Читать книгу The Emperor's Men 7: Rising Sun - Dirk van den Boom, Emmanuel Henné - Страница 9

K’an Chitam looked up the temple, wondering if it was worth it. The more than 30-meter-high construction was not finished yet, but that was not necessary. The numerous workers who worked under the supervision of the great architect Chaak had time. Their ruler, the mighty Siyaj Khan K’awiil II, King of Yax Mutal and descendant of Yax Nuun Ayiin, was not only alive but continued to enjoy good health. For Chitam, that was good news on many levels: It meant that his own coronation was still quite far in the future, and it meant that he continued to live, despite his court duties, a relatively carefree life. As the eldest son of the king, he enjoyed a number of privileges, including the fact that no young woman in Mutal could avoid his advances, a circumstance that the now 25-year-old prince used extensively, wife or not. As long as he fulfilled his other duties, he was subject to no further restrictions from his father, who was always busy with other tasks. With that, Chitam enjoyed a special privilege. Usually, adultery was not a matter that his people accepted lightly. But the heir to the throne was not only the next king, he was also a man with a sunny mind, always friendly, generous, witty and lacking the arrogance of many noblemen who consistently thought they were someone better.

Of course, Chitam was someone better.

He didn’t think he had to rub it in everyone’s face. And the beautiful daughter of a peasant was also much more inclined to approach his overtures with a certain passion, if he didn’t behave like an asshole but presented himself as a nice, good-looking, charming and powerful man who would be in charge in a few years.

One just had to put one’s qualities to good use.

K’an Chitam sighed and looked at the artisans around him, who pounded the stele stones with great care and fervor. Although his father, the king, was a direct descendant of that ruler whom the conquerors of distant Teotihuacán had appointed, he was now anxious to break away from the memory of this military campaign and its consequences, and to establish a truly local dynasty. Although there were still vague references to the origin and legitimacy of their rule in the stelae commissioned by Siyaj, it was also clear that the campaign had been more than thirty years ago, and no soldier from Teotihuacán had ever returned to Yax Mutal’s soil. It was therefore time to remember what was right in front of them and still very tangible. It was necessary to show the people that Siyaj and his son Chitam were rulers in their own right, chosen by the gods, and thus their mouthpiece and connection to the mortal world.

Chitam found this request of his revered father highly commendable, as he prepared the needed stability and respect for his son’s rule. But just this morning, after a night of drinking, in which the Prince, together with his friends, had consumed vast amounts of holy chi in a very unholy way, the hammering of the artisans was almost unbearable. But since his father had told him to supervise the progress of the work himself, he had to indulge in his duty. The fact that he had drunk chi with his companions, less to gain spiritual closeness to the gods but simply to have a good time, displeased the priests at court as much as it did his father. To prove too much rebelliousness didn’t pay off today. In addition, this was a good opportunity to escape Lady Tzutz, his wife, who also had little sympathy for his nocturnal activities.

Chitam knew its limits – though not in terms of alcohol consumption. It was also so damn hard to get really drunk when chi had so little power. He had to pour the stuff in liters. So it was at least helpful that the sometimes sour taste of the beverage became less obvious with increased intoxication – or he simply did perceive it that way.

The horrible feeling in his mouth this morning, however, could Chitam interpret only as punishment by the gods. The great nausea, which was additionally reinforced by the scorching heat, possibly too.

It just wasn’t his day.

He shaded his eyes and looked up at the tall pyramid building. His father would find a very worthy tomb here – and hopefully many years in the future. In Chitam’s opinion, it was no great joy to be king of Yax Mutal. One had to constantly participate in the rituals to ask the gods for rain and harvest, for victory in the war and for general prosperity. Only recently there had been a great ritual that Chitam had at least had to passively attend. His father had been standing on top of the temple, the priests had pierced his foreskin with a needle, and, stunned by drugs and pain, the great Siyaj Khan K’awiil II had called the gods. After that, two POWs with strong restraints, were tied together into balls and thrown down the 25-meter temple stairs. With shattered bones they had reached the bottom, and not one had complained about his suffering.

That wasn’t Chitam’s problem. Enemies were enemies, and prisoners of war were sometimes also victims for the gods. It had always been that way, and it always would be like that. But this tinkering, all the blood and eternal, ever-repeated rituals, that was nothing that filled the Prince with anticipation.

And so it happened that, for selfish reasons, he wished his father a long and healthy life.

