Chapter 32
Peace then Deaths, 13-5 K
(SD, MT, 1381-3)
The next three years were wonderful for me. My family was always by my side. I began to teach George some of the things I had learned in Khanbalikh. He was a bright boy, eager to learn, and a joy to teach. Mathilde did learn to read and write, but otherwise showed no further interest in book learning. Instead she became quite intrigued with medicinal plants and eventually grew quite skilled with them. Ignace also learned to read and write, but was much taken by metalworking, and eventually we let him stay with Henry to learn the skill. During this time, Paula also presented me with two more children, first, another son, Theodore (after Paula’s uncle) and a year later, another daughter, Ludmilla (after Paula’s mother). The children were all quite healthy and strong.
Padraig came to report and brought his family with him that first summer. It had been some time since I had seen him. The responsibility of running an Ordu had matured him. He was quieter and more thoughtful than the wild warrior I had met so long before. We went back with him for the rest of the summer and much enjoyed the rugged setting of the Antelope Ordu. He had established a group that would play that strange instrument of his. He had gotten the horses used to it and insisted the music had frightened the enemy in the west. He had the men play some of the battle airs, and I could see how one might find it frightening, but I really liked it. We spent a lot of time exploring, with Padraig showing us the sights. My family got to see the Yellow Canyon where we gathered sulfur, and I showed Paula the strange sights around the beautiful lake that was the source of the Absaroke River. We were amazed at all the geysers and hot springs in this cool high mesa. Padraig said that it became quite snowbound during its very long winter. Indeed summer was the only time to come here. We ran into some Nomo hunters while we were there, and they were quite taken by our families. They were awed at my younger children’s blond hair and Padraig’s oldest son’s red hair and kept touching it.
Padraig’s mappers never actually met up with Juchi, but they both trod the same ground. The west coast became more arid as they went south and eventually turned into a very long, bleak, and rugged peninsula with few people and little water. It took them another year to map the whole of it. The coast east of the peninsula was also rugged, but had more water and many more people. The coastal people all seemed to be fairly peaceful fishermen and gave the mappers no trouble at all.
To the north of the Salmon Ordu, the people also exploited the sea, but were much more warlike. A few punitive expeditions had to be undertaken by the Ordu to free the mappers or avenge their deaths. Finally, a reconnaissance in force was used to finish mapping the hostile area. The coast eventually turned west except for a southwest interruption along a peninsula ending in a long string of islands extending in an arc westward back toward the old land. Then the coast turned north again. It was several years before the entire coast was mapped to where we had crossed. It was a huge land, but nowhere was it closer to the old land than where we had crossed. The Salmon Ordu had become quite adept at using the large boats of the local people and found them indispensable in patrolling the coast and keeping the peace. Less progress had been made with recruitment until Padraig took a hand and sent his own recruiters to the various tribes. Ogedai claimed his time was taken up subduing the warlike northern coastal tribes. Padraig was concerned about it, but wanted to believe Ogedai and never passed on his concerns to Kaidu. Eventually most of the tribes in the area confederated, although two more had to be wiped out.
That first fall, Smoking Mirror earned my undying gratitude by going to the annual meeting of the Ani’ Yun’-wiya. After another several days of discussion at length, they all agreed to confederate. He still insisted that he enjoyed the meetings and all the free and open debate, but I began to wonder when he returned with a daughter of Ostenako as his wife. It was a bit embarrassing to me that I had never noticed anything between them when I was there, but it wasn’t the first time I missed the obvious when it wasn’t relevant to my mission. In any case, she was quite a handful, very bright and outspoken. She quickly learned to read and write and became quite close to Paula. Smoking Mirror changed her name, Katalsta, to Mazatl after they were married. Apparently name changing was quite typical among the Ani’ Yun’-wiya, especially in connection with momentous events.
