The Visionary Mayan Queen: Yohl Ik'Nal of Palenque (12 page)

Pottery and ceramics from participating cities were abundant, in a style prevalent along the low sierras. Color combinations of red, black and orange were used over a cream primary slip. Linear designs dominated although a few figures could be found. This polychrome technique was applied most typically to wide everted-rim tripod plates. Cylindrical vases were rarely painted. Deeper vessels with convex bases and both tilted and flat rims were orange slipped and incised.

The relative simplicity of local pottery contrasted sharply with imported ware from farther south in the lowlands and coastal regions. These colorful polychrome ceramics depicted Maya deities, anthropomorphic figures, animals, plants and people engaged in symbolic activities or partaking in daily life. Glyphs along borders or near the figures described events or recited prayers or poems. Plant pigments of white, black, red, yellow, blue and green were used. There were flat plates for maize cakes, deep bowls for stews, and cups of different sizes as well as large containers for storage of grains and liquids.

Browsing at a fabric merchant’s mat, Yohl Ik’nal drew in a sharp breath when she uncovered an unusual piece of material. Buried under a pile of typical woven cottons was the most exquisite cloth she had ever seen. Made of thin transparent material that felt silky to the touch, it was pure sky blue with occasional large orange rounds in which geometric symbols appeared in bright golden-yellow. One border was trimmed with smaller rounds of the same colors on a white background. The fabric slipped sensuously through her fingers, cool as spring water rippling over pebbles.

“Sak Nicte, look at this!” she exclaimed. “Never have I seen such fine fabric.”

Her friend knelt close-by and handled the seductive material.

“Oooh, so lovely, so delicate,” crooned Sak Nicte. Glancing at the merchant, she asked: “Where is this from?”

Bowing from his seated position, the small man with a narrow face and pinched forehead replied in a highland accent:

“Honored Ladies, this very fine material is most rare, most unusual. It is made in the Mountains of the Sky Gods far, far to the south, in a land always wrapped in mists. The tree that gives its flowers to this fabric lives only in this high place, and not many such trees are to be found. Yes, it is very rare and very dear. It is of the highest quality, and there is a small piece here. You are most astute to notice this wondrous material.”

The women exchanged glances; they knew the price for the fabric was high. But nowhere had they encountered such material. From the merchant’s foreign appearance and dress, they knew he was from far away.

“It is so, this fabric is unusual and wondrous,” Yohl Ik’nal acknowledge to the merchant. To her friend she added, “But I do not know to what purpose I could put such cloth, see how it is transparent. Even with double thickness, you can see through it.”

“There is one proper and special use for it,” murmured Sak Nicte. Moving to whisper in her friend’s ear, she said: “Would this not be perfect for your wedding night? To greet your husband in the chamber of your marriage pallet? Ah, such a dress would surely fire his passion!”

Yohl Ik’nal blushed and lowered her eyes, but smiled. Quickly her imagination pictured how she would appear to Hun Pakal in the flowing and revealing silky robes that could be sewn from this exquisite fabric. Her pulse quickened as her own passion stirred.

“This blue color is also special,” continued the merchant. “The clay mineral for the dye was taken with great ceremony from the heart of the Mountains of the Sky Gods, many offerings were given in honor and gratitude. Then it was heated in a consecrated bowl during a special ceremony using the most pure white copal from the mountain ceiba tree. Precious indeed is this white copal, dear to the gods of earth and water. Chaak dispensed his watery blessings into the bowl to dissolve the blue powder; precious to our Father of Waters is this clear blue color. It is a sacred fabric,” the merchant whispered reverently, making the Chaac hand sign.

Yohl Ik’nal knew she must have it, regardless of price. She tried to haggle with the merchant, whose initial request was astonishing, but he would not reduce it by much. Finally she parted company with nearly all her cacao beans, but her heart sang as she walked away with the rare fabric tucked carefully into the attendant’s bag.

Passing by the remaining merchants on their way out, the women admired multi-sized shells from eastern and western coasts. Tiny white clams and snails were used in personal adornment and jewelry, larger conches made instruments blown during rituals, and pearly insides of oysters were inlaid in ceramics or jewelry. The bright red thorny oyster called spondylus was much favored for ceremonies and burials. Scraping the white lining from the shell revealed its orange-red under layer, the sacred color of the east, of rebirth and renewal. Bundles of stingray spines were tied with thongs, the sharp pointed spines valued for sewing, ceramic work and bloodletting ceremonies.