“Sir?”

Chitam turned around. Behind him stood two servants, one armed with a large palm frond, with which he fanned the narrow, almost slender figure who had spoken to him. When he recognized her, a smile crossed Chitam’s face, not so much because he was really pleased but rather because it was one of his duties to react in such a way.

The unattractive woman in front of him, her mouth too tight, her nose too narrow, and her shoulders too wide, was the Lady Tzutz Nik, his wife. He would never have chosen her for this position, but his mother, the most honorable Lady Ayiin, and his father, the King, who was very calculating in these matters, had insisted on this particular marriage. Tzutz Nik had all the qualities that Chitam felt were a nuisance to a woman – intelligence, a will of her own, education, and at the same time she was quite unattractive and always looked somehow sickly. Chitam had disliked most of his marital duties, and although Tzutz Nik was almost six years younger than he – he in his prime age –, she had only given him two daughters, though certainly more was to be expected of her, although with his own participation somewhat forced. Something that couldn’t be said of a number of other young women in Mutal.

But Tzutz Nik was his wife, and she would one day be the queen. Even now she sometimes acted as if she already held this position, at least as far as the regency over her husband was concerned. The fact that she usually had a much clearer understanding of politics and the court than himself already pointed out that she would be a queen to be reckoned with.

As has been said, Chitam wished his father a very long and healthy life.

The fact that his swollen eyes and strong thirst told her something about his current condition certainly didn’t help make the upcoming conversation a pleasant part of the morning.

Chitam sighed.

Then he smiled as good as he could.

Because this was his duty.

Tzutz bowed respectfully; after all, there were enough spectators here. But Chitam, to whom the young daughter of a significant noble family had been married when she was sixteen years old, was able to interpret the true expression of the esteemed lady. She was not pleased.

“Sir, you skipped breakfast. Do not you feel well?” she asked with exquisite courtesy.

Chitam grimaced. Breakfast. The thought itself … “I’m fine,” he said, perhaps a little curtly, but by all the gods, he was the husband and Prince. “Thank you for your concern, my lady.”

“May I remind you that we’re having a banquet tonight for our good friend K’inich and his wife. We delayed this a long time, and they are in town today to pay their respects to the King.”

Chitam’s expression darkened. K’inich was the ruler of a small vassal settlement a few miles outside the city limits of Mutal, at least as far as one wanted to grant him the title of a “King” at all. So close to the mighty Mutal that his position was no more than that of a glorified governor. K’inich regularly came to pay his respects and to renew the bond with Yax Mutal, usually right after the first harvest. That was all well and good, but the governor’s wife was an old acquaintance of the honored Lady Tzutz, and so it was customary for them to have a banquet. The “good friend” was an old-fashioned landed nobleman, and considered himself something better than the current dynasty of Yax Mutal, which was ultimately attributable only to Chitam’s grandfather, who had been used by the Teotihuacán usurpers as a front. The old royal family of Yax Mutal, whose history went back much further, had been excluded from rule. One more reason for Chitam’s father to establish a new, his own genealogy with a clear reference to local traditions. K’inich, of course, was not easy to wrap up. He could look back to an unbroken line of predecessors and that made him – at least in his own eyes – something special. It really had to make this man very angry that his expanded village had to pay tribute to the mighty Yax Mutal so that he could continue this tradition with his head remaining on his shoulders.

Anyway, he wasn’t a good friend, and the yearly banquet a most unpleasant business. Of course, Chitam as heir apparent had to uphold etiquette. K’inich was officially a loyal vassal who always fulfilled his obligations completely and punctually. So he enjoyed the respect of such, and of course that was also for the corresponding good behavior of the Prince.

But Chitam didn’t feel like good behavior today. He just wanted to sleep.

Lady Tzutz didn’t seem to be prepared to liberate him from this social obligations – otherwise, she wouldn’t have bothered to remind him immediately on the morning of the important day.

“I didn’t think about anything else the whole day,” he lied to his wife. In fact, last night he drank so much because he wanted to suppress the memory of the impending banquet. And Tzutz knew that, of course, as her fine smile signaled all too clearly.