As I expected, the tribes east and northeast of the Ani’ Yun’-wiya also confederated with us that winter. The following spring, we moved the Goose Ordu south to the frontier on the Sewee River. We also established the Manati (the Taino name for the tuskless walruslike animal) Ordu in the northern part of the peninsula, coincidentally completing the surrounding of the Southeastern tribes should they get restless. They still refused to deal with us, even though we now surrounded them and our trade routes bypassed them. Some of their people joined us as individuals, but not one city ever did. Later events took care of them with much less compassion than we might have shown. The Taino from Cuba, Aiti, and Xaymaca confederated with us the second year, and we set up Ordu on Cuba (the Dog) and Aiti (the Parrot). As I had suggested, these were trained to use the large Taino boats, although we eventually got some horses over to the islands and started up herds there. Boriquen resisted us for some time, but after a few years, they began to confederate one cacique at a time. The cannibals on the smaller eastern islands were first badly mauled in a punitive expedition, then many years later won over as allies.
Juchi returned the second year (14 K). He had followed the Hopitu River westward through a remarkably wide, deep, and rugged canyon. He was finally forced to climb out of it and follow it along its northern rim for much of its length. The river turned south as it escaped the canyon and wound its way through a semidesert until emptying into the sea at the top of the gulf formed by the long narrow peninsula and the mainland. The people along the last part of the river were largely hunters and gatherers living rather meanly, although they did some cultivating. Most of them were amenable to joining us, but only if we could set up an Ordu nearby. To this end, Juchi went back up the Hopitu River for some distance to a river that joined it from the east well below the canyon. He went up that river and eventually found a very different tribe. They called themselves the A’-a’ tam and lived in the cubical adobe rooms much like the Hopitu-shinumu. They also managed to do quite a bit of cultivating by means of extensive irrigation unlike their western neighbors. They were spread out in villages on both sides of the river (which Juchi named the Ahatam after them) as well as for some distance to the south of the river. Since times had become more difficult for them recently with a prolonged drought, they were willing to send observers with Juchi and to spread the word of his offer to their other villages. Ultimately, they did confederate as did their western neighbors, but it took a few years of observers before they did.
Farther up the Ahatam, Juchi found yet another tribe that also lived in the cubical adobe houses, but piled on top of each other in two or even three stories. They had large villages, but they were not very full. They called themselves the A’shiwi and had also suffered much from the drought. They were involved in trading with their neighbors and in extensive agriculture also aided by irrigation. The drought had hit them first and hardest (according to them), and their once-large and numerous towns had been reduced to mere shells. Even so, their shell villages extended from a river that emptied into the Ahatam from the north (he named it the Ashiwi) for quite some distance to the south. Their situation was so desperate that they were happy to join us, and a large group went with him while runners were sent to their other villages to spread the word and perhaps follow in his wake. He found yet another band of Dine (who quickly joined us) near the headwaters of the Ashiwi.
East of these people, he came upon two more groups. The first was called the K’eres. They lived in a fairly compact area along a river that flowed into the Thanuge from the west. He named the river the Keres for them. They also lived in the adobe cubes and also irrigated their fields. East of them along the Thanuge River, but south of the T’han-u-ge were a fairly similar people called the Ti’wan. Both of these groups were in contact with the T’han-u-ge and were rather put out that he had taken so long to get in touch with them and that he brought along all the A’shiwi. Still, they too had been hurt by the drought and also agreed to send along observers. Both of these groups eventually confederated, as did the T’han-u-ge. Even the Hopitu-shinumu began confederating one village at a time as the drought continued unabated over the next few years. It was some time before we were able to set up an Ordu in the area, however, since there was so little dependable water available. Ultimately, we did establish the Coyotl (the Nahual name for the yellow prairie wolf) Ordu along the middle of the Thanuge River. Juchi made noises about going even farther west and contacting the coastal tribes, but he never got around to it.
