The Visionary Mayan Queen: Yohl Ik'Nal of Palenque (5 page)

Yohl Ik’nal had studied Maya calendars and knew the most important ones:
Tzolk’in
of the sacred numbers 1-13 that interwove all the others;
Haab
the 360-day calendar of 18 months having 20 days and one short 5-day month
(uayeb)
to follow the annual course of the sun; and calendars tracking the movements of Venus, Mars, the Pleiades and the moon. Many calendars shaped the lives of Maya people, guiding every aspect of daily, seasonal, cyclic and ritual activities. So intricate and complex were these calendars, whose number approached 60, that special calendar priests—
Ah K’inob
—had emerged to interpret them.

“What is very important,” Kan Bahlam said, “is that the
May Ku
city controls political and economic functions. It decides tribute requirements, manages land apportionment, makes appointments to public office, and sets schedules for ritualized ‘flower wars’ and ball games to demonstrate prowess of leaders and warriors.”

“Have we had a flower war?” asked Yohl Ik’nal.

“Not in my lifetime, so far,” her father replied. “We have not needed one. Now listen closely to this. The
may
cycle consists of 13 katuns. Each katun is ritually seated in a different city in the region, determined by the May Ku city. Thus every 20 solar years another city is honored and recognized, holds subsidiary rituals and selects its katun priests and katun spokesman/prophet (
Chilam
). This katun city makes local political and economic decisions independently. Do you see the beauty of this strategy?”

Yohl Ik’nal thought for a moment.

“The katun city feels important. It exercises local power and this satisfies the ahauob. Leaders of the city have much to occupy their attention.”

“Yes, very well said. The most significant strategic result is ensuring cooperation with the May Ku city. There is little motivation to oppose or rebel against the political hub of the region. Each city knows it will get its turn as katun city. How wise are the deities who constructed such a system.”

When the
may
cycle approached midpoint, a council of leaders and priests took place to select the next May Ku city. The current seat and the forthcoming one shared ritual and ceremonial functions during the second half of the cycle. The current seat gradually decreased its building programs and rituals, until at the end of the cycle the major ceremonial areas, roads, and idols were ritually destroyed and the city was “abandoned.” Not everyone left the city; most commoners and many nobles stayed. Often the ruling dynasty and their retinue left to found another city. New ruling families emerged to launch the city’s next phase. The new May Ku seat began its building program in preparation for increased duties.

“The
may
cycle was modeled on cosmic cycles,” Kan Bahlam concluded. “It reflects a sacred pattern, beloved of the gods, and prevents disruption of the social order. Power and prestige are shared predictably, according to the calendar, and the chaos of political upheavals is avoided.”

Thus the Maya people kept the laws of the gods, counted their days and honored their names in an orderly pattern – as did the celestial bodies of the cosmos.

“When did Lakam Ha become May Ku?” asked Yohl Ik’nal.

“We were chosen as seat of the
may
at the beginning of Baktun 9 (436 CE). At the half-way point the May Council met and again selected Lakam Ha for the forthcoming
may
seat. Though not usual, it is acceptable for the same city to serve as May Ku for two consecutive cycles. That decision was made at the turning of Katun 13 (564 CE).”

Yohl Ik’nal calculated dates. This May Council had taken place four years before she underwent the transformation ritual into adulthood and was designated bearer of the sacred blood.

3

“Now comes something important.”

The messenger’s sonorous words echoed off the plaster walls of the Popol Nah, the Council House of Lakam Ha.

Ahkal Mo’ Nab, Holy Lord of B’aakal, moved his regal head slightly and eyed the messenger. His slender body straightened but remained relaxed in the customary posture, one leg tucked under the other that dangled from the low stone throne covered with a jaguar pelt. He motioned gracefully with one hand, signing for the messenger to continue.

Yohl Ik’nal was all attention. Eyes wide, she surveyed the rectangular room, walls lined with benches slightly lower than the ruler’s throne. The benches were covered with woven mats, cushioning the stony hardness. It was her first time in the Popol Nah, and she sat proudly beside her parents as an adult of the sacred blood.

