The Seven Serpents Trilogy (23 page)

My chamber was large but bare, except for an elabo rate stone bench and a sleeping mat. Its one small win dow looked upon a field knee-high in weeds. The stallion occupied the next two rooms to mine, one for a stall and one for grass. Guards were on hand to care for his needs.

My first meal was served by white-gowned women who appeared in relays, walking silently on bare feet, with eyes downcast and trays of food balanced on their heads.

Appearing from somewhere deep within the palace, they brought forth silver bowls heaped with pink frijoles and stacks of maize cakes, red yams, and vegetables I had never seen before; huge portions of steaming meats I did not recognize; a long, carved stick upon which were perched, as upon the limb of a tree, a row of small, roasted birds; trays of fruits; and a brown, frothy drink, of which the dwarf drank two full pitchers. I ate little.

That night I prayed on my knees for guidance. I walked the floors of the vast throne room. From the terrace I had heard the cries of the throng, proclaiming me Lord and Ruler of the Maya, Kukulcán, Kukulcán!

But whom did I rule? Whom besides the multitude that had left the temple square and now on this night still were chanting my name from the fields around the palace? Would I rule the lords and elders and the hun dreds of priests? If so, how? Was my power endless or limited, religious or secular?

These questions were settled the following day.

At my request, the dwarf called together the Council of Elders. They came down the long passageway and into the throne room to the music of flutes, three small men in headdresses larger than they were, followed by a band of retainers.

They came forward, making gestures as if to kiss the floor, and halted before me with downcast eyes. In hushed tones, placing their feathered canes—badges of authority—at my feet, they then stepped backward, making gestures of kissing the floor as they left.

The three old men did all this without a word and with a clear air of relief. They had quarreled for more than a year in an effort to find a successor to a dead king. The quarrel was over. Their pride preserved, they edged between the two crosses and retreated down the rubblestrewn hallway.

Prompted by Cantú, mounting the stallion, I followed them to the terrace and watched while they made ready to leave.

As they climbed into their litters, a mighty blast of gunpowder—set off by the dwarf to prove once again that it was the stallion speaking—shook the stones. It crumbled plaster from the face of the palace, toppled pedestals, and sent rats and coatimundis scurrying.

The dwarf jumped with glee as the three elders were hastily borne away through a cloud of yellow dust.

“I have three beautiful canes carved with venomous snakes and festooned with the plumage of rare birds,” I said. “But what is their use?”

“They are symbols of power. They are to be used to rule the city.”

“How? What is to be done?”

“Do nothing…” The dwarf was about to address me as
hidalgo,
noble, then changed his mind and said, “Lord Serpent, affairs of the city such as the assessing of fines for misbehavior, the collection of taxes and of garbage, such things will be taken care of as in the past. You will have nothing to do with these common matters. Dwell silently in your palace and give thought to the larger issues of which we have spoken.”

Two days later I met with the three high priests.

I expected the support of Hexo and Xipan, who had accepted me at once, before I even came to the city. I also expected the enmity of Chalco, the Aztecatl, and I found it again, though he was most anxious to declare his own devotion, as well as that of his hundreds of fol lowers who swarmed over the temple and through the streets in their black gowns, their black hair matted with the blood of those slain upon the sacrificial stones. Though he was most resolute in his promise that against all enemies, especially the Emperor Moctezuma and his many vassals, he would wait upon my command.

I had learned from the dwarf that Chalco was born in the province of Chalca, near the Azteca capital, Tenochtitlán. It was rumored that he had insinuated himself into the Mayan priesthood by a large payment of gold and further strengthened his position by marriage to the homely and only daughter of a powerful Mayan lord.

The dwarf thought that he was a road weasel, a spy sent to the island by the Azteca, to burrow into its core and thus be ready to deliver it to Moctezuma when the emperor spoke the word.

The meeting went smoothly, save for a slight interruption just before the priests took their leave.

