CHAPTER IX
The Prince Azcopil
RECLINING on robes of the most magnificent feather-work, within the litter of carved wood covered with gold plates and mosaic work of precious stones, Itza and myself were borne upon the shoulders of gorgeously-clad nobles, while on every side the throngs cheered, shouted welcomes, threw flowers before and upon us and, falling into line in our rear, formed a colorful, noisy procession. Before us rode the high-priest in his litter, with the warrior guard and band leading the way towards the central plaza and the great temple. As we passed slowly along, I was filled with intense scientific interest. The people, their costumes, the litter I was in were all so strange, so marvelous that I could scarcely realize it was real. Then there was that strange, diffused, inexplicable light that illuminated the valley; the still stranger multicolored lambent beams that emanated from the temples. What was it? How was it produced? And what weird, mysterious, impossible light was that upon which Itza and I had crossed the chasm? It was utterly beyond me, wholly inexplicable, and I determined that my first care would be to investigate these phenomena.
Then I beheld another wonder. From the distance, as I had looked upon the valley in the light of the last rays of the setting sun, I had seen fields of maize, of potatoes, of vegetables and of flowers. There had seemed nothing unusual about them. But now, as we passed through a field, I gazed in utter astonishment. The maize was fully fifteen feet in height; I saw a melon as large as a barrel, and every vegetable and flower was of equally gigantic proportions. Never had eyes of man seen such stupendous vegetable growths. Here, by some means, agriculture had accomplished miracles. Many of the ripening ears of corn were more than two feet in length with each kernel nearly an inch in diameter, and sweet potatoes, lying upon the earth where they had been freshly dug, were as large as my body. What had caused such results? Was it due to the light, to the fact that there was no night here? I did not know, but later I discovered that this was primarily the cause, although the quality of the light and its origin had much to do with it. By this time we were at the plaza, a large open space bordered with immense trees and flowering shrubs above which the vast pile of the temple towered toward the zenith. Thrice around the base of the mighty stone-faced _Kus_ we were carried, and then up another broad avenue. Between rows of splendid buildings, all typically Mayan except for the fact that many had arched doorways, the procession moved slowly towards an imposing, elaborately sculptured edifice which was evidently a palace.
Here our litters were lowered to the ground, and the hideous, hunchbacked, skeleton-jawed priest, with many obeisances and elaborate words of welcome, which were belied by his smouldering, vengeful eyes and savage expression, bade me enter, informing me that it was to be my home. Itza, trembling and hesitating, held back as the priest glared at her; but fearing to let her leave me for an instant, I drew her with me into the palace. It was a magnificent building, its outer walls a marvel of sculpture, its inner walls covered with marvelous frescoes of gods, heroes, priests, semi-human personages, beasts, reptiles and symbols, the whole combined in such a manner as to produce a symmetrical design very different from anything I had ever seen. Everywhere, however, the sacred red, white and green of the Plumed Serpent cult predominated, and everywhere Kukulcan in all his manifold forms and symbols appeared in the sculptures and frescoes. Even the portal, flanked with two immense stone columns carved to represent conventionalized serpents with feathered bodies, indicated that the palace was dedicated to the serpent-god, and as I passed through the first great chamber I felt quite sure that the place had been erected, ages before, to provide a home for the bearer of the Book of Kukulcan when he arrived. Flowers were everywhere; from incense burners of solid gold and silver, sweet-scented smoke arose, and from an inner room came the sounds of low music and of singing. Forming a lane through which we walked, were several dozen young girls who smiled and threw flowers before us, and passing through a second doorway we entered a large room. Here feather robes, skins, rush mats and great cushions were upon the floor. Upon a low table were immense fruits; grim, armed guards in golden casques and breastplates stood about the walls; men, evidently servants or slaves, stood about, and from a huge golden bowl a most appetizing odor arose. Not until then did I fully realize how hungry I was. I had had nothing to eat for nearly thirty hours, but the excitement of the day and evening had driven all thoughts of food from my mind. But now I felt famished, and throwing myself upon a pile of robes and cushions with Itza beside me, I ate ravenously of the thick stew that was served in deep silver dishes.
