MARK OF THE JAGUAR

EXCERPT from Chapter 14 - CAPTURED! The lord of the city wore a cape of golden jaguar fur clasped with a jade hook, a headdress of iridescent green quetzal feathers, fur and leather, and he held a lustrous jade-headed manikin scepter in his right hand. Quetzal feathers were so rare and prized that it was unlawful to kill one of the beautiful birds and only royalty could display their feathers, carefully plucked from the live birds before their release, and green jade was the most precious of gems, more precious than gold. As the king gazed closely at the young captive, he noticed much more than his soldiers had. He saw the almost permanent ink stains on his hands and the callous on his left thumb where he held a chisel while carving stone. Chan Balam rose from his white stone throne covered with soft furs and spoke directly to Yax Kan, "Where is your home village, captive?" Before Yax could answer, he was thrust down by the soldier at his side so that he lay stretched prostrate before the throne. When he had regained his breath, he said, "Noble King of Palenque, I journeyed here from far off Teotihuacan on a quest required of me by the gods. I once had a home village, but that was long ago, and it no longer exists." "Oh, you have been sent by the gods, have you?" The sarcasm was clear in his tone, but there was concern in the great ruler's heart, "Do they speak to you through the trees, or the animals, or perhaps the breeze that so rarely moves the leaves in the jungle? I asked you your home village, captive! If you do not answer directly this time, I will have your tongue cut out!" The king’s eyes flashed as he snarled at his captive. "Oh, great Keeper of the Mat,” Yax cried out, “I was born in a village near Comalcalco to the north, but was taken from there as a small boy. I was raised far South in Tonala, where I learned the art of writing and carving in stone. I spoke truly of having last come from Teotihuacan on a quest, but the gods do not speak directly to me, except from the legends of the past, and the stone trees and murals that I have studied." Yax did not wish to reveal the most sacred personal experience he had received on the trail, by a dream and a voice in his heart. Somewhat placated, Chan Balam said, "So you are a wandering scribe, eh? My warriors tell me you also bear the mark of the jaguar. Turn yourself so I may view it. How did that come about?" Yax sensed that his answer to this question could either mark him as a sacrificial victim or free him from their bondage. As it happened it did neither. "It is true that I was marked by a black jaguar as a child, but the jaguar gave up its life, that I might live, or so said the shaman who raised me up and taught me of his ways. Your warriors have taken my pack holding the skin of the great cat which was slain by my father." The royal Chan Balam seemed more interested in this captive than his minions could understand. Usually, he carelessly pronounced their sacrificial fate with hardly a glance, but something about this captive had caught his interest. The monarch of Palenque sat on his throne of polished serpentine contemplating the prisoner. "Remove his bonds and leave us!" he commanded, "And leave the captive's belongings!" This was more than unusual, this was almost unthinkable, but the men knew better than to raise an eyebrow, let alone question their demigod. They backed out of the stone chamber of the throne with their eyes downcast, leaving Yax on the floor, his pack beside him. "Come forward and kneel before me, boy!" Only an elderly priest remained, squatting against a far wall of the chamber, tending some burning incense. With quaking legs, Yax slowly arose to a kneeling position and crawled the few steps forward to the feet of the king. Although he had seen such rulers at a distance in ceremonies, he had never before been in the close presence of one so powerful. As he lifted his eyes, he saw that Kan Balam had a split big toe on the exposed foot below a long woven robe. Yax gave no indication that he noticed, but knelt there shaking, more from the fear in his heart than from the cold stone beneath him. Chan Balam was nearly fifty years of age, and had the high forehead and long curved nose of royalty. He had reigned in his dead father's stead less than two years. Makin Pakal, or `Lord Sun-Shield', had been a powerful ruler and had built remarkably innovative structures to attest to his greatness, including the corbel-vaulted throne chamber where they now sat. Kan Balam had long been contemplating how he could match his father's pre-eminence among the god-kings of all of the city-states in the Mayab. Lord Pakal had been placed on the throne by his powerful mother, Lady Zac-Kuk, when he was only twelve and he had ruled for nearly seventy years, while his son waited on the father’s death to inherit the kingdom. No more time could be wasted before he assumed not just the power, but also the glory and deification to be derived from his progenitor's name. Chan Balam’s own self-doubts continued to haunt him. He had felt little of the divine in himself since his informal accession to the throne. He had been fasting for many suns, and blood-letting from his sacred parts to release the chu-lal, or sacred life force, and then eating of the holy tutiwah before asking the gods, especially his namesakes, the jaguar and serpent gods, for a way to truly inherit his father's greatness. Now, this boy has been given into his hands, marked by the king's namesake, Balam, the jaguar god, with the sacred abilities of writing and carving stone. Surely, this must be an answer to his supplication.