Kan Bahlam studied the messenger with experienced eyes. This messenger was a well-respected noble, a seasoned runner and traveler who had visited many cities. He had relayed numerous important messages before, and was not prone to exaggerate. Clearly the messenger was excited, his black eyes sparkling and his body taut.

Kan Bahlam could read men. More than once this keen insight had steered his brother Ahkal Mo’ Nab away from hasty or inopportune decisions. He was concerned about his brother, noting traces of fatigue around eyes and mouth of the thin face. It seemed the ruler had lost yet more weight, and his skin appeared sallow, despite his wardrobe attendant’s efforts to mask these. Few appreciated how the ruler disguised his sickness, but Kan Bahlam knew well the cost of these efforts.

His mind wandered for an instant to the dank swamps of their adolescent quest. The two royal boys, born only one year apart, entered the transformation rites at the same time, companions facing the challenge of surviving in dangerous terrain while pursuing their jaguar prey. Young men of royal blood who were potential heirs must hunt and kill a jaguar, bringing back the pelt to signify their victory over fear and their mastery of the most powerful jungle beast. Only then could the jaguar become their
uay
to guide and counsel them in matters of power and the Underworld. They would earn the right to sit upon the jaguar-skin draped over the ruler’s throne.

Both succeeded in their quest, but Ahkal Mo’ Nab brought something else home beside a jaguar pelt. A few weeks later he was seized by a ferocious fever, sweating and shaking with bone-rattling chills, struggling with a fierce opponent who brought him to the edge of death. Priestly ministrations and rich offerings by his father ameliorated the Death Lords and the boy survived, but was severely weakened. His body was never again strong although his mind recovered its sharpness. Now in middle age, he was weakening steadily as the minion of the swamp was hard at work again

Kan Bahlam had long believed that this sickness, this life-sucking swamp fever that robbed his brother of so much strength was at the root of his childlessness. Though married to a robust woman, Ahkal Mo’ Nab had failed to produce offspring in their 20 years together. Given his declining health, it was doubtful an heir would be brought forth. Thus the lineage succession would fall to Kan Bahlam and his family—to be precise, his only living child, his daughter Yohl Ik’nal. This troubled him; male succession was preferred although Maya custom did not dictate patrilineal descent.

The messenger’s resounding voice pulled Kan Bahlam back to the present.

“There is discontent among the ahauob of Usihwitz and Yokib. It is said, they speak of it, that the May Council decided unjustly. Why should it be, they ask, that Lakam Ha becomes the May Ku again? Is it not enough, is it not just that Lakam Ha now luxuriates in the honors, the tributes, the construction of many new buildings? This is what is just, they say: it is enough for Lakam Ha to prosper for 260 tuns enjoying the katun celebrations and the dispensation of katun privileges. Some other city should be the next May Ku. Let us share this bounty, why keep it there? So they speak, so they argue, in Usihwitz and Yokib.”

Indignant murmuring filled the Popol Nah. Various nobles gestured and signed each other their surprise and concern. All waited for Ahkal Mo’ Nab to speak.

“So they spoke ill.” The ruler emphasized each word. “The May Council was fairly constructed and represented all the cities in the B’aakal polity. On the Council sat priests and ahauob of every city, Usihwitz and Yokib included. Why do they complain?”

“So say they, that the men of their city were weak,” answered the messenger. “They who now complain were not at the Council and are angry they did not have a say. It is a long time, beyond their generation, until the next
may
seating and they covet the prize now.”

The ruler gestured for others in the Council House to speak, turning from long habit toward his brother.

“More is to be seen here, the roots go deep,” Kan Bahlam said. “Sahal, speak of what you learned in other places you visited.” He nodded at the messenger.

“My travels also took me to Popo’. This city in our polity, far from the river, we think about as a slow-moving place isolated by the vast jungle. But in fact there is much foment in Popo’, much movement, much involvement that is surprising. When I was there, several ahauob had recently returned from Kan, in the Polity of Ka’an, the Snake.”

Murmurs of surprise rippled through the Council House. Kan was the name of the ruling dynasty of a distant polity called Ka’an. Their primary city was Dzibanche, but frequently the dynastic name was used instead. Many days of travel were needed to cover the terrain from Popo’ to Kan.