The high priest, explaining that he had religious duties to attend to, had withdrawn, but there was little privacy, for nobles, officials and other prominent personages came and went, bringing presents, paying homage and welcoming the supposed son of Kukulcan. Among these I noticed the young man to whom I had been attracted earlier in the evening because of his remark regarding Itza and myself. Pointing him out to the girl, I asked her who he was.
“He is the Prince Azcopil, my lord,” she replied. “But for Kinchi Haman he would be the king of Mictolan. When our good king Tutil Nima died, two Tuns past, Kinchi Haman declared himself both king and priest.”
Instantly I realized that in the deposed prince I would find a true friend and ally, for from the few words he had spoken, and which I had overheard, and from what Itza told me, I felt sure the Prince Azcopil was no friend of the high priest. And if he had a household and wife or sisters, it might solve my problem as to what to do with Itza, until I could consummate our marriage. She could not well remain with me in the palace--although she had expressed her willingness to do so and saw nothing out of place in doing so, and I had no intention of allowing her to return to the home of the maidens of Kinich Ahau, the Vestal Virgins of the temple, where she would be in the power of the rascally old priest.
“And is the Prince Azcopil married?” I asked Itza, “Has he sisters or a mother?”
“Yes, my lord,” she replied. “He is wed with the Princess Tutuil and he dwells with his sister, the Princess Mitchi Ina.”
* * * * *
MY mind was made up. I beckoned to the Prince, who was now near. “Greetings Prince of Mictolan,” I exclaimed, as, somewhat hesitatingly and evidently overwhelmed at being so honored, he approached. “To the son of King Tutuil Nima the son of Kukulcan gives welcome as to a brother. You shall be my counsellor and friend, and into the care of you and of the Princess Tutuil and the Princess Mitchi Ina I give the maiden Itza, until such time as she shall be my wife. Look to it, O Prince, that no harm befalls her, and guard her as you would your life.”
Never have I seen a man so overcome with mingled surprise and delight. To his mind he was, of course, being favored by a divine being, by the son of Kukulcan, and had been honored above all others--not even excepting the high priest in the city. Just as I had instinctively known that in Kinchi Haman I had an implacable enemy, so I knew that in the Prince Azcopil I had a staunch friend, a man whom I could depend upon and who, no doubt, had a vast amount of power and influence among the inhabitants, even though he was not officially their ruler. Falling upon his knees before me he poured out a torrent of words of gratitude and pledged himself and all his family to guard and protect Itza.
She, poor girl, was almost heartbroken at being forced to leave me even for the night; but she had no fear as she trusted Azcopil implicitly and after an affectionate farewell, I gave her into the Prince’s care. Then having managed to dismiss all my visitors and my far too numerous attendants, I threw myself upon the soft rugs and cushions and instantly fell into a dreamless sleep.
The following day I was up betimes, having been awakened by the servants moving about, and had scarcely finished my breakfast before the old priest put in his appearance. He seemed much more affable than on the preceding evening and, to my relief, made no inquiries as to the whereabouts of Itza, though I had no doubt that he knew all that had happened. The servants and my attendants were all of his choosing, and unquestionably kept him advised of my every move and word. But I intended to change that very soon and to surround myself with men and women loyal to Prince Azcopil. Neither was I hoodwinked by Kinchi Haman’s assumed friendliness. He could not hide the expression of his eyes nor the tone of his voice, though I could hardly blame him for feeling peeved and far from friendly towards me. I had defied him, had humbled him before his people. I had forbidden him to hold human sacrifices though I much doubted if he had obeyed me in that matter; I had raised the deposed prince to a place of high honor, and I had robbed him of Itza. Had I actually been divine or the descendant of Kukulcan, this might not have troubled him over much, for to be superseded by a divinity or semi-divinity would have been expected. But somehow, from the moment he had defied me, I had felt sure he was aware that I was mortal and an alien. Despite his horrible appearance, due to his mutilations and deformities, he was keen and intelligent, as well as crafty.