There were mirrors made of pyrite plates, feathers of birds such as the ocellated turkey and eagle, and pigments for dyes including indigo, annatto and red cinnabar used for burials. A few choice foods were offered, including salt brought from salt flats along the coast of the eastern sea, dried peppercorns and chiles, gum from the zapote tree for chewing, tobacco, honey and beeswax.

Although much in the market was of good quality, merchants usually kept their finest goods for private trade with elites. The ahauob were concerned about status reinforcing goods and would pay premium barter for fine polychrome ceramics, eccentric lithics, highest quality carved jade, resplendent quetzal feathers, obsidian for scepters and bloodletting and magnificent spearheads for their ritual warfare.

The sun was high overhead when the two noble women left the market, now crowded with shoppers during the midday break. The sound of voices questioning, remarking and bartering rose in a steady murmur. Parting company fondly, the two friends returned to their tents for a meal and rest. But Yohl Ik’nal was too excited to doze. This afternoon Hun Pakal would compete, and the new fabric kept stirring her romantic imagination.

Clouds gathered on the western horizon as the contests resumed. Towering thunderheads rose above flat gray bottoms, promising rain later. Rumbles of distant thunder rolled across the plains. Elite ahauob surged onto the contest field, wearing little but embroidered loincloths and paint. Their skins glistened with oil for hand-to-hand contests of strength and agility. As if pre-planned, contestants from different cities faced off, although to observers it was difficult to distinguish them.

But not for Kan Bahlam. The Lakam Ha ruler recognized his men instantly, knew each by name and disposition, knew family and friendship links. His eye sought Hun Pakal and cadre, but instead saw Ek Chuuah with his followers on the closest side of the field, in front of the royal family’s mats.

“They have deliberately positioned themselves in front of me,” the ruler mused. He was displeased with Ek Chuuah’s smirk, no doubt intended to throw insult, though not obviously at the royal family. Body language spoke eloquently as the warrior strutted in defiance and supreme self-assurance. His men fanned around him, some mimicking their leader’s stance.

Once engaged in conflict their focus shifted to opponents, arms and legs entwining and twisting, chests heaving and shoulders bulging. No direct blows were allowed, so finding the correct grasp to down an opponent became paramount. They could trip each other or pin arms behind the body, and use neck clasps that choked and cut off breath. Ek Chuuah was strong and cunning, and quickly downed his opponent. The referee cut off the man’s ponytail signifying defeat, and the man retreated to the sidelines. Immediately Ek Chuuah engaged another opponent and displayed prowess by bringing that man down in a short time. Other warriors in Ek Chuaah’s contingent were similarly successful, only a few losing the struggle.

Kan Bahlam simmered and clenched his jaw. This demonstration of strength, with its undercurrent of defiance, was insolent. It was indeed well that tomorrow this vexing scorpion would be taken out of action.

On the mat next to her father, Yohl Ik’nal strained to see across the field without rising. She anxiously sought sight of Hun Pakal without alerting her mother. Too many contestants writhed and groaned close-by, flailing arms and legs blocked her view. Absently she noted the performance of Ek Chuuah and his men, wishing they were on the other side of the field. Although aware of his trouble-making, this was far from her consideration at the moment. When she saw one of Ek Chuuah’s followers defeated, his ponytail cut and his sagging form reluctantly retreating to the sidelines, it dawned on her that Hun Pakal might suffer the same fate.

She drew a sharp in-breath and shifted position, trying to see more clearly. A surge of combatants pushed through Ek Chuuah’s group and thinned the space. Near mid-field she saw Hun Pakal struggling with a larger opponent. Fear gripped her as the man threw Hun Pakal to the ground, but the agile warrior from Lakam Ha immediately sprang up and slipped a leg between the opponent’s knees, causing him to fall. Hun Pakal pounced upon the fallen man and pinned his arms behind his back; fight as he would the trapped man could not rise. This soon brought the referee to cut the man’s ponytail in defeat.

Yohl Ik’nal sighed in relief, earning a sharp glance from her mother. Turning her eyes to the side, Yohl Ik’nal stretched and yawned, remarking:

“The contests are long.”

“Our men perform well,” her mother replied.