“They spoke little to me of their business with Kan,” the messenger continued. “Of their purpose, they described trade but I saw few foreign goods in Popo’ markets. One evening I sat late with an old merchant, praising his fine flint and obsidian, even buying a knife to loosen his tongue. Then he spoke of strange things, things he heard from the ahauob who visited Kan. Things so strange, I hesitate to speak of them.”

Kan Bahlam exchanged a quick glance with Ahkal Mo’ Nab. It was not lost on the other nobles present. The tension in the Popol Nah rose palpably.

“It is of importance that you speak these strange things,” the ruler urged. “Let it be noted in the Popol Nah that you are simply repeating what you heard from the merchant of Popo’. Here we do not hold you accountable for the truth of what you heard, that you now repeat.”

The messenger nodded gravely, eyes downcast. His reputation was important, he did not want it sullied by inaccurate information. Breathing deeply, he raised his eyes and glanced around the Council House, as if holding each ahau to the ruler’s guarantee.

“Uitah Chan, the Kan ruler is an ambitious man. His building program is impressive since Dzibanche became May Ku of Ka’an polity. His ceremonies are the richest and most elaborate, his feasts the most delicious and generous. Sahals and priests are becoming fat and wealthy. Dzibanche is expanding its sources of tribute, bringing other cities under its provenance. There was fear in the old merchant’s voice, fear he learned from the ahauob who visited Kan. So it was I asked the old man, why are the nobles afraid? Had I not listened and sat with him a very long time, very late into the night, I do not believe he would have answered. But he did answer, saying the ahauob spoke of changes in warfare methods by Kan. He did not understand well, not being a warrior, but spoke of more blood, more death in the warfare of Kan.”

Silence gripped the Council House. Each ahau struggled to grasp the significance of this change. For generations, from ancient times, a protocol governed encounters between warriors of different cities. This “flower war” took place in the spring when flowers appeared. The ritualized combat permitted young men to test their courage and strength without killing. Even as the
may
cycle was god-given to bring harmony to governance, the flower wars brought contained competition that served all parties well.

In the flower wars, the warriors of two cities met in a designated field in-between their homes at an agreed time in the spring. Adversaries of equal rank engaged in combat, which was a test of strength and skill with non-lethal weapons. There were matches of spear throwing, wrestling, racing and club wielding against poles. The most dangerous combat was with flint or obsidian knives, the objective being to draw first blood from shallow cuts. Occasionally an overly aggressive warrior caused more serious wounds, with death sometimes resulting. But killing was proscribed; overcoming the opponent and capturing him was the goal.

When one combatant was declared winner, he grasped his opponent by the topknot of hair that warriors wore, and cut off most of the long tail. This signified defeat, and the loser had to work in the victor’s city until his hair re-grew. It usually took nearly a year. The loser then chose to remain in the victor’s city or return to his home city. Often the man found a woman to marry or a new work opportunity, and remained. Many new alliances and fresh bloodlines were developed through this system.

This system of mock battle worked well for generations. But now Kan appeared to be increasing the lethality of warfare.

“This is information that troubles me greatly,” said Ahkal Mo’ Nab. “How is this related to the discontent of Usihwitz and Yokib?”

“Holy B’aakal Lord, I do not know,” demurred the messenger.

Ahkal Mo’ Nab invited the other ahauob to speak, which many did at length. In the Council House, each noble could express his or her view and offer suggestions. Kan Bahlam kept silent, however, his thoughts swirling rapidly. Deviation from the flower war protocol was not without precedent; he remembered incidents in southern regions involving Mutul and Uxwitza. Campaigns to overthrow dynasties or seat puppet rulers had occurred before, but never so close to home. He would speak later to his brother about his thoughts, in private.

A slight movement beside him drew his attention to his daughter. A surge of regret arose that her first Council House session involved a puzzling and serious problem. Catching her glance, he was surprised by the deep comprehension he beheld in her eyes. Tight lines in his face relaxed as he felt a wave of relief. On a deep, intuitive level he apprehended that she had the mettle for rulership.

He determined to take her with him when he met privately with the ruler.