They had touched their heads to the floor and were backing away when Hexo let out a cry and rushed toward the bench I sat upon. Reaching down with a feath ered cane, he prodded from beneath me a snake half the length of his arm, one of the deadly coral vipers, and ground it under foot.

There was general excitement and a search for its mate, since these jungle snakes were known to travel in pairs.

The only calm person in the room was Chalco, the Aztecatl. He paused and glanced up at me. In his eyes was the same look I had seen once before, when he stood on the terrace beside the sacrificial stone, obsidian knife in hand. And yet I felt sure that he had had nothing to do with the serpent that lay under my chair.

At the end of three days I had gained a fair idea of my powers, what I could expect from the Council of Elders and from the high priests and their retainers.

There were some fifty lords in the city, but from all that I could learn, they were interested in little else than gambling. Apparently they gambled on anything that struck their fancy—how much it would rain when it rained, how many pups would be born to one of their dogs, how many prisoners would be sacrificed on a given day, the outcome of a ball game. I need give no thought to them, at least for the moment.

I still had no real idea who Kukulcán was, what he had done while he lived on the island, his nature and ambitions. Since I was posing as Kukulcán and accepted as Kukulcán by the people, I could not go among them, or to the Council of Elders or to the priests, and say, “Who am I? What have I done? What is it that I should do?”

It occurred to me to seek my identity in the archives kept by the priests and housed a short walk from the palace. The building was squat and had a stubby tower from which the stars were watched and read. It was surrounded by a field of broken columns and stelae, but in side there was an attempt at order.

My presence caused much excitement among the ar chivists who were there to greet me, word of my coming having been passed along by the dwarf.

Xicalanco, a lean-jawed priest in charge of the ar chives, and his helpers lay face down on the terrace as I approached. It took the better part of a day to get them on their feet, to open doors that had been closed for many years, and to find the books that pertained to Lord Kukulcán.

Since I had never attempted to read more of the Mayan language than the inscription on the tomb that Cantú had shown me and the glyphs scattered throughout the palace, it was necessary to ask for Xicalanco's help.

The archivist rummaged around in a dark cubbyhole and finally came out carrying two books covered with the dust of centuries. By now the sun was setting, so I asked him to bring them to the palace early the next day. While I was still eating breakfast, he came with five helpers, each carrying an armful of books.

“Where do you wish to begin, Lord of the Evening Star?” Xicalanco asked.

“Begin at the beginning,” I said.

“When you came to the land of the Maya, Lord of the Night Wind, or when you came to the Island of the Seven Serpents?”

“To the island,” I said. “That was in what year? My memory deserts me.”

“There are signs,” Xicalanco said, “that you first ap peared in 4 Ahau 8 Cumhu, but it is only a rumor.”

This Mayan year, after some thought, I translated into the Christian year 3111 BC. “The rumor is false,” I said. “I would like true dates, not rumors. The date of my ap pearance is much later.”

Xicalanco searched among the books laid out on the floor and handed one to me.

I handed it back, not wishing him to know that Kukulcán, god of the Maya, could not read the Mayan glyphs. “You have a pleasant voice,” I said. “I will lis ten.”

The book was not in the form I was accustomed to. Though of the same size as those I had used at the semi nary, its pages folded from side to side, like a screen, and opened one fold after the other until it was some ten feet in width, with ends glued to hardwood boards.

Xicalanco read in his deep-toned, pleasant voice.

I understood about half of what he read, enough to know that the account, covering the period from the year 800 after the birth of Christ to the year 910, was lit tle more than a list of dates. The day, the month, the year that Kukulcán saved the maize harvest by bringing rain to parched fields; the night that his twin star shone bright in the heavens; the hour, the day, the month, the year he left the island and sailed on his snakeskin raft into the east.

The Maya were fascinated by dates. Time and the stars ruled their lives from minute to minute, from birth to death. They held them in thrall, as helpless as a serpent's cruel eye holds its prey.