While he did not dare incur the danger of bringing down the wrath of his people by denouncing me as an imposter, though he had to acknowledge that I possessed the symbol and had come unscathed through all the perils as was foretold in the prophecy; though he was in mortal dread of my seemingly magic control of thunder and lightning, yet, aside from his natural superstitions and perhaps some lingering doubts, he was convinced that I was not all I represented myself to be. Had he felt otherwise, he would never have acted as he had. He would have prostrated himself before me; he would have welcomed me and would have bowed without question to my commands. Why or how his suspicions had been aroused I do not know; but on this first morning, as he conversed and asked veiled questions, I knew perfectly well that he was endeavoring to confirm his suspicions. Fortunately I knew the ancient prophecy, as related by old Katchilcan, by heart, and I took the opportunity of referring to it as we talked. But I dreaded that he might produce a codex or some form of writing for me to read. And when he asked abruptly how soon I would lead his people forth from the valley of Mictolan, as provided for in the Book of Kukulcan, I was in a decided jam.
In the first place I had no intention of fulfilling this part of the contract. In the second place, even had I desired to do so, it would not have been feasible, and would surely have resulted in suffering and death, for the Mayas would have been utterly at a loss in the outside world. No doubt, when Kukulcan (for I was now as firm a believer in the Plumed Serpent as was any Maya) had segregated the people in the hidden city and had foretold that they would one day come forth and repossess the land, he had expected that they would increase and multiply enormously and that there would be only a handful of enemies to overcome. But for some reason the population increased little, if at all. There were, I judged, not more than ten thousand inhabitants at the most--and that particular portion of the prophecy had been set at naught. However I had no intention of telling the old priest that. Whether I was a divinity or not, I had come--according to his belief and the belief of the people--as the promised messenger to lead the Mictolans forth to regain their lost power and their lost lands. My only play was to procrastinate and delay, to find some plausible excuse for remaining in the city, until I could slip off with Itza.
This plan of procedure had not occurred to me before, and for a moment I was in a quandary. But my mind worked quickly and I doubt if Kinchi Haman even noticed my hesitancy. There were many things to be done before the people left Mictolan, I told him. I had been instructed by the great Kukulcan to investigate all things and conditions at Mictolan before I ventured anything. I had been charged to make sure all of Kukulcan’s ancient laws and orders had been fulfilled, because, I added, unless the people of Mictolan were living and worshipping in accordance with Kukulcan’s wishes, their deliverance would not be possible. At these words I saw the old villain wince. Well he knew that he, at least, had not followed the laws of the ancient Mayas; that he had perverted the religion; had usurped the powers of the king, and had been a law unto himself. And when, ignoring his suggestion that I should conduct my observations in his company, I declared my intention of making my investigations in my own way, I saw by his expression and his blazing eyes that he was prepared to stop at nothing to prevent me from learning the truth. But he did not press the matter further. Then I had a shot at him myself. I desired, I said, to meet the King of Mictolan, and I pretended to be vastly insulted at the monarch’s failure to visit me.
The old fellow was frightened, I could see. But he quickly recovered himself. The king, he declared, had died two years previously, and as the people had not been able to agree upon his successor, they had appointed him, Kinchi Haman, to act as regent.
I pretended to accept this explanation, but he was ill at ease, and presently, pleading religious duties, he withdrew--much to my delight.
* * * * *
HARDLY had he left when Azcopil arrived with Itza.
She seemed even more beautiful than before and rushed to my arms with a happy cry. Holding her close, I received the Prince’s salutations, told him I wished him to dismiss the present retinue of the palace and provide persons of his own selection, and then, feeling perfect confidence in him, I told him of my suspicions of the priest. I was not sorry I confided in him. He was as frank with me as I had been with him. He had no doubt that Kinchi Haman was my enemy, though he declared that the priest would not dare to do anything to arouse the enmity or the wrath of the son of Kukulcan (for of course the prince believed me such) but, he added, it might be different with Kinchi Haman’s attitude towards him and his friends. However, he had no fear of the priest. The royalist party was very strong and powerful. With me as his friend, he feared nothing, and he doubted if the old rascal would dare defy me or show his enmity towards the prince, as long as I favored and honored him. He also confirmed all my suspicions regarding Kinchi Haman. The priest had run things to suit himself. He had practised human sacrifices upon the temple altars, he had oppressed the people; he had declared himself supreme, and he had become overbearingly cruel, vindictive and ruthless. And as he talked and acquainted me with the conditions and affairs, I learned of the terrible fate to which Kinchi Haman had doomed my beloved Itza. She had spoken of being betrothed to Kinich Ahau, of being pledged to wed him on the moon of the Tonalmatl, but what this meant had not occurred to me. Obsessed with my love for her, and with so much else to occupy my mind, I had failed to realize what it meant. But now, as Azcopil referred to it, I wondered that I could have been so dull. Kinich Ahau was the Sun God. Itza was a Virgin of the Sun, and she had been selected to wed the god in symbolic form by being cast alive into the yawning black depths of the sacred well!
