A youth of seventeen sat on the summit of the loftiest pyramid in the
city, and gazed moodily out over the surrounding temples and palaces,
and the thatched huts of the more lowly folk beyond, to the grasslands,
which swept as far as the eye could reach in every direction.
He was naked save only for a sash-like cotton breechclout, so arranged
that one end fell between his legs in front, the other in the same
position behind, the ends being elaborately broidered with green
feathers. A pendant of beautifully carved jade hung about his neck.
Ear-plugs of the same material and sandals of deer hide with feather
tassels completed his costume. In height he was under five feet and
a half, slender, supple, small as to hands and feet, and a pleasing,
warm golden brown in color. His eyes were black and narrow and in their
placement somewhat slanting. His nose was aquiline and long, and merged
into his flattened forehead in one straight line. During his babyhood
his head had been bound between two boards to secure this very effect,
an effect of beauty and distinction among his people. His hair was
black, glossy and long. It was braided and then wrapped around his head
except for a small queue which hung behind.
The time was the month of August 531 A. D.; the place, Tikal,
the greatest metropolis of the Old Maya Empire; and the youth himself,
no less a person than the ruler-to-be of the splendid city stretching
at his feet, as well as of many smaller dependencies beyond the waste
of grassy savannas which bounded his vision.
His discontent was of long standing and arose from a condition which
he could not alter. His father, Ahmeket Chan, the preceding “True Man”
of Tikal, had died two years before, leaving this boy, Holon Chan, as
his sole surviving child and heir. The government of the state during
the period of his minority had been carried on under the regency of his
paternal uncle, Ahcuitok Chan, High Priest of Itzamna, aided by the
powerful priesthood of this god, head of the Maya Pantheon; but now the
people were clamoring for the investiture of Holon Chan in the supreme
office, so that certain of the highest ceremonies, which only the True
Man might perform, could be celebrated once again, and indeed Ahcuitok
Chan was only awaiting the conclusion of the current five-year period
to invest his nephew as True Man of Tikal. Itzamna, Lord of Heaven, had
indicated through the mouthpiece of his priests that this event should
be solemnized on the closing day of this period, and preparations for
it had now been going forward for some time.
Now the boy had little heart for his coming dignity. His had always
been a roving nature; he was a child of the open air, a lover of the
forest fastnesses and solitudes, better suited to the humble lot of
wood gatherer or corn planter than to that of ruler of a people.
The great discoveries of the preceding century, of large and
wonderfully fertile lands far to the north of his own domains, had
fired his imagination, and he burned to lead his people to this new
land of promise, where the gods were said always to smile, and the
cornfields to yield bountifully. Nor had these hopes always been
without foundation. Once he had an older brother, named Chac Chan, who
was to have succeeded their father as True Man, but while on a communal
deer hunt, this brother had been bitten by a poisonous serpent, the
deadly wolpuch, from whose bitter sting none ever recovered, and had
died, leaving Holon Chan next in line of succession. And now the time
was come when the exacting demands of his position, the elaborate
ritual, which would fill his every hour, and the cares of the council
chamber, would deprive him of every vestige of personal liberty.
The Maya people at this time, in Maya reckoning the close of Katin 18,
were at once at the zenith of their power, and at the threshold of
their decline. For generations now, the heavily forested lands which
originally had surrounded their cities, towns and villages, had been
gradually transformed under their primitive methods of cultivation
into grassy savannas. This method of cultivation consisted in felling
patches of the forests at the end of the rainy season in January or
February, in burning the dried trees and bushes at the end of the dry
season in March or April, and in planting after the first rains in May.
The following year a new patch of forest was sought and the process
repeated, nor was the first patch planted again for several years until
a new growth of bush had come up, since experience showed that the use
of the same cornfield two successive years would yield only a half crop
the second year. This method of cultivation however, had two serious
defects: not only was the greater part of the land thus always held
idle, but also there eventually came a time when woody growth no longer
came back to replace the original forests. Instead only perennial
grasses would grow, and gradually the whole countryside was transformed
into savannas. These savannas the Maya could not cultivate since they
had no means of turning the sod, and they were thus obliged to go ever
farther and farther from their homes in order to find suitable land for
planting their corn. But the limit to which even this expedient was
practicable had been reached at last. The cornfields now lay two, and
even three days’ journey from the cities, and people were beginning
to lose faith in deities who permitted living conditions to remain so
intolerable, and who either could not, or would not make possible the
cultivation of the savannas.