“Yes, but surely they will not fight much more. Many have already battled three opponents, that is sufficient.”

She fervently hoped Hun Pakal had fought three and would stop now. Looking toward where he was last seen, she found others struggling. Her eyes swept the periphery of the field, but could not detect him. She looked down at her hands, fingers tensely intertwined, and waited.

“Ah, Hun Pakal seeks another opponent,” her mother observed.

Yohl Ik’nal looked up and he was there, right in front, so close she could almost touch him. Mesmerized, she watched the struggle that seemed interminably long. Sweat dripped from both men, and the sound of heavy breathing and bodies colliding assaulted her ears. Slowly Hun Pakal wrestled his opponent down, though the man resisted mightily, and finally the victory was attained.

Hun Pakal was obviously exhausted, but he raised his head smartly and smiled directly at Yohl Ik’nal. Her gaze was lost in his for an eternal moment, and she did not try to hide it. He was victorious; he was not a captive going to another city. That was all she cared about.

Xoc Akal observed the silent interaction, and it confirmed her suspicions. She allowed hope to well for her daughter’s happiness, for Hun Pakal was consolidating his position with his victories. To the relief of both women, Hun Pakal left the contest field.

That evening Xoc Akal went to the tent of her husband. The promised thundershowers had arrived at dusk with dramatic swords of lightning fanning across metallic skies and deafening booms of thunder heralding an intense but brief downpour. Now light rain fell and the ground released fresh earthy fragrances. As they sipped hot cacao and chile, the royal couple conversed privately.

“It is happening as you hope, the flower war?” asked Xoc Akal.

“It is well, our men bring many victories and our strength is rightly displayed,” replied Kan Bahlam.

“This flower war is wise, my husband, you have led the people properly. Think you the dissention among polity cities will end?”

“End perhaps not, but decrease it will. Should our victories continue tomorrow, few will care to challenge Lakam Ha.” After a thoughtful moment, the ruler added: “What Ka’an polity is capable of, I am not certain. Many generations of Ka’an leaders have meddled in affairs of other polities. Their on-going rivalries with Mutul are a good example. I fear more is brewing with them. There may be troubled times ahead.”

Xoc Akal nodded and murmured:

“Only so much can one man do. Ultimately the patterns of stars determine our destiny, and the whims of the gods shape how it plays out in our lives. You are doing what you can to mediate their influences in the Middleworld.”

“It is so, you speak wisely.”

They drank frothy, spicy cacao in silence for a while.

“Have you settled on a husband for Yohl Ik’nal?” asked Xoc Akal.

“This event will bring him forth,” her husband answered. “This I will announce at the closing ceremony.”

“Who do you consider the most likely candidates?”

“Several men of Lakam Ha have performed very well. Of these Hun Pakal stands out, and his bloodlines are excellent. The younger son of the Yokib ruler has deported himself admirably. An alliance with Popo’ would be prudent, but I have not seen a man of high enough lineage who stands out in the contests. Among our people, a cousin of Mut Yokte fought impressively today.”

“Hun Pakal has a large following, and his men had many victories,” offered Xoc Akal.

“So it is. Tomorrow we shall see if their prowess holds true.”

“Tomorrow will be dangerous for armed battle as rain makes the field slippery.” Xoc Akal glanced at her husband with furrowed brow. “Must you fight tomorrow? You are not so young now, it would not be dishonorable to decline.”

“This, to fight in the flower war, I must do,” said Kan Bahlam firmly. “All must see that the ruler of B’aakal is still strong, an opponent to be respected. But I will only fight once, with the Yokib ruler Cauac Ahk who is near my age. Do not worry.”

Xoc Akal sighed.

“Worry is the part of women when their men battle. Even when we know it is a ritual battle without serious wounding. Mistakes happen, or warriors become overly aggressive. Men have died in flower wars.”

Kan Bahlam wondered if his wife suspected his plan for Ek Chuuah, but chose not to speak of that. Keeping silence even with intimates was the wisest course in such controversial leadership decisions.

“It is true, that I also will be relieved when tomorrow’s contests are over,” he admitted. “Lakam Ha has not lost many men to service in other cities, but enough will be going. I should much regret losing such good men as Hun Pakal, though I doubt he will be anything but victorious. He seems to have high motivation to out-perform everyone in these contests. Think you he has ideas about our daughter?”