In truth, I learned nothing from Xicalanco and his many books, although we spent more than a week going through them. They were beautiful works—the glyphs painted in bold hues on cream-colored paper of a high gloss—but they did not answer any of the questions that concerned me.

 

C
OULD
C
EELA'S GRANDFATHER, THE OLD MAN WHO LIVED AT THE FOOT
of the volcano, answer my questions? As a high priest Ah den Yaxche must have heard the legends about the young captain who came to the island from a far land, stayed among the people for centuries, taught them his ways, became a god, then mysteriously disap peared.

When Xicalanco gathered up his books after a futile hour of reading I turned to the dwarf. At the moment he was finishing his second helping of maize cakes and his third bowl of pink frijoles.

“Don Guillermo, today we send for Ah den Yaxche.” “Why, Lord Serpent?”

“Because I wish to talk to him. He knows who Kukulcán was, what he did while he was on this island, which I do not. Nor do you.”

“Can you be certain that he won't repeat everything you ask him?

He's an old man in his dotage. Can you trust him?”

“I trust myself.”

“What if he refuses to come?”

“Bring him!”

“Today the pearl divers return from the south. I need to gather the crew we spoke about and make our plans for floating the ship. I'll go for the old man tomorrow, if it pleases you.”

“It doesn't please me. Go today.”

The dwarf went off whistling, a sign that he was in a bad mood. Late in the afternoon he returned with news that Ah den Yaxche was ill.

“Did you talk to him?” I asked.

“No, to the two aunts and the grandmother.”

“To the granddaughter?”

“She was nowhere in sight.”

Two days later I sent him back with an escort of pal ace guards. The following day I heard a commotion on the palace steps and, looking out, witnessed the arrival of the dwarf and curtained litters containing Ah den Yaxche, the women, and my friend Ceela.

I expected the old man to come forth, but the curtains remained closed until a guard flung them apart. Still he did not appear. His hands and feet, it turned out, had been tied with heavy cords. I ordered him unbound.

Confused, as well he might be, Ah den Yaxche stood stiffly gazing at his surroundings. For a moment I feared that he was about to take to his heels. I turned to his granddaughter for help, but Ceela lay mute, flat upon the terrace stones, her face covered. The others were huddled on their knees.

Overcoming the temptation to speak to the old man in a godlike manner, I apologized for the trouble I had caused. After some moments of hesitation, during which he again seemed to be at the point of running away, he gathered up the women and we all trooped inside, except for Ceela, who had to be carried.

The old man followed me into the throne room, but when I seated myself on the jaguar bench and bade him to make himself comfortable on the deerskins spread at my feet, he shook his head and continued to stand.

In no way did he fit the person I expected to meet. All of the Maya I had seen were short, not more than five feet in height, sturdily built, beardless, and bronze skinned.

Ah den Yaxche was the opposite in every way. Dressed in a long white robe, he was taller than I, whip thin, and pale. He was not tattooed or decorated with earrings and nose plug, and he wore a beard.

The beard stirred my memory. Somewhere in my studies I had seen a drawing of an Egyptian priest. He was tall, dressed in a long robe, like this man, and had the same small beard that curved outward and came to a point. The two men might have been brothers.

My guest stood in front of me and looked everywhere except in my direction. He was trying hard, I presumed, to swallow his ire at being snatched up, bound hand and foot, and carried off against his will to face a god un known to him.

There was a long silence. The old man glanced toward the windows, and again I feared that he was about to flee.

I offered him a bowl of fruit. He shook his head. I had not heard the man speak a word. Perhaps he could not speak. Perhaps he was mute. At least he could hear.

“You have been sick,” I said, hoping to soften his anger. “I trust you are better.”

The silence deepened. Just as I decided that he
was
mute, the old man cleared his throat and to my great surprise said, “I have not been sick.”

To my further surprise, he spoke without a trace of anger and in the firm voice of a young man.

“If you were not sick,” I said with some anger, “what in the name of Itzamná were you?”

“Confused in my thoughts,” he said.