The Emperor's Men 7: Rising Sun

by Dirk van den Boom

  “Get up!” Inocoyotl said to Maya. In fact, it could be assumed that he would have been understood in his own language, because here in the border region a good relationship with the powerful neighbor was of particular importance for the Maya.

  The Maya followed the order, their expressions still insecure. The headman crouched on his knees and looked respectfully at Inocoyotl.

  “Sir?”

  “Do not worry. We come in peace.”

  The old man didn’t look reassured, and Inocoyotl knew why. It wasn’t so much the fear of a military attack – a quick capitulation would immediately solve this problem – but the fear of a prolonged stay of the guests which was in his mind. Those many visitors consisted of many mouths that would stretch the barren supplies of the village, if they were to stay longer.

  Fortunately, they had no intention.

  Inocoyotl smiled reassuringly.

  “We will not stay and bother you too much. Tomorrow we want to continue traveling. We only remain for one night. Please show us where we can set up tents.”

  The village chief bowed. “You, my lord, are welcome in my house.”

  The relief in his voice was audible – and the invitation was honest. A gluttonous nobleman for one night, that was to be mastered. Inocoyotl would eat more out of courtesy; he didn’t like feasting, as it interfered with his clear mind.

  The village head got to his feet. “Lord, you’re certainly on your way to the summit.”

  Inocoyotl hesitated. He didn’t know of any such meeting, but it was highly inappropriate, even in his position, to admit lack of knowledge. He turned his face into the usual mask of jovial arrogance he could put on anytime to hide his feelings and said, “It’s a very important meeting.”

  The village head nodded eagerly. “The King of B’aakal has invited Popo and the lesser rulers of the surrounding area.”

  “Not you too?”

  “My village recognizes the rule of King Chaa’j, and we are more than worthy of him. I’m not important.”

  In Queca’s face was to be seen that he shared the sentiment. Before the officer could say anything wrong, the ambassador ordered him to prepare the campground and to gather the men there. He obeyed.

  Inocoyotl turned back to the village chief. “Join me.”

  The man obeyed hesitantly. Inocoyotl waved to his companions, who immediately understood and made their way with bows. The envoy placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder in a confidential gesture, which he acknowledged with a look of severe discomfort. Inocoyotl smiled reassuringly at him.

  “If you are represented by the king of B’aakal, then you will surely have an opinion on the subject of the meeting. I’m eager to find out.”

  The village chief hurried to draw a gesture of denial in the air. “I’m unworthy of talking about these things. War and peace are decided at the highest level. If there is a war, I send my men. If there is peace, we tend to our fields. We do as we are told.”

  “That’s very commendable,” Inocoyotl said approvingly. “But let’s talk about far-reaching decisions that you, too, have to explain to your village. That alone requires a certain standpoint.”

  “You flatter me and place me in a status I don’t deserve.”

  “Your modesty honors you. So, in the light of this restraint, indicate how you see the situation.”

  Inocoyotl was tired of this kind of verbal dancing, but was not allowed to show his growing impatience. He wanted to know something without revealing that he himself had no idea what was going on, and that required a certain amount of intuition.

  The village elder finally gathered some courage.

  “Well, sir, if you insist, I may say that I’m worried. If it is true, as the rumors say, and Mutal has received direct help from the gods in a hitherto unprecedented manner, a manifestation … an apparition … then I am greatly afraid that any alliance against this enemy without its own … assurance made by the gods is doomed to failure.”

  “Sure, sure, that’s well considered,” Inocoyotl muttered, trying not to sound too absent-minded. Mutal? The city that was once, more than a hundred years ago, blessed by men from Teotihuacán with a new dynasty, a noble family of the highest birth, and thus formally subordinate to the Divine ruler of Teotihuacán, at least as a formality?

  Had his master known or at least suspected it? Had he also heard rumors?

  Was this the true background of his journey and had all this been withheld from him to give him an unbiased impression?

  No, he couldn’t imagine that. It had to be a more recent development, unpredictable, and fate was asking the envoy to handle it. He spoke for his city. But getting involved in a war that went against Mutal …

  Inocoyotl almost ordered his men to return.

  But he suppressed the motion. The first, the spontaneous impulse wasn’t always the right one.

  His king wouldn’t be happy if he came back so early only with rumors and vague clues. And it was Inocoyotl’s highest aspiration to make his king happy. It would be very beneficial to his life expectancy – and that of his family.

  “Have other rulers been summoned? I was traveling and may not be up to date.”

  The chief frowned. “Lord, who am I to learn such a thing? I know that my King has taken great care to invite as many rulers of importance and rank as possible, but he hasn’t shared the names with me and certainly hasn’t told me who has promised to attend and who has not.” He glanced at Inocoyotl anxiously. “Please forgive my ignorance, sir.”

  “It’s not your fault,” he reassured the old man. “I’ll find out soon enough. I thank you for your help. It will be all the more necessary to leave early tomorrow to complete the journey very soon.”