Holon Chan was not the only one whose eyes turned ever more anxiously
toward the north, to Yucatan, where life was said to be so easy, and
Yum Kax, Lord of the Harvests, always so propitious; and many a humble
corn planter had stolen away with his family through the great northern
forests to this new land, in spite of the stringent laws against such a
procedure. Both priesthood and nobility were strongly opposed to this
disintegrating movement, and oracle as well as law was being invoked to
prevent the abandonment of the country. But, despite threats of divine
wrath and the swifter punishment of men, for the death penalty had been
exacted more than once for this very offense, a steady stream of people
was pouring out of the Old Empire region, northward into Yucatan; it
was whispered for example, that the priests of Itzamna at the Holy
City of Palenque could scarcely muster enough temple servants to till
the fields of the god himself. This news could not be repeated openly,
but more and more people were coming to believe that the old land was
accursed and that the only salvation of their race lay in a general
exodus to the north. Indeed every one saw that if some way was not
speedily found to cultivate the grasslands, the people would be starved
into moving elsewhere.
Meanwhile the priests were holding forth every inducement for greater
piety and religious zeal. It was said that the people were lax in
their offerings, and the gods were offended. The sacrifices must be
redoubled. And latterly, with the approaching accession of Holon Chan
as True Man, the auguries and oracles had foretold that this event
would usher in a new era of abundance and prosperity, the like of which
had never been before. The boy, the priests widely circulated, was born
on a lucky day, of which Yum Kax, Lord of the Harvests, was the patron,
and the death of his older brother, far from being a calamity, had
been a direct intervention of the gods in order that the chosen of Yum
Kax should sit in the council chamber and rule over them. Thus was the
Lord of the Harvests to be appeased, and thus would prosperity return
once more to the people. High hopes therefore were entertained for his
rule, and while in other happier days, Holon Chan might possibly have
been permitted to renounce in favor of his uncle, the times were too
troublous, and the future too uncertain thus deliberately to offend the
Harvest God.
Of all these things the boy had been thinking as he sat on the temple
summit, watching the shadows lengthen over the glistening white walls
of the city. Finally with a sigh he jumped to his feet. The sun was
setting behind the distant savannas, a great, glowing, red disk, as
Holon Chan turned to enter the sanctuary of Itzamna to sacrifice to the
god. A single aged white-robed priest squatted in the outer corridor
guarding the sanctuary, but since the boy always had the right of
entry because of his rank, the old man scarcely looked up from his
meditations as Holon Chan drew aside the elaborately embroidered cotton
curtain and passed within.
The sanctuary was dark save only for such fitful light as came from a
brazier of burning incense and two small windows not more than eight
inches square, one at either end of the long narrow room. As the
curtain fell behind him, the boy stooped to a shallow platter by the
door, selected from it a small, round ball of incense, the gum of the
copal tree, painted a brilliant peacock blue for ceremonial use, and
advanced to the brazier. In the half light, a wooden image some eight
feet high could be distinguished standing on a stone platform against
the back wall. It was in the form of an old man, with prominent Roman
nose, toothless lower jaw, and piercing green eyes, made of two discs
of highly polished jade which caught and shot back the flickering
light. The head was surmounted by an elaborate headdress carved in the
likeness of the Plumed Serpent, and the whole figure was brilliantly
painted in red, blue, yellow, green, white and black. A necklace,
breast-pendant, ear-plugs, anklets and wristlets of heavy, rich jade
completed the costume of the image. Holon Chan placed his offerings
on the brazier and prostrated himself before the image. However
disinclined he might be to follow the path Itzamna had chosen for him
by removing his older brother from the line of succession, it never
entered the boy’s head to evade the responsibility thus thrust upon
him. He came of an old and distinguished family which had ruled the
state of Tikal for more than four centuries. From that distant ancestor
of his, who had first led the people to their present home, down to his
father, all had been brave men used to facing crises and shouldering
responsibility, and this latest son of the Chan race had no other
thought than to do likewise in the present emergency. And so he prayed
long and earnestly for wisdom to meet the many problems of the future,
and above all for some means of alleviating the terrible agricultural
problems which were threatening the very existence of his people.
The prayer over, Holon Chan left the sanctuary and, nodding to its aged
guardian in the outer corridor, he prepared to descend the pyramid.
The swift twilight of the tropics had already dissolved into night.
