I explained to Andrea my interest in observing the reaction of Tikal’s ruler and priests to the eruption. To the Maya, volcanoes were both sacred and fearful. They regarded them as powerful entities which destroy but also which guard and nourish, providing fertile lands for agriculture and obsidian glass for tools.
Andrea agreed this was worthy of firsthand research and suggested we schedule a jump for next week. When I insisted we make the jump as soon as possible, she resisted but in the end assembled the team in a few hours. Financial sponsorship of a project has its privileges.
After briefly traversing the Corridor again, I arrived in the middle of a village outside the city center of Tikal. This time I had hoped to materialize in the presence of the native people in order to make a supernatural first impression, but oddly, no one was around to witness my dramatic entrance into their world.
I had asked our team to program the chamo-suit to project the image of an itz’at or shaman. Viewing my reflection in the waters of a nearby cenote, I approved of their work. My long black hair was tied up in a ponytail with bright ribbons. I wore a loincloth and cape of animal skin along with a necklace of jade and bone. Also, I was thankful for my personal heritage. Having an Italian mother and an African-American father had given me a darker complexion; that and days spent under the southwestern sun would help me pass as a native.
As I made my way up the hillside toward the city center, I recalled what I had learned about Tikal. Built in the midst of a rainforest, its founding had occurred in prehistoric times prior to the invention of writing. Over the centuries, Tikal survived to become one of the longest inhabited cities in the classical Maya period. Historians estimated the population during this period to be around fifty thousand. At its height two centuries later, one hundred thousand people would live in and around the city which boasted of over three thousand structures.
Although a powerful presence which dominated the region, Tikal did not rule an empire in the sense of ancient Persia or Rome. Instead, vassal cities paid tribute to Tikal but essentially ruled themselves. In this way the smaller cities gained prestige by allying themselves to a major power. Dynastic marriages and trade networks strengthened the relationships.
The people I met on the path to the city center greeted me with respect; apparently my garb was sufficiently impressive. Two women smiled at me, showing off their teeth embedded with gemstones. I winced when I recalled from history that they had performed this popular cosmetic procedure with no anesthetic. But the Maya believed that adorning their teeth enhanced their ability to communicate with the gods, so they must have thought it worth the pain.
Many of the citizens had long, sloped foreheads, a desirable deformity created by flattening the soft skulls of babies, binding pieces of wood to the back and front of the head. Compared to these beauty treatments, getting a tattoo would be nothing but a pleasant tickle.
On arriving at the main plaza, I was met by two muscular guards carrying spears. Because I was a stranger, they demanded to know my business. Fortunately, LOGOS had processed enough of the local dialect to allow me to respond: “Blessings to the gods of this great city. Traveling from a distant land, I bring greetings to the Supreme Lord of Tikal.” I knew from historical records that the current ruler was Wak Chan K’awiil, twenty-first in a long line of kings.
The guards led me to the southern acropolis, which overlooked the great plaza. The monarch could address the people from the porch of his royal palace. At that moment he was enjoying the shade of his private garden, watching some of his children play with their pet dogs. The guards announced my presence and waited for the king’s orders. With a nod, he indicated that they could leave us. Lord K’awiil felt no threat from me, especially with other palace guards stationed within a spear’s throw away.
Remaining seated on an ornately carved stone bench, the king inspected me closely for some time. I said nothing, assuming that one speaks to royalty only when spoken to first. However, after several minutes of silence, he began to stare at me with an impatient expression, which I took to mean that he wanted to hear what I had to say and then decide if I was worthy of his attention. Nervously, I bowed and started into my prepared address, knowing that one wrong phrase could cost me my life.
“O Supreme Lord, ruler of great Tikal and all you survey. Your fame reaches all nations to the ends of the earth.” Potentates and politicians throughout history have always loved having their egos stroked with such flattering, meaningless phrases. “Your humble servant brings greetings from a city far away, less magnificent than your own but prosperous and blessed by the gods. As appointed emissary, I come to establish proper relationships for trade and to offer important revelations concerning the future.”
On hearing this last point, Kʼawiil’s expression changed from boredom to cautious interest. “Our stargazers read the future as well. They predict the darkening of the sun and the movement of the wandering stars. What foresight does your people offer that we do not already possess?”
“O King, we acknowledge the splendid discoveries of your wise men whose comprehension of the heavens marvels those even in remote lands. In like manner, our sages have studied the mysterious ways of the earth and can anticipate the place and time of destructive forces of nature. I have come to great Tikal seeking to exchange such valuable information, with your divine permission.”
Abruptly K’awiil stood and stared directly at me, his brow furrowed and jaw clenched. Had I said something wrong? I feared the worst when he stamped his staff on the ground, summoning a guard. But then with relief I heard him say, “Take this man to sky priest Ich’aak who will treat him with high respect as an honored guest of the king.” With that order he turned and walked out of the garden.
