The Visionary Mayan Queen: Yohl Ik'Nal of Palenque (9 page)

Murmurs of anticipation announced the first servings of roasted peccary from the pib, which were ceremoniously carried through the crowd to the royal families. Moist and aromatic with herbs, tender chunks were served in gourd bowls, scooped onto maize cakes or eaten with fingers. Much finger-licking and smacking in appreciation followed initial tastes of this treat. As soon as bowls or cups were empty, alert servers replaced them with brimming new ones. The meal was exceptional, and the guests immersed themselves in complete enjoyment. Laughter and muted conversation filled the courtyard with merriment.

Yohl Ik’nal shared a mat adjacent to her parents with her three closest girlfriends. Two had preceded her with their transformation to adulthood ceremonies, although none so elaborate as hers. They laughed together and talked of shared experiences, much as they always had, although Yohl Ik’nal perceived that the girls accorded her a subtle deference, and sent appraising glances under lowered lids. She felt the difference and a small current of sadness drifted across her heart. She teetered on the cusp of who and what she would become, but a demarcation was ritually anchored when she was acknowledged as lineage bearer. Her fate diverged from that of her friends.

The girls had eaten lightly and were badgering Na’kin about her romantic interests. The oldest of the group, Na’kin was being courted by a popular young man and her family looked upon him with favor.

“Were these said, his vows of devotion?” asked the youngest girl Tulix, now about one tun from her own ceremony.

“What of it, were it so?” countered Na’kin coyly.

“So it was? Have you not just said so?”

“Said I so? Where are your ears? They must be filled with moon water.”

“Not so much moon water as yours with moon-ing sighs,” Tulix archly retorted.

All the girls laughed as Na’kin blushed. She feigned reluctance as she allowed the others to draw a few little intimacies out. Clearly she was receptive to the attentions of her young admirer.

During a lull in conversation, Sak Nicte who was closest to Yohl Ik’nal, studied her friend with a mock-serious scowl.

“Then comes this thought, I do think it, that we ask such questions of Yohl Ik’nal,” she pronounced weightily.

Startled expressions greeted her comment, not the least from the subject herself.

“Of what speak you?” blurted Tulix first. All eyes bore upon Yohl Ik’nal, who shook her head in confusion and furrowed her brows.

“I know not of what you speak,” she said firmly.

“Perhaps she should know!” “Now you must tell!” the other two exclaimed.

With a sly smile, Sak Nicte related:

“A certain young man has been asking many questions about the daughter of Kan Bahlam, since her transformation ceremony. This certain man has spoken in glowing words of her beauty, her majesty, her noble spirit. He was seen watching her from across the plaza with eyes full of admiration. His friends are making jokes of how smitten he is. Of such things, I have heard much.”

“Who is it? Who—who? You must tell!”

Yohl Ik’nal looked quizzical. She certainly had not noticed any young man taking an interest in her. But then, she was immersed in her ceremony and the political considerations she now had.

“Do you want to know?” Sak Nicte asked Yohl Ik’nal.

“It appears I must,” she answered ruefully.

After a suspense-building pause, Sak Nicte replied:

“Here come the words, then. The name of the one who seeks information about Yohl Ik’nal, who speaks in such admiration of her, who sighs to see her pass. Now it comes, now it passes my lips . . .”

All the girls’ stared mesmerized at Sak Nicte’s lips, which moved silently then pouted and parted in a huge grin.

“Speak! We do not hear you! What did you say?”

Laughing, Sak Nicte shook her head and pointed to her lips. Again the girls focused breathlessly. In a forced whisper, just enough to be heard above the crowd, she said:

“The name . . . his name . . . Hun Pakal.”

Tulix gasped, Na’kin sighed, and Yohl Ik’nal looked even more quizzical.

“Hun Pakal! What a handsome man!” from Tulix.

“Hun Pakal! He is good friends with my sweetheart,” said Na’kin.

“Hun Pakal, son of the scribe who is my father’s distant cousin?” asked Yohl Ik’nal.

“The very one.” Sak Nicte crossed her arms triumphantly.

In the ensuing silence, each girl examined Yohl Ik’nal’s face and found nothing there with any emotional charge.

“She is innocent of this information,” observed Na’kin as Tulix nodded confirmation.

But Sak Nicte would not be discouraged. Leaning forward, she drew the girls heads together and whispered:

“He is here tonight. Watch, observe, you will see.”

