INFORMATION TC USERS This manuscript has been reproduced from the microfilm master. UMI films the text directly from the original or copy submitted. Thus, some thesis and dissertation copies are in typewriter face, while others may be from any type of computer printer. ‘The quality of this repzoduction is dependent upon the quality of the copy submitted. Broken or indistinct print, colored or poor quality ‘illustrations and photographs, print bleedthrough, substandard margins, and improper alignment can adversely affect reproduction. In the unlikely event that the author did not send UMI a complete ‘manuscript and there are missing pages, these will be noted. Also, if ‘unauthorized copyright material had to be removed, a note will indicate the deletion. Oversize materials (e.g., maps, drawings, charts) are reproduced by sectioning the original, beginning at the upper left-hand corner and ‘contimuing from left to right in equal sections with small overlaps. Each original is alsc paotographed in one exposure and is included in reduced form at the back of the book. Photographs included in the original manuscript have been reproduced xerographically in this copy. Higher quality 6" x 9" black and white photographic prints are available for any photographs or illustrations ‘appearing in this copy for an additional charge. Contact UMI directly to order. UMI A Bell & Howell Informaon Company ‘00Nertn Zeed Road. Ann Arbo: Mi48106-1346 USA 313:761-8700 €00:521-0600A STUDY OF MAYA INSCRIPTIONS By David Strickland Stuart Dissertation Presented to the Faculty of the Graduate School of Vanderbilt University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY in Anthropology May, 1995 Nashville, Tennessee Approved:OMI Number: 9529006 Copyright 1995 by Stuart, David Strickland ALL rights reserved. UME Microform 9529006 Copyright 1995, by UMI Company. All rights reserved. This microform edition is protected against unauthorized copying under Title 17, United States Code. UMI 300 North Zeeb Road Ann Arbor, MI 48103copyright by David Strickland Stuart 1995 All Rights ReservedThis work is dedicated to Tan Graham and Linda Schele in appreciation and affectionTABLE OF CONTENTS Page ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS PREFACE . 2... 7... LIST OF FIGURES . . . do o000boqg0cn xvi LIST OF TABLES PART I. The Sources Chapter EARLY SCRIPTS IN THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS... . . 2 Introduction ae Bae aoe & Theoretical Issues in the Study of Writing... 2 Names and Name-tagging: An Alternative Theory for the Origins of Writing The Early History of Mesoamerican Wr: MAYA HIEROGLYPHS AND THEIR DECIPHERMENT . . . . . 32 ‘The Maya Script: Technical Background . . 32 Methods of Decipherment 40 Prelude to the Present |) 1. 22 Modern Deciphering Methods... . a7 III. WRITING AND LITERACY IN MAYA SOCIETY IV. MONUMENTS, MEDIA AND REGIONAL GENRES . : 98 Preliminary Categories of Media and Style Site-specific or Localized Genres Regional Genres: Some Concluding Remarks . V. MAYA HISTORIOGRAPHY 7 Historiography of the Sources Time and Maya History "Rewriting" History PART II. Thematic Studies VI. AHAW AND THE INSTITUTIONS OF RULE Introduction... The Nature of Ahaw te : Observations on the Pre-Classic Foundations of AhawThe Supernatural Foundations of Rulership . . . .198 Inauguaration Ceremonies . - . 200 Geogrpahical Differences in Rulership .....” 206 VII. RITES OF SACRIFICE AND RENEWAL. |... 224 Maya Hieroglyphs Relating to Sacrifice... . . 226 Blood and the Soul 7 oe 233 Heated Souls . 240 “Pleasing the Gods:" The Color Symbolism of Blocd . . se 242 Souls in Classic Maya Ritual 9. 245 tte: 2: (THE) POLETICAN CANDSCRPE| ee totter ete Zee Variation in the Maya Political Landscape . . . 257 Peten Geopolitics: ATimeline....... 263 Non-royal Elites... ...... ams Royal Marriages wee cog ode Concluding Remarks 7 Seb oe ceo) IX. WARFARE AND CONQUEST Warfare in the Inscriptions . . . : 293 The Tikal-Uaxactun War: A Reevaluation . 315 "Burning" Events... . _. 7 + 320 The Geo-Political Context of Late Classic Warfare... Conclusions X. TRIBUTE AND ECONOMY 5 2. 2 8: Patan, “Tribute, Service"... oe 354 Other Tribute-Related Terms Step Glyphs and Tribute . Conclusions and Discussion XI CONCLUSIONS . . Boob boons 2 398 ENDNOTES . oo ee 403 BIBLIOGRAPHY"The culture of a people is an ensemble of texts, themselves ensembles, which the anthropologist strains to read over the shoulders of those to whom they properly belong. --Clifford Geertz (1973:452) "If a man will begin with certainties, he shall end in doubt: but if he will be content to begin with doubts, he shall end in certainties.” --Sir Francis BaconACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Many friends and colleagues deserve my heartfelt thanks for their help in preparing this work Stephen Houston of Brigham Young University, a great friend, teacher, and scholar, has made significant contributions to the ideas expressed in these pages. His help, wisdom, encouragement and good humor have been without fail over the years, and to him I owe much. The members of my committee, J. Richard Andrews, Arthur A. Demarest, William Fowler, and John Monaghan, are responsible for numerous improvements to the thesis, and have saved me from many embarrassing gaffes. I would like to acknowledge especially the intellectual contributions of J. Richard Andrews, who in one semster opened my eyes to the world of Classical Nahuatl. Through his rigorous translations and teaching, he forever changed my conceptions of the Mesoamerican world. Good friends and classmates at vander t and on the Petexbatun field project deserve thanks as well, including Joel Palka, Takeshi Inomata, Barbara Arroyo, Mary B, Pye, Chris Beekman, Robert Chatham, Catherine Colby, Laura Stiver, Oswaldo Chinchilla, Erick Ponciano, Vilma Fialko, Hector Escobedo, Antonia Foias, Lori Wright, Richard Song, and Sonia Wolff. I would like to thank Ronald Sporesand Beth Conklin for their help and encouragement. I would also like to express my gratitude to Grace Swahn, Tracy Farrell and Peggy Andrews for their kind iiadministrative support. In 1992 I was fortunate enough to receive a Weatherhead Fellowship from the Scool of American Research in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where much of this dissertation was conceived over the following year. There, Doug Schwartz has created a warm second home for many Mayanists and anthropologists of all persuasions, and I was honored to have been among them. In addition to Doug and his wife Nita, I wish to thank all of the fine staff members of the S.A.R. who made those days in Santa Fe so memorable. My fellow residents and friends at the School that year -- Brenda Childe, Pat Macnamara, Frankie Macnamara, Richard Waller, Laura Graham, T. M. Scruggs, Paul Stoller, Rosemary Coombe, Mary Sjoberg and Samantha Williams -- provided a warm atmosphere of acceptance in which to work. The seemingly unending days of "finishing" the disserta' yn came after beginning a new life at Harvard, where other friends and co-workers in the Department of Anthropology and the Peabody Museum have aided in many ways I cannot adequately express my warmest appreciation and thanks to Ian Graham, who invited me to join him on the Corpus of Maya Hieroglyphic Inscriptions project. It is an honor to work with the one ultimately responsible for the revolution in Maya epigraphic studies (he will deny it, in typical modesty, but it is true!). I am in deep gratitude to Ian as well for providing me with time away from Corpus duties to devote to the present work.The friendship and support of William and Barbara Fash are impossible to acknowledge adequately. They may wonder why the title page does not read "The Inscriptions of Copan," the topic I had originally chosen for my dissertation not knowing how daunting and time-consuming a project it would be. I cannot regret my decision to save Copan's glyphs for the future, since now I can look forward to many more years together with the Fashes. After first working with Bill and Barb in Copan in 1986, I knew it was a collaboration that would continue throughout our lifetimes. Over the years, I have learned mich through discussions and correspondence with many other colleagues. I would like to acknowledge especially E. wyllys Andrews V, Elizabeth Boone, John Carlson, Michael D. Coe, Federico Fahsen, Ricardo Agurcia Fasquelle, David Freidel, Nikolai Grube, Norman Hammond, Richard Hansen, John Justeson, Justin Kerr, Floyd Lounsbury, Bruce Lo Patricia MacAnany, Barbara Macleod, Peter Mathews, Mary Ellen Miller, Merle Greene Robertson, Robert Sharer, Karl Taube, and David Webster. 1 would like to express my deepest thanks to Linda Schele for the help and encouragement she gave a pestering twelve-year old who once worried that all the Kaya glyphs already had been deciphered. Linda's nurturing presence then and in later years gave direction to my life and career, and I owe her a debt I will never be able to repay Finally, I wish to mention my parents, George and Gene Stuart, who raised me amid ruins and rain forests, andsparked within me an interest in Mesoamerica and the Maya that has never faded. I thank them and all the members of my family for their love and aid, expressed in countless material and intangible ways. And now, as my son Peter likes to say, "Daddy out!"PREFACE Epigraphy, defined simply as the study of ancient inscriptions, is reputed to be an extremely specialized and arcane field of study. While many archaeologists and historians make routine use of ancient documents, few scholars actively pursue epigraphic research. This is particularly true in the field of Maya studies, where little more than a handful of epigraphers exist among the larger number who routinely excavate sites and theorize on the nature of Maya society. However, in many ways the task of Maya epigraphy is anything but specialized, for it touches on nearly all aspects of the discipline: linguistics, ceramic analysis, ethnohistory, ethnography, and art history, to name just a few. Indeed, the Maya case is similar to the situation that prompted the noted Classicist A. G. Woodhead's (1981:2) comment that "Greek epigraphy concerns all branches of Greek activity." Although Maya writing does not inform us about all aspects of Maya society, it nevertheless bears upon numerous important facets of Maya civilization. Thus, while epigraphy has always occupied a special place in Maya studies, recent revelations of its potential significance in historical and political studies have heightened the general awareness of a new and exciting body of textual data. Despite a more general demand for them, however, the new readings rendered by Maya epigraphers tend to circulateonly among a few colleagues, and are often never properly published for a wider audience. Clearly too much is at stake for this trend to continue. As the history and the cultural instituti ms of the Classic Maya come further into focus through textual analysis (e.g. Schele and Freidel 1990; Freidel, Schele and Parker 1993), nearly all specialists in Maya studies should benefit in some way. The present study was conceived in order to offer to the non- specialist a review of how the documentary sources advance the study of several aspects of ancient Maya culture. To accomplish this aim, it attempts to analyze the contents of Maya writing, elucidating the major themes and genres of texts and their inference about Maya society in the Classic period. This may seem a straightforward task, but in reality there is reason to approach such a project with some trepidation. Today the field of Maya studies stands at an important methodological juncture, where documentary sources have the potential to complement "dirt" archaeology effectively, if handled correctly (Culbert 1990; Fash 1991; Houston 1989, 1992). Yet the utility of the written evidence will not become apparent until the methcdology of epigraphic study is outlined in detail for the discipline as awhole. After several years of rapid progress in decipherment, the time clearly has come to stand back and evaluate what we now can say -- and cannot say -- about the Classic Maya from the unique perspective of the hieroglyphic viiinscriptions If we are to attain a balanced integration of textual sources with the more common archaeological methods in Maya research, it is important to understand that epigraphic research need not be confined to matters of political and dynastic history, themes that have been emphasized time and time again in recent scholarship. Certainly these are central topics, yet I hope to show that the inscriptions of the Classic period contain information that can bring Maya archaeology closer to achieving the holistic anthropological orientation it often lacks. I do not therefore intend for this dissertation to be a treatment of Maya history, summarizing the fortunes of various sites and dynasties from the Early Classic on through to the Collapse. Offering a king-by-king account of each important site would not only be dry reading, but would produce little new information that others have not already offered (e.g. Culbert 1991; Schele and Freidel 1991; Proskouriakoff 1992). While indigenous Maya history usually touches on celebrated individuals in one way or another, the stories of these individuals do not necessarily constitute the sum of what the histories reveal about Classic Maya civilization as a dynamic whole. A refreshing development in "post -processual” archaeology has been increased recognition of the truism that history, its sources, and its methods play an essential role in our understanding of cultural dynamics and change(Hodder 1987). The frequent tensions between history on the one hand and cultural materialist anthropology on the other have been keenly felt since mid-century (Binford 1983; Hodder 1986; Trigger 1978, 1989), and, as we will see, remains strong in Maya studies in particular (e.g. Marcus 1992). The disparate origins of the two fields account for much of this theoretical distance, for traditionally “history” was understood to mean “written history", and so in the case of very ancient cultures was applicable only to those cultural traditions, such as Egypt and China, that used writing far in the past. Anthropology, by contrast, was initially conceived of as the study of the primitive, the non-literate, the "other". Over the years, and especially with the rise of the cultural ecological and cultural materialist paradigms within the "New Archaeology” many came to view history as a static, and atheoretical endeavor, mired in the concerns of cultural particularism But as many have argued (Trigger 1982; Hodder 1987), this characterization is both unfair and uninformed History as a discipline, like anthropology and archaeology, has gone through several methodological and theoretical changes of its own, one of the most important being an added concern for scientific analysis and social history under the "New History" movement, and the particularly influential Annales school of post-war France (Knapp 1992). History's awareness of social dynamics and non-European cultures, and anthropology's increased need for diachronic perspectives ixhas led to a healthy melding of goals and methods, particularly over the last two decades (e.g. Trigger 1978:28-30; Sahlins 1985). It may seem that the analysis encompassed by this work would fall under the label of "ethnohistory", yet I hesitate to apply this term to the present study. Several writers have discussed the scopes and limits of ethnohistorical analysis (e.g., Carmack 1971; Trigger 1982), and in Mesoamerican studies it generally refers to the varied a concern with what methods "whose unifying theme Europeans encountered in their conquest and the all pervasive impact of their presence in the decades and centuries that followed" (Harvey and Prem 1984:2). Ethnohistorical sources therefore are principally those post-Conquest documents written in either European or native languages. In Mesoamerica, pre-Hispanic codices have proved vital to ethnohistorical research, but they are few in number relative to colonial sources, and their study is hindered somewhat by dating questions (for most have proved to be of post-Conquest manufacture) and, of course, the difficulties in reading the pictorial writing and iconographic systems. Ethnohistory seldom can treat the documents of the more distant pre-Hispanic past, for the simple reason that the writing systems of such sources have long gone undeciphered. Therefore, despite obvious methodological similarities, the present work is somewhat removed from the traditionalboundaries of ethnohistorical analysis, since it does not touch directly on the period of Maya-Spanish contact Rather, I have chosen to concentrate exclusively on the native documents of the Classic period (A.D. 200-900), which survive principally in the form of carved stone inscriptions and painted ceramics. In addition, I believe that the term "ethnohistory" is laden with vaguely ethnocentric inferences. If what we are dealing with is true indigenous history and I think it is -- why call it “ethnohistory", if not to underline a sense of otherness, or qualitative difference? Any use of documentary sources must take well into account the limits of the evidence, yet very little has been written about the overall characteristics of the surviving Maya hieroglyphic record. Classic Maya historiography is in its infancy, and I trust that this study, along with significant discussions by Houston (1989, 1993), will help with its continued development and refinement. The question of who composed the inscriptions and for what purpose is indeed difficult to answer, yet such questions are fundamental in attempts to interpret any information that comes from the documents. By extension, knowing what was not discussed in the ancient inscriptions and why not is also significant. Following the eminent Classicist M.1. Finley, we must acknowledge that “what any society asks or fails to ask, records or fails to record, by itself offers an important clue into the nature of that society" (Finley xi1985:105). The absence of historiographical analyses has granted a peculiar sort of freedom to the authors of various Maya textual interpretations, permitting them to extrapolate historical and cultural data that go far beyond the actual evidence in hand. The result leaves not only a confused picture in the scholarly literature, but in some cases even a demonstrably inaccurate view of what actually happened in ancient times. The title of the present work consciously echoes A. G. Woodhead's (1981) The Study of Greek Inscriptions, a classic epigraphic treatise first published in 1959. Woodhead's work is not merely concerned with the technical aspects of ancient Greek language and philology, but perhaps more with uid be properly studied and in what ways epigraphy can contribute to the varied branches of Greek scholarship. Woodhead introduces the reader to the different types of inscriptions, their physical settings, potential problems in dating and interpretation, and other issues treating their wide application to historical and cultural questions. He thus demonstrates that epigraphic research is not simple philology; instead, it considers a wide range of evidence in the effort to decipher and understand ancient texts. Needless to say, epigraphy, wh: grounded in the details of script and language, should have the ultimate design of developing one of many important sources of data that contribute to the understanding of ancient lifeways xiiThis dissertation is divided into two parts. Part One, "The Sources", reviews in five chapters the nature of Maye inscriptions and reflects on the current state of hieroglyphic decipherment. Chapter 1, "Early Writing in the Old and New Worlds", aims to place the discussion in a larger comparative framework by addressing some traditional issues in the study of ancient writing systems. Particular attention will be paid to factors that may have led to the origin and development of scripts in the Near East, Mediterranean and Europe, and testing resulting patterns against the Maya case. The technical background of later discussions is provided in Chapter 2, "Maya Hieroglyphic Writing and its Decipherment", which continues into a brief treatment on the proper methods of decipherment. I hope that delineating the methodology of Maya epigraphic research may allow non-specialists to evaluate the merits and pitfalls of new readings as they are proposed. Chapter 3 extends the treatment of the script by investigating social aspects of written communication, building upon recent work by Houston (1994) and others. Chapter 4, "Monuments, Media, and Regional Genres", continues the broader investigation of Maya texts as a whole by looking at the varied ways inscriptions were presented in the Maya world. Important to this discussion is the identification of distinct genres of Maya writing, defined not only by media and function but also by regional literary styles. The review of what some sites emphasized and others omitted in their documentary xiiirecords illuminates not only the varied applications of Maya writing, but also helps identify the consistent undercurrents of a broader Maya tradition. Interestingly, as I argue, what we would traditionally call conscious "history" plays a less significant role in Classic Maya inscriptions than has been previously thought. Closing the section on sources is Chapter 5, "Maya Historiography”, which begins to place Maya inscriptions in a larger interpretive context. The focus here is on Maya conceptions of time, history and the past. Part Two, "Thematic Essays," applies the patterns established in the first section to specific subjects emphasized in the inscriptions: kingship (Chapter 6), blood sacrifice (Chapter 7), political organization (Chapter 8), warfare (Chapter 9), and finally tribute (Chapter 10). In the concluding discussion (Chapter 11), I speculatively argue that all of these diverse topics overlap in their connection to gift-giving and sacrifice (in the broadest sense), and the transfer of property in social contracts. 