That second year was truly a great year. There was no trouble anywhere; the harvests were all phenomenal due to very favorable weather (except in the southwest), and a new Ordu (the Pelican) was established on the lower reaches of the Ishak River. Smoking Mirror’s “brother” died during an attack on the Natchez, and with his passing, the Kadohadacho quickly confederated with us, joining the rest of the old Hasinai confederacy that had already joined. This meant that only the Natchez and the Southeastern tribes still refused to join us.
The following year was quite different. First of all, spring was cold and rainy on the plains, delaying the planting considerably. Then in late spring, a vicious windstorm struck the Eagle Ordu, doing a lot of damage and injuring quite a few people. We had seen these odd storms before, but this was the first time one had struck an Ordu. Next, a freak hailstorm destroyed most of the Owl Ordu’s crops, and a prairie fire forced the Cormorant Ordu to flee across the Black Hill River and watch as half of their crops were consumed. Then a typhoon struck the Alligator Ordu, wiping out their crops as well as drowning many of their animals and causing quite a few injuries. Fortunately, there was ample grain in storage to make up for all these problems, and Juchi and I spent a lot of time traveling to the various Ordu with relief supplies. The eastern Ordu had fared quite well, but an early freeze caught them by surprise and damaged some of their unharvested crops. But these losses could be made up. Late that fall, we suffered an irreparable loss when Givevneu died.
He had been fine all day and had just sent his assistant to treat an injured yam attendant, when he suddenly got a strange look on his face and went to see Kaidu. Kaidu called me in and told me that Givevneu had just told him that it was time for him to die, gave him some final advice, and asked him to see that no one disturbed him until evening and that he be buried somewhere on the plain east of the Ordu, away from the river, standing up and facing northwest. At dusk, we went to his yurt and found him lying on a rug with his arms folded over his chest. We wrapped him in the rug and took him out on the plain and buried him as he had asked and covered the place carefully so no one could tell where it was. Kaidu was devastated by the loss. Not only had Givevneu always been an exceptional shaman, but also he was always there with thoughtful, insightful, invaluable advice. It was he, after all, who planted the idea of this new land in Kaidu’s head and gave him a goal toward which to strive over the frustrating last years along the Karamuren. I, also, would miss him. He had a remarkable understanding of people and what motivated them, which was a great help to me. His open, friendly manner, and cheerful mien did much to brighten up the Ordu. He would be desperately missed. But he was not the last loss that year. In early winter, word reached us that Kaidu’s second son, Mangku, died quite suddenly at his post in charge of the Hawks. Then word arrived that Donduk had died peacefully in his sleep at the Alligator Ordu. The strain of dealing with the aftermath of the typhoon was too much for a man his age. The loss of Donduk, his loyal lieutenant from his years in the old Khanate, was even harder on Kaidu than that of his son. For the first time, he confided in me, he felt old. For the first time, he began to look old; the strength and vigor was gone from his step, the fire from his eye. It was sad to see.
The following spring, it was reported that one of our trading expeditions had been taken captive. They had been trading in the cities on the Tolteca high plain and were on their way back when they were seized by one of the coastal cities of a people called the Huaxteca. It was not clear if they had been harmed, and no one knew if Tlacuectli was among the group. Smoking Mirror was concerned about his father and warned me that the Huaxteca were not known for being kind to their captives. Kaidu recaptured a bit of his fire and told me to organize a punitive expedition to punish the city. I ascertained from Smoking Mirror that their cities tended to be large and fortified so I thought that I would need the Horse and the Pelican Tumen with a full complement of artillery. Since the Huaxteca were along the tropical coast, it was thought best to launch the attack in the late fall, after the rainy season. I sent messages to the two Ordu and made sure that they had an ample supply of powder and shot for their cannon and that they would be ready to move out in early fall.