Music began as the meal remnants were cleared away and the mats moved to the edges of the courtyard. The time had come for dancing, which the Maya greatly enjoyed. Two lines were forming, men on one side and women the other, facing in pairs. Drums, rattles and wood clackers beat a stately rhythm as flutes and whistles warbled intertwining melodies. Bodies straight, the dancers used a toe-heel step while moving arms in small arcs, palms outward and almost touching the partner’s. In perfect unison the pairs stepped in place and made matching arcs with closely aligned palms, creating circles in the air between them. After several minutes, each dancer spun around and moved one partner to the right. New dancers joined those without partners, or the end man danced down the line to join the woman at the other end. Soon the courtyard was full as feathers bobbled, jewelry clanked, loincloths flared and torchlight glinted off stone and metal.

The four girls soon joined the dancing, Na’kin pairing with her sweetheart and the others waiting for an open man in the line. Yohl Ik’nal danced gracefully, glad for distraction from their conversation, while a bit apprehensive that her unknown admirer might suddenly appear – if she could remember what he looked like.

She did remember. With a jolt, she realized the young man across from her was Hun Pakal. Yes, she did recall those features, though matured from the boy she occasionally saw at gatherings. She had to admit that Tulix was right, he was handsome. Half a head taller than she, his body was muscular and lithe, moving with contained power in the stately dance rhythm. He had the noble’s elongated skull, prominent nose and large sensuous lips with dark almond eyes looking intensely into hers. Did she see something special in those eyes?

They spun around and moved to the next partner. Hun Pakal glanced over his shoulder and she felt a quick shiver as their eyes met, an unspoken promise. She was surprised that her heart was beating more rapidly than the exercise demanded.

More vigorous dances for men followed, allowing a display of stomping footwork, spinning and leaping. Then women demonstrated their grace and knowledge with delicate and intricate steps accompanied by symbolic hand signs telling stories or conveying feelings. After a long women’s dance sequence in which Yohl Ik’nal drew an admiring chorus at her virtuosity, she sought refreshing water at the adjoining cistern plaza. A wall separated the cistern plaza from the courtyard, and through the open doorway torchlight created a flickering rectangle.

She sat on the low rim of the cistern, dipping a gourd tied to a long pole into the clear water. Underground streams cut veins through the limestone ridge supporting Lakam Ha, and many openings were made to access these for household use. She sipped the wet coolness and splashed a little on face and neck. Relaxing in the semi-darkness, she did not notice the figure enter the plaza.

Suddenly she straightened, alert to another presence. Turning to look, at first she did not recognize the man standing near. His face was in shadow as torchlight framed his body. But already she knew the contours of that body.

“Hun Pakal?” she said tentatively.

“Ix Yohl Ik’nal,” he replied softly.

They watched each other in silence for long moments. She motioned to the rim beside her, and as he sat she offered water from the gourd. He drank thirstily, and nodded thanks. The space between them was charged with energy.

“Much do I enjoy, and much appreciate this excellent gathering to honor your transformation to adulthood,” he said a little stiffly.

“My heart is glad that you find pleasure here,” she replied.

“More pleasure than you can imagine,” he blurted, hand touching his lips as if to recall the words.

“My father is a generous man, and my mother an excellent hostess.” She spoke quickly to cover the embarrassment. “Was this not a truly fine feast?”

“Most truly fine,” he assented, regaining some poise.

“And most entertaining dancing,” she continued. “You danced well.”

“And you also.”

She glanced away, uncertain where to go with the conversation.

“All is well with your family?” she asked. “I am regretful that I have not visited with them for some time.”

“All is well with my parents. You recall my sister died several tuns ago? We are recovered and know her spirit dwells in the stars with the ancestors.”

“Yes, I recall. Her death was in childbirth? I am certain her spirit is a shining star now. Brave deaths of laboring women and honorable warriors receive the blessing of Ix Chel, our Mother Earth Rainbow. By the goddess’ promise, their spirits avoid Xibalba and go to the stars.”

“Salutations to Ix Chel.” Both made the salutation hand sign.

“You have no other brothers or sisters, am I correct?” Yohl Ik’nal strained to remember what she could of his family.

“That is correct. Now we both are only children.”

They laughed, more to ease the tension than for any real reason.

“Often have I wished for a brother or sister,” she said wistfully, remembering her infant brother’s death.