1 argue that it was the exchange and presentation of prestige goods (in this I would include sacrificial substances such as blood) as offerings, gifts, and tribute that formed a major material expression of elite Maya political, reli: and social interaction. Such transfers might be called a type of "social sustenance" that defined and perpetuated (ultimately unsuccessfully) the dynamic networks of alliance among polities and individuals, and between gods and men. xivFrom commemorating a ritual calendar sacrifice on a stela to labelling a drinking cup, Maya hieroglyphic writing was often devoted in some way to recording and commemorating the events, ritual, and historical background surrounding the transfer of people or things from one state of being (L. Status, in its literal sense) to another. By viewing Maya writing in this broader perspective, this dissertation hopes to bridge several of the traditional goals and methods of ethnography and archaeology. The chapters are structured much like a traditional ethnographic treatise, with a discussion of social organizations, political structures, warfare, and so forth. It would be a mistake, however, to infer that I am attempting to write a detailed portrait of ancient Maya society as a whole. The documents do not permit such a broad formulation, for they were produced and read over a limited period of time and by a relatively small portion of the population. This is not to say, however, that the textual sources only reflect a narrow world of elite behavior. On the contrary, as noted earlier, I find it highly probable that hieroglyphic inscriptions can and will shed light on aspects of society outside the royal courts. One approach that is useful in this kind of critical examination of the texts is to ask how ancient scripts function in connection with other modes of communication in particular social, political, and ritual settings Anthropologists have yet to fully address these issues xthe study of complex civilizations. Indeed, most studies of writing assume a more technical outlook, emphasizing cognitive, linguistic or graphological topics. In an important article, Basso (1974) outlined a novel approach to what he called the “ethnography of writing", using many of the goals and methods of socio-linguistics. Today the cross-cultural study of literacy, following very much alon: the same lines, has become an active and engaging field (Street 1993). Studying the social and political dimensions of ancient writing, however, is obviously made more difficult through a lack of eyewitness accounts. The detailed interactive environments of Maya texts, for example, are no longer as visible as we would like them to be. We can, however, discern certain facts about the role of written records in specific ritual and political settings, and through them approach what might be called an ethnography of Maya literate society. xviLIST OF FIGURES Figure 1.1. Bl Porton, Monument 1... ......... 1. 1. 2. 2. Kaminaljuyu, Stela 10... . . Abaj Takalik, Stela 2... A Visual Comparison of Three Early Mesoamerican Scripts... . . a ae El Mirador, Stela2.... . Two Maya syllables of iconic origin rl ——— portable objects... . Beco aaae Early Maya text on stone vessel... . . . . - Jade ear ornament from Kendal, Belize Arrangement of glyph blocks in two Late Classic inscriptions. (a) Dos Pilas, Stelag......... (b) Coba, Panel D Inscribed Incensario lid from Copan, Honduras Signs "escaping" the confines of blocks in the Terminal Classic inscriptions of Chichen Itza . . The inscription on Piedras Negras, Panel 2 Examples of sign conflation... . . Examples of sign infixation Examples of sign superimpostion The lakamtun, "stela," glyph... .. . Representational logographs Two functions of the ai sign Contexts of the xi skull Substitutions of signs in spelling of Mak “Animated” elements of Maya script Page 23 24 28 26 28 29 30 312 aa. Signs sets pronounced KAN... . 2.15. Evidence for the reading lakam 2. 16. Lakam banner from Yaxchilan, Stela 11 3.1. Hieroglyphic graffiti from Tikal 2. ea Painter's signature on vessel from Naranjo Sculptor's signatures from Piedras Negras Stelaiz2........... : A rare form of the wa syllable Inscribed hip-cloth from Bonampak murals The verb ila on Machaquila, Stela 7 Uxmal, Capstonel 2... 2 Copador vessel with psuedo-glyphs ... . 2... Inscribed door jambs from Yaxhom, Yucatan . Tonina, Monument 89 . : Example of dedication text on vessel . Yaxchilan, Lintel 56... . . Palenque, the Palace Tablet Detail of dedicatory passage on Palace Tablet Dedeication dates from the Hieroglyphic Stairway, (open ee ee Tee Tikal, Stela 29... . . go05 Selected classifications of stone monuments Lakam banner dance on Yaxchilan, Lintel 33 The "tun-over-hand" dedication phrase. Tonina, Monument 110 Inscribed bones from Burial 116, Tikal Dedicatory text of K'inich Hanab Pakal Tonina, Monument 83. . 5 5 xvild 3 74 -89 90 93 94 955 5 1. 2 3. 4. 5. 6. do 5 1 8. 9 un eizi 1 Day count painted on wall at Uaxactun Royal portraits in Ahau cartouches . . . Animated "six" figures from Quirigua . . Day cartouche from Itsimte, Altar 1 . Tonina, Monument 34... 2.5.2... 7 Tonina altar (to be numbered)... . Portion of Yaxchilan, Hieroglyphic Stairway 1 Yaxchilan, Stela 6 booo06 Hieroglyphs for ahaw, "lord, noble"... . . The title Kul Ahaw, "Holy Lord" Derivation of ahaw sign from flower... . . Flower headbands from Mesoamerica . . . ‘The honorific ktinich Correspondence between K'inich Ahaw and "Hun Ahaw" . : The CHUM "seating" glyph... 2.0.2.0. The HOK' "accession" verb Yaxchilan, Lintel 21... +10. Copan, Altar L The "knot-over-hand" accession phrase Inauguration statement from Tikal, Stela 21 Two variants of the "scattering" verb A putative "bloodletting" glyph the CHYAB sign... 2.2... The TSAK verb, "to conjure" Yaxchilan, Lintel 15 . go6 The K'U(L) sign and its iconographic origin . xix 177 178 179 180 217 218 219 220 2212 2 eo © 2 @ @ 10. san. +42. 14 .15. 16. 17 The subordinate title sahal Dos Pilas, Hieroglyphic Stairway 4... . . Portion of inscription on Naranjo, Stela 25 Accession statement from Caracol, Stela 6 War statement from Caracol, Stela3.. . Passage from Naranjo, Stelal . . Lacanja, Panehi... 2.2... 2-00 - Name phrase of Yaxchilan queen The "God C title," associated with political subordinates... The "capture" glyph, chuk. . . - The name of Bird-Jaguar IV of Yaxchilan Piedras Negras, Stela 12. . Captive presentation on the "Kimbel Panel" . Step from Dos Pilas, Hieroglyphic Stairway 3 ‘The hieroglyph for bate'el, "warrior" Lintel from vacinity of Yaxchilan The “axe” war verb and its usage... .. - the "flint-shiel glyph for war The tok' pakal symbol as a war emblem "Successor of the flint-and-shield" . . . Yaxchilan, Lintel 25........- The Leiden Plaque The “earth-star" war glyph . - The hu-bu-yi war verb War statement on Tikal, Temple I, Lintel 3 Passages concerning the "11 Eb episode" 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 331 337 338 338 3409.19. 9.20. 10.2. 10.2. 10.3 10.4. 10.5. 10.6. 10.7. 20.8. 10.9. 10.10. 10.11 20.12. 10.13 10.24. 10.15. 10.16. 210.17. 10.18 10.19. . the "burn" verb. . Passage from the Naranjo, Naranjo, Stela 35... . Aztec conquest symbol . Patan, "tribute," glyphs Stela 22 : cylindrical vessel with tribute scene Tribute scene on vessel Lady "9 Patan" at Machaquila..... - The ikats, "cargo," glyph . Detail of inscribed steps on Naranjo, Stela 32 Jonuta, Stelal.. . . "Payment" scene on a vessel Naranjo, Stela 12... Passage from Dos Pilas, Stela 15 Tribute bundles in Maya art. . Parallel passages from Naranjo, Stela 12 Graphic evolution of the Inscribed support of Piedras Negras, Throne 1 "step verb" Stuccoed vessel from Burial 116, Tikal Tribute bundle on steps, from Najtunich . Panel fragment from Palenque Dos Pilas, Hieroglyphic Stairway 1 Signature from Yaxchilan, xxi Lintel 24 348 349 350 352 378 -379 - 380 384 388 386 387 388 389LIST OF TABLES Table Page 7.1, Dictionary entries for ch'ulel in Tzotzil, Tzeltal, and Chol Mayan... . see 237 10.1. Dates and Events Recorded on Naranjo, Stela 12 . 360 voidPART I THE SOURCESCHAPTER I EARLY SCRIPTS IN THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS Introduction The existence of writing in the archaeological record of any culture poses several challenges and opportunities for the archaeologist, historian, and anthropologist alike. As encoded language, ancient documents are the most direct communications available to us from the distant past. Nonetheless, it is not always clear what these communications can tell us. Ancient written sources may raise countless questions concerning methods of their decipherment and, even when completely legible, their scholarly applications. Today these very issues are of special importance in Maya archaeology. Over the last two decades, the decipherment of hieroglyphic inscriptions has provided a sometimes surprisingly detailed historical dimension to the archaeology of numerous sites in the Maya lowlands. This new historical facet of Maya archaeology is reflected in the increasing attention paid to the study of Classic-period dynastic history and political organization (Culbert 1991). We emphasize these themes, however, at the risk of ignoring other subjects discussed in the ancient texts. The full potential for understanding Maya civilization from its documents has yet to be realized aaiming to carry the analysis of the inscriptions further, this thesis will examine the varied contents of Maya hieroglyphic texts, with the goal of bringing into focus the social and political settings in which they were created. In order to lay the groundwork for a specific understanding of the mechanics, nuances, and implications of the Maya system in particular, it is first necessary to survey several theoretical and historical perspectives on writing systems in general. Theoretical Issues in the Study of Writing Traditionally, the study of writing views script in terms of either its evolutionary development or its relationship to speech. The two perspectives are not unrelated. The evolutionary model extends far back into the early days of anthropology itself, as reflected in the works of Lewis Henry Morgan (1963) and Edward Burnett Tylor (2871). Morgan, especially, viewed the history of Mediterranean writing, at least, as a straight progression from Egyptian pictography into syllabic script, and then, ultimately, to the alphabet (Morgan 1963: 2). The germination of Morgan's own evolutionary constructs occurred much earlier, in fact, in the philosophical musings of eighteenth century Romanticism. In the mid-1700s, Jean- Jacques Rousseau (1966:16-17), for example, posited a three- stage process for the recording of speech. Rousseau's model provided that in the first stage, images represent thoughts 2set apart from speech; in the second, words are represented by characters, as in Chinese; and in the third stage language is more exactingly represented by its "elementary parts", as in alphabetic scripts. Following in the footsteps of Rosseau and Morgan was Ignace Gelb (1952), whose influential discussion of ancient scripts also viewed the history of writing as a progressive development toward a more exacting and precise record of spoken language Written language is today a topic of no small theoretical interest, especially in light of the intense focus on semiotics and cognitive behavior within linguistic science and communication theory. In the recent past, however, writing played little if any part in linguistic anthropology (Sampson 198! 1). Not three decades ago, F. W. Householder (1969:886), a follower of the noted linguist Leonard Bloomfield, declared that "language is pasically speech, and writing is of no theoretical interest". Luckily the situation has changed, as the more linguistically- oriented approach to the study of writing examines the complex dynamic between language and script, and how these influence one another over time (Coulmas 1985; Sampson 1985; Stubbs 1980; Coulmas and Ehlich 1983; Augst 1986; Haas 1986; DeFrancis 1991). Taking the linguistic study of writing a step further, several social anthropologists and sociologists have studied writing within specific social and cultural contests, focusing their attention on the effects of literacy in 3western and non-western societies (Goody 1986; 1987; LeVine 1986; Street 1984; Scribner and Cole 1981). Here writing systems and their connection to spoken languages are examined in terms of the ways in which literate and oral communication interact in larger social and political settings. It might seem that studies of literacy and society would have little bearing on archaeology, but this is not the case. Several treatments of literacy in the Near East and Classical world (Baines 1986; Havelock 1982; Harris 1989; Thomas 1992), have been instrumental in tracing the ways literate cultures developed and changed over time. However, very few works on ancient literacy take into account the evidence from outside the Mediterranean region. In fact, the vast majority of research and publications on writing and writing systems, regardless of their varied anthropological, historical or linguistic perspectives, pay little if any attention to the ancient literate cultures of the New World. This is not surprising given the relatively recent progress in deciphering the Maya script and the slow dissemination of these advances to other fields. The omission, however, is unfortunate for comparative purposes, for it ignores or downplays a scribal tradition that without question arose independently of any Old World influence. As the Mesoamerican case now demonstrates, writing developed independently in regions far distant from the Near East and South or East Asia, and apparently in different social, 4political, and economic contexts. The independent milieux for the invention of written communication are seldom considered together, yet, in my view, the reasons for the diverse creations of script present an interesting issue for modern anthropology In considering the Mesoamerican evidence, three questions initially come to mind: How does the history of Mesoamerican writing conform to the evolutionary model described by Gelb (1952) and others who see writing as progressing from pictography to more phonetically precise systems? Were the consequences of writing in the New World at all similar to those assumed for the Old? Also, and Perhaps most importantly, if the New World developed its own independent scribal tradition in Mesoamerica, what might thie tell us about the similarities and differences between the origins of written communication in different cultural settings? Mesoamerican scripts call into question the common neo- evolutionary view that writing becomes increasingly more efficient over time, progressing hand-in-hand with increasingly complex political and economic developments (Geld 1952). This model has intellectual affinities to the broader neo-evolutionary theory of Leslie White, who saw cultural progression as determined by increased technological efficiency (White 1949). The concept of efficiency in writing systems has been influential in the anthropological study of literacy and its consequences(Goody and Watt 1963; Levine 1986). Non-alphabetic scripts are seen as inherently more difficult to learn, thus inhibiting literacy in societies that make use of them. Some scholars have even claimed that alphabetic scripts were instrumental in the advent of democratic government in ancient Greece and the rise of objective, scientific thought (Ong 1982; Logan 1989; Cross 1989) Arguably this deterministic model of writing's "efficiency" reveals a very western -- one might even say alphabetic -- bias in the general theory of writing in human communication. In this scheme, writing is widely seen as a technological advancement that is refined, and improved over time as it effects society in drastic ways. One need not refute the idea that scripts do affect societies, but it is equally if not more correct to say that cultural and historical circumstances how affect who writes and reads, and the general place of a writing system in a society (Houston 1994:31-34) . Some scripts are better suited to convey the essentials of certain languages than are others. Chinese script, for example, is often cited as inherently "inferior" to alphabetic systems, misrepresented as "purely pictographic" (Logan 1989:31) or “ideographic" (ibid.:54} (by definition, no script is purely pictographic or ideographic). In fact, one might argue that the Chinese script is better suited for writing Chinese languages than the Roman alphabet. A large number of Chinese morphemes, for example, are homophones 6that could not be distinguished semantically by alphabetic transcription. Chinese characters make these distinctions clear. Semantic indicators do away with the ambiguity, providing distinct advantages for the reader (Sampson 1985:168-170). An exception to the idea that writing systems develop (sometimes gradually) to suit the languages they record is Linear B, a syllabic system employed in Crete and mainland Greece in the 2nd millennium B.C. (Hooker 1980). Sampson (1985:72) notes that "Linear B was a particularly ‘incomplete’ script with respect to the contrasts that played a role in the phonology of Mycenean Greek". However, Linear B was adopted by a Greek-speaking population from an earlier script called Linear A, evidently developed by speakers of a very different "Minoan" tongue (Stroud 1989:106). The form of a script therefore can have much to do with the form and structure of the language it was originally designed to convey. This is not to assert an overly relativistic view of the situation, but merely to emphasize that diverse forms of writing probably arise from the interplay of a number of linguistic and historical factors, often having little to do with uni-lineal evolutionary development. Neo-evolutionary concerns with script efficiency and its role in shaping or limiting political and social relationships throughout a given society, therefore seem misplaced. Writing does not seem to play such a 7deterministic role in forming socio-political structures Significantly, as Boone (1994) points out, the history of writing in Mesoamerica directly contradicts the notion that scripts naturally progress from pictography to become more phonetic in character. The earliest scripts of Mesoamerica, although not fully deciphered by any means, make a sudden appearance on the scene’ and exhibit syllabic signs used in conjunction with logographs. This, as we shall see, is precisely the type of writing employed by the Classic and Post-Classic Maya, whose political organization seems to have "progressed" no further than the city-state Other more expansionistic cultures of Mesoamerica such as those of Teotihuacan and the Mexica Triple Alliance are usually characterized as "empires", yet had for more simple writing systems than those we find among earlier peoples of Oaxaca, the Isthmus, and the Maya area. In Central Mexico, where most examples of such "picture writing" exist, basic pictographs, with some traces of phoneticism, were used to render calenérical information, personal names and place names (Nicholson 1973; Prem 1968) Writing -- a representation of spoken utterances -- thus developed early within Mesoamerica, but apparently was not correlated with increased political complexity.? what accounts for this unexpected pattern? what politica’ social, or possibly even linguistic factors determined the need for "complex" writing in some cultures and not in others? Few have bothered to address these queries 8Importantly, in any event, the Mesoamerican evidence demonstrates in a definitive manner that writing is not a prerequisite or a defining aspect for cultural complexity. It is commonly argued that writing serves as an essential political tool in early state societies, where either economic record-keeping or elite competition were prime movers in script development (Sjoberg 1960; see Marcus 1992a and Santley 1989 for applications of this theory to Mesoamerica). However, it seems unlikely that Mesoamerican writing developed and was employed simply as a tool for political or economic control. Where far-flung economic or political control was most important, as among the expansionistic Central Mexican cultures just mentioned, writing apoarently played only a minor role. As the Inka kipu system demonstrates, moreover, writing was not needed as a means of keeping very detailed records for vast imperial states. One is left pondering, then, the essential question of what circumstances, varied as they appear to be, lead to the innovation of written communication in various parts of the ancient world. Is there a common denominator among the separate and seemingly diverse traditions of early script? A brief look at the five main traditions of incipient writing -- Mesopotamia, Egypt, the Indus Valley, China, and Mesoamerica - may allow for a more refined understanding of the political and economic forces that lead to the advent of "visible speech"Names_and Name-tagging: An Alternate Theory for the Origins of Writing Discussions of the origin of writing naturally focus on Mesopotamia, where the first phonetic script seems to have developed ca. 3000 B.C., in what is known as the Uruk IV period (Nissen 1988). Possible precursors to this cuneiform script extend further back in time, although the precise chronology of these early archaeological levels appears open to debate (Michalowski 1990). The signs on these earlier tablets appear to be largely mnemonic, with only a limited phonetic capacity. In numerous articles and a recent book, Schmandt-Besserat (1979, 1993) has built upon the earlier suggestion of Amiet (1966:70) that the elements of script evidenced on the early tablets developed out of three- dimensional "tokens" used as records of transaction. Stored in sealed clay containers known as bullae, tokens and numerical signs gradually came to be impressed onto the exterior of the containers. Schmandt-Besserat claims that this was a decisive step toward the creation of more complex economic records on two-dimensional clay surfaces, which in turn led directly to the cuneiform tablets that lasted in Mesopotamia for some two thousand years. Although Schmandt- Besserat's model for script development has gained wide acceptance, it is not without its forceful critics (Leiberman 1980; Michalowski 1990). Although tokens may have a clear lineal relationship to later elements of cuneiform script, the model does little to explain the 10advent of true writing in this region, where memonic elements come to be largely replaced by true phonetic characters. Interestingly, the earliest phoneticism in Mesopotamian writing comes from the recording of personal names and place names (Gelb 1952:66-67; Sampson 198! 