“I’m glad, my husband,” she said, bowing again, and then darting away gracefully across the paving stones of the square toward her palace. Chitam looked after her for a moment, refusing to shake his head – both because of the spectators and because of his severe pain in this area – and apparently devoted himself to the construction work again. As expected, on this front everything went very well. The tomb would become a wonderful temple, bigger than the one next to it, and a worthy addition to the acropolis. Mutal wasn’t just any city, and no matter how much Chitam wished that he wouldn’t become king to soon, he knew that the current expansion in both population and production would soon make it possible that tribute wouldn’t only be paid by village chiefs like K’inich. No, there were more rewarding goals, and Chitam already had very precise plans.

In return, it would be worthwhile to become king.

The hammer that drove the obsidian bits into the stone really got on his nerves. He decided that he had fulfilled his duties and, with some servants in attendance, he returned to the palace where his father resided and waited for his report. Chitam was well-known in Yax Mutal, and anyone who crossed his path was respectfully keeping his distance, making the expected signs of reverence and not bothering him with unnecessary conversation. Chitam, on the other hand, was free to stop and address anyone, a privilege he used extensively in young women. He had already fathered many children in his life, and although this offspring didn’t automatically lead to the mothers being promoted to a higher social rank, the royal house was also responsible for the illegitimate children, as long as legitimacy played a role. As long as the King was well, his children didn’t have to suffer; the same was true for the crown prince. The population of the city grew steadily. After recovering from the invasion two generations ago, the upswing was unmistakable. Other parts of the forest constantly were cleared to make room for new fields and buildings. The city center grew more and more beautiful every year, as more and more aristocrats created grandiose structures, and the King led them all the way. Trade flourished. The upper class was covered with jewelry made of green jade, the most valuable of all gemstones, and the often magnificent presentation especially on feast days blinded the simple man. But that didn’t mean that the simple peasants suffered. Farming had been refined, yields became bigger and bigger, especially with the food that formed the basis of everything: corn. The royalties paid to the ruler were enough to feed his own family. If one paid attention to all the holidays and paid homage to the King in the prescribed manner, opportunity to participate in the military campaigns arose – which in the case of Chitam’s father didn’t mean much, since his activities were directed more inward than outward, a circumstance his son endeavored to end in time. Everyone in Mutal lived a good life, as a citizen of one of the most powerful cities of the corn people.

Chitam stopped.

Another passerby, a man of nobility, as one could see from his retinue, had a servant hand him a cup of quill, a coffee made from roasted corn. Although the Prince did not really want to eat, he felt the need for liquid as the pleasant scent of the freshly-heated drink reached his nose. It mingled with the freshly baked corn patty, which the servant unpacked. It was certainly the privilege of the Prince to demand his own share, but at the same time it was extremely rude, because as a member of the royal family he wasn’t a beggar. Chitam’s eyes narrowed. The man was somehow known to him, but he was turning his face away. Had not he even bumped with him last night? At some point they had been so many, because he had lost track of everything, and some details of that merriment he could remember only vaguely anyway.

“Tell me, who is this gentleman?” Chitam quietly asked the servant closest to him. “I should know him … By Naal, I’m getting old.”

His servant bowed and made a negative gesture. “It’s hot, sir. The sun obscures our thoughts. The young master there is Tek’inich, the son of the high priest of the Naal.”

Chitam’s memory cleared. Tek’inich was an important man. He would become high priest before Chitam became king, and that was a significant detail, for it was Tek’inich who would direct and bless the Prince’s coronation ceremony.

He definitely had too much chi last night.

Tek’inich looked up, recognized Chitam and smiled at him. He beckoned to him, exactly what the Prince had hoped for.

Moments later, he drank a particularly hot quill, and he felt the warmth and strong taste spread through him, helping clear his head. He even laughed at a remarkably bad joke on Tek’inich’s part. He almost even accepted the offer to try one of the corn patties.

But he didn’t want to get cocky.

Chitam knew that it would be late again tonight.

They talked for a while. Tek’inich was not a man of special ambition, but he was considered wise and sensible. He would be a support to Chitam, someone whose help the young king might one day depend on. He was not a particularly likable man and was not one of Chitam’s close friends, but the noble lady Tzutz pointed out to her husband every week that it would be helpful to have a nice word with him, to be friendly and polite, because you never know.

Tzutz knew a lot about all these things. She also knew Tek’inich’s wife and maintained a friendly relationship with her.

That should, Chitam thought, really suffice.

When he said goodbye to the man to finally rush to his father’s palace, he felt better. He developed something like optimism. Energy returned to his body.

Maybe, he thought, it would be a good day after all.