I took several deep breaths. I had passed the first test and won favor with the ruler of Tikal. The guard led me out of the gardens and across the grand plaza to the northern acropolis. Here the astronomer priest Ich’aak was conducting a ceremony at the tomb of the royal ancestors. When he finished, the guard stepped forward and delivered the king’s message. Ich’aak stared at me with suspicion as a potential rival, but he nodded in obedience to his lord’s command and dismissed the guard.
“Welcome, traveler. Supreme Lord K’awiil smiles on you, a rare privilege indeed. He directs me to treat you with the honor due you, and so I shall. As a fellow seeker of knowledge, would you care to visit our temple of celestial observation?” Without waiting for my response, he headed down the steps of the acropolis and across the plaza. “Our civic planners are exceedingly wise. Notice how the stone paving slopes downward toward these channels directing rain water to our reservoirs.” Ich’aak was justly proud of his city.
Below the plaza, on the southwestern edge of the city center, stood an impressive structure, a stepped pyramid over two hundred feet across at its base and over one hundred feet tall. From my research preparing for the trip, I knew this to be the largest structure ever built in Tikal, although some temples in the great period of expansion two hundred years later would reach taller heights.
We climbed the imposing stairway on the west side, flanked by giant masks of the local gods. At the top we saw a wall carving of the god Itzamna, ruler of heaven and of day and night, a fitting deity for an astronomical observatory. This level gave a spectacular view of Tikal and the surrounding forest. Ich’aak pointed toward the east to three small temples used as markers for sighting the sunrise at the equinoxes and solstices each year.
Beyond these three buildings, I spied the ball court with its central alley and sloping walls on either side, above which were platforms for spectators. “I see your sporting arena,” I commented. “We play a similar game where I’m from called Pokolpok. I’m curious if the rules differ in your city.”
“Here we call the game Pitz. The contest forms a central part of our great epic in which the hero twins Hunahpu and Xbalanque play ball for their lives against the lords of the underworld Xibalba.” He turned to me with a serious express
ion. “Lord K’awiil has instructed me to invite you to take part as an honored competitor in the afternoon contest.”
I had not expected that. My weekly rounds of racquetball have kept me reasonably fit, but the Maya sport would be much too strenuous for me. “I appreciate the offer, but I must decline.”
“Lord K’awiil demands your participation for the strengthening which honors the gods.” This statement puzzled me, but I assumed he referred to the benefits of vigorous exercise and a healthy body. In any case, I had no choice but to accept.
We returned to the plaza and entered a dining hall for a noon meal consisting of papaya, sweet potato cooked in honey, beans, peppers, and a whole roasted iguana. Upon seeing the main course, I explained that I preferred to eat light before the game. However, I did not refuse the alcoholic drink they called balché. After a few cups, I was feeling much more confident about my chances in the sporting event until LOGOS interrupted.
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“Yes, I know the game is rough, but I think I can manage. After all, I played on my college soccer team and performed better than average.”
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“What do you mean?”
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18
The news of the potentially deadly consequences of the game did not shock me as much as one would have thought. Artwork preserved from this period demonstrated that some contests ended in human sacrifices. One stone relief at Chichen Itza depicted a ball decorated with a skull lying next to a decapitated player, his headless body spewing blood like writhing serpents.
My mistake had been in assuming that I had won the favor of the king as his honored guest. Now I understood the honor they spoke of was not mine but that which my sacrifice would offer to their bloodthirsty deities.
The guards ushered me toward the ball court at the southern end of the city center. They placed me in a small holding cell along with two other men. One appeared as frightened as I was; the other snarled at the guards in anger and seemed ready to fight with no intention of going quietly to his death. This one eyed me with scorn, surveying my whole body. Apparently I didn’t meet his standards for athletic form. He was stocky, hard-muscled, but shorter than I am, as were most of the people of this time.
After a few minutes, he spoke. “What did you do?”
“If you mean, why am I here, I’m not certain. I’m a stranger in a strange land. I don’t understand the rules of this society or this game we are about to play.”
“You had better learn quickly. We compete against expert players sponsored by the king himself. They are fast, agile, strong, and ruthless. I know them well since I was recently of their number. But now I must play against them as punishment for stealing.”
“You admit to the theft?”
“Certainly. One has to eat.”
He said his name was Pak. The other man never spoke and remained cowering in the corner. Pak explained the rules, which differed somewhat from those of the modern sport.
“You must never touch the ball with your hands or feet, only the hips or upper thighs. If we’re lucky, they will provide us with padded leather yokes to wear around the waist. This gives some protection from direct hits by the heavy ball.” He gestured toward his groin and grimaced, obviously having experienced some painful blows to that region.
“The ball comes at you hard, but do not run away from it. Approach the ball as your enemy and attack it. You must keep the ball in motion and return it to the other side of the court. We get a point if the ball gets past the other team and into their back court. We lose a point if we touch the ball with our hands or feet. We lose a point if we cross the center line.” Thus far, it sounded much like a game of soccer except with a heavier rubber ball weighing several pounds and direr consequences for the losers.