“Have you been lonely?”

She glanced quickly into his eyes, dark and deep with kindness. She nodded, wondering that he would so quickly realize this.

“It must be so,” he said thoughtfully. “One of your family position and especially now that you are recognized as lineage bearer. But you have women friends, tonight I watched as you laughed together. . ummh, and I have seen you with them.”

Now she laughed in earnest.

“You were watching us?”

“Many eyes were directed toward the veranda where the ruler sat with your family, and you were just beside them.” He sounded a bit defensive, but quickly changed his tone. “Yes, Yohl Ik’nal, I was watching
you
and I have been watching you. I am thinking much about you.”

“Oh.” She lowered her eyes and felt a flush on her cheeks.

“This I ask: that I may continue to watch and think about you.”

His voice had a vibrant timbre she had never heard before. It set off resonances deep within her being, sending another shiver through her chest. He moved a little closer on the cistern rim, not touching but she felt heat radiating from his body, burning her skin.

“Oh.” She could only murmur again, aghast at her loss of words.

Silence hung heavy between them. She kept her gaze averted, eyes downward. Why was she so confused and befuddled? This was entirely unlike her usual way of being. Her downcast eyes watched his hand, brown and strong, that rested on his thigh. Another flight of shivers was set off as she noticed the rippling muscles of that thigh. As if in slow motion, his hand began moving and she watched in utter fascination, mesmerized as the hand slowly lifted toward her face. Gently, like the brush of a swallow’s wing, his hand cupped her chin and he lifted her face until their eyes met. Long and hungrily he gazed at her, sending the full impact of the bright flame in his eyes.

“This I ask,” he whispered, “that I may continue.”

From somewhere deep inside, from an unknown and untapped source of exquisite sensations, came the reply. Not her mind, but her heart spoke in a language both new and unfathomably ancient:

“Yes, you may continue, Hun Pakal.”

The god-bundles were almost ready. Two round pieces of white cotton fabric lay open on the stone altar, ready to receive the offerings. Yohl Ik’nal had deeply contemplated these offerings, meditating upon the Moon and Venus, seeking to intuit what their deities would most desire. Already the bundle for Venus held a piece of choice peccary roast from the feast, wrapped in banana leaf and tied with red and yellow embroidery. A fine obsidian blade, jade jewelry and shiny metallic beads surrounded the peccary. For the Moon, there were maize cakes in which dried berries and fruit were mixed, made by her own hand while chanting Ix Chel’s many names. A fine mica mirror was added to reflect the Full Moon’s brilliance, accompanied by blue stone beads and a thorny oyster shell from the distant sea, precious for its red hues that invoked both sunrise and renewed life.

She sat back on her heels contemplating the bundles. Something else was needed, very special and personal, something of herself. Rising quickly she found her most elaborate headdress, worn for her transformation rite. With a tiny knife she cut off a splendid quetzal feather, long and intensely blue with a shimmering iridescent oval at the tip. Lahun Chan, the demanding and often ruthless deity of Venus would certainly be pleased with this offering. Carefully bending the feather in a circle around the other offerings, she tied the Venus god-bundle securely with colorful braided threads.

What else for the Moon? Tonight
X’yum Uc
was in her waxing crescent, the maiden phase but soon moving toward fullness. How could she attune to these energies through gifts of her own being? Her quest tonight was to explore her destiny, to anticipate what might be required in fulfilling new responsibilies of lineage bearer. One who bears the lineage . . certainly that meant having children of royal blood who might become leaders, even rulers, of Lakam Ha. Blood and childbearing, all concerns of Ix Chel, goddess of fertility, pregnancy, childbirth, healing, abundance, weaving and watery things. Ix Chel, Moon goddess, Earth Mother goddess, Lady Rainbow, special to women in all phases of life.

In a flash of memory it came to her. What was more significant to Earth Mother and the Moon in her maiden phase than the first menstrual blood of young women? In her puberty transformation ceremony, she ritually saved her first menstrual blood. Small pieces of bark paper were used to catch drops of this blood, considered highly potent for magical and ritual purposes. She located the ceramic bowl into which she had placed the blood-spotted papers, hidden behind mats in a corner, not thought of in years. Taking out six pieces, one for each year since menarche, she reverently placed them in the Moon’s god-bundle. Tying it with more braided threads, she hummed a song to Ix Chel and knew it was complete.