Above, the stars blazed forth in the cloudless sky; below, the darkness
was picked out here and there with little glowing points of red, the
cooking fires of his people, who were busily preparing for the great
ceremony of his investiture, now but three days distant.
Carefully picking his way down the steep stairway, Holon Chan crossed
the broad, paved plaza at its base, and ascending a low terrace,
entered a long building of cut stone, which had been the home of his
family for generations. It was a single story in height, more than two
hundred feet long and three ranges of rooms in depth. These all had the
typical Maya arched ceiling, were narrow and long, and lighted only by
the exterior doorways and small, square windows about six feet above
the floor. The largest room in the palace, a chamber sixty feet long,
ten feet wide, and eighteen feet high, was entered directly through the
central doorway. At one end was a raised stone platform with a wooden
seat. This was without a back and the arms were carved to represent
jaguar heads. Above there was a canopy of green featherwork. This was
the council chamber of the state.
Through this chamber Holon Chan passed to the living quarters at the
rear, and, clapping his hands, he summoned a slave to serve the evening
meal to him as he sat cross-legged on the floor. Presently the slave
returned bearing dishes of tortillas and black beans, a bush fowl,
and a bowl containing an aromatic drink made of cacao. Holon Chan
inquired for his uncle, and he was told that he was at the monastery
of Itzamna. After eating, and rinsing out his mouth with water, a
not-to-be-forgotten custom of gentlefolk, Holon Chan withdrew to his
own room, and lying down on a bench covered with soft skins soon fell
asleep.
Early the following morning, Holon Chan arose, and after a bath in a
wooden tub, hollowed from a mahogany log, he dressed, but partook of
no food, since custom decreed that he must fast throughout the period
of his investiture. Thus he waited for his uncle to fetch him to the
assembled priesthood of Itzamna. This first day of the induction
ceremonies was to be given over exclusively to mental tests, quizzings
by his uncle and the other priests of Itzamna, in the monastery of the
god just behind his temple. It was proper for Holon Chan to appear
before the priests without any emblem of rank, and presently when his
uncle came to lead him thither, he was dressed as any other boy of his
age, a simple breechclout encircling his loins, and leather sandals on
his feet.
Of the many subjects Holon Chan was questioned about during that long
day, we may only touch upon a few. First his uncle asked him to recite
the complete ritual of the New Year’s feast, one of the most important
ceremonies of the Maya year. Other old wiseheads questioned him as to
the stars, when would the next eclipses of the sun and moon take place,
when would Venus next appear as evening star? Clean sheets of fiber
paper were set before him, pigments and brushes were brought in, and
he was told to write the current date, giving the phases of the moon
therefor, and the presiding deity. All these tests he went through
creditably, and the old men nodded approval. Next a fowl was brought
and the boy was told to kill it and read the omens from its entrails.
Again he acquitted himself with credit, and the old priests were
satisfied with his knowledge of this important part of the Maya ritual.
In conclusion his uncle again took the lead, and put searching
questions to him as to the condition of the people—how many heads of
families were there in the tribe, and how many man-loads of corn were
required to support the average family for a year? With which cities
he should strive to ally himself, and which to avoid? How migration
to Yucatan could best be discouraged? When the boy replied it could
neither be discouraged nor prevented unless the Harvest Lord permitted
corn to be grown on the savannas, a few of the older men shook their
heads, but the great majority of the priests signified their approval
of this sage answer. After these tests he was led from the monastery
back to the palace, and later his uncle informed him that the priests
had adjudged him to be worthy and well qualified to be made the True
Man of the state.
The second day was even more strenuous than the first. The day was
devoted to numerous rites of purification, in which by sweatings and
blood-lettings he was supposed to be purged of all sin and wickedness,
and thus fitted for the high office he was about to assume.
Following this the priests led him to the Temple of Purification. Here,
in an inner chamber, he removed his clothes and crawled, naked, into a
low stone closet. A bowl of water stood at the back of this low cell,
and presently the priests passed in through the small doorway five or
six large, rounded, heated stones wrapped in leaves. The doorway was
now closed by a slab of stone, and Holon Chan dropped these heated
bowlders, one at a time, into the bowl of water. Each succeeding
bowlder raised the temperature of the water, and soon clouds of vapor
filled the cell. From time to time more hot stones were passed in and
the boy thus kept the water boiling. Beads of sweat broke out over his
body; he almost suffocated, but still he served the steaming bowl with
heated stones, and still the temperature rose. Every pore streamed and
he gasped for breath. When it seemed as though he could stand it no
longer, the slab was suddenly removed, the vapor rushed out and he was
left panting and faint from the heat and his hunger, and the first step
toward ceremonial purification was over.