55 Nissen 1988:139) In Egypt, at approximately the same time that phonetic script developed in Mesopotamia, a very different writing system also made its appearance (Ray 1986; Fischer 1989). Although perhaps influenced by developments in Mesopotamia, the Egyptian hieroglyphic script is believed to have been a largely independent phenomenon (Ray 1986). Certainly the uses to which early Egyptian writing was put around 3000 B.C. appear to be different than those in Mesopotamia Egyptian writing consisted mainly of name-captions in artistic scenes, as on the famous Narmer Palette, or to labels identifying objects with names of their owners (Baines 1989; Fischer 1989). Economic records were also recorded on papyri from Early Dynastic times onward, yet most sources agree that the principal uses for writing in Mesopotamia and Egypt remained distinct (Lamberg-Karlovsky 1986). Another probably independent writing tradition is the Indus Valley script, which has thus far defied decipherment despite some ambitious but unsuccessful efforts (Fairse 1991). Texts in the Indus script are very short for the most part, and are found on miniature seals that also bear anemblematic images of animals and possible supernatural creatures. Despite the obscurity of these sign sequences, numerous scholars agree that they functioned probably as seals for marking ownership of objects, and thus are likely to bear the written names of people or places (Parpola 1993, Fairservis 1991). In China, probably a fourth center of independent script invention, the earliest known examples of writing appear as full-blown texts, on the so-called "Oracle Bones" dating to the middle-to-late years of the Shang Dynasty (ca. 1100 B.C.). The texts are records of divination rituals, in which the bones were burned or otherwise acted upon to produce cracks or other markings that could be “read” ane interpreted by specialists. The historical significance of these records is great, for the divinations often contain the names of rulers, their consorts, and occasionally place names of nearby rival kingdoms. The lack of any greater time-depth to our records of Chinese writing is a source of some frustration, but several scholars have suggested that markings on late Neolithic (Yangshao) pottery from sites such as Chiang-chai might be direct ancestors of signs in Chinese writing (Chang 1986). Chang and others furthermore suggest that these markings are signatures of potters, their associated workshops, owners' marks, or perhaps even emblems for larger social groups (see Chang 1986:81-86) . How these marks relate precisely to characters of the Shang dynasty script is impossible to determine. The 12markings on Neolithic ceramics span several millennia, and antedate the oracle bones by at least another thousand years. We must assume also that manuscripts, long since destroyed, played a decisive role in the early history of Chinese writing. ven so, the importance of registering names or clan emblems among the earliest surviving texts on bronze vessels may be significant Secondary developments of writing in the Mediterraean and Europe -- that is, local traditions that adopted techniques or ideas of writing from elsewhere -- feature names and name-tags in their earliest examples. Etruscan writing, an offshoct of alphabetic Greek, was largely employed for the labelling of mirrors and other valued artifacts (Bonfante 1990:27-49). The first examples of Canaanite writing are for the writing of names, as well (Cross 1989). Likewise, early Runic inscriptions from northern Europe, employing another alphabetic script of ultimate Mediterranean origin, are almost exclusively devoted to the writing of personal names as ownership or manufacture labels on objects (Moltke 1985:81). A possible pattern emerges, therefore, among the early scribal traditions of Mesopotamia, Egypt, the Indus Valley, and perhaps China: in each, the phonetic rendition of names was one of the early functions of written communication, and was used for labelling objects or quantities of goods with names of their owners Among these diverse traditions, then, a common 23motivation for phonetic writing may have been related to broader shared trends in the development of local social and political economies. As the identification of the owners of property and prestige items became increasingly more important -- under very different cultural and historical circumstances, to be sure -- the desire to write names grew accordingly. "True" phonetic writing, using non-logographic components, may have been the direct result of this process, as names -- utterances whose semantic domains or associations are often obscure can be impossible to represent with precision either symbolically or logographically. This is the process described by Gelb (1952:66-67), but only in the context of his single-origin view of scriptual evolution. With this brief overview of early Old World writing systems in hand, it is possible to extend the pattern to ancient Mesoamerican scripts, where names also were of great importance during their two-millennia history The Early History of Mesoamerican Yriting It is impossible at this point to say with any certainty when writing first made its appearance in Mesoamerica, or whether its development was gradual or the result of a single invention. According to the traditional "genetic" or "tree" model (Marcus 1976a; Coe 1976), by the Late Formative era, lengthy hieroglyphic texts suddenly appear in the archaeological record of Oaxaca, a few 14centuries later along the Gulf Coast of the Isthmus of Tehuantepec and the Pacific slope of Guatemala, and then, in turn, spread into the lowland Maya area. In this scenario, the gradual eastern movement of writing came about through the adoption and localized modification of a more-or-less single written tradition by different language groups. Considering how rapidly southern Mesoamerica was changing during the Late Formative era, the adoption of writing by emerging elites probably involved a more complex process. Social and political structures were transforming into larger and more complicated institutions oriented around what some would call complex chiefdoms or archaic states. As in the Near East and China, it was in this milieu of growing socio-political complexity and regional interaction that writing was somehow born, spread, and developed. The chronological sequence of script traditions described above, beginning with Zapotec and moving east toward the Maya area, is probably a misrepresentation of the reality of more-or-less concurrent developments of written communication within this far-reaching latticework of exchange and communication. For example, one of the earliest examples of Maya-like script, on Monument 1 from El Porton, Guatemala (Figure 1.1) (Sharer and Sedat 1987:89) has been dated to the Middle Formative period, ca. 400 B.C., which would make it approximately contemporary with, if not earlier than, other early inscriptions from the Valley of Oaxaca, such as San Jose Mogote Monument 3 (Justeson, 15Norman, Campbell and Kaufman 1985:34).3 The well-known inscription on Stela 10 from Kaminaljuyu (Figure 1.2), although once dated to the first century or two after Christ (Coe 1976:215), may be earlier (J. Kaplan, personal communication, 1994). In the first centuries B.C., also, early writing appears at Abaj Takalik, Guatemala, on Stela 2, dated to shortly before 200 B.C. (Figure 1.3) (Orrego Corzo 1990:112). Thus, as more archaeological evidence comes to light, the historical origins of Mesoamerican writing become less clear-cut. In any event, chronological questions plague any more precise understanding of the emergence of script in these areas, suggesting it may be premature to assert that early Zapotec writing was the mother script of all Mesoamerica. Of the three main sub-traditions of early Mesoamerican writing, Zapotec, Isthmian, and Maya, the latter two share a common system of calendrical notation known as the "Long Count". Although the Long Count is unknown in Oaxaca, all three sub-traditions did share the 260-day calendar round, and perhaps the 365-day cycle as well. This has led some to consider that Isthmian and Maya scripts are more closely related to each other than either are to Oaxacan (Justeson 1986; Justeson and Kaufman 1993). This seems a reasonable connection on the basis of geography alone, but it is very difficult to see more concrete evidence of a close Isthmian- Maya connection. What is certain is that the claims of common signs between the two scripts (Justeson and Kaufman 161993) are greatly exaggerated. Certain fundamental similarities between all Mesoamerican scripts present a stumbling-block in determining the precise historical relationships between the major sub-traditions. That is, although the scripts are visually differentiated from their earliest manifestations, they are united by an underlying visual "canon". The general shapes of the constituent signs, the things they depict, and the columnar formats of their arrangement into texts are all quite similar (Figure 1.4). Although this possibly indicates a common origin in one proto-script (Justeson 1986), it is also conceivable that these scripts represent three more or less concurrent developments that drew on shared artistic sensibilities and mutual influences brought about through prolonged contact. Their basic visual "sameness", although vague in many cases, surely offers yet another reflection of cultural contacts during the Formative era, when networks or regional interaction set the stage for many traditional features of Mesoamerican civilization, including architecture, ceramic and art styles (Demarest 1986) The historical and cultural circumstances leading to the origins of these three main script traditions are obscured by the incomplete nature of the surviving examples. The earliest hieroglyphs from the Maya area, the Isthmus, and from Oaxaca generally appear on stone monuments, presented in a well-developed textual format. What came a7before these already fairly sophisticated examples is open to debate, but it seems reasonable to suppose that hieroglyphs evolved over many centuries, carved in wood, painted in bark-paper manuscripts, or rendered in other ways on perishable media. Marcus (1992a) has recently offered a theory of how Mesoamerican writing originated in the context of state development and inter-elite competition, emphasizing warfare and conquest as important elements of the process. There is little doubt that warfare was an important theme in early inscriptions at Monte Alban, but as we shali see in Chapter 9, topics of warfare are scarce in Maya inscriptions until the beginning of the Late Classic period. This presents a significant obstacle to extending Marcus’ theory to the Maya area, at least. Moreover, Marcus's model all but ignores portable objects which carry early writing, but do not feature war-related topics. In his discussion of early Egyptian writing, Baines (1986) makes the important point that monumental inscriptions of the predynastic period in Egypt post-date the earliest preserved examples of writing, whic: were primarily administrative records painted or incised on pottery. Arguably, the uses of a supposed “pre-monumental" script in Mesoamerica may have been quite different from what we see in stone sculpture, thus leaving any theories of origin largely open to question. Rather than relying solely on the monumental texts for clues to the function of very 18early writing, it is best to consider the issue using a wider range of inscribed media, including portable objects Due to the lack of much archaeological evidence from the Pre-Classic, questions as to where and when Maya writing came into existence remain difficult to answer. Happily, this situation may change when we know the results of the extremely important work at sites such as El Mirador, Nakbe, and Huacatal (formerly Guiro), in the northern Peten of Guatemala. If early indications are borne out, it is at these sites that we may find the ancestors of a local scribal tradition that came to be used throughout the lowlands. Stela 2 from Bl Mirador (Figure 1.5), dating to the Late Pre-Classic period, bears remnants of an incised text that is probably the earliest extant Maya writing from the lowlands (Hansen 1991). It is impossible to say at present how these scattered but tantalizing clues from the lowlands relate to roughly contemporary script traditions to the south and west. As noted above, Maya-like writing appears during the Late Pre- Classic, if not earlier, in the Guatemalan highlands at sites such as Abaj Takalik, Kaminaljuyu, and, a little farther north, El Porton. It is interesting that these traditions did not survive locally into the Classic period. El Porton Monument 1 is particularly important, for, as mentioned earlier, it is dated by Sharer and Sedat (1987:90) to the end of the Middle Pre-Classic period, or ca. 400 B.C If they are correct, then the monument may well rank among 19the earliest examples of writing from all of Mesoamerica. An inspection of many signs in the Maya script shows that the writing system was to some extent a local development, drawing on neighboring Istmian and Oaxacan traditions to the west, perhaps, but not borrowing directly from them. This is revealed by the visual origin of a number of syllabic signs in Maya writing, which are derived from Mayan words (Campbell 1984). The syllable ka, based on the image of a fish, derives from proto-Mayan ‘kay, "fish likewise, the syllable pu, representing a reed or bulrush (and graphically related to the Central Mexican day sign Reed), is based on the reconstructed proto-Mayan *puh reed" (Figure 1.6). Probably the earliest inscriptions that can truly be called Maya, and that are direct ancestors to the script of Classic times, appear in the Late Pre-Classic northwestern Peten at large urban sites such as El Mirador and, somewhat later, Tikal. It remains possible that these early, poorly preserved remnants of writing (Hansen 1991) are of a system identical to that used at the highland sites of Kaminaljuyu and Abaj Takalik. Certainly the art and material culture of the two areas show similarities at this time, leading some to posit a direct highland to lowland impetus for the beginnings of Maya civilization (Friedel 1979, 1981). Although a uni-directional movement from lowlands to highlands is no longer theoretically tenable, cultural contacts between the two may have also included a shared 20system of writing, bridging speakers of different Mayan languages. However these similar systems were related, by Early Classic times hieroglyphic inscriptions disappeared from the highlands, yet blossomed in the lowlands. Again, the two distinct trajectories of these intimately connected regions lack an adequate explanation. Several portable Late Pre-Classic objects bear some of the possible earliest attested examples of Maya writing (Figure 1.7), although most are unprovenienced, rendering their dating uncertain (Coe 1966, 1973, 1976; Schele and Miller 1986:P1.31,32,45; Stuart 1989). The nature of these short inscriptions carved or incised on ritual implements or jewellry is often difficult to determine, although some are clearly precursors of the ownership labels or name-tags so common in Classic times (Houston, Stuart and Taube 1989). A short. text on the handle of a carved stone vessel published by Coe (1973:26-27) is clearly antecedent to the ownership formula or "Primary Standard Sequence" of later ceramics (Figure 1.8). Names of historical individuals who may or may not be rulers appear often in such early texts, as do, less often, the name glyphs of supernaturals. An early text on a jade from Kendal, Belize, published by Schele and Miller (1986:P1. 10), may simply list a seri s of deity names (Houston, personal communication 1994) (Figure 1.9). In short, it would appear that names were a chief subject for the early use of writing in the Maya area. This cannot be said of Formative Oaxaca or the Gulf Coast, due the lack 22of an adequate decipherment of the relevant scripts. However, it is perhaps telling that the later so-called “pictographic" central Mexican and Oaxacan systems of writing seem to have little function beyond the rendering of place names and personal names (Prem 1968; Nicholson 1973; Caso 1977 Smith 1973) As I hope to have demonstrated in the proceeding overview of Maya inscriptions and their various genres and formats, the claiming of ownership with written personal names was a fundamental role of the writing system during Late Classic times, at least, on both portable and monumental media (see Chapter 3). The Maya situation, then, is strikingly similar in many ways to the early Old World scribal traditions as described above. Hearkening back to the question posed near the beginning of this chapter, if any common denominator can be said to exist between the earliest examples of writing in the New and Old World, it is perhaps found in this almost universal desire to mark objects or goods with personal names. Writing was one of many accoutrements of early Mesoamerican rulership and ritual, and its advent may have been motivated by the seemingly very human need to designate the ownership of material things. 22Figure 1.1. El Porton, Monument 1 (from Sharer and Sedat 1987:Pl. 18.1) 23Figure 1.2. Kaminaljuyu, Stela 10 (from Coe 1976: Fig. 10) 24Figure 1.3. Abaj Takalik, Stela 2 (from Orrego Corzo 1990: Lam. 25) 25Figure 1.4. A Visual Comparison of Three Early Mesoamerican Scripts. (a) Zapotec, from Monte Alban, Stela 12; (b) Isthmian, from La Mojarra, Stela 1, R7-R14 (after Winfield Capitaine 1988: Fig. 14); (c) Maya, from an early greenstone celt (?) of unknown provenience. 26Figure 1.5. El Mirador, Stela 2 (from Hansen 19!h iconic fish," and puh, “reed, catta Figure 1.6. The syllable signs ka and pu, origins based on kay,22, Des £29 ame £E2> Qe BES BWR #22 68 De RH ty Figure 1.7. Examples of Early Maya Writing on portable objects. (a) Text on greenstone pectoral in the collections of Dumbarton Oaks (after Schele and Miller 1986: Pl. 32c); (b) Text on back of jaguar figurine (after Coe 1973: No. 1); (c) Text on rear of *Olmec" jade head (after Schele and Miller 1986: Pl. 45a) 29Figure 1.8. Early Maya text from handle of a stone vessel, Late Pre-Classic (after Coe 1973: No. 2) 304g Figure 1.9. Jade ear ornament from Kendal, Belize (after Schele and Miller 1976: Pl. 10a) 31CHAPTER IT THE MAYA WRITING SYSTEM AND ITS DECIPHERMENT The first years of the Barly Classic saw the crystallization of a decidedly Maya scribal tradition, the earliest examples of which may have grown out of the Late Pre-Classic sites of the Peten, with some highland influences. By the end of the Classic period, or around 800 A.D., hieroglyphic texts appeared throughout most of the Maya Lowlands. Several important areas skirting the highlands also had inscriptions, notably at Copan to the southeast and in the Comitan Valley region to the southwest. Copan and Tazumal in present day El Salvador probably represented the eastern-most extent of Maya wri Comalcalco and sites along the Grijalva River represented a boundary toward the west. Although some of the southeastern and western extensions of Maya writing were at highland sites, the tradition of Maya hieroglyphic script was principally a lowland phenomenon. In fact, by the post- Classic period, any "writing" that may have been used in the highland Quiche and Cackchiquel kingdoms probably had stronger affinities to Central Mexican "semasiographic" scripts than to Maya writing (Houston and Stuart 1992) .4 The Mava Script: Technical Background Maya writing may be classified as a logo-syllabic or, 32more precisely, “morpho-syllabic" script, meaning that che units of the script represent both words (logographs) and syllables (of the form consonant-vowel, or CV, but this can vary in other scripts). Logographs are "stand alone" signs with phonetic and semantic values, whereas the syllables are purely phonetic in usage. In this way the workings of Maya writing are somewhat similar to other morpho-syllabic scripts, such as Sumerian cuneiform. Grapholoay As noted in the preceding chapter, early Mesoamerican scripts share similar visual canons (Figure 1.4). Elements of the three main scripts, for example, are generally of squarish or rectangular shape, and employ identical conventions in representing body parts and certain inanimate objects. These may agglutinate, forming compounds that often correspond to morphemic or semantic units of speech. In addition, the earliest format of texts in all traditions was the vertical column. All Mesoamerican writing systems also share the idea of the sign as "the minimal contrastive unit in the writing system of a language" (Crystal 1985:143). In the literature on Maya writing, the basic unit is sometimes also called a glyph" (Bricker 1986 ), though this term is more commonly applied to certain groupings of signs (as in "the capture glyph" which encompasses the signs chu, ka, and ha). Here use "sign" in reference to the smallest indivisible unit of 33script. In other words, as the most elementary components, signs cannot be broken down into smaller meaningful parts In this sense, signs in Mesoamerican scripts generally correspond to the linguistic term, "“grapheme." A grapheme or sign may visually represent any number of things, including animals, humans, their body parts, gods, inanimate objects from everyday life, and so forth. It is important to understand from the outset, however, that a sign's pictorial representation need not have mich to do with its meaning or function within the script as a whole. The squarish or rectangular shape of the signs brings us to the idea of glyph blocks, or what might be considered as visual "fields" that are literally the building blocks of all Maya texts. A glance at any inscribed stela