I went up to the Hawk Ordu to make sure a steady shipment of powder and shell would follow us to depots I planed to set up. While there Henry presented me with a suit of scale armor. The scales were small and quite finely wrought, and I was quite touched that he would make such a complicated thing for me. He also presented me with a helmet to go with the armor. It was rather strange. It looked like the head of a snake with its mouth opened wide. He admitted that it was an odd design but told me that it had been very strongly suggested by Smoking Mirror during our winter visit when Henry had shown him his work in progress. Doqus meanwhile presented me with a sort of banner made of black feathers (from my namesake bird). It, too, had been suggested by Smoking Mirror. It was very nicely done, and I complimented her on the work, but I had never seen anything quite like it before and found it very puzzling. When I got back home, I asked Smoking Mirror about it.
“Henry and Doqus have exceeded my expectations,” he laid it on. “I must send them a note thanking them. Meanwhile, I have here a couple of things that go with the ensemble.”
He handed me a cloak made of the feathers of the green parrot of the east coast and a sort of headdress made of some of the gaudy feathers we had gotten on the large islands. The work was quite well done, but I had long resisted wearing feathers and what passed for finery in the land and was not too thrilled about the prospect now. My long silence before I stammered my thanks was just a bit transparent.
“Isn’t it time the Raven wore feathers?” he teased.
“Why now?” I tried to be polite. “And what have feathers to do with this odd snake helmet?”
“Everything.” He grinned. “It will make you look like Quetzalcoatl.”
“Who?” I asked.
“The Plumed Serpent,” he continued. “In the last days of Tollan, there arose a leader named Ce Acatl Topiltzin. He promoted the cult of Quetzalcoatl and added the name to his like a title. A rival faction dedicated to the cult of Texcatlipoca and led by a man named Huemac drove him out of the city. After many wanderings, he found himself on the coast and despairing of his situation. He told his followers that he would return on his birth year and then threw himself on a pyre. He was instantly turned into the Morning Star, Tlahuizcalpantecuhtli.”
“And I thought the Mongol legends were ridiculous.” I was disgusted. “The Hanjen have been recording the appearance of the Morning Stars for millennia. I can assure you, none of them have just made their appearance in the last few generations.”
“The fall of Tollan was about two hundred years ago,” he said. “But it doesn’t really matter whether the transformation actually happened. It’s just that Quetzalcoatl is associated with the brightest Morning Star, and, therefore, the east. And over time the man Ce Acatl Topiltzin has become confused with the god Quetzalcoatl.”
“Where did they ever get the idea of a Plumed Serpent anyway?” I asked. “Surely no one has ever seen such a thing.”
“Well, I don’t really know,” he mused. “But Quetzalcoatl is a wind god, a rain god, or an earth god depending on who you ask, and may be a combination of a serpent god and a bird god.”
“I’m beginning to think that you are as unimpressed with gods as I am,” I said. “I hope I haven’t corrupted you.”
“My father corrupted me long before you came along.” He laughed.
“At any rate”—I returned to the main point—“why should I pretend to be this Plumed Serpent god? You know we don’t really encourage excessive cults, and Kaidu would probably be most displeased at the idea. Besides, even with all the costume, why would they think I was a god? I have been viewed as strange in this land, but hardly as a god. I think it would be better if we went as who we are.”
“I just thought it might make it easier.” He shrugged. “It should at least give them pause. Besides, the cult of Quetzalcoatl discouraged human sacrifice, so I thought you might be able to use presumed authority to end the practice. It is quite widespread in the south, you know. Also, this does happen to be Ce Acatl’s birth year.”
“I think the idea is to wipe out the kidnappers,” I said. “Converting them won’t really be necessary under the circumstances.”
“The city in question is deep in Huaxteca territory,” he rejoined. “You may find you have to fight your way to it. The Huaxteca prize war and are not likely to let an army pass by without challenging it. Now, of course, if you are the god’s incarnation on a special mission, they are less likely to interfere. Especially if I go as Tezcatlipoca.”
“How would you manage that?” I asked.
“My name in Nahual is Tezcatlipoca.” He grinned. “My father called me that when I lost my foot. You see Tezcatlipoca is usually pictured with a piece of obsidian instead of one of his feet.”