Next they gave him a violent emetic, which left him completely
prostrated from weakness. With the characteristic stoicism of his race,
however, he uttered no complaint, but presently gained sufficient
strength to pass on to the next trial, a cruel and painful letting of
blood. His uncle bade him put out his tongue and through the end of it,
he thrust a sharp stone awl. Waiting priests caught the blood on little
balls of cotton and these were borne off to the sanctuary of Itzamna
as an earnest of his faith and purification. At sunset a small fiber
cord with thorns caught in it every few inches was passed through the
still open wound, cruelly lacerating the flesh, and fresh blood drawn
to offer to the god in renewed proof of his constancy of purpose. That
night Holon Chan was so exhausted that he slept without stirring, until
awakened before dawn to prepare himself for the long day of meditation
and prayer in the sanctuary of Itzamna which preceded the actual
investiture at sunset.
Preparations for this ceremony had been going forward now for a long
time. It has been told how Itzamna had indicated that the investiture
of the new True Man must coincide with the unveiling of the great stone
shaft which had been erected to commemorate the end of the current
five-year period of the Maya Chronological Era. As much as a year
before, this shaft had been quarried, transported to the Great Plaza
of Tikal, set up there and a high fence of thatch built around it to
conceal it from the people until the moment of its unveiling.
Ahcuitok Chan in consultation with the most learned astrologer priests
of the state had carefully calculated what would be the nearest solar
and lunar eclipses to the day of dedication (then still nearly a year
ahead). Other astronomical phenomena important during the current
five-year period, had been compiled, together with a record of the
principal events of the period. These matters had been written down in
the Maya hieroglyphic writing, on pieces of fiber paper coated with
a sizing of fine white lime, which served as working drawings for
the artisans who were to carve the shaft; and finally the likeness
of Holon Chan himself, gorgeously appareled as he would be at the
ceremony of investiture, had been laboriously carved on the front. This
monument, which was to mark the ending of the current five-year period,
9.18.0.0.0. 11 Ahau 18 Mac of the Maya Era, was at last ready, and
would be unveiled at the proper moment, namely the instant of sunset on
the closing day of the period. This had to be so, since to the Maya,
time was conceived and measured in terms of elapsed units (like our
own astronomical time), and not until the final day of the period
came to its end, that is at sunset on the last day, could the monument
commemorating that period be formally dedicated thereto.
But now all was in readiness for the great festival, upon which, as
has been noted, so many and such high hopes had been builded. For
the past several days, people had been pouring into Tikal. From the
farthest outlying villages men, women and children were moving toward
the religious and governmental center of the state. The surrounding
savannas were filled with temporary shelters of thatch, and booths
had sprung up everywhere for the barter of tortillas, beans, squash,
sapotes, cacao, bush meats, gourds, pottery, mats, featherwork, hides,
cotton stuffs, and even beads and pendants of jade, the most highly
prized of all materials by the Maya.
The Great Plaza of Tikal had been filling with people since midnight,
eager to catch the first glimpse of their future ruler as he was being
conducted at daybreak to the sanctuary of Itzamna for prayer and
meditation. His learning tried and tested by the wise men of the state
on the first day; his body purged of sin and wickedness by rites of
purification, and his fortitude and earnestness of purpose established
by his giving of blood to Itzamna on the second day, there remained
only that he should cleanse his soul of any lurking grossness, by
prayer and meditation, and he would then be ready for the most solemn
moment of his life, his formal consecration as the True Man of his
people.
After rising, Holon Chan bathed, and donned again the simple girdle
worn by common folk, in token that he had not yet received the
supreme rank, and passed into the council chamber. Here all the great
dignitaries of the state, the high priests of the different Maya
deities, the chieftains of the dependent towns and villages, the
collectors of taxes, deputies, and other officials had assembled in
gala costume—magnificent cloaks of featherwork, gorgeous panaches of
plumes, mantles of deer hide, heavy necklaces, pendants, ear-plugs,
wristlets and anklets of jade—each in his bravest display. Naked male
slaves stood about the council chamber with lighted torches of fat pine
in their hands, for the hour of dawn had not yet come, and these cast a
fitful light over the company. Outside on the terrace, in front of the
palace, the musicians were assembled with long, wooden drums, rattles
and flageolets.