“At some point, the ball may bounce up one of the sloped ramps on either side of the court. Our team’s side will be on our right. When this happens, we must rush up the ramp and try to put the ball through the stone circle on the side wall. This is very difficult and rarely happens, but if it does, the game ends, and we will be victorious.”
I nodded that I understood the rules.
The guards came to the cell and led us out to the playing field, an alleyway about thirty yards long with walls on two sides and open on the ends. On each side, the wall had a slight ramp leading to a second flat level next to a vertical wall in which a stone ring was set. Crowds gathered on the two platforms that overlooked the field from the top of these walls. Several men were placing bets on their favorite team. I wondered what our odds were. Lord K’awiil took his seat on a garishly painted throne and gazed down at his players who were already on the field.
The sun shone down brightly from a clear blue sky. A flock of honking geese made their way toward a nearby lake. A gentle breeze blew the fragrance of sweet flowers from the royal garden. This was too beautiful a day to die. I promised myself that would not happen today.
Attendants approached us and strapped leather padding around our waists. I noticed that we did not receive the leather helmets or knee pads the royal team wore. Then each group of three faced off at the center line; we did not shake hands. Someone blew a loud note on a conch shell to signal the start of the game.
Our opponents threw the ball into our court, the only time hands could touch it. Pak rushed toward the ball first and struck it with his hip to the other side. Their team leader returned the ball to our side, and so the game proceeded. As our most experienced player, Pak took the lead, running back and forth across the court like a madman, but our nameless third player did his part also and was surprisingly good at passing the ball to Pak who would hit it over the line to the other team.
After a few rounds, I saw the ball coming in my direction. I leapt into the air and struck it with my upper thigh, but unfortunately, I miscalculated, and it went sailing above my head and behind me toward our end court. Pak hurried back to stop it, but it struck him on the shoulder, costing us a point. The crowd cheered or booed, depending on how they had placed their bets.
Sitting on one side of the field, an official kept score with two hollow gourds and some small stones. Each team started with five stones in their gourd; he subtracted one from ours and placed it in the other. Once a gourd was empty, the game was over, along with the lives of the losing team.
Pak tossed the ball toward the other team. One man missed a block, and we almost scored a point, but another caught the ball before it went into their end court. Back it came toward our third man who threw himself at the ball, sliding on the ground to hit it with his hip, almost crossing the center line. This happened so quickly that the ball struck their front man in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. Lord K’awiil scowled, but the people gave us loud cheers.
The points were now tied. Some of the spectators began changing their bets. The king’s men no longer acted so cocky but recognized us, or at least my teammates, as serious competitors. I must admit that, even with so much at stake, the game was very exciting. I eagerly awaited the other team’s serve, determined not to let my comrades down.
Their captain threw the ball with a powerful smash onto our side, causing it to bounce high in the air. Pak stopped it with his thigh, but his return went wide, and the ball soared up the ramp to the platform on the left side of the court. I started to follow, but Pak gestured and shook his head. At this point in the game, we could not interfere; the other team had the chance to make the winning goal through the stone ring on the wall.
Watching them, I could see how challenging it was. They worked together furiously, knocking the ball between them and against the wall. One time the ball s
truck close on the edge of the ring, but it didn’t go through. Instead, it rebounded down the ramp to the main court, and the regular game continued.
The mood of all the players became more tense, the moves more desperate. The enthusiasm of the spectators grew as well; they shouted out the names of their favorite players and cursed when their team lost a point. But after a while, the crowd noise faded away, so focused was I on the game. The only thing I heard was the blood pounding in my ears from my racing heart.
During the next few exchanges, the other team scored two points on goals but lost one for a penalty. Pak managed to send the ball past their goal line once. I held my position better than I had expected. Pak gave me an appreciative nod after a skillful save.
Suddenly, the ball flew up onto our raised area on the right of the field. The three of us raced up the slight slope and bounced the ball from one to another, maneuvering into the best position for scoring. I almost allowed the ball to roll off the level, but our third man got to it in time, directing it toward Pak standing ready for the shot. He lunged at the ball, giving his whole body a final twist. The ball ricocheted off the wall and went through the ring.
The spectators roared with cheers and stomped their feet. Some men slapped their neighbors on the back and collected their winnings. In celebration of the special victory, a priest released a dove to fly away free. Children chosen for the task tossed flower petals down from the corners of the stands. The king stood and exited the platform without a word.
The three of us fell to the ground entirely out of breath, or else we would have been shouting at the top of our lungs. This felt better than winning the Superbowl! Pak reached out and grabbed my hand. Our silent friend kneeled, muttering something, perhaps a prayer.
Ich’aak came down the steps toward us, followed by four guards. Something in his face told me our rejoicing was premature.
“You must come with us,” he announced in a stern voice. “Your winning the contest changes nothing. The gods demand sacrifice.”
Temporal Gambit Page 9