or panel will show these blocks aggregated into grid-like masses or linear arrangements of various shapes (Figure 2.1). Glyph blocks usually, but by no means always, conform to individual words or more general semantic units, such as parts of dates, verbs, names, or particular titles (Figure 2 In the earliest stages of the script (and in Mesoamerican writing in general), signs tend to occur singly, without any directly attached "affixes" (see Figures 1.4 and 1.5). Indeed, it is here in the initial stages of script development where we see that the units of the sign and glyph block were one and the same. Blocks originated as the areas occupied by single signs, and over time, perhaps 34for reasons of space as texts became longer, there came an increasing tendency to include more than one sign within each block. I suspect that the equation of sign=block=meaningful unit in the earliest extant inscriptions reflected two things: (1) that signs originated as logograms (that is, meaningful units), and (2) that nuances of grammar and inflection were under-represented in the earlier history of Maya writing. More examples of very early Maya glyphs will need to come to light before these two hypotheses can be tested. In any event, the general correspondence between space and meaning can be found in many early texts, but not so consistently in later inscriptions from the Classic period and especially from Terminal Classic and Post-Classic Yucatan. In later inscriptions signs often "spill over" from block to block, in violation of the earlier neat pattern (Figure 2.3) The changing canons of written forms as reflected over several centuries were probably well known to the best- trained scribes of the Classic era, who no doubt had access to many antiquated texts in the course of their experience and learning. This may be demonstrated by a fascinating juxtaposition of scribal styles in the inscription on Panel 2 from Piedras Negras, Guatemala (Figure 2.4). This is a Late Classic monument, and fairly conventional for the mo part, yet as the trained eye scans across the columns of blocks, a few glyphs stand out. Near the upper right cornerof the text, and above the two standing figures of the accompanying scene, are four glyph blocks. Three of these are occupied by individual phonetic signs in the sequence u, kta, and ba, and the fourth is the logograph TUN with a phonetic complement -ni. The signs appear to spell u ktabtun, perhaps “his hand-stone" (or perhaps u_k'aba' tun, “nis name-stone), the significance of which is not clear. The lack of affixes on these signs is striking, and differentiates them from all other glyph blocks in the text In this respect, at least, the spreading out of the elements recalls the early convention of relegating signs to individual blocks. What could account for this scribal convention in a Late Classic inscription? A key to the answer may lie in the fact that the passage in question commemorates a ritual event occurring a century and a half before the composition of the inscription. The panel dates to 9.11.6.2.1, the one katun anniversary of the death of Ruler 1 of Piedras Negras, and the rite which is described fell on the date 9.3 EOF well into the Early Classic. In deliberately spacing the signs as he did, the scribe may have been consciously using an archaic writing style to evoke a sense of antiquity. if this is the case, it is the only example known to me of the purposeful use of a Maya scribal style to convey age, rather like we might use gothic lettering to lend an antique air to a passage of text. As the Piedras Negras panel shows, later texts of the 36Classic era normally show a few signs grouped together into single glyph blocks. The miltiple signs in such blocks might provide phonetic spellings of individual words or combinations of words, depending on the types of signs used It may be said, therefore, that blocks originated as purely graphic constructs corresponding to individual signs, usually logographic, and later retained their semantic domains as more signs, including syllables, were incorporated within the block. Maya signs are commonly divided into special sub- categories that describe their relative sizes and position within a glyph block. These labels include "main sign," "prefix," "postfix," "superfix," and "subfix." In reality, however, it is doubtful that any Maya scribe was consciously aware of such categories, and despite terms like "main sign," which is applied to the larger one in the block, the relative size of a sign does not reflect any inherent hierarchy among signs in a glyph block (Thompson 1950:42) The graphic principles of combining signs were complex, and gave free rein to the imaginations of scribes. Aside from the simple affixation of one element against another, signs could also occupy the same space by means of three methods of graphical combination. These are (1) conflation, (2) infixation, and (3) superimposition. When two signs are conflated, selected features of both appear together to fo! nanew "hybrid" sign. Head signs are very susceptible to conflation, as in the rendering of the 37name "Snake-Jaguar" (a jaguar with snake characteristics, or vice-versa), but more abstract-looking signs may also be combined in this way (Figure 2.5a-c). In infixation, one of the two signs is miniaturized and placed inside the other (Figure 2.6). Thus in the spelling of K'an Wits, "Yellow Hill," the K'AN sign is reduced and placed within WITS (Figure 2.6a). Superimposition, the third method of visually combini signs, is somewhat more complicated than the other two (Pigure 2.7). Several signs in the Maya script are unusual in that they do not conform to the simple rounded square shape mentioned earlier; rather, they have the appearance of being two or more signs combined together in a glyph block, despite the fact that they are single, discrete units of the writing system. The "k'atun" glyph is a well-known example of such an indivisible "complex" sign (Figure 2.7a). Often, however, a second sign can be superimposed over one or more an abbreviation or parts of such complex signs, resulting truncation of the larger element. Thus, AHAW can combine with the "k'atun" glyph (the reading of which remains unknown) by being superimposed over its lower part Alternatively, in a reversal of roles, the entire k'atun glyph can itself be superimposed over a larger "complex" variant of AHAW, so that the AHAW element "peeks" over the top of the overlaid element. The same principle is illustrated in Figure 2.7 with other sign combinations 38More on Logograph: 1 Maya logographs are used in much the same fashion as the elements of Aztec writing, where two or more signs each representing a word may combine to create a proper name. Thus in Maya the word for “stela," lakamtun, literally meaning "banner stone," was written with the two logographic elements LAKAM and TUN (Figure 2.8). Many of the words for physical components of the everyday world -- people, plants, stones, houses, mountains, water, and so on -- were written in this logographic fashion, often using signs of pictographic origin (other logographs are representationally obscure). Words for selected actions, such as drinking or casting blood and incense, were written with clearly representational logographs (Figure 2.9) Syllabic signs constitute the second major category of elements, and for the purposes of decipherment and linguistic study they are by far the most important. They are purely phonetic, conventionaliy stripped of any semantic significance, yet often retaining the outward pictorial character that is a ubiquitous feature of all Mesoamerican scripts. First recognized by the Soviet epigrapher Yurii Knoresov in the 1950s (Knorosov 1958, 1965, 1967), syllabic signs today are a focus of intense scrutiny (Houston 1988) Every year or two sees a number of new values added to the syllabic chart, each producing a number of significant decipherments in its wake All syllables are composed of a consonant and a vowel, 39and are customarily transliterated as ba, na, chu, ts‘i, etc. These then combine with one or more other syllables to spell words. Alternatively, a syllable may associate directly with a logograph, as a phonetic complement, or it may help in indicating various grammatical elements, such as a noun or verb ending. In this last usage, syllables are no longer purely phonetic signs, for they have crossed a loose boundary to become representations of morphemic units in the language. That is, they have become logographs. The syllable ni, for example, may work either purely phonetically (as in ni-chi, for nichim, "son, flower"), or as an indicator of the first person possessive pronoun in-, my" (Figure 2.9). One can see that the distinction between logographs, or more precisely "morphographs," and syllables is far from sharp, and indeed was probably not made by many Maya scribes. Certainly the understanding of the mechanics of Maya writing as briefly stated above has advanced greatly over the past few decades. Yet with this structure now generally known, how are decipherments made? What, in other words, are the methods we use to entertain, dismiss, and "prove" ad: phonetic readings? The process is not necessarily complicated, but deserves some attention before moving on to a consideration of the content and interpretation of texts. Methods of Decipherment Decipherment is adequately defined as "the explanation 40: otherwise) of the individual signs of a script" (Pope 1975:202), which should be contrasted with the interpretation of texts. Interpretation is an outgrowth of linguistic decipherment, often involving a more subjective understanding of texts in their cultural and historical contexts. As our knowledge of the phonetic and semantic values of hieroglyphic signs become more refined, so too do the interpretations that derive from them. in this way the last three decades have seen rather dramatic changes in the understanding of Classic Maya political structure, history, cosmology, and ritual life From the very beginning, the study of Maya writing had one great advantage over other attempts to decipher forgotten scripts. There was never any doubt that the texts were composed by speakers of one or more Mayan languages, all of which share fairly close sets of phonological and morphological rules. With a known language and many examples of the script, there would seem to be little to stand in the way of arriving at a full decipherment. In fact, Thompson (1959, 1962:19-29) cited these circumstances in arguing against Knorosov's more phonetic approach Maya signs were indeed syllabic, Thompson argued, why was the system not "cracked"? This chapter hopes to demonstrate that a very imprecise understanding of Maya graphology hindered the rapid decipherment of the writing system early in the century. 41Prelude to the Present The historical and methodological background to Maya decipherment has recently been detailed by Coe (1992) and a thorough bibliographic treatment by George Stuart (1992). Here I do not wish to treat the work conducted before mid- century in any great detail, for generally speaking scholars of that time had very little to say about the principles of the writing system or its content as we now know it. It is vital, however, for the student of the Maya to understand the methods and assumptions behind the newer brand of epigraphic analysis, and how it derives and differs from other approaches used until only very recently. For this reason, an overview is warranted. Most discussions of methods of decipherment begin with the first productive phonetic analyses by Knorosov; however, it is more appropriate and accurate, to start somewhat earlier with the remarkable but virtually uncited work of the Frenchman Jean Genet (1934). Genet was concerned with linguistic studies, principally with the translation of important early documents such as the Popol Vuh and the Books of Chilam Balam. This linguistic emphasis carried over to some degree to his discussions of Maya hieroglyphs, where he essentially followed the "French School" of Brasseur, Rosny, and others, in advocating a phonetic component to the script. In a series of brief articles published together in a short-lived journal he edited himself, the Revue des Studes Mayas-quichées, Genet 42and elegantly argued that the inscriptions of the Classic period were phonetic by nature and historical in content. Both Bowditch (1901) and Morley (1915:33-34) had made speculative claims about the historical quality of the texts, but the cogency of Genet's own logical chain of argument, in hindsight, is both impressive and irrefutable Amassing ethnohistorical descriptions of Maya hieroglyphic texts found in the Relaciones de Yucatan, Landa, Lizana, and other sources, Genet posited that history was a fundamental theme of the writing system. Several of the Relaciones mentioned the existence of pre-Conquest "marcas" for personal names, leading Genet to argue that personal names would presumably have existed in the Classic inscriptions. Genet then identified name glyphs on the arms and thighs of captive figures pictured in the reliefs of Yaxchilan, a quarter of a century before Berlin and Proskouriakoff made similar observations (Genet 1934:41-43). If glyphs were personal names, Genet continued, they were probably phonetic to some extent. Genet did not have any reason to identify syllabic signs in the script, but he did make several important observations about individual signs and their direct relationship to words -- a method of epigraphic analysis that was virtually unique for its day. For example, Genet identified the flint-shield glyph for "war" (see Chapter 9) and went on to associate a value of TOK' for the flint sign 3(Genet 1934:69). It was not until nearly five decades later that Houston (1983a) would confirm this reading through estabishing syllabic equivalents to the flint (to-k'a) and shield (pa-ka-la) signs. While Genet saw the flint-shield combination of signs as primarily symbolic in nature, his ability to discuss hieroglyphs in a linguistic context anticipated many of the approaches that would only come of age many years in the future. Looking back on Genet's outstanding series of articles, his scholarship stands up remarkably well. His suicide in the year following the publication of his insightful papers tragically put an end to these promising forays in epigraphic research. Had he lived, he may well have gone on to lay the groundwork for the historical and phonetic work that was to come three decades later The German scholar Hermann Beyer, a contemporary of Genet, was incisive and precocious in a different way Beyer was very much concerned with Maya hieroglyphic graphology and sign groupings (see Beyer 1930), an interest that was perhaps best reflected in his classic analyses of the hieroglyphic inscriptions of Chichen Itza (Beyer 1937 Beyer made no effort to assign meanings to signs, perhaps believing that such work would be premature. Instead setting the stage for many future decipherments, Beyer provided a structural analysis of Chichen glyphs, po cing out various sign groups that repeated throughout the texts of that site. In this way he detected slight differences aa"spellings," where one sign might replace another, making possible the analysis of substitution patterns that is an essential part of the epigraphic methodology today The deceptively modest works of Genet and Beyer in the 1930's made little impact on the methodologies of their contemporaries, among them, of course, Sylvanus G. Morley and J. Eric S. Thompson. Curiously, Morley was never very interested in pursuing the actual decipherment of glyphs, but instead seemed focused on establishing the chronological outline of the inscribed monuments (Morley 1937-38). Thompson, by contrast, was deeply interested in extracting meaning from glyphs, but in hindsight his methods and arguments were far less sophisticated than those of Genet and Beyer. Nonetheless, while Thompson may be chided today for his staunch rejection of syllabic principles in Maya writing, it should be remembered that he was perhaps the first epigrapher to actively pursue the important logographic aspect of the script, constantly searching for the phone! values of various word signs. Phoneticism, it is true, is downplayed very mich in his general descriptions of the writing system, but in building upon the values derived from the codical studies of Brassuer and others, he worked from the reasonable assumption that many signs represented spoken words, and were often employed in rebus fashion (Thompson 1950:47-48). Thus his decipherment of the TE/te sign, working either as a numerical classifier or as a logograph 45fer "wood, tree," probably stands as his most significant contribution to understanding the rebus principles of the script. In reading Thompson's work, however, it soon becomes apparent that his decipherment attempts were hampered and ultimately confounded by his non-recognition of phonetic clues, such as phonetic complements and syllabic substitutions. Lacking such knowledge, Thompson instead saw analysis of the imagery of hieroglyphs as the only other means of decipherment, linking visual cues to various ideas and concepts of Maya thought. The danger of this method is obvious, for it lacks a certain rigor that is replaced by a xeliance on metaphor and semantic extrapolation to arrive at interpretations. What might be called Thompson's "associative" methodology of interpretation (note below that he does not say "decipherment") was spelled out differently in three important quotations from his seminal volumes Maya Hieroglyphic Writing: Introduction (Thompson 1950) and A tary on the D: ‘odex (Thompson 1972) : It is my conviction that we shall interpret the Glyphs only by relying heavily on the beliefs, the religious symbolism, the mythology, and, to a lesser extent, the everyday activities of the Maya, because such concepts surely are imbedded in the structure of each glyph... (1950:35) From the study of the known glyphs a fair vocabulary, or, rather, list of ideographs and symbolic concepts, canbe garnered, and this can be tested on glyphs of unknown meaning. The study of affixes will yield some idea of the structure of the glyphic writing, and a due appreciation of the poetical inspirations of Maya thought and writings (for mythology is poetry) will teach us 46that a Maya, when dealing with sacred matters, never calls a spade a spade. (1950:35) Many glyphs are still undeciphered, but because of the varying ways in which so many could be used, 1 doubt that unchallenged decipherment of all texts will ever be achieved, particularly where very early glyphs, such as day signs, are concerned, for they have attracted so many related ideas For instance, Imix, the first of the twenty days, has associations with earth, water, water lilies, crocodiles, plenty, vegetation and beginning; the problem is'what particular aspect is relevant in a Particular situation (1972:69) . Thompson was very often tempted to interpret signs on the basis of what they seemed to picture, since Maya writing always retained its deceptively representational quality throughout its two-thousand-year history. Yet conflicting with this temptation in some ways was the view that Maya scribes "never called a spade a spade,” and were intending multiple meanings hidden behind layers of symbolic association. Today we know that there is never reason to assume the representation of a sign has anything to do with either meaning or phonetic value. For example, a sign representing a bat may mean "bat" in some contexts, but it may also act as a syllable, thus changing its role and behavior completely. Modern Deciphering Methods Modern methods of decipherment (see Stuart 1987; Houston 1988) pay less attention at first to the imagery of a unknown sign, concentrating instead on possible clues provided by signs with which it interacts. When confronted 47with an unknown sign, the first step toward its decipherment should be a consideration of whether it works as a logograph or a syllable. The sign's "range of behavior" must be determined by compiling all cases where it is found, and analyzing the signs with which it associates. Particular attention should be paid to the identification of the associated signs as logographs or syllables. From a single context it may well be impossible to determine the sign's function, yet as examples accumulate it should be easier to opt for one or the other type. Thus, if a sign tends to be associated directly with other syllables, then there is a good chance it too is a syllable. This is especially true if the associated syllables all have the same vowel. For example, a Maya sign resembling the "cotton" motif has no known value, yet occurs in several inscriptions as a part of different glyphs. In each case it is in direct association with o-vowel syllables (po-?, yo-?, ko-?). In all likelihood, this is another syllable ending in -o, but the consonant remains unidentified. Logographs, by contrast, are less likely to be so consistently associated with syllabic signs. Some ambiguity might arise in the rare instances where an individual sign may have a single value with syllabic and logographic uses, such as ti, which can also function as the preposition ti, “in, at, on," etc.. These, thankfully, are not too common The identification of logographs rests on an assumption that they are signs less consistently associated with syllables, 48and often paired with other logographs, as in LAKAM-TUN, “banner stone" (Figure 2.8). Some of the very rare or unique signs of the script are probably logographs that correspond to seldom-used words. Tentative identification of a sign's syllabic or logographic function is only the first step toward a potential decipherment. For probable syllables, as noted above, there may be fairly clear suggestions of either the vowel or consonant represented. If a syllable tends to be associated with syllables of a certain vowel-class, then it too is likely to be a member of the same group. If an unknown syllable substitutes for a syllable of known value, then it may be an allograph that is freely interchangeable with the established sign, or, when in final position, it may be a different syllable sharing the same