can find the strength.”
Aritomo rose, indicating a bow.
The celebration was over.
They had serious business to tackle.
24
Inocoyotl threw his upper body onto the floor and pressed his forehead against the carpet. He lay motionless, and like every time he humbled himself before the divine ruler, he knew he could lose his life at that moment. But Meztli was not a man who tended to punish his subordinates without cause, and his faithful servant had been summoned to the palace by the King himself. Inocoyotl didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing to be personally acquainted with the ruler of the great Teotihuacán, but at least his family seemed to think that this fact had served them well.
He had often met both Meztli and his father. When the predecessor on the throne had destroyed the former dynasty in a bloody palace coup, many were frightened. But the young Inocoyotl had seen a chance, and since then he might not have proven to be indispensable but quite useful, without imposing himself. Slowly he had risen in favor, and although the path had been rocky, it had been worthwhile.
Only a year or so ago, he and his family had moved from the lower district to the one closer to the palace, getting a new home adjacent to the seat of power, in a preferred location, not far from the King’s residence, a sign that Inocoyotl, the former merchant and soldier, was one of the few out of the class of his birth who made it.
By making himself useful.
To this benefit, he gave his life entirely to Meztli, the King, who could take this present with a movement of his hand, without anyone taking him to account. And with another move, he made Inocoyotl a rich and respected man, to whom even high priests and warriors reacted with respect. And since both triumph and humiliation were so close together in this palace, Inocoyotl was never overjoyed to be summoned here, for he never knew exactly what those in power were considering.
But the ruler was obviously not angered by anything, and Inocoyotl would live. On the contrary, the face of the greatest king in the world showed that he was up to something, and he was sure that he considered it a favor. Inocoyotl knew that his judgement was sometimes different, but as long as he kept his head on his shoulders, he was willing to stop arguing.
“Get up!” The King’s sonorous voice reached his ears. Only a few who entered the audience chamber were allowed to glimpse the lofty figure of the mighty, and anyone who did so without permission faced instant death, even if he otherwise enjoyed the ruler’s favor. Inocoyotl was one of those who were allowed, as requested, to look the King in the eye, and he did so every time with the timidity of a man who had learned such behavior from childhood, to respect the highest servant of the Great Goddess and to show absolute devotion.
Meztli didn’t offer a terrible sight. He inherited his strong stature from his father, and his face was neither pleasant nor disgusting. The headdress of the King and the stately robes suited him well, and his strong, deep voice helped him to radiate authority and power. He’d been Lord of Teotihuacán for three years, ruler of the great metropolis, the center of the world, and although the end of this world was imminent – soon, or later, depending on the priests’ assessment –, it was the epitome of power and influence, eternal part of the structure that the gods had created.
Inocoyotl rose but kept his head down respectfully, careful not to get too close to the throne. He didn’t want to test his luck. The four men of the ceremonial guard were not to be misinterpreted as a mere decoration. Their mighty lances bore sharp obsidian blades and would cut Inocoyotl’s body to pieces, if they discerned only a hint of threat to their overlord. The man stayed where he was, humble, submissive, and eager to hear an assignment from his ruler, for otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered to summon him.
Inocoyotl had been sent by Meztli’s father, the special envoy who had traveled around the world as the eye and ear of Teotihuacán. Growing up as the son of a lowly civil servant, he had first made a name for himself as a steward, then a soldier, and made his contribution to postponing the end of the world for a while. The fact that he stood and breathed here indicated that this contribution was significant enough to keep the gods from their great work of destruction. Then he had started trading when he was a bit too old for war, and since he enjoyed the ruler’s favor, doors had opened to him that had remained closed to others of his status. So he had come to wealth and a large family, and his active life had kept him agile and strong despite his age of nearly 50 years, so that he had been consulted by Meztli again and again for advice and assignments. Now that he was standing before the ruler again to receive his tasks directly from him, and not from any of the royal administration, the importance given to the mission by the highest authorities became obvious.
Inocoyotl again bowed to this highest authority and said, “I serve you, Your Majesty. Speak and command, I will do everything faithfully.”
Meztli nodded and waved. “Bring a stool for my visitor.”
A servant appeared out of nowhere and brought a seat. Inocoyotl was aware of the special grace of this gesture. He sat down with a token of gratitude and looked up at the king, recognizing a friendly, even encouraging smile.
Today, the older man decided, he probably wouldn’t die.
Even the four guards seemed relaxed.
Inocoyotl allowed himself to exhale in relief. These audiences made him mad. It was already too much for an old man like him. But then the curiosity outweighed any concerns, and he leaned forward a bit, signaling his attention.
And Meztli didn’t let him wait long.
“When was the last time you traveled, my old friend?” the King asked his servant, and Inocoyotl tried to answer the ruler’s question as accurately as possible.
“Lord, I traveled to Izapa once last
year to see to it and do business,” he said truthfully. Of course, Meztli knew that – because besides, Inocoyotl had had the order to observe his governor without him knowing. The mission had been unproductive in that particular aspect – the man had proven to be a loyal, though relatively unimaginative, servant to his master.
“I remember. Your report was detailed.”
“I serve as well as I can.”
Meztli nodded approvingly. “You do. And that’s why I want to send you away again. You should travel south, deeper into the land of the corn people. I’ll send you to Mutal, my younger brother.”
Inocoyotl bowed humbly. Mutal was well known to him. Meztli’s grandfather had once sent a military expedition there, a large army, and the city had fallen under its onslaught as had many other settlements on its way. At that time, a high nobleman had been installed as the new king, and the whole of the current dynasty was derived from that blood of Teotihuacán. It was likely that the memories were still vivid, but the bonds of submission had faded. Inocoyotl guessed what purpose his expedition would have.
“You’ve been to Mutal before, my friend?”
“No, my lord. I was once in B’aakal, but I never traveled further. One day I was supposed to go to Yaxchilan, but illness stopped me. This was while your honorable father was still alive.”
“I understand. Well, it’s time to remind our younger brothers that their older relative looks at everything in their sphere of influence with great attention. The reports that the traders bring to us point out that the wars those peoples are having with each other are increasing in violence, and that many rulers – and by the way, among them Yaxchilan’s, as you just mentioned it – are thoroughly thinking of establishing a certain suzerainty.”
The Emperor's Men 7: Rising Sun Page 18