“So,”—I was amused—“you wanted us to go as two rival gods united in the holy purpose of reducing the den of kidnappers. Do you have an obsidian foot for the occasion?”
“Indeed.” He whipped a wedge of obsidian out of his pack and strapped it onto his foot stub.
“I’ll tell you what”—I couldn’t disappoint him—“we can put on our costumes when we meet with the Huaxteca, but we won’t actually claim to be gods, we’ll just let them draw their own conclusions.”
“Excellent.” He bowed ceremoniously.
“One thing I don’t understand.” I paused. “How could this be the birth year of someone who died two hundred years ago?”
“The Tolteca calendar repeats itself,” he explained. “It has a fifty-two-year cycle, and the years are named either Rabbit, Reed, House, or Flint and numbered one through thirteen. The order is One Rabbit, Two Reed, Three House, Four Flint, Five Rabbit, and so on. Ce Acatl means One Reed, and this is the year One Reed in the Tolteca calendar.”
“I thought Ce Acatl was the man’s name.” I was puzzled.
“It is.” He nodded. “Tolteca names are usually partially one’s day of birth. The days are named after one of twenty-day signs again numbered one through thirteen. The years are named for the first day of each year, which coincidentally is always one of the four signs I already mentioned.”
“But that’s not enough days,” I calculated quickly. “It only gives you two hundred and sixty days’ worth of names. What about the rest of the year?”
“The cycle is repeated,” he explained, “until you have three hundred and sixty days. Then the last five days of each year are unnamed and uncounted. There is also a solar year consisting of eighteen months of twenty days each named after the gods appropriate to the season. For example, the first one is in late winter and is dedicated to the gods of rain to whom the appropriate sacrifices are made to ensure that the rains come in the spring. The two calendars match up every fifty-two years.”
“What would you sacrifice to rain gods?” I was curious.
“Children,” he said simply.
“Children!” I was aghast. “Every year? Whose? How many? How old?”
“It depends”—he shrugged—“on the city, the priests, and the situation. If the rains were good the year before and the priests don’t foresee any godly anger, there would only be a few. They are usually quite young and belong to the people of the city. After all, it is no sacrifice to offer someone else’s child. It is deemed quite an honor, and the child is assured a place with the gods. There is rarely problem getting victims.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?” I found him just a bit too dispassionate.
“It is none of my affair,” he shot back. “The country to the south is a harsh, dangerous place. Vicious storms lash both coasts, mountains rain down fire and ash, and the very earth itself shakes. Yet the land can be very bountiful giving great harvests every year. Much time and effort is taken up with ensuring the bounty and preventing the danger. For them, the price they pay is not too high. Perhaps if I had grown up among them I would agree.”
“But children”—I couldn’t let it go—“not even your brother sacrificed children.”
“True.” He met my eye. “But is the life of a child worth more to you than that of an adult? When we destroy a town, we make no special allowance for them that I recall.”
“No, I suppose not.” He had me there. “It’s just that ritually killing your own child seems unthinkable. In war, there is no ritual involved, just expediency.”
“Before your people came to this land,” he said, “children were never intentionally killed in battle and women only rarely. Both were instead taken into the tribe first as slaves, then eventually as members.”
“That is more humane,”—I nodded—“but dangerous. How can they forget who killed their fathers and husbands? What’s to prevent them from turning on their humane captors in the end?”
“I never heard of such a turning,” he replied. “But I suppose it is possible. Still, our people find child sacrifice no more shocking than killing every man, woman, and child in a town. Yet, when you ordered it, it was done.”
“I suppose,” I mused, “one does what he thinks has worked before, and much depends on what was first tried.”
“An astute observation.” He smiled. “Perhaps the spirit of Givevneu lives.”