initial consonant. Thus, for example, an unknown skull sign substituting for final -xa in the spelling pa-xa, for the month Pax (Figure 2.11a), may be another xa, or perhaps xi, xo, and so on. The ambiguity is resolved by testing the various possibilities against other independent uses of the same sign. Thus the same skull appears in other combinations with syllables sharing the vowel -i (for example, bi-xV), suggesting its value as xi (Figure 2.11b). This more precise reading must in turn be tested further, in as many contexts as possible. This example illustrates the importance of the principle of sign substitution, which has proved to be a 49major factor in Maya hieroglyphic graphology (Lounsbury 1984). That one sign could replace another without any perceptible change in meaning was recognized quite early in Maya decipherment, in fact. Goodman (1897), though not knowing its pervasiveness at the time, demonstrated its operation when he first identified the head variants for most of the numbers between one and thirteen. These were in effect animated substitutes for the abstract bar-and-dot numerals. Thompson (1950:38) noted more examples of sign interchangeability, even in cases where the meanings or values of the constituent signs was unknown. He arrived at his findings by comparisons of like glyphs, as he did with Glyph F of the Supplementary series, where certain heads replaced other more abstract elements. “The positions of these glyphs in almost identical clauses," Thompson wrote, make it virtually certain that the essential meaning they convey is the same, although there may be grammatical variations involved..." (ibid.). Thompson was indeed right in assuming a linguistic basis for some sign alternations, and in noting that the function and meaning of glyphs were never radically altered by this sort of sign substitution. The pattern shown by Goodman and later elaborated upon by Thompson, where drastic variations in form have nothing to do with a change in meaning, has proved to operate as a fundamental principle of the script. Determining that two signs occupying parallel spaces 50are truly distinct (a first person pronoun IN- for the third person U-), true allographs (graphic variants of a single logograph or syllable), or partial allographs (xi for xa) is no easy undertaking. As has been skown, however, this is best determined by looking over the entire inventory of examples of the signs in question. Through investigating signs' "behaviors," it is usually possible to opt for one likelihood over another. Another illustration of the processes involved may help demonstrate this basic methodology, using as an example two spellings of the thirteenth month, named Mak in several Mayan languages (but commonly written "Mac" in the conventional orthography for calendar signs). Several mac glyphs show Landa's ma over a second sign representing a fish head (Figure 2.12a-c). For the sake of argument, let us imagine that we come at this glyph ignorant of the reading of the fish sign. Because ma is atop a fish head, it stands to reason that the fish represents the second syllable of the word, ka, or possibly some other kV sign In another Mac glyph (Figure 2.124), the second of the two signs is in fact Landa's ka, suggesting the ka value for the fish is a strong possibility. This relies, of course, on establishing that the sign above the ka in the second glyph is alternate form of ma. We can test our hypothesis by looking at the distributions of all four signs in other contexts. The fish head appears to replace the comb ka in the 52sequence pa-ka-la for "shield" (Figure 2.12e, f). leaving little doubt that it is an allograph that can freely replace the established ka. Taking the sign that replaces Landa's ma, we find another glyph in the inscriptions of Naranjo that establishes a similar equivalence (Figure 2.12, g, h), this time twice in the same glyph, ma-xa-ma. With two independent contexts of substitution, the equivalences shown in the spellings of the month Mac are well on their way to being established as a foundation for future testing and decipherment. One special type of allograph or sign substitute is the so-called "head variant." Head variant numerals have long been recognized (Goodman 1897), but substitutions involving animated forms may occur in several different ways. Many a sign can take on animated qualities with the simple addition of a human profile to its outline (Figure 2.13a, b) -- an "imix" with a nose and lips is a basic example of this subtle manipulation. Yet many head variants are truly discrete signs that are for all intents and purposes functionally equivalent. Some day signs, for example, can be shown as the heads of certain gods that have no visual relationship to the more simple and common abstract forms. If we take the "sky" glyph and its equivalents, for example, we can see how some of these substitutions work. The standard sky glyph, read KAAN or CHAAN for "sky," can often be replaced by a h we know to be its representation of a crested bird, wi 52head variant (Figure 2.14a, b). While not simply an animated version of "sky," it is nonetheless visually related as the bird head that appears at the end of sky bands. Both the standard "sky" sign and the bird belong to a set, then, that are semantically and iconographically related. Yet each of these can conceivably be replaced, in turn, by a snake glyph, whose phonetic value KAN or CHAN is very similar (Figure 2.14c) (see Houston 1984). In the hands of a playful scribe, either the snake and the sky, however, might be replaced by the number four, also pronounced kan or chan (Figure 2.144). To complicate matters further, the head variant of four is the Maya sun god (Figure 2.14e), and although in most other cases this would be read K'IN, "sun," it too must have been pronounced KAN in such instances. Although it is conceivable that "sky," "snake" and the sun god could replace one another in the spelling of KAN or RAAN, it is important that they not be considered variants on a single element of the script. Graphically they are three separate entities or sets, and within some sets are animations, head variants, and other graphological elaborations. Perhaps the most elaborate case of sign substitution involves a set of signs that appear to substitute for the well-known "u bracket" in various contexts (Stuart 1990) When this u sign works in its customary way as a possessive pronoun for the third person, “his, her, its," it can be replaced by seven completely different signs that would, at 53least initially, seem to somehow be functional equivalents. These replacements could represent pronouns of the first or second person, however. The situation is clarified by the writing of a common verb in the inscriptions, uht "to happen," as u-ti. Sometimes this uses the u bracket itself, but very often we find five of the other "pronoun" signs in its place, establishing without a doubt that u must be their value as well. Only one other sign that replaces u is a pronoun, but not in the spelling of uht; this in still other contexts is the syllable ni. Therefore we can reason that its pronoun usage reflects the first-person possessive in- or niz, "my" (Figure 2.11). Given all of their graphical variety, many of the signs of the Maya script can be reduced to “substitution sets" like the one just described. A reduced attention to the representational aspect of the script is one way in which my own methods of decipherment have departed from previous approaches. Gradually over the 1980's it became clear in my own mind that what a sign depicted -- an animal, a body part, a plant, anything -- need not have any obvious bearing on its phonetic value, particularly if that sign is a syllable. Sampson (1985:34) calls this lack of correspondence a feature of "arbitrary" scripts, as opposed to "motivated" ones. Sometimes a strong relation does indeed exist between a CV value and the thing depicted (k'u, for instance, is a clear picture of a bird's nest, k'u'), but this relationship need not always be assumed. One may be on more secure 54ground in positing such a relationship when a logograph is involved (see the discussion of the "step" verb in Chapter 9), but even here we should not assume that we can recognize what is actually being depicted, or what precise connection the image has to the word being expressed. To give one example of some of the dangers involved, until very recently the sign T213/263 (Figure 2.15a) was believed to represent a tree, seemingly showing a stalk and a flower at its end. What seemed straightforward visual evidence lead to the assumption that the reading was TE, "tree," despite the fact that this sign never interchanged with other well-established TE signs such as T89 (Figure 2.15b). This supposed TE was often found in combination with the TUN, "stone," sign in the glyph for "stela," and TE-TUN for te'tun, "tree stone," seemed to be a metaphor for these upright pillars (Figure 2.8). This decipherment gained wide acceptance, and was published in several major books on Maya writing (Schele and Freidel 1990; Coe 1992) I have had to refute this particular interpretation, however (Stuart 1992c; Houston and Stuart 1994:30). Several examples of the 213/262 sign are suffixed by the syllable - ma (Figure 2.15c), in a behavior that strongly suggests a phonetic complement (ibid). Moreover, one painted text shows the superfix la- in another probable case of phonetic complimentation (Figure 2.15d). Moreover, on Stela A at Copan the standard "stela" glyph seems to be replaced by the combination la-ka-ma-TUN-ni (Figure 2.15e). The obvious 55conclusion, then, was that the so-called "tre: " sign was xead LAKAM, which means "banner" in several Mayan languages. Returning to the visual representation of the sign, it then was clear that this did not represent a tree at all, but rather a banner of the type that is sometimes shown as a flower stalk (Figure 2.16). This case of the LAKAM sign illustrates the frequent danger posed by our assuming that a sign represents the object it resembles. To reiterate, a glyphic representation, even when perfectly recognizable (a human hand, for example), need not signify that object directly. A hand could mean “hand,” or just as easily, perhaps, "to lift," "to offer," and so forth. Only phonetic indicators, in the form of complements or substitutions, can resolve such ambiguity. Of course, valid decipherments must ultimately follow established graphological and phonetic features of the writing system, as well as sound use of historical linguistic methods. Readings that do not satisfy these two very basic criteria should be considered suspicious, at least until further evidence can be found in their support. Furthermore, the most convincing readings of signs are demonstrable in at least three independent contexts of usage. In this methodological review, it is clear that the methods of decipherment have changed radically from even twenty years ago, as the understanding of the basic principles of the writing system, particularly those having 56to do with graphology, have become clearer. The more recent methodology displays a renewed emphasis on phoneticism and "Literal decipherment" (realistically, no other kind of decipherment can exist). This does not mean that all "decipherments" currently being published have met the criteria outlined in this chapter. The non-epigrapher must therefore look at the evidence offered for each new decipherment with the keen eye of a critic. The consequences of these new inroads are profound, and are still being realized by the epigraphic and archaeological communities The methods sketched in this chapter represent only the initial stage in the study of Maya texts. Reading and interpreting the inscriptions, although seen as the ultimate aim of epigraphic research, results in only a partial analysis of the textual data. A broader anthropological study of epigraphy sees the texts as a tangible vestige of a multifarious system of communication that once helped to define the innerworkings of Maya society. Toward this aim, it is necessary to seek out and clarify the place of written documents in Maya society.Figure 2.1. Arrangement of glyph blocks in two Late Classic inscriptions. (a) Dos Pilas, Stela 8 (drawing by Ian Graham) 58Figure 2.1. (continued) (b) Coba, Panel D (preliminary pencil drawing by Eric Von Euw). (Both drawings courtesy the Corpus of Maya Hieroglyphic Inscriptions Project, Peabody Museum, Harvard University) 593Lamat WacH? ‘SAK-1a-ka-TUN [Date] [ver | [Supect) Figure 2.2. Inscribed stone "incensario" lid from Copan (CPN 260 and 277), showing correspondence of blocks to meaningful units of a sentence (date, verb, subject). (Drawing by the author) 60Figure 2.3. Parallel texts from Chichen Itza showing signs "escaping" the confines of blocks. (Drawings by the author) 61ze (zoygne og fq Butmesp) *Toued oua JO WOTAeOTPEp 43 e030q SaeaA OST TeNITA OTSSeTO ATAeg Ue UNODEI oTbuLIOe1 poUOXzeP yu} UT PaUTT|NO SYAATH ayy ‘eTeUDZEND ‘seIhoN sexpoya WoIy z ToURd “¥*z OANbTAFigure 2.5. Examples of sign conflation 63ae) GH Figure 2.6 Examples of sign infixation 64Figure 2.7. Examples of sign superimposition 65Figure 2.8. The lakamtun, "stela," glyph 66Figure 2.9. Representational logographs for (a) "drink" (UCH'), with the "water" sign in the mouth, and (b) the "scattering" rite 67Figure 2.10. The ni sign functioning (a) as a syllable (ni- ehi, for nichim, "son" ?) or (b) as a logograph (IN-CH'AM- wa, in-ch'am-wa, "I took it. 68Figure 2.11. The contexts of the xi skull sign. (a) in the spelling pa-xi, for the month glyph Pax, and (b) in xi-ki for xikin, "ear," and (c) bi-xi for bix, a numerical classifier 69Figure 2.12. Substitutions of signs in the month Mac (Mak) and other glyphs. (a) ma-ka, (b) ma-ka, (c) pa-ka-la, (d) pa-ka-la, (ec) ma-xa-ma, (f) ma-xa-ma 70._@Q & ®) 6 Figure 2.13. "Animated" elements of the script. (a) syllabic ba, (c) ta, (a) logographic RAB, "earth" 7Oo00o0 Figure 2.14. Sign sets prounced KAN. (a) "sky," and (b) head variant, (c) "snake," (d) "four" and ie) its sun god head variant2 BA Figure 2.15. Evidence for the reading lakam, "banner The LAKAM logograph, (b) LAKAM-ma, (c) la-LAKAM-ma, ka-ma di la-Figure 2.16. The lakam banner from Yaxchilan, Stela 11 74CHAPTER IIT WRITING AND LITERACY IN MAYA SOCIETY Maya documents are social artifacts, composed to convey certain kinds of information to certain audiences. With their partial decipherment now at hand, it is possible to analyze the social dimensions of the inscriptions. Three fundamental questions first come to mind: Who composed the inscriptions? For what purposes were they written? and finally, for what audience were they intended? Each question, needless to say, cannot be answered to our complete satisfaction and presents special difficulties of its own, The texts seldom if ever explicitly specify their authors, and while scribes are occasionally named, we cannot always be certain that they are the actual composers of a given text. The ancient sources are even less informative in expressing the motives behind each act of writing. yet Maya literacy as a social phenomenon is approachable from several different angles, as a recent printed exchange on the subject demonstrates (Brown 1992; Tedlock 1992; Houston and Stuart 1992; Houston 1994a). A brief foray into modern theories of literacy within anthropology is therefore called for. In the last few years anthropologists have focused considerable attention on the study of literacy, with a particular emphasis on cross-cultural comparisons. 75Beginning perhaps with the seminal article by Goody and watt (1963), literacy was traditionally studied in functional terms, with a primary focus on the development and spread of written communication within western civilizations. This spread was believed to have had profound sociological consequences. Goody and Watt, and others who have followed them (e.g., Havelock 1982; Ong 1982), specifically argued that alphabetic scripts in archaic Greece overtook earlier "oral" modes of commmnication. Because of the presumed higher efficiency of alphabetic script, these scholars believe its diffusion not only facilitated the spread of literacy, but ultimately wrought changes in human cognition and various social and political institutions. As research on literacy and its consequences expanded, however, evidence from ethnographic studies called into question such culturally biased cause-and-effect models of writing in society. Rather than positing sweeping changes driven by alphabets, ethnographers and others argued that different societies place different emphases on written communication and its functions in the social and political arena (Scribner and Cole 1981; Halverson 1992). In other words, the uses of writing within a given literate society seem to be determined by several factors, none of which necessarily have anything to do with efficiency or ease of use. Street (1993) aptly summarizes the new ethnographic outlook on literacy, noting that an understanding of literacy within this perspective "requires detailed, 76depth accounts of actual practice in different cultural settings What Street and other proponents of “new literacy" models do not address, however, is the potential contribution of archaeology to literacy studies. While we are unable to provide much of the kind of information that present-day ethnographers take for granted when it comes to the ancient Maya, we can nevertheless look at Maya writing in a deeper diachronic way, noting how its functions generally changed over time. Several ethnohistoric sources report that, at the time of the Conquest, Maya hieroglyphic literacy was restricted to religious practitioners and the nobility (see Thompson 1972:3-14; Marcus 1992). One very important statement comes from Antonio de Ciudad Real, who in 1588 wrote that “only the priests of the idols, called ah k'ins in that language, and an occasional noble understood these figures and letters" (Ciudad Real 1872[1588], 2:392). Writing, so far as we are aware, was confined almost exclusively to religious manuscripts in the Conquest era, a situation which contrasts with the more varied and numerous types of texts available from the Classic period. Marcus (1992a:76) nevertheless bases her statement that "knowledge of hieroglyphic writing...was restricted to certain members of the nobility and the priesthood" on the Colonial period writings, as if Maya literacy were a static phenomenon from beginning to end, rather than a fluid, changing dynamic. This is not to say that writing may not have been similarly 7limited in the Classic as well, yet in view of the profound disjunction in literate behavior following the so-called "collapse" of the southern lowland sites, it is careless to simply project later evidence onto what were surely different societies in many ways. How, then, do we approach the study of literacy during the Classic period? There are many pitfalls, not least of which is the skewed quality of our data, since the great majority of preserved examples of Maya writing come from the stone monuments, whereas perishable media might well have been intended for a wider audience. Moreover, the great variability in the archaeological evidence of writing within the Maya area would suggest that its socio-political uses differed considerably over time and space, indicating the possibility that literacy itself was not a homogeneous phenomenon in Maya cultures. The abilities to read and write in tenth century Chichen Itz4 were possibly very different from those in eighth century Copan or Palenque Examples of writing on small portable artifacts are occasionally found in non-elite contexts from the Classic period (e.g. Hansen, Bishop and Fahsen 1991), but this cannot be taken as true evidence of literacy among the more humble members of society. Inscribed vessels, bone needles and the like may well have travelled far from their original owners or were considered prestigious heirlooms before being found in their modest surroundings. The ultimate owners of the portable objects would not necessarily have been able to 78read the glyphs on them; they could simply have known that the inscriptions rendered the items special. Graffiti texts, although very rare, might inform us more about the specific extent of literacy, for they represent more-or-less spontaneous acts of writing (Figure 3.1) (Houston 1994a). Even here, however, we see that graffiti is only available to us in areas that were surely socially-restricted spaces, as on the walls of the temples and palaces of Tikal (Trik and Kampen 1983; Orrego Corzo and Larios Villalta 1983). It is likewise unclear how the ability to read and compose hieroglyphic texts may have varied among the elites themselves. Only one documented example of formal instruction in hieroglyphic writing exists in Pre-Columbian Mesoamerica, that of the Mexica Aztec. In Mexica society, young people of appropriate lineage were schooled in the calmecac by temple personnel (Sahagtin 1950-82:III,49). It is possible that the Maya had a similar system, for it seems that the very status of nobility among the Maya relied on certain abilities connected to learning and the arts. Some sort of set method for passing on scribal and artistic conventions indeed mist have existed, as is very clearly revealed by the extraordinary uniformity in the repertoire of signs used by scribes, as discussed in the last chapter. Within this ill-defined "elite" category, however, one may reasonably suppose that some variation existed in the ability to write, for the production of certain kinds of texts (name-tags on objects, for examples) may have required 79only a limited amount of skill, whereas the composition of lengthy mythical or historical texts in manuscripts or on monuments necessitated the most sophisticated knowledge of the script and its conventions. Distinct genres of inscriptions were not necessarily composed by the same high- ranking people. Inscribed signatures of painters and carvers provide a compelling and previously unknown body of evidence of the nature of literacy in elite Maya society. In an example discussed in an earlier paper (Stuart 1989), a Maya vessel bears the signature of a painter who names himself as the child of the king and queen of Naranjo (Figure 3.2). The name itself is unfamiliar, but it appears not to be the name of the son who accedes to the throne, suggesting that he was a younger brother of the heir-apparent. Carved signatures on stone monuments are much more common, and reveal that a several non-royal elites at some sites could, at the very least, write their own names. Monuments from Piedras Negras, Yaxchilan, and El Peru are especially replete with the names of nobles who contributed to the production of carved stelae (Figure 3.3), perhaps, as will be shown later, in service or tribute to the ruler Some of these names are accompanied by the title ahaw, "lord, noble," indicating a high rank, yet significantly the majority of the carved signatures lack any titles of nobility whatsoever. Is it possible that the "untitled" carvers were of still lower rank, yet still literate? 