  Inocoyotl noted that the old man masterfully concealed his relief and even managed to show polite regret. It was clear that the man was clever at dealing with high-ranking personalities who could potentially cause him much trouble. Inocoyotl felt a sudden kinship with him, perhaps on a slightly different level but nonetheless as a victim of the same unpredictable hierarchy he had to deal with.

  The ambassador of Teotihuacán turned away and joined his people, who had meanwhile built a tent for him, in which he would spend the night if he considered the house of the village head to be inappropriate. Inocoyotl had already slept in very strange places and in difficult, even dangerous circumstances and therefore didn’t assume that he would insult his host by calling his house inadequate. He would have a roof and a sleeping mat, would politely refuse the services of one of the host’s younger daughters to keep him company at night, and, as he was sure, there would be a suitable place near his bedchamber, where he could do his business – without anything biting his more valuable body parts during the process. He was already quite satisfied. Queca would use his tent.

  The officer turned to his master and bowed.

  “Lord, I hear that things are developing. Shall I send a messenger with a summary for our king to receive this new information?”

  The officer had probably listened, too, a sensible precautionary measure. The man wasn’t without intelligence, and Inocoyotl respected that.

  “I will write such a message,” he replied thoughtfully. “We don’t know much yet and have to promise more information. I’m not sure what’s behind it all, but it seems our Divine Ruler has dispatched this expedition at exactly the right time.”

  “The gods must have guided him,” said Queca, returning to his work to secure the small camp.

  Inocoyotl was not sure if the gods were responsible for it or if this was simply the instinct of a good ruler who reacted when impending danger lingered on the horizon to be prepared for. The envoy felt restless and unbalanced. Events happened that he hadn’t expected, and he felt a little overwhelmed. He knew that his King saw things differently. He had sent Inocoyotl because his ambassador was ready and able to use his own head.

  And if he didn’t l
ike the way he used his head, he would have it cut off.

  Inocoyotl sighed.

  It was so easy to be a king.

  30

  And so Balkun was rewarded, and then again he wasn’t.

  Inugami, his lord and god, spoke to him for a long time, assisted by an ancient messenger of the gods who helped with the translation. He had again to describe what he had seen, and again he had kept the most important information to himself, since he couldn’t guess whether the god’s messenger he had observed acted on behalf or against the will of Inugami. To continue being careful seemed wise.

  Since Balkun had been treated very honorably and warmly by Chitam and his family, the slave found that his personal loyalties were more to the King of Mutal than to those who wanted to harm his family, and that he didn’t want to risk being over-zealous, as accidental disclosure of information in the wrong place would certainly call for … irritations.

  He felt how this information put pressure on his soul and everything in him was longing for someone who could help him to carry the burden of this knowledge. So far he hadn’t wanted to confide in Chitam. He didn’t know how his relationship to Inugami developed, and he didn’t know what would happen to him if the holy messenger found out that he’d shared that kind of information with the King.

  He wasn’t sure if his master and owner condoned his actions or not. He wasn’t punished for his impudence in leaving the camp, which was already a positive sign. He was promoted to one of the 25 officers who had been chosen from the midst of the warrior-slaves, and he got his own sleeping place, better food, and the freedom to leave the camp after previous logoff. Balkun should be thankful for that, and in fact he enjoyed the privileges. But his quiet hope that his heroism would give him the most precious thing that filled his heart with great yearning hadn’t been fulfilled: no real freedom, no return to his family, no end to his humiliating status as a slave.

  But he hadn’t expected it anyway.

  He had no choice but to keep that hope deep inside, a small flame that never went out.

  Balkun now felt disappointment and pain at the point where he had fed the flame, and he had to make sure that these emotions didn’t overwhelm him. There would be another chance, he kept telling himself. He just had to believe it. And it clearly showed him where and how the power was distributed in Mutal. Chitam had promised him freedom in his gratitude. Balkun didn’t believe that the King didn’t want to fulfill his promise. He rather assumed that he hadn’t been able to prevail over Inugami.

  Balkun didn’t need to know more.

  He plunged into his new duties, and his newly elevated position had given him plenty of such. He now commanded a force of about 100 soldiers, and he was directly responsible for a number of organizational issues that had previously been in the authority of the messengers themselves. Incidentally, he was also responsible for discipline and training, based on instructions he received from his masters. Many things were new to him. If he could find anything positive in relation to his status as a warrior slave, it was the fact that he’d never learned so many new things in his life as he did in those weeks and months. And this wasn’t just about how to discipline and how to effectively kill any adversary. He learned about medicine and hygiene, he learned a lot about commanding and leading, and he learned that a nobleman was not necessarily a good leader. Warrior slaves were all alike and could only rise out of the crowd if they rendered special services, and so Balkun held a position that would have been granted only to a clan chief in his city – regardless of whether this person knew what he was doing or not.

  Balkun tried to reconcile with his fate.

  He also didn’t have much opportunity to think about it too much. When he was called, together with his comrades, to be informed of new commands by the Lord of the messengers, he hadn’t thought much of it at first. Perhaps a more intensive training program – or an acceleration in barracks construction that had been interrupted due to the repairs to the palace and lagged behind schedule? When Balkun took his place among the twenty-five officers, he expected, above all, the instruction to work even harder and to endure even more torn hands and injuries through intensified efforts.