It was stupid of me to be shocked about child sacrifice. After all, it was a small step from adult sacrifice. I wondered why it ever started. There had been a story about a sacrifice of someone’s child among Grandfather Peter’s stories connected to his religion, but it seemed to me that it was stopped just in time. In any case, we weren’t going south to persuade anyone to abandon their religious practices; we were going to destroy a town. As to their two calendars, they were no worse than the Hanjen attempt to reconcile the lunar and the solar calendars by adding extra months whenever necessary. The Hanjen calendar was more accurate since it did take into account the extra day every four years. Personally, I preferred my old ancestral calendar. It ignored the moon and allowed for the extra day making it as accurate as the Hanjen calendar. Of course, it was rather difficult to explain why the twelve months were either 28, 29, 30 or 31 days long. There was no logic in it that I could see. Of course, we had long ago forgotten the year count or the months and days for that matter. But the idea seemed less complicated.
Toward the end of summer, all my preparations were ready, and I was about to take my leave of Kaidu when word reached that he had been thrown from his horse and badly injured. One of the rattling snakes had startled his mount while he was lost in thought. He was carefully brought back to his yurt, and Okuh-hatuh did what he could for him, but he never regained consciousness and died in the night. He had not indicated who should succeed him, but the older Mongols felt that he would have wanted his oldest son Kuyuk to take over. He was sent for and asked to be Khan. He refused a few times, in the time-honored tradition, but was “talked into” accepting. The new Khan was presented to the Eagle Ordu, and all acclaimed him. The nomination was sent to the other Ordu, and they too acclaimed the accession. I suppose the unanimity was more from numbed shock over the loss of Kaidu than any great faith in Kuyuk. To be fair to the man, he could hardly have replaced Kaidu. He did immediately declare that he wished Juchi to succeed him, and that was a very popular action and built up a lot of goodwill, since Juchi was very well known and esteemed.
What can one say about Kaidu. He was completely responsible for all the Khanate of the Blue Sky. If it continued to prosper, it would be because of the solid foundation he laid. It was he who turned a casual remark about another land into the whole focus of his and his forgotten Ordu’s existence. He had the vision to cull that Ordu into fighting trim and relentlessly drive them into the unknown. His was the spirit that brought us all together and held us all together. How ironic that he died the same way his hero Chingis had died after accomplishing almost as much in much less time with far less bloodshed. Would we ever see his like again? Not in my lifetime.
We buried him near Givevneu just as he had mentioned he wanted to be. Again the spot was disguised according to the custom. When a decent interval had passed, I went to see Kuyuk and told him about the upcoming campaign and asked if he still wanted it to take place and me to lead it. He replied that he certainly did, and in fact, he wanted to expand it. I was to consider all the Huaxteca as enemies of the Khanate and either accept the surrender of or destroy all their cities and villages. To that end, he told me to order the Owl, Cormorant, Crane, and Beaver Tumen to follow me south as soon as possible. I should keep him informed of my progress, and he would send new instructions as events warranted. I should consider it likely that I would be gone for more than one year.
I was a bit surprised that he would want to conquer the Huaxteca as a whole instead of just punish the kidnappers, but I assumed he had his reasons. I explained the new situation to Paula, and she understood that such a thing might happen, but was glad we had had so much time together. She suggested that if the campaign did drag on for more than a year, perhaps she should send George to be with me. I promised to send for him as soon as I felt it would be safe for him to join me. Meanwhile, I sent out dispatches to the four Ordu advising them of their new orders and giving them route maps to ensure that they would not all be covering the same path and run into fodder problems. I sent instructions and route maps to the Horse and the Pelican Ordu also and instructed them to set out at once for our base camp and depot on the north side of the Thanuge River near its mouth. They were to send out scouts to the south as soon as they arrived, I would probably get there soon after them since I would be traveling with only a small escort. I also sent word to the Kestrel and Hawk Ordu advising them of the change in the scope of the campaign and ordering them to start sending loads of shot and shell to our base camp depot as soon as possible, and keep them coming. I took my final leave of Kuyuk, and, with Smoking Mirror and my escort, started south.