their instruments. With superhuman effort, he took a step toward the ladder leading up to the hatch, then clung to the rungs for a moment, forcing his eyes open, trying to ignore the dancing black veils.
He didn’t succeed.
He almost felt the boat emerge with gentle sweep, but then he lost all strength and sank unconscious to the ground.
There was no one on board to open a hatch.
Aritomo came to lie next to the Prince and was as quiet as everyone else.
5
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.