High on the topmost point of the roof of the sanctuary of Itzamna stood
a priest scanning the eastern horizon for the first sign of the orb of
day. As dawn approached, the multitude stirred faintly and with common
consent all eyes turned to the portals of the palace. Slaves with
short staves were seen to open a passage through the crowd and stand
on either side to keep the way cleared. Suddenly a piercing cry falls
from above. “Lo, the Lord of Day cometh.” The musicians strike up, and
move in ordered rank down the terrace stairway and across the plaza.
First come temple boys with brooms, sweeping the way, followed by
others swinging braziers of incense from which clouds of heavy, black,
aromatic smoke wreath upward. Next appear the temple chanters clad in
white, singing an ode of welcome to the Lord of Day; next, a troop of
the palace guard in quilted cotton armor, armed with stone-pointed
javelins and shields of skin. Following these are the lords of the
dependent towns and villages, and the higher civil officers of
the state; these last, with their gorgeous cloaks of featherwork,
furnishing the brightest spot of color in the procession. Next are the
lower orders of the priesthood of Itzamna, a long file of white-robed
figures moving slowly forward.
Now Ahcuitok Chan leaves the palace surrounded by the higher priestly
dignitaries. He is magnificently dressed, a cloak of rich featherwork
hanging from his shoulders and falling over the jaguar skin draped
around his body. His jade necklace is a work of art, beautifully
carved human heads hanging in front and back, and over each shoulder.
Delicate, tendril-like feathers of the quetzal, the royal emblem,
hang from a brilliantly painted wooden helmet carved to represent a
serpent head, the patronymic of his family, Chan. Indeed he wears all
the insignia of the True Man save only the Double-headed Ceremonial
Bar which ancient practice decrees may only be borne by the True Man
himself. Follows last the simply clad boy of seventeen in whose honor
all have assembled.
The procession moves slowly across the plaza and ascends the steep
stairway to the sanctuary of Itzamna above. The musicians, sweepers,
incensers and chanters take positions on either side of the temple
doorway on the summit of the pyramid, now bathed in the first rays of
the rising sun. The soldiers form a double cordon on each side of the
stairway from bottom to top, between which the rest of the procession
passes, dividing at the top and arranging itself on either side of the
doorway. Even Ahcuitok waits at the entrance for his nephew, and when
the boy has at last reached the summit, he takes his hand and leads him
within, followed only by the highest officers and priests.
The crowd now dispersed since nothing visible to the eye of the common
folk would be going forward until the close of the afternoon, although
within the sanctuary itself the ceremony would be continued all day.
When the higher officers of the state had all assembled in the outer
corridor of the temple, Ahcuitok Chan, still leading his nephew by the
hand, approached the curtain guarding the sanctuary, and drew it aside,
at the same time motioning the boy to enter. After Holon Chan had
passed within, Ahcuitok Chan let the curtain fall behind him and seated
himself on his haunches outside the doorway, all the others arranging
themselves about the chamber in the same position.
Now followed a long and wearisome vigil both for those without the
curtain and for the hungry tired boy within. Etiquette proscribed
conversation lest it should interrupt the devotions of the suppliant in
the sanctuary, and time hung heavy, as the hours dragged by.
All day long Holon Chan prayed to his father Itzamna in the
semi-obscurity of the holy place, leaving his orisons only long enough
to replenish the brazier with little balls of incense or quench his
thirst from a bowl of water by the door. He had now fasted so long that
he was light-headed, and it seemed to him that at times the wooden
image of the god smiled down upon him, even answered his prayers for
guidance and gave him counsel; at least so he told his uncle when the
latter came to fetch him for the investiture an hour before sunset.
But this one was a wise old man, well acquainted with the frailty of
the flesh and the hallucinations born of an empty stomach, and he only
nodded wisely, and did not press for further particulars.
In the outer corridor all was astir for the final act of the great
drama. As Holon Chan stepped out of the sanctuary all prostrated
themselves in obeisance. A priest now stepped forward, and painted
his legs, arms and torso with a bright red pigment, encircling his
eyes with a heavy band of the same color, and adding a large red daub
to each cheek. His plain breechclout was now removed, and a heavily
embroidered one wound around his loins instead. Next anklets and
wristlets of jade were fastened around his ankles and wrists, and a
heavy collar of the same material hung about his neck. This was richly
embellished with four large medallions of jade, one in front, one
behind, and one over each shoulder, beautifully carved to represent the
human face; a fringe of smaller jade heads hung from the collar. Square
jade ear-plugs were fitted into the lobes of his ears, and a jade ring
slipped on his finger. These were, in truth, the state jewels; precious
material gathered by succeeding generations of True Men to adorn their
own persons.