80Arguably these are just names and may not reflect any sophisticated knowledge of the writing system as a whole, yet in more than one case an untitled carver signs his name in slightly different ways, employing substitutions of signs that reflect at least a fundamental understanding of the writing system and its sign repertoire (Figure 3.4). Perhaps, then, functional literacy extended somewhat beyond the very highest levels of these local societies. Female names are never found as signatures on pottery or sculpture. This could be interpreted as a reflection of some gender-based restrictions on literacy, but arguing from such negative evidence seems unwa¥ranted. It is very possible that women read and wrote in other capacities, not reflected in the signatures, which it must be remembered are rare in any case. Women no doubt played central roles in certain types of elite craft production, such as ceramic and cloth manufacture, and the presence of writing on both types 0f goods might provide some very indirect evidence of female literacy. As we will see, images of cloth used in costume occasionally bear hieroglyphic texts, such as the woman's huipil on Calakmul Stela 9, and a hip cloth worn by a male personage in the murals of Bonampak (Figure 3.5). Such indirect evidence bearing on the scope of Maya literacy is naturally sketchy, for no texts explicitly state who could or could not read and write. Several modern writers seem comfortable with the assumption, however, that literacy was very tightly controlled. This might well be 82true, yet the argument behind this conclusion focuses on even less direct evidence, namely from the structure of the writing system itself, as described in the previous chapter. Brown (1992), for example, has recently addressed this whole issue through a survey of post-Conquest Mayan vocabulary, where terms for "read" are heterogeneous and are customarily equated with "count." Brown surmises, therefore, that widespread literacy is a rather recent phenomenon. He goes on to suggest that the Maya hieroglyphic system, like the Chinese script, for example, was far too cumbersome to have been very widely taught and learned (ibid.). In a similar vein, Marcus and others have suggested that the complexity of the writing system made hieroglyphic writing an effective political tool that could be controlled and manipulated by the ruling elite. The arguments perhaps unintentionally reflect an evolutionary model of writing's development, where "natural" tendencies toward simplification, efficiency, and widespread literacy are somehow manipulated by wary literates. Non- alphabetic scripts, including the logo-syllabic Maya system, might therefore be considered too "complicated" to be widespread among the population. Several writers have criticized this Eurocentric idea (Sampson 1985; Stuart and Houston 1992), for it is so easily refuted as to render it useless as a theoretical tool. Japanese writing, for example, is one of the more "complex" systems ever devised, yet literacy rates in that country average around 98%, far 82more than figures documented for the alphabetic United States. With specific regard to Maya writing, it is now established in any case that a simple system underlies the complex visual presentation of the writing system, and that this system as such is actually not very difficult to comprehend. During the middle of the sixteenth century in Yucatan, Spanish priests fluent in Mayan became well versed in the hieroglyphic system (Tozzer 1941:78). Today, hundreds of interested lay people teach themselves the intricacies of Maya, Egyptian, and other ancient scripts. The supposed narrow social boundaries of Maya literacy cannot be explained away as a direct effect of the script's complexity. Obviously social and political factors are much more instrumental in determining who reads and writes within a given society. For this reason, Brown's analysis of modern Mayan vocabularies says very little about literacy in the Classic period. As already stated, the profound decrease apparent in the uses and quantities of writing after the ninth century indicate a major and often unappreciated disjunction between Classic and modern uses of writing and reading. Questions concerning the reading of Maya texts raise additional issues. Texts displayed publically and privately presumably had distinct audiences, or at least were designed to be read under very different circumstances. It is probably incorrect or misleading to simply believe that 83public inscriptions were composed as royal "announcements" for direct consumption by the greater society. A silent stela celebrating the period-ending rites of a king would not be news to many people, particularly the literate members of the local court. Here the complexities of literacy, orality, and their social dimensions come into play. Two interesting features of Maya text display that are worth considering here, one revolving around textual functions in oral presentations and the other, to borrow a term from Thomas's (1992) discussion of early Greek texts, touching on their "non-rational" uses. The audience of Maya inscriptions is probably best kept distinguished from actual readership, for the two need not be synonymous. Many inscriptions of high political or ritual importance were quite probably read aloud in public settings, continuing an ancient tradition of oral historicism with a new added textual dimension. This is certainly the case with many ancient Mesoamerican codices, which were often used in public and private oral performances (Tozzer 1941:153-154; Monaghan 1990a). It is tempting, furthermore, to suggest that those who "spoke" texts were the often the rulers themselves. As will be argued in Chapter 6, the oft-used title for ruler or noble, ahaw, may literally mean "shouter," perhaps indicating a very old important function of nobility in oral communication. The Nahuatl term tlatoani, "one who customarily says things," may also allude to oral reading in 84performance rather than simply the giving of orders. The Mayan word for "read" is the same as that for "see," il (Brown 1992). Interestingly, "he saw it" or "it was seen" is a very common verb in Maya inscriptions (Stuart 1987), and some examples may relate to the actual reading of inscriptions (Figure 3.6). This interpretation, however, is difficult to confirm, since the witnessing of ritual acts, using the same verbal glyph, was also a featured topic of many texts as well. Interestingly, the impractical display of numerous Maya texts often indicates that no readership was really ever intended at all. Small dedicatory texts painted on the capstones of tall vaults in the Puuc region a very distinctive and unusual regional genre -- are far from the public eye and can barely be discerned by anyone standing directly beneath them (Figure 3.7). Similarly, texts painted in decorated royal tombs at Caracol, Rio Azul, and other sites were certainly never intended for public readership, but rather were designed for the benefit of the deceased and other ancestors in the realm of the "Otherworld." Other non-rational uses of writing are also of interest. Numerous glyphs on vases and occasional monuments display so-called "psuedo-glyphs," or hieroglyphs that while, painted with certain calligraphic flair, are nonetheless utterly undiscernible as examples of real writing. They are in essence false writing, added to a 85scene to lend certain stylistic "Maya" flair. Interestingly, these false glyphs appear on vessels from the fringes of the Maya lowlands, on numerous Copador vessels from Honduras and others from the Alta Verapaz of Guatemala (Figure 3.8). In these regions knowledge of the existence and style of glyphs was no-doubt widely-felt, and it would seem that by adding "nonsense" writing one was able to lend considerable prestige to a design (Demarest 1988). A pair of door jambs from the site of Yaxhom, Yucatan, are inscribed with highly repetitive "glyphs," and may reflect a similar sensibility at work (Figure 3.9). Although it seems difficult to reconcile the glyphic forms of such texts with the Maya script as it is now understood, the possibility reamins that some examples of so-called psuedo glyphs were not nonsensical, but rather represented very restricted regional sub-traditions of writing that are otherwise unattested. The prestige associated with the written word seems evident in more traditional media where the glyphs are readable. Inscriptions were of course an essential element of large-scale public art at many sites of the southern lowlands, and large monuments or buildings apparently could not be considered complete without some sort of hieroglyphic decoration. Prominent inscriptions on architecture and monuments were presumably visible to the widest spectrum of society, literates and non-literates alike. Often the content of the inscriptions in such public settings appear 86almost mundane compared to the artistic flair of their Presentation, suggesting that the style and aesthetic quality of the script may sometimes have rivaled content in importance. In other words, perhaps the display of the fine glyphs themselves conveyed more to an audience than certain texts did. Perhaps the prestige associated with writing can also be discerned from inscribed clothing, which, as mentioned above, is sometimes depicted in Maya art. The texts visible on clothing seem precisely the same "Primary Standard Sequence" found on pottery, and thus probably served to label the cloth with the names of their owners or makers (Figure 3.5). Significantly, the artists who rendered the fine lines of inscribed cloth took pains make certain glyphs recognizable, but they are not meant to be "read" as parts of texts. The inscribed huipil depicted on Stela 9 from Calakmul, for example, is partially obscured by the falling sash of the woman's costume. On Dumbarton Oaks Relief Panel 4, the glyphs on the loincloth include a clear ts'ib glyph (paint, write"), but the rest are obscured by another garment. The importance of the glyphs' mere presence seems more significant than the dedicatory message conveyed. Perhaps, as with other non-rational uses of writing, the glyphs shown in these artworks lend a certain prestige or importance to the garments and, by extension, the figures that wear them. Maya writing thus sometimes served a purpose beyond 87simply conveying spoken utterances. The widespread presence of Maya writing on ritual and monumental objects appears to have a fundamental role removed from questions of content, and into issues revolving around social and political stature. Writing lent things a further air of ritual importance, no matter what message, if any, was being conveyed. The "non-rational” uses of Maya glyphs described here beg comparison to patterns in other literate regions, such as in archaic Greece where prestige also played a significant role in the adoption and spread of the early script (Thomas 1992). As will be shown later, these concepts are important for understanding some of the larger issues the role of written communication in Maya social and political discourse. 88(from Orrego Figure 3.1. Hieroglyphic Graffiti from Tikal Corzo and Larios Villalta 1983: Lam. 3) 89BiBiEG ORSAEIB IORI Figure 3.2. Painter's signature on vessel from Naranjo area (from Coe 1973: No. 47) 90Sculptors' signatures from Piedras Negras, Stela 12 (drawings by the author) Figure 3.3. 91PLEASE NOTE Pagers) not inate with sare materialFigure 3.5. Inscribed hip-cloth from the Bonampak murals (from Miller 1986: Fig. III:13) 93Figure 3.6. The verb ila, "see," or "read," on Machaquila, Stela 7 (from Graham 1967: Fig. 57) 94Figure 3.7. Uxmal, Capstone 1 (after Graham 1992:139) 95Figure 3.8. Copador vessel with "psuedo glyphs," excavated from Tomb 2 at Copan (from Gordon and Mason 1925-43, Part 2: Pl. 35) 96Jazb 2 Figure 3.9. A pair of door jambs from Yaxhom, Yucatan, with illegible inscriptions (from Dunning 1989:Fig. II-10) 97CHAPTER IV MONUMENTS, MEDIA AND REGIONAL GENRES Hieroglyphs appear on a variety of objects, which range in size from huge architectural roofcombs, as on Tikal's Temple of the Inscriptions -- where individual glyphs may be close to a meter on a side -- to the tops of vessel rims, where each glyph can be as small as a toddler's fingernail.® Between these extremes in scale and context are myriad situations where writing was displayed and read, and the presentation of texts, including the array of topics they can convey, frequently varies from site to site. The different ways these elements of subject-matter and media interacted over time and space define what I call the "genres" of Classic Maya writing. This chapter begins an examination of the different genres of Classic writing, first considering the varied media of text presentation, and then discussing how these help define highly regionalized scribal styles across the Maya lowlands. Preliminary Categories of Mé Surprisingly, there is no established system of classification for Maya texts, using either physical form or content as a basis for typology. The gap in research on this issue is all the more surprising in the face of a long tradition of historiographic considerations elsewhere in 98Mesoamerica, particularly in central Mexican studies (Nicholson 1971; D. Robertson 1959; Umburger 1981; Boone 1992). This present foray into the complicated topic of classification is necessarily provisional, but it will take into consideration the terms and conceptual frameworks of not only archaeology, but perhaps more importantly -- the classificatory system reflected in the Maya sources. In terms of physical types, the majority of Maya inscriptions could be divided into monumental and portable texts. Such a classification would at first appear to be straightforward, subsuming under the monumental category stone or wood stelae, wall panels, altars, and so forth, that are associated with architecture. Some "monumental" inscriptions, however, can in fact be quite small in size, as in the case of the diminutive stone funerary altars of Tonina (Figure 4.1). Portable texts, by contrast, are much more private in their production and usage, and are found principally on ceramics, jewelry, bone, mirror-backs, or costume ornaments With regard to the actual content of inscriptions, it is possible to suggest two loosely defined categories: dedicatory and narrative. This is by no means a mutually exclusive division. Although artificial constructs to a great degree, they do prove of some use in understanding the historical development of localized genres, as will be shown below. Dedicatory inscriptions, as I will argue, constitute the largest body of Maya inscriptions on both monumental and 99portable media. These tend to be fairly short texts composed of a single sentence. The most basic type of dedicatory text is the "name-tag" described in Chapter 1, but often a verb may be added to this, describing an action depicted on the object or monument. As will be shown in more extensive discussions below, dedicatory texts on pottery vessels are ubiquitous (Figure 4.2), and correspond to the repeating hieroglyphic formula Coe (1973) first noted and dubbed as the "Primary Standard Sequence" (PSS), which is itself an elaborate name-tag (Houston, Stuart and Taube 1989; Stuart 1989; MacLeod 1990a). Dedicatory statements take a consistent form on monuments as well. Lintel 56 from Yaxchilan, for example, is inscribed with an initial series date and the record of a dedication ritual performed in "the house of" a woman named Ix Sak Biyan (Figure 4.3). This too is an elaborate name- tag identifying the owner of the building on which the text is found. In this way, the PSS identified by Coe on pottery vessels can be applied to many other types of media. It is the dedicatory formula of Maya inscriptions par excellance. Narrative inscriptions such as those on the Palace Tablet at Palenque (Figure 4.4) or the Hieroglyphic Stairway at Copan, tend to be long by definition, and are to be found only on those items capable of carrying many glyphs. My definition of narrative texts, as opposed to dedicatory ones, would apply also to very short texts that commemorate single dynastic or ritual events, such as a royal accession, 100or the capture of an important noble. Usually found on lintels, these texts are usually but one part of larger textual, iconographic, and architectural programs that provide an essential narrative context to the event that is commemorated (see Tate 1992:85-110). Narratives that relate historical dates and events custezarily lead up to a single culminating episode that is the focus of the entire inscription (see Josserand 1991) The culminating events are almost always dedicatory statements that concern placement and ritual activation of the monument or the construction of its direct physical space. The Palace Tablet from Palenque, for instance, spends a great deal of space and narrative time relating the royal history, but its final statement, the event emphasized by the entire time-line, relates an och k'ak', or "fire entering", ritual in the "house" (y-otot) of a non-royal elite person known to some as "Koc" (Schele 1991) (Figure 4.5). In this inscription, and others like it, the narrative provides a historical and political context for the real purpose of the inscription, which was to record the censing of its associated building. Thus, in essence, what appears at first blush to be a typical historical narrative actually functions as a dedicatory text, much like Lintel 56 of Yaxchilan. A similar emphasis on dedication exists in one of the most celebrated historical texts from the Maya world, the Hieroglyphic Stairway at Copan. The stairway was originally 101built in two sections some forty-five years apart, and recounted much of Copan's dynastic history in a total of over 2000 hieroglyphs (Stuart 1994c). The inscription features dates of rulers' accessions and deaths, but each section culminates in a dedication statement about the stairway itself (Figure 4.6). Even the stairway inscriptions, loftily concerned with historical matters, ultimately lead up to the true orientation of the monument: its own making and ritual activation. A hierarchy of purpose emerges, therefore, among the two major types of inscriptions I have defined. Dedicatory texts focusing on rituals and objects are by far the more important, with historical or mythical narrative playing a significant yet apparently less essential role. Dedicatory statements are the culminating focus or climax of the vast majority of extant Maya documents in nearly all media, even when they are "kernels" embedded within a larger textual setting. Before exploring the implications of this hierarchy of categories, it will first be necessary to examine in more detail the principal media on which writing occurred, and how the topics related by the inscriptions on different media compare and contrast with each other. Stone Monuments Stone monuments with hieroglyphic texts are found throughout the Maya area, yet the earliest examples dating 102to Late Pre-Classic and, particularly, Early Classic times seem to cluster among the major sites of the central lowland “core” region. The antiquity of the written tradition on monuments of this area may explain why, in later times, the Peten exhibits the densest concentration of sites with inscriptions. The first examples of stelae, the basic monument form that helps to define the Maya Classic Period, appear in the Peten at Nakbe and El Mirador (Hansen 1991) (Figure 1.3), yet writing seems to play little if any role on these earliest stelae. Rather, it seems that the inhabitants of Middle and Late Preclassic cities had a very different sensibility about writing and its uses than was to develop later. Only at the advent of the Early Classic, or approximately 250 A.D., do inscriptions regularly accompany scenes of rulers or other ritual images. Stela 29 from Tikal (Figure 4.7) is a famous example (Jones and Satterthwaite 1982:61-62), and remains the earliest securely dated stela from the Maya lowlands. From the Peten evidence, it is immediately apparent that the size of a site and the scale of its architectural monuments need not correlate with its production of highly visible texts. This counter-intuitive pattern holds through much of the Classic period, in fact. One Peten site, Nakum, a very large site by any standard, has only three extant monuments (Tozzer 1913; Morley 1937, II:7-21). Late Classic Tikal, much larger than many text-rich contemporaries Copan and Palenque, is a relatively text-poor center as well, 103given its dominant size. By contrast, the other grand Peten metropolis, Calakmul, has the largest number of stelae thus far documented at one site.’ Outside the central Peten core", later centers such as Palenque, Yaxchilan, Tonina, Quirigua are smaller and less concentrated, yet for some reason display an almost overwhelming quantity of inscriptions. Thus there exists within the southern lowlands a great variation from site to site in how writing is used and presented. A second major concentration of inscriptions occurs in Northern Campeche and western Yucatan, at sites such as Xealumkin, Edzna, and Oxkintok, sites that are all earlier than the major Puuc centers that arose at the end of the Late Classic period (Grube 1990b). How these sites relate historically or culturally to the southern tradition is difficult to determine, yet, as will be seen, the flavor of these texts is considerably different from that found at many sites in the southern lowlands. A considerable number of archaeological sites in the Maya area lack inscriptions altogether, and their absence is in its own way revealing. Perhaps the most conspicuous “blank spot" on the archaeological map is defined by the so- called Chenes and Rio Bec regions in the central area of the Yucatan Peninsula, whose distinctive architecture also set them apart from the cities of the Central Peten. A few scattered inscribed monuments are known from this area, but in general there is very little in the way of carved texts 104and narrative art. As noted, such variation in the number of texts from site to site no doubt reflects variations in the ways in which texts were perceived and used (or not used at all). Despite the extraordinary over-arching adherence to a single writing system throughout the Maya area, as described in the previous chapter, that system was employed in different ways over space and time. Discerning patterns within the scope of this heterogeneity is difficult, but it is worth the effort to try to determine how the "proper" uses of writing shifted across political, temporal, and perhaps even ethnic boundaries, in order to define what might be called "genres" of inscriptions. A basic term for stela and for all types of stone objects in the inscriptions was tun, "stone" (Justeson and Mathews 1983). Several ancient terms for distinct types of stones, all based on the word tun, appear in the inscriptions, with stelae constituting a large sub-category (Figure 4.8). A much more specific term for upright monuments was lakamtun, spelled usually with the paired word-signs LAKAM and TUN with occasional phonetic complements, as described in an earlier chapter (Figure 2.9), Lakam means "banner" in the distantly related languages of Yucatec, Quiche, and Tzotzil (where lokom is the phonological equivalent), suggesting that it is 2 word of considerable time-depth, and was once in widespread use. In modern Yucatec, lakamtun simply refers to a large stone 105(Barrera Vasquez 1980:434), but this almost surely derives from the more specific ancient term for stela that meant “banner stone." This may mean that the ancient Maya viewed these monuments as stone versions of cloth standards. Graffiti and ethnohistorical sources show that standards or banners were widely used among the Maya and other Mesoamerican peoples as temple and plaza decorations, in processions, and on the battlefield. The Aztec sources on banners and their significance is highly detailed (Seler 1904), and it is clear that they served as important signs or indicators associated with significant people, military structures, and ritual activities. while Maya representations of lakamob are relatively rare, their ritual significance in dance is clear from the sculpted lintels of Yaxchilan (Grube 1992) (Figure 4.9). Conceivably, the Maya may have hung cloth banners inscribed with glyphic passages in their plazas, as well, as a less permanent medium for textual display. All that survives, of course, are the stone banners that adorn architectural spaces throughout the lowlands. Inscriptions on stelae and other classes of objects are typically self-referential to some degree, in the sense that each object usually bears a text that commemorates its own dedication or placement. The Maya used many terms to describe such dedicatory events, the most common being the verb rs'ap, "to plant in the ground" (Grube 1990a). A standard Period Ending dedicatory phrase on stelae at Copan, 106Tikal, El Peru, among several other sites, reads ts'ap-. lakamtun-il [name], "(on the specified day) so-and-so's bannerstone was planted." Another very common dedicatory verb having a similar overall significance is the "tun-over-hand" glyph (Figure 4.10), which according to MacLeod (personal communication 1990) may signify something like the “raising” or the “presenting” of the stone. The tun-over-hand glyph represents a graphical superimposition of two signs, where tun, "stone", overlays part of a verb that is more correctly called the "mirror-over-hand". This verb appears on pottery where it may refer to the raising or presenting of the vessel as a gift. When it appears as an accession verb it seems to refer, as MacLeod has shown, to the raising or presenting of the headband of rulership during accession rituals. As a dedication statement for monuments, the sense of the phrase would thus be "he raised the stone" or even “he presented the stone". The difficulty here is a lack of precision in our decipherment, since the mirror-over-hand sign itself remains untranslated.* The self-referential aspect of such dedicatory statements is significant to our understanding the basic Purpose of stelae as a monument type. Stelae are not simply surfaces used for the conveyance of royal decrees or official history. Rather, as Morley and Thompson took pains to point out, stelae served primarily as time markers, and very often their inscriptions recorded nothing but the fact 107that they were erected on a certain day of ritual significance Typically, stelae are accompanied by smaller monuments known generally as "altars", although these comprise a broader and somewhat poorly defined category of stone monument. Usually placed in front of stelae, but sometimes free-standing, most altars are large stone discs that lie flat on plaza floors or on platforms. Few scholars have studied the function and variation of these small monuments, although Clancy (1985:59) has objected to the term "altar", stating that "such nomenclature assumes a religious function that has little or no archaeological evidence to justify its use". She prefers calling them "pedestals", citing evidence that they were used for seats or stands. The relief on many of them show wear in the center of the top, and images found on stelae, lintels, and wall panels depict people standing on pedestals. (ibid:59) However, contrary to Clancy's assertions, there is ample evidence to suggest an explicitly religious use of such stones. The wear or damage evident on the top of many such altars was caused by burning, which would imply some sort of ritual usage. At Tonina, for example, several so- called "giant ahaw" altars show localized flaking-off at their centers, where the large Ahau day-signs were originally carved (Figure 4.11). The damage is consistent with burning seen on similar stones, such as several disc- shaped altars from Tonina, some of which were encrusted with 108a thick layer of incense upon discovery. Evidently the sculpture had already been damaged from numerous other burnings before this last event. at Copan, a large step- altar placed before Stela 63 was heavily encrusted with charcoal and other burnt organic material (Fash et. al. 1992), the clearing of which revealed an inscription that had been all but destroyed by such long-term ritual use. The damage by fire was very similar to that seen on a set of three rectangular inscribed "panels" from Dos Pilas (Panels 8, 9, and 19) -- all probably flat table altars -- whose inscriptions, save for a few glyphs near the edges, were spalled-off. One of these stones, Panel 19, excavated in 1990 (Palka 1990), showed a pinkish discoloration at the damaged areas, probably again as a result of burning. It is interesting that one of the very few surviving glyphs on Dos Pilas Panel 19 provides the ancient name of the monument: tahtun, possibly meaning "torch stone" (Figure 4.84). The eviden.e suggests, therefore, that at least some pedestals were used for religious practices, probably as small platforms or surfaces for the burning of incense or other offerings. A modest disc-shaped altar excavated at Copan supported remains of a clay censer (Fash 1983:Fig. W- 64), and elaborate censers were also placed atop table-like altars, as is shown on the extraordinary Altar 4 from £1 Cayo (Mathews, personal communication, 1994). Taube (personal communication 1994) suggests that such three- legged table altars, Altar 1 of Piedras Negras being another 109example, may represent a comal atop three hearth stones, a logical spot for burning. MacLeod (personal communication 1993) has recently suggested that a Classic term applied to disc altars was kuchtun, perhaps meaning "burden stone". The clear importance of altars in calendar rituals may help explain the notion of "burden stones", since the idea of time periods as burdens or cargos has long been known (Thompson 1950:59-61). For instance, the large "5S Ahau" glyph on the disc altar from Tonina, corresponding to the Initial Series date inscribed on its perimeter (9.14.10.0.0 5 Ahau 3 Mac), may be the name of the particular "burden". In the Yuctaecan Chilam Balam of Mani, a prophecy for a katun 5 Ahau states: "this is the removal of his burden...five is his burden, and then he departs from his reign" (Roys translation cited by Thompson [1950:60]). At Tonina and elsewhere, giant "Ahau altars" may have been "burdens" that were simply labelled with the name of the current time period. It is likely, too, that large altars in front of stelae were established as places for ritual offerings that may also have been considered somewhat metaphorically as "burdens" or "cargos" (see Chapter 10). Architectural Inscriptions Another class of inscribed stone media are buildings, which at many sites were popular vehicles for inscriptions of different sizes and styles (Stuart 1994c). Interior wall 110panels are perhaps the most numerous type of architectural monument, exemplified by the large and elaborate tablets from Palenque, such as the Palace Tablet. However, the exteriors of structures were also popular places for texts, although these are seldom well preserved. Looking overall at the great variety of architectural inscriptions, it would seem that almost any available building space was used at some time or place to display the written word. Landa describes the placement of inscriptions on buildings as part of a house renewal ceremony called Ok Nah: In either of the two months of Chen and Yax and on the day which the high priest set, they celebrated a festival, which they called Oc Na (Ok Nah), which means the renovation of the temple in honor of the Chacs, whom they regarded as the gods of the cornfields; and in this festival they consulted the prognostics of the Bacabs, ...and according to the order described in its place, they celebrated this festival every year, and besides this, they renewed the idols of Clay and their braziers... and, if it was necessary, they rebuilt the house, or renovated it, and they as wall the memorial i written in their characters (emphasis added) (Tozzer 1941:161) . The vast majority of inscriptions on wall panels, tablets, hieroglyphic stairways, columns, eaves, cornices, and so on, are dedicatory texts, precisely as Landa describes. Usually the dedicatory texts specify the "owner" of a particular built space, the name of the built space, and the ritual event used in its initiation. Chief among these architectural dedication events are those involving quathe burning or censing. -k'ak', “fire-entering", already mentioned in connection with the historical text on the Palace Tablet from Palenque, is the most common of these, in turn (Figure 4.5). In their most basic form, archiectural dedication texts function to name the owner of a building or "house." As with other kinds of dedicatory statements, the irreducible component is the possessed noun, "his/her/its house," followed by the name of a person or god. The most common way of writing such statements used the term y-otot (Cholan) or, more rarely, y-otoch (Yucatecan), with the more precise meaning "his/her/its home." Many of the buildings of Yaxchilan and Copan are thus labelled as "homes" or "dwellings" of specific individuals, but this is not to say that they always served as residential spaces of the nobility. Many ancient "homes" were elaborate temple- pyramids, such as the structures of the Cross Group at Palenque, and were considered so in the sense of being "god houses" or "god's homes" (y-otoch k'uh "god's home" is one Yucatec and Lacandon word for "temple"). A more general term meaning "structure" was nah, which today survives in Yucatec and Greater Tzeltalan languages, but not in the Cholan languages, where -otot is used exclusively. In the inscriptions, the sign NAH or its syllabic equivalent (na-hi) often attaches to certain descriptive terms to render the proper names of buildings One building mentioned on Stela 17 from Itzan, for example, uazwas called by the calendar name "6 Ahau House." Both nah and =otot were used together in the inscriptions of the Classic period, in common dedicatory statements such as och- ik'ak' chahuk-nah y-otot..., "the fire entered the Lightning House, the home of (name) ." Unfortunately the records of architectural ritual say little specific about how buildings may have been used on a daily basis. Only the proper names or buildings provide clues about function, but these are often obscure references like "Lightning House," or "Six Ahau House." The most telling information about Maya conceptions of the built environment come from the more elaborate records of the ceremonies themselves. The "fire entering" in particular has already been mentioned several times, and its significance is surely related to colonial and modern censing ceremonies among native Mesoamericans. An important component of many ethnogrpahically documented house rituals is the burning of incense or candles in the newly built space, usually in order to "feed" the house or "give it a soul" (Vogt 1969:461). The Zinacantan Tzotzil house ceremony is called Ch'ul Kantela, “Holy Candle," or Qch Kantela, "Candle- entering." It is tempting to believe that this name is a survival of the Classic period "fire-entering" ceremony. The same "fire entering" dedication or renewal ritual appears in the Classic texts in association with other kinds of architectural features. Prominent among these are burials, called muknal. In the inscriptions of Tonina, 113Piedras Negras, and other sites, one finds the formulaic statement "the fire entered the burial of...," in apparent reference to the re-opening of ancestral tombs. The ceremonies are poorly understood, but references such as these in the inscriptions are of potential importance for the interpretation of architectural stratigraphy and the re- use of tombs. exts on Vessels Aside from the stone monuments, perhaps the largest body of inscribed material from the Classic period is found on vessels used for food and drink. Decorated ceramics are commonplace at any Maya site, yet as burial data and ownership statements on the vessels themselves tell us, such objects seem to have been intended primarily for elites. They are nevertheless quite common in the archaeological record, and on occasion may be found in more modest "house- mound" contexts (Hansen, Bishop and Fahsen 1991) Michael Coe (1973) was the first to study inscribed vessels in any systematic fashion, leading to his important identification of a standardized sequence of glyphs, mentioned above, known as the "Primary Standard Sequence" (PSs). Coe had at the time little direct evidence for the meaning of these pottery texts, but the head glyph of an important underworld deity, God N, together with the common funerary context of the vessels, pointed to the logical possibility that these texts concerned the exploits of the a4mythical "Hero Twins" in the Maya underworld (Coe 1973). Today another interpretation of the PSS has been offered (Houston, Stuart and Taube 1989, Stuart 1989, Macleod 1990a). As with many of the monumental inscriptions I have described, these pottery texts are self-referential, commemorating the manufacture, function and, most importantly, the ancient owners of the vessels. Their structure can range from very simple to quite complex, as more and more information about the vessel is provided.* The most essential form of the pottery text has two elements: a possessed noun based on the term for the vessel, and a personal name with associated titles. On cylindrical vessels of Early and Late Classic date, the glyph for “drinking cup" is by far the most commonly seen (Houston, Stuart, and Taube 1989). This is the glyph Coe named the “wing-quincunx", and its parts may be transcribed as yu- ch'V-bi(-1i), for y-uch'-Vb-il, "his/her drinking vessel" A rare variant employs the word-sign for UCH', "drink", in the spelling yu-UCH'-bi. This single glyph reading clearly denotes the basic function of the ubiquitous cylindrical vessels as containers for drink. Plates also are painted with glyphs relating similar information. Simple dishes went by the name lak in Classic times, and Houston and Taube (1985) identified several examples of the possessed term ulak, "his dish", before personal names of rulers and nobles. Plates with tripod supports were apparently called hawante' (see Houston, 11sStuart and Taube 1989). A common elaboration on the basic dualistic structure of pottery texts is the addition of a prepositional phrase inmediately after the possessed noun. This phrase specifies the intended contents of drinking vessels, usually a type of chocolate beverage. By far the most common of these phrases is TA-IX(IM)?/TE'-le/*ka-wa, which probably is spelled ta iximche'el kakaw, "for the iximche' cacao". The "iximche' cacao" refers to a concoction made with the fruit of the iximche' plant (Cascaria nitida according to Roys [1931]) in a cacao base. In fact, one sometimes finds a minor e/?ka- elaboration on this phrase: TA-yu-ta-1a/IX (IM) -TE' wa, where the glyph for iximche' is dropped. Here y-ut-al very probably means "its fruit" referring to the iximche', or simply something like "fruited cacao’ Still other extensions can be added to the basic PSS formula. ‘These glyphs provide information on the mode of vessel decoration, be it painted or carved, and an initial “dedicatory" verb, the meaning of which will be discussed in the final chapter of this thesis. It will suffice to say for now that this variation constitutes a dedicatory "preamble" which seems to concern the actual presentation of the vase or other object, perhaps as a rift or as an item of tribute. Other Portable Objects In addition to the common inscribed vessels of Late 116Classic date, short dedicatory texts of much the same structure and function are known from other classes of artifacts. Implements of jadeite, bone and shell were often inscribed, among the finest examples being the carved incised bones from Burial 116 at Tikal (Figure 4.12). Ina path-breaking study, Mathews (1979) first identified a Maya name-tag with his identification of the glyph for u cup, “his earplug", on an Early Classic jade earspool from Altun Ha. In fact, many small inscribed objects were designed as costume elements or ritual implements. Many of these are of Early Classic date, and are sometimes highly unusual forms and types, including pyrite mirrors, celts, pendants, bone staffs, and conch shells (for examples see Schele and Miller 1986:120; 226, 227, 30-9, et passim) Clothing and the Person Detailed paintings and carvings from the Late Classic period contain very clear representations of inscribed cloth. In Room I of the Bonampak murals, the hip cloth of one figure bears a very clear PSS phrase, possibly painted or embroidered onto the white material (Miller 1986:44). In a similar way, women portrayed on Calakmul Stelae 9 and 29 have a PSS at the bottom of their skirts or huipils (Marcus 1987:Figs. 58, 63). As it does on pottery and other portable objects, the PSS on clothing presumably tags the fabric with a personal name of ownership. It remains to be seen whether the person wearing the cloth is the expressed uy“owner”, or whether these tags may specify the names of those who gave the cloth as gifts or tribute (see Chapter 10). Sil ze Juxtaposed with the broadly defined categories of monuments and objects that bear texts are several localized styles of Maya writing. Differences in media and text format are important variables in defining localized styles, but for the purposes of this discussion the most interesting aspect is content, and more specifically, historical and dedicatory themes interrelate. Many sites featured different types of themes and subject matter at different periods of their histories. These distinct meanings, materials and methods I will call site-specific genres For many years Mayanists have been well aware of the heterogeneity of Maya sculptural modes (Spinden 1912; Proskouriakof£ 1950) and, of course, ceramic types (e.g Willey, Culbert and Adams 1967; Ball 1993). It should come as little surprise, therefore, that the presentation and contents of Maya texts are differentiated on a similar scale. Nearly all major sites with documentary remains developed styles of their own. What follows are mere sketches of several of these localized genres, offered the hope that these characterizations will be by other scholars with an eye to refinement and revision. 