  But Inugami, who set up in front of them, accompanied by some of the other messengers, had something else to announce, and Balkun’s joy was very limited. In fact, he would have accepted every additional construction project with great enthusiasm, if only …

  “Men!” Inugami said loudly. He read from a parchment on which he had written down the exact text of his speech. The Lord of the messengers was not half as eager to learn the Mayan language as Balkun had expected. And while the English lessons of the warrior slaves had made good progress, most of them didn’t know more than simple commands and had some understanding of verbal abuse and discipline.

  “It’s a decisive time to live in. The provocations of our adversaries are not diminishing. Therefore, I have decided to reduce the number of our enemies and show everyone that Mutal’s power has grown and a new epoch has begun that will change the face of the land. I gave the order today to begin preparations for a military campaign immediately. This fight will be your baptism of fire, and everyone who proves himself will be rewarded and promoted. It is the start of a glorious time when great men can prove themselves, a time that demands heroic deeds as well as sacrifices.”

  Inugami paused. Balkun had the impression that, above all, he expected a lot of sacrifice from his warrior slaves, and at least in that he was just like any king or a clan chief. Some things didn’t change.

  “Our destination is Saclemacal, the capital of Kowoj. An old, a venerable, city with a long history, I was told. A first and worthy contribution to the new kingdom of Mutal, to the land of the new god-emperor, to the empire of the Maya and the messengers of the gods.”

  Balkun looked up. Inugami had raised his voice, his words held a triumphant tone.

  New god emperor? Empire? The latter term, the underlying concept, was not immediately understandable. It was probably about great power, a large territory, great influence, permanent ownership. Balkun considered these terms for a first time. So far, the Lord of the messengers had hidden the details of his plans from them, but now he had … announced a program, a vision, and it was bigger than Balkun had expected and showed that now it was about much more than to remind an unruly neighbor that Mutal knew exactly who was to be considered as friend or foe.

  What followed after Saclemacal? Surely Tayasal, the next ally of Tatb’u’s on the way to Yaxchilan. And then Balkun’s homeland itself. And after Mutal dominated the big lake and …

  Balkun closed his eyes.

  From there, every option was possible. Calakmul, the old rival of Mutal. Or Caracol in the east. The smaller cities in between. Balkun had no doubt that it would go in that direction. And Inugami would someday have an army – a combined army, organized according to the new principles, with a corps of warrior slaves in its center, with clearly defined units and branches of arms – against which no Mayan city would be able to assert itself. The small force in which Balkun served was a replica of this future force, strictly organized into spearmen, the artillery that fought exclusively with the atlatl, and a unit of especially well-protected soldiers, armored like ballplayers carrying obsidian axes instead of spears and covered by big shields, soldiers designated by Inugami in English as “shock troops,” where only the strongest and largest men served. Balkun looked down. He himself was one of the spearmen because he was quite strong but rather short and considered a fast runner. Spearmen were agile. The artillery softened the enemy’s resolve and offered protection. The shock troops crushed the enemy in rigid, armored discipline.

  Inugami’s opponents would not know what happened to them.

  “We’re leaving in a week as soon as the priests have completed the necessary rituals,” Inugami said. “Mutal’s soldiers fight by our side. Together we will carry the war to our enemies and teach them a les
son. I know that this will be a glorious hour for all of us. Prepare everything! I expect you all to be ready when the day comes!”

  Certainly not an inspirational speech, woodenly expressed, like being read, and unaccented. No one moved, but there were astonished glances, too, fear, suppressed murmurs, the scratching of feet. No one had expected them to practice and train for fun, but no one thought that the first mission would come so quickly.

  The generated uncertainty. And that couldn’t be covered with sound talk of glory and probation.

  Inugami stepped aside. Other messengers began to give a list of commands that Balkun only half listened to. He knew that many of the messengers thought they were a bit stupid. Each order was repeated two or three times anyway as if they were talking to children or very old people, and many of his comrades still felt offended by this type of communication. Balkun had decided not to have time to be offended. Moreover, not all of them acted that way. A few seemed to see equivalent human beings in them. That gave him hope.

  When the gathering was dissolved, everyone immediately fell into hectic activity. Balkun, on the other hand, remained calm. One week’s time was more than enough. He was much more interested in how Inugami had managed to give such a far-reaching command to the King of Mutal. Because actually there was only one person in a city of the Maya who could really give the order for a military campaign: the king. Sure, it was the priests who told the king when the signs were favorable and when they weren’t, and depending on how strong the monarch was, they might even decide when to launch an attack. But Chitam was no tool of his priests – at least Balkun had not gained this impression so far.

  Something must have happened, which had already become apparent in relation to the fate of his own person. Within Chitam’s court, forces had grown ready to submit to the messengers. The defense against the attack of their enemies had contributed to this. Should Saclemacal fall quickly – and Balkun had no doubt about that given the superiority and quality of the troops –, this would further strengthen the prestige of Inugami. It was only a matter of time …