A magnificent jaguar skin, tawny orange-red dappled with rosettes of
black, was hung from his shoulders, the long tail dragging on the
ground. Finally the serpent crown was placed upon his head. This was
an ornate affair of cedar carved to represent the head of a snake with
widely distended mouth. It was painted a brilliant green, the mouth
being red; the eyes were formed by two pieces of highly polished,
jet-black obsidian, the teeth being inset pieces of white shell.
From the head of the snake rose a shower of quetzal plumes, the tail
feathers of an hundred of these rare tropical birds, obtained with
infinite hardships from the cold mountain ranges far to the South.
These delicate tendrils of plumage floated down behind the boy, and as
the evening breeze caught them, swirled around him, enveloping his body
in a mist of translucent green.
The hour of sunset was at last drawing near. The priest on the roof of
the temple above shouted down a warning that the Lord of the Day was
nearing the horizon. The Great Plaza and its surrounding terraces had,
in the meantime, filled with people; every pyramid-stairway and summit
thronged with spectators. A body of priests had taken positions by the
thatched fence around the monument, ready to fell it at the instant of
sunset. All the officers of state and the priests, including Ahcuitok
Chan, indeed all save only Holon Chan himself passed out of the temple,
and arranged themselves on either side of the doorway. Before Ahcuitok
Chan, stood two priests supporting a brilliantly painted wooden staff;
one end carved to represent the Sun God, the other end, the Rain
God, the whole shaft being hung with green feathers. This was the
Double-headed Ceremonial Bar, the emblem of supreme authority of the
state, only to be carried by the True Man. Throughout his regency even
Ahcuitok Chan had never used this insignia of the highest office.
The sun was now all but touching the horizon; the watcher above uttered
a piercing cry, and the multitude below stiffened to attention. Sixty
silent seconds passed and then the watching priest chanted: “Lo, the
Lord of Day passeth.” Suddenly from the temple doorway into the full
radiance of the setting sun, now gilding the brilliant company gathered
on the pyramid’s summit, stepped the new ruler, resplendent in the
flashing green of jade against his crimson body, his cloak of glossy
jaguar skin gleaming in the sun, his form swathed in a shimmering mist
of green, the swirling tendrils of quetzal hanging from his headdress.
A mighty roar of acclaim loosed itself from the spectators below. The
drums on the summit pealed a roll of welcome. At the same instant the
fence of thatch around the monument was beaten to the ground; the
sun, striking at last fair upon its front, made glow every detail of
carving. From the True Man above, to his exact counterpart sculptured
on the front of the newly unveiled monument below, every eye turned and
turned again. The mighty cheer continued. The chosen of Itzamna and Yum
Kax, he who would bring back fertility to their sterile fields, was at
last proclaimed ruler. Ahcuitok Chan took the Ceremonial Bar from the
waiting priests and, advancing to his nephew, placed it horizontally
in his outstretched arms: “Hail, Ah Holon Chan, son of Ahmeket Chan!
I invest thee with the rank of True Man of Tikal, and may the Great
Itzamna grant thee long life, and to thy people prosperity everlasting!”
Ah Holon Chan, no longer a boy, and now entitled to a man’s designation
(the male prefix Ah) advanced to the edge of the pyramid and, raising
the Ceremonial Bar, signaled for silence. A profound hush fell upon the
multitude.
“Oh People of my blood, my single purpose, my single thought from this
moment henceforth till the Father of Heaven, Great Itzamna, calls me
hence, shall be your welfare. May the Lord of Life guide me through
the perils which beset our race, and endow me with wisdom to rule you
justly and well, and above all to find that way which once again will
bring prosperity and abundance to our failing fields. Oh People of my
blood, accept this my solemn vow of consecration to your service.”
The sun had set, a rosy afterglow enveloped the boy in a haze of
mysterious light. It seemed, to the breathless thousands in the plaza
below, as though the Lord of Life were actually infusing the new ruler
with that wisdom for which he had so earnestly prayed. Profound silence
reigned. Swiftly the twilight fell. A few stars began to twinkle
through the sky. At last in the gathering gloom the boy was seen to
turn and pass within the temple. And then the multitude began to melt
away until the court was empty....