The Halach Uinic was excited – you could see the tension in his face. He was clearly moved, also, by the confidence the other priests had placed in him. He had been prepared to sacrifice his own position in order to give you the freedom to act as you saw fit. For this reason you realized that it was up to you to continue with the story, even though it was a difficult thing to do. Up to you to convince everybody here that the book was, indeed, rightly theirs – rightly what the Halach Uinic claimed it to be.
‘This Chilan was pursued by those who wished to steal the precious book in his charge. He fled as far as Veracruz. His enemies caught up with him there, and wounded him – wounded him so badly that he knew that he would soon die. He found my ancestor working in a clearing. With his last strength, he approached him. The father of my father’s father saw what the Chilan’s enemies had done to him and he felt sorry for this man, and hid him in his hut. He risked his life for this man. He was a good Catholic. He knew the parable of the Good Samaritan. When the Chilan was on the very verge of death, with no hope of survival, he told my ancestor of this book. Of its importance to the Maya. He asked my ancestor if he would swear an oath to guard this book until such time as our great volcano, the Pico de Orizaba, would choose to come alive again. Then he or his successors must then take this book to a special place and give it to those who were there. My ancestor did not wish to do this. He could not read. He did not know what the book might contain. It might have been evil. It might have contained magic. But the Chilan called upon him to honour the wishes of a dying man. This my grandfather had to do, according to the custom of my people. And the Chilan seemed a good man. Upon hearing my father swear the oath, the Chilan pricked himself with a thorn on the tongue, then on his cheek, his lower lip, and his ear. He wrote things in his own blood, both on the blank pages of the book, and on a separate leaf he had about his person. This leaf was a map.’ You held it up. ‘And this map took me to you. So you see, I have no right to the book. It is truly yours. Now that my task is done, you must let me return home to my mother and to my work. I have been away for far too long.’
78
‘Well stone me – we’ve got ourselves an honest-to-God ragged trousered philanthropist.’
Abi was tucked into the lee of one of the more extreme of the ruined buildings. It was situated outside the main Ek Balam tourist zone, on a raised tump, thick with ancient scatterings. Athame was standing beside him. The Glock was tucked into the back of Abi’s trousers, disguised by the Guayabera shirt that he had bought for exactly that purpose in Veracruz. Athame was carrying her Walther P4 in the backpack she wore at all times. Given her diminutive size, the backpack made her look like Dopey, from Walt Disney’s Snow White.
‘I don’t think you should do this.’
‘Do what?’
‘Go against Madame, our mother’s, wishes.’
‘What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, Athame. And I don’t intend to blunder into that crowd over there, six-shooters blazing. I’ve got a more subtle approach in mind.’
‘She could simply cut us all loose. Without a penny to our names.’
‘So what? We can always steal. We’ve spent the past fifteen years being trained in every damned knavery known to man. And for what? To baby-sit the man who killed our brother? And the policeman who harried him to death? Calque and Sabir aren’t leaving Mexico alive, I can tell you that much. And if I have to do them myself, I will.’
‘And Lamia?’
‘I know you’ve always had a soft spot for her, Athame, but she’s in with Sabir now. She’s given herself to him. And she’s not the sort of woman who goes off half-cocked, if you’ll forgive my pun. She burned her bridges back at the chateau, and as far as I’m concerned that puts her out of the running for Barbie Doll of the Year Award. If I get my hands on her I’m going to use her to wring whatever I can out of Sabir. And when I’m through with her, she dies. Straight into the cenote with the rest of them. Christ, she’ll have six men all to herself down there.’
‘You’re sick, Abi. You know that?’
‘Are you going to stand in my way when it comes to it?’
Athame shook her head. ‘No. She burned her bridges, as you said. But I won’t let you abuse her. You can use her, fine. Threaten Sabir all you want. But I won’t see her hurt more than necessary. We were sisters once, remember.’
‘Does she remember that, do you think? Does she think as kindly of you as you do of her? I doubt it somehow.’
Up on the pyramid, the Halach Uinic was making way for one of the other priests.
‘Looks like we’re about to get the straight guff from the mestizo’s book. This, I want to hear. Think what that damned thing’s worth, Athame. One of only four remaining Maya codices. And with an attribution, to boot.’
‘What do you mean, an attribution?’
‘The mestizo’s got a mother, hasn’t he? And she knows all about the book his family have been guarding for hundreds of years. We get hold of the thing and we can work on him through her. Cherchez la femme. Isn’t that what the English tell us we French say all the time? They’re right, of course. Achilles’s problem wasn’t with his heel. It was with Briseis. If he hadn’t fallen in love with her and lost the plot, he would have survived the Trojan campaign and probably lived to a wise old age. Instead he let that bastard Paris skewer him in the foot. The same thing is going to happen to Sabir. Only his foot will be the last one of his body parts I’ll focus on.’
‘Listen, Abi. The priest is starting to read from the book.’
‘I can’t wait. I love bedtime stories.’
79
The Chilan bowed first towards his master, the Halach Uinich, and then towards his audience. He raised the codex briefly to his forehead, and then kissed it. Carefully, even tenderly, he opened the manuscript and began to read.
‘I, Akbal Coatl – which the Spaniards would translate as “night serpent” – Chilan and ak k’u hun – which is priest and chief guardian of the sacred books – write this on the evening of the twelfth day of July in the year of our Lord 1562, which is the worst day the world has ever known. I write this to bear witness against Friar Diego de Landa, because such must be done. I write this in the last remaining of the Maya holy books, using the backs of the holy leaves, and for this blasphemy may Kukulcan, who is the true God, forgive me.
‘For three months now Friar de Landa has travelled throughout our country, a few days behind his soldiers, enforcing the orders of the Franciscan monks. As Provincial of the Franciscan order in the Yucatan, Friar de Landa has the full backing of the Judge of the High Court of Guatemala and the Confines, Tomas Lopez. It must be added here that Judge Lopez is also a friar of the Franciscan order, and that Judge Lopez has directed, in this capacity, that any and all Maya towns still remaining outside the Franciscan remit be turned over instantly into Franciscan hands.
‘In addition, Judge Lopez has given Friar de Landa full Imperial authority, using the Papal Bull exponi nobis as his justification, in respect of what is called “the regimentation of daily and social life”. Judge Lopez also stipulates that any violations of the Friar’s rights in this matter, and all infringements by the native Indians in misguided support of their previous rights, “be punished as by the Inquisition”. Here is the full text of the Ordinances of the Royal Audience of the Confines, promulgated by Judge Lopez in 1552:
“Coming from the Royal Audiencia in Guatemala, at the request of the Friars in Yucatan, and decreed for the conduct and treatment of the Indians.
In exercise of the power of our Emperor, vested in me, I command you, the caciques, chief men and people, as follows:
No cacique shall be absent from his town, save for the temporal or spiritual good, or as called by the padres, for over 50 days, on pain of loss of office.