Cold shivers ran down my spine at the mere thought of that possibility and I fervently thanked God that I had come to Mictolan in time to save her. She had spoken of it calmly, quite as a matter of course. But, I realized later that this was only natural. To her and her fellow maidens it would have been an honor. By thus dying in the sacred well they would--they believed--become the mates of the Sun God; they would dwell forever in paradise; it was a martyrdom they sought with religious fervor.
But Itza was very human, very feminine. Once her love had been aroused, her religious fanaticism dwindled, and she was as anxious to live and become my bride as she had been anxious before to meet death, to become the bride of Kinich Ahau. I drew her closer to me as I thought of those other maidens who were doomed to be cast into that hideous well. I determined that they should not be killed. Even though the Sacrifice of the Virgins was a sacred universal custom of the Mayan religion, it should not occur while I was in Mictolan. No, not even if I were forced to hurl the priest into the depths myself to prevent it. But the day of sacrifice was distant. Only on the moon of the cycle of Tonalmatl were the virgins wed to Kinich Ahau, and that was still several months ahead. Much might happen before then, and telling the prince I wished to see the city, I asked him to accompany me, and with Itza clinging to my hand we left the palace.
That day was a day of the most amazing discoveries, of incredible surprises beyond my wildest dreams. I was quite prepared to find that these Mayas had advanced far beyond the civilization at the time of the conquest, and the fact that they had discovered the arch, that they had developed many of their arts to such a high degree, confirmed this. But I had never imagined for a single moment that they had advanced to such astounding heights in some directions, nor that it was possible for a race to acquire a knowledge of certain forces beyond that of any other race, and yet remain so primitive, so archaic in other directions. That, to me at the time was--and for that matter is even now--the most incredible, the most astonishing feature of the place. Here was a race, or rather a community, still in many respects no nearer the highest civilization than their ancestors centuries before had been--a people without even the knowledge of the wheel, a race ignorant of steel, a community cut off from the entire world, following an immeasurably ancient religion, yet controlling forces of which we, the most highly advanced of known races, knew nothing. And yet in a way, it might have been expected. I knew that the ancient Mayas had, ages before the dawn of the Christian era, developed the most perfect numerical system in the world; that they had invented a calendar more accurate than anything up to the time of the revised Gregorian calendar; that they had an intimate knowledge of astronomy; that their glyphed or written language was without a parallel in the world, and yet they had never learned how to make an arch.
These were facts known to every student of American archeology and were inexplicable puzzles, mysteries as great as how the Mayas produced their wonderful sculptured monuments, how they worked the hardest of precious stones, how they accomplished many remarkable feats. But here, in Mictolan, their strange paradoxical development had gone beyond all bounds of imagination. They still used their ancient--their immeasurably ancient--system of mathematics, the vigesimal system; they still used the equally ancient calendrical system of the Tonalmatl or religious calendar, the Calendar-Round the Initial Series dates, the Long Count and the Cycles by which any date could be established within a period of five million years, and they still used the glyph writing. Had they possessed wheels, had they discovered the use of iron or steel, had they even acquired a knowledge of machinery, of chemistry, of electricity, I might not have been so greatly astonished. But they had none of these, and yet they possessed an intimate knowledge of matters undreamed of, unsuspected by any other race on earth, of matters that seemed downright uncanny, supernatural and utterly beyond belief.
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