118Copan and Quiriqua The first regional genre to consider is located in the southeastern periphery of the Maya area, centered at Copan but also including the related site of Quirigua. The inscriptions at Copan and Quirigua are found on numerous stelae, altars and architecture associated with the main precincts, and together comprise a genre that is distinctive when viewed in relation to other Maya sites. The texts on the monuments are for the most part very short, relating specific ritual and dedicatory information. I have argued that this is a general feature of a great many Maya inscriptions, yet at Copan the emphasis on dedicatory matters is heightened by a surprising lack of background historical information. The dynastic sequence of Copan has been difficult to reconstruct due to the relative textual silence on dates (most notably accession dates), and statements of kin relationships among royalty. Essentially the Copan scribes created a series of dated monuments inscribed with little more than ornate name-tags, as in "the bannerstone of Waxaklahun Ubah K'awil ("18 Rabbit") was planted". A great many passages from Copan's inscriptions still defy translation, but since these would seem to be specialized ritualistic texts, it is unlikely that once they are deciphered, they will offer any real historical clarifications. For this reason I have characterized Copan's texts as somewhat ahistorical (Stuart 1992c:170), in that they are not concerned with historical narrative, or at aigleast in not the same way we find at other sites to the north and west. The obvious exception to this general description of Copan's literary tradition is the Hieroglyphic Stairway (fash et al 1992). In a passage comprised of over two thousand hieroglyphs, the stairway text recounts, at least in part, much of the site's dynastic history, beginning with references to the "founder" K'inich Yax Kuk Mo. The stairway includes numerous accession and death dates for subsequent kings (Stuart and Schele 1986). Fash, myself and others (Fash 1983, Fash and Stuart 1991; Fash, et. al. 1992) have argued that the stairway was conceived of as a powerful political statement of warfare and royal ancestry in the wake of Copan's apparent defeat by Quirigua in 737 A.D. As it turns out, it is actually more likely that the Hieroglyphic Stairway was built not in one defiant show of bravado, but in two phases, the first by Ruler 13 (Waxaklahun Ubah K'awil or "18 Rabbit") in 709, and the second by Ruler 15 ("Smoke Shell") at the traditional date of 755 (Stuart 1994c). Ruler 13 composed most of the dynastic narrative that is today visible on the stairway, proving that the Quirigua war was not a factor in this novel reworking of Copan's textual genre. Ruler 13 was an innovator in other respects as well, being responsible for most of the monuments of the Great Plaza and Temple 22 of the acropolis. During his reign, the sculptural style of the city changed dramatically (Proskouriakoff 1950:129; 8 120Fash, personal communication 1987; Baudez 1994:250-251). Why his version of the hieroglyphic stairway departed so much from what came before it is difficult to imagine. However, even when relating historical narrative, the two stairway texts each culminate in final statements commemorating the building of the stairway sections, carefully conforming to the overall dedicatory textual tradition of Copan and other Maya sites. After the time of Ruler 13, the Copan texts revert to short, terse, and self- referential statements of ownership and dedication. Quirigua, with its close geographical proximity to Copan and its clear artistic and historical connections to that site, displays texts that are highly dedicatory in theme, rather like those from Copan. Quirigua's monuments were produced over the course of only three reigns, making them somewhat less useful for viewing changes through time; yet even within this relatively short span we see interesting and significant shifts in how inscriptions were conceived and presented. The well-known monuments of "Cauac Sky", the captor of Copan's Ruler 13, erected several imposing stelae in the small plaza of Quirigua, most of which celebrate the placement of the monuments themselves on period Ending dates (Sharer 1978). These monuments fall squarely within the parameters of the Copan genre, and probably represent a conscious appropriation of Copan's rival artistic and scribal styles after the latter's defeat (Riese 1986). Cauac Sky's monuments also show a consistent 121effort to hearken back to calendrically-related events in the far distant past, much like what is found on Copan's Stelae C and N. Such an emphasis on "deep-time" may reflect an upstart kingdom's self-conscious effort to publicly present a historical pedigree where none before existed. Then again, it may not. Although accession dates and Copan's defeat are prominently featured at Quirigua, few "historical" narratives of any length have come down to us. Copan's texts are also unusual in their virtual Gisregard of militaristic themes (Stuart 1992c), again with the Hieroglyphic Stairway as the single exception. The stelae and architectural monuments never show bound captives, nor is there a single example of glyphs belonging to the class of so-called "war events", such as the "capture" or "earth-star" (see Chapter 10). Instead, what little dynastic content of Copan's inscriptions there is, is reserved for political events such as "seating" into office. Curiously, both Quirigua and Copan used stelae less frequently at the end of the Late Classic period. Cauac Sky's successor, "Sky Xul" (Sharer 1978), seems to have rejected stelae altogether, and yax Pas of Copan likewise never erected a stela of his own of which we are aware. Both rulers instead invested their monumental efforts in architectural texts, free-standing altars, or so-called "zoomorphs" (a Quirigua elaboration on the altar concept) . At Quirigua, the zoomorphs hold some the longest known 122"narrative" inscriptions of the site, in stark contrast to the terse dedicatory statements of the earlier stelae. The significance of the change cannot be easily overstated, for in the case of Copan it occurred after centuries of stelae dedications by at least fifteen previous kings. It seems to reveal a decreased importance in this region of the stela or “bannerstone" as a ritual and political monument Tikal Moving north to consider the more centrally located sites of the Petén, we find a number of other interesting and curious patterns reflecting site-specific genres. at Tikal, however, inscriptions are few in number given the great size and presumed political importance of the site during the Classic period. Copan, a much smaller site in terms of population and monumental architecture, may have up to twice as many hieroglyphic texts as Tikal. To refine this picture, it is more accurate to state that Tikal and Uaxactun began with numerous texts in the Early Classic, with the number of inscriptions waning thereafter. In the Late Classic Period, the entire textual inventory of Tikal consists of little more than a few stelae associated with Katun endings at the Twin-Pyramid complexes, their associated altars, and the well-known wooden lintels of the main temples. I would suggest that this relatively poor showing of monuments in later Tikal may represent an important political or societal shift that took place during 123the transition from the Early to the Late Classic periods Other changes are reflected in the inscriptions themselves, and these will be elaborated upon in the later discussions of Tikal's political organization (Chapter 8). In terms of textual style or genre, both the early and late texts emphasize dedicatory themes, mich like Copan, with short and simple texts the norm. Apart from the recognition of rulers' names, the historical content (in the modern sense) of Tikal's inscriptions, as at Copan and Quirigua, is quite Limited. Naranjo Naranjo, another significant Petén site, exhibits far more inscriptions than Tikal despite its relatively diminutive size. Generally speaking, Naranjo's inscriptions on stelae are also much longer than Tikal's--the former's stelae were regularly carved with glyphs on three or all four sides. The "narrative" quality of Naranjo's Late Classic inscriptions is therefore more pronounced, with numerous records of wars, for example, during the reign of the ruler Smoke Squirrel in particular (see Closs 1989). This trend reaches its apex in the very long historical text on Stela 32, the last known inscription here. Much earlier texts dating to before the seventh century, by contrast, emphasize the dedicatory theme in much shorter inscriptions Naranjo, of all the Peten sites, may therefore demonstrate in clearest fashion the shifting emphases of texts over 124time, where narrative and what modern scholars consider to be "history" become increasingly more common during the Late Classic. It may be no accident that this change comes after a significant hiatus in Naranjo's monument production, probably as a result of a military defeat at the hands of Caracol. Hieroglyphic Stairway 1 from Naranjo is probably a marker of that conquest (see Chapter 10). The inscription does not mention Naranjo lords, but instead focuses on the life and ritual events of the contemporary Caracol ruler. The format of the inscription is also akin to other Caracol texts, with several glyphs placed within large separate cartouches. In both content and format, this is a Caracol inscription. More so than any arguably Copan-like inscription at Quirigua, Naranjo's stairway seems a direct reflection of changed political identity. Machaguila The texts of this small southern Petén site span a short period of time, yet the time was sufficient to see the gradual formulation of a localized genre. The inscriptions seem to have been composed over the reigns of only two or three rulers during the late eighth and early ninth century, with one king being the most prolific (Fahsen 1983). In the "standard" Peten mode, short inscriptions accompany scenes of standing rulers in ritual dress, and only on Stela 2, a relatively early monument (9.18.10.0.0), do we find any 125lengthy historical text, unfortunately largely eroded The apparent standardization of inscriptions under the reign of the ruler who styled himself the "captor of Hun Tsak Tok'" raises the interesting possibility that textual genres were in some manner determined by, or at least closely linked to, individual reigns. This was shown to be the case at Copan, where the last known king apparently did away with stela-making altogether, preferring to present inscriptions in more intimate architectural contexts. Similarly, at Quirigua the late ruler "Sky Xul" opted for zoomorphic altars rather than stelae. The correspondence between reigns and genres is not so marked at Machaquila, yet seems significant nonetheless. DB and Ac Dos Pilas and Aguateca both appeared somewhat late on the Maya political landscape, and were possibly founded by splintered segments of the Tikal royal family (Houston 199: 7). The scribal traditions that developed here may have had no local Early Classic precedents. The first rut for which there is any secure record, Ruler 1 (Houston and Mathews 1985), may have taken advantage of this vacuum to develop a new local tradition very different from that of Tikal. Prominent in the monumental presentation of texts at Dos Pilas were small hieroglyphic stairways, no examples of which are known from Tikal. Ruler 1 was responsible for two 126major stairways in the central area of Dos Pilas (numbers 2 and 4), both of which feature local wars of conquest, one of which was directed against Tikal. These records date to the beginning of the Late Classic period, and represent some of the earliest records of warfare from the Maya lowlands (see Chapter 10). Ruler 1 dedicated only one known stela, yet his son and successor Ruler 2 emphasized stelae, and did not dedicate any known stairways. Ruler 3 is not well understood, but he appears to have initiated a shift toward monument erection at Aguateca by commissioning two explicitly historical stelae celebrating his defeat of Seibal. Such use of stelae to feature warfare was highly unusual, but as we shall see, a similar development is evident at Yaxchilan. Otherwise, the later monuments of Aguateca seem to conform to the dedicatory tradition evident at other Peten sites. Yaxchilan The texts of Yaxchilan are highly narrative, often relating events of ritual and warfare. The literary tradition of Yaxchilan and other Usumacinta sites such as Dos Pilas and Aguateca therefore seems diametrically opposed to that of distant Copan and even closer sites of the Peten, such as Tikal. At Yaxchilan, Period Endings, for example, are seldom mentioned in terms of monument erection, but rather in terms of the rituals performed, such as scattering. 127The majority of extant Yaxchilan texts are on carved door lintels (Tate 1992). These feature intimate vignettes of Maya ritual behavior (Figure 4.9), particularly dance (Grube 1992), captive presentation, and blood sacrifice Several hieroglyphic stairways from Yaxchilan emphasize dynastic history (Hieroglyphic Stairway 1) and warfare (Hieroglyphic Stairways 3 and 4). Indeed, Yaxchilan possessed more records of warfare than perhaps any other site, but all of these date to the Late Classic period Structure 44 exemplifies much of Yaxchilan's tradition (Tate 1992:252-258): the steps and door lintels are covered with writing and scenes of captive-taking, but of the fourteen events related, only two are Period Endings, and they are not discussed as ritually or historically significant Piedras Necras Yaxchilan's neighbor to the north was Piedras Negras, also on the Usumacinta River. The inscriptions are presented here in a very different manner, with large stelae the preferred medium for presentation; door lintels are non- existent. The scriptions on the stelae are highly dedicatory in their emphasis, "stone-raising" being the most featured event, yet such information usually seems well-balanced with historical background, including dates of rulers' births and accessions (Proskouriakoff 1960). Anniversaries of these historical dates are also common (Thompson 1950:Table 12) 128As Proskouriakoff showed in her now-classic study, the stelae were conceived as sets associated with individual reigns, and were internally divided according to certain themes, with each ruler having his accession monument and one or more war monument . No other site so consistently paid attention to individual life events, incorporating their dates as necessary parts of the period ending and dedicatory statements. Such historical information at Piedras Negras and Yaxchilan, among other sites, is almost exclusively Late Classic. Palenque The individual inscriptions of Palenque are among the longest known, due primarily to their display on large wall panels. With one exception (Stela 1 from the Temple of the Cross), stelae are altogether absent at Palenque. No inscriptions are known from before the reign of K'inich Hanab Pakal (or "Pacal", as he is often known) in the early seventh century. The texts that can be securely identified with his reign are not as long as later examples, and include a number of dedicatory statements for buildings, particularly in the Palace (Figure 4.10). His son, K!inich Kan Balam II, elaborated on this base by erecting temple panels of great textual length and extraordinarily novel subject matter. The three Tablets of the Cross and the tablets of the Temple of the Inscriptions, all created near 129the beginning of his reign, establish the mytho-historical identity of the kingdom. The almost epic narrative quality of these texts may be unequaled in the Maya corpus, but it is significant that the other inscriptions associated with these temples are more prominent and visible on the exterior of the shrine and the temple itself, and record the 5 Eb 5 Kayab (9.12.19.5.12) dedicatory event, possibly Landa's Ok Nah, of the three temples. In profound contrast with nearby Usumacinta sites and Tonina, military topics are virtually absent at Palenque The single exception to this pattern is the Tablet of the Slaves, the inscription of which records the capture of several individuals by the nobleman Chak Suts', who carries the intriguing title sahal (see Chapter 8). It is possible that Chak Suts' was a military captain under the Palenque ruler, filling a role similar to that of other sahals known at Yaxchilan and other sites. Interestingly, the Tablet of the Slaves was discovered some distance away from the main center of Palenque (Schele 1991). It would seem that militarism was deemed inappropriate for many of the inscriptions from the site-center. Tonina Most of the extant inscriptions at Tonina are carved on small stelae and disc altars that graced the plaza and terraces of the acropolis, but several panels and stucco sculptures are also known. Due to the small scale of many 130of the monuments, Tonina’s inscriptions are individually much shorter than many of the Palenque texts (Figure 4.1). For the most part they are highly dedicatory, recording Period Ending rites and stone dedication events very much in the manner of Copan and Quirigua (Figure 4.11). However, the architecturally positioned panels and terrace decorations of the acropolis carry an extraordinary amount of written information, much of which differs from the dedicatory texts of the plaza. Especially common in the upper acropolis are representations of captives, often with accompanying inscriptions (Figure 4.13). ‘Tonina's historical narratives revolve almost entirely around militaristic themes, and in content are most reminiscent of those at Yaxchilan and Piedras Negras. Unfortunately, Tonina's inscriptions have yet to receive adequate systematic study. Regional Genres: Some Concluding Remarks These rough characterizations of regional genres are preliminary and discuss only a few of a great many sites with strong literary traditions. Nevertheless, this overview is sufficient to indicate that Maya inscriptions do not constitute a single monolithic body of information, but vary considerably over time and space. Once refined and well understood, perhaps the distinctive literary and textual styles presented at these and other sites might be correlated with other types of material information from the 132archaeological record, such as sculptural styles, ceramics, and settlement patterns. Scribal genres and their changes through time appear to be intimately linked to political events and the reigns of individual kings. Thus Quirigua appropriated Copan's mode of writing after conquering its neighbor in 738 A.D., but later developed its own local style over the course of the Late Classic, as later rulers opted for more novel types of monuments such as the zoomorphs. In another example, we have seen at Dos Pilas that Ruler 1 broke from the tradition of Tikal (his possible place of origin) and constructed hieroglyphic stairways emphasizing themes of conquest. Ruler 1's successor, in turn, redefined the mode of local texts and artwork by erecting numerous stelae. Over the long term, however, the general features of site-specific genres were often retained, perhaps as a means of expressing a greater political identity independent of the vagaries of rulership. At least from the patterns discerned thus far, it would appear that text genres might serve as good indicators of political identity, and they may prove useful for recognizing conquests and alliances. Considering all of these localized genres together, certain overall trends in the use of Maya writing can be discerned over the course of the Classic period. Those sites where monumental writing had considerable time-depth exhibit a certain amount of conservatism; highly dedicatory or ritual themes dominate their inscriptions in both the 132Early and Late Classic periods. During the Late Classic, however, these and other sites expanded the subject matter to include records of warfare (see Chapter 9). This change appears most profound in sites to the west, such as Yaxchilan, Palenque, and Tonina, where Early Classic monuments were few. The rapid growth of these polities at the beginning of the Late Classic period coincided with a veritable explosion of inscriptions emphasizing the new theme of warfare. Perhaps related to this phenomenon are the appearances of other topics in the later texts of the Classic, most notably the frequent mentions of non-royal elites at a number of sites (see Chapter 6), and a renewed emphasis on certain types of ritual events involving the royal person (see Chapter 8). The later inscriptions, like the sculptural art they accompany (Miller 1993), seem to focus on individuals, their political inter-relationships, and the secular and ritual events that surrounded them. 133t Figure 4.2. A dedication text ("Primary Standard Sequence") ona painted Maya vesselFigure 4.3. Yaxchilan, Lintel 56, front (from Graham 1979:121) 136Figure 4.4. Palenque, The courtesy of Linda Schele!Figure 4.5, Detail of closing passage from the Palace Tablet, with och k'ak' house dedication event (arrox 238Figure 4.6 at Copan. "Ss preliminary drawings Project)Figure 4.7. Tikal, Stela 29 (Drawing by William R. Coe! (from Jones and Satterthwaite 1982:Fig. 49)Figure 4.8. Selection of an cient terms for (a) Lakamtun, “bannerstone" (stela), ib 1 "burd: stone" (table altar?), (c) saklaktun, "stone vessel," (d) tahtun, "torch stone," (e) K'aba'tun, “name stone.”Figure 4.10. The "tu read ktalt over-hand" dedication phrase, perhaps stone-binding" 143Figure 4.11. Tonina, Monument 110 (drawing by Ian Grahi courtesy Corpus of Maya Hieroglyphic Inscriptions, Peab: Museum, Harvard Unive!) on Be RQ OP's __ (Dee Mason engage | Figure 4.12. Inscribed bones from and 44). Both inscriptions read followed by the name of the ruler 24sFigure 4.13. Dedicatory text from the e Eg Hanab Pakal. Throne support from “subterraneos" (from Schele and Mathews 19 xeign of Palace ) 146ll Figure 4.14, Tonina, Monument 83. Portion o: from the fifth terrace of the acropolis, ne: 7, -8, and -9 (drawing by Ian Graham, courtesy Maya Hieroglyphic Writing) 147PLEASE NOTE Page(s) not included with original material and unavailable from author or university. Filmed as received. 148, 149, 150, 151 University Microfilms InternationalCHAPTER V MAYA HISTORIOGRAPHY In light of the detailed technical knowledge scholars now have of the Maya script, it is understandable that some (e.g. Schele and Freidel 1990; Coe 1992) consider it to be largely deciphered. Though there is still much to be learned, the sudden relative transparency of an entire body of ancient documentary sources presents several new challenges. If the Maya are now in some sense a "historical" people, how do we use this evidence to reconstruct and interpret the past? Some Mayanists draw on the inscriptions for precise historical reconstructions (e.g. Schele and Freidel 1990; Culbert 1991; Proskouriakoff 1993), perhaps sometimes with less critical analysis or skepticism than is warranted. Others believe (Webster 1989; Pendergast 1989; Marcus 1993), that the records, inherently biased, can hold little place in the broader anthropological study of the Maya. Both perspectives are due for modification What can be said with certainty is that the inscriptions can reveal an emic Maya perspective in a way no other data source will ever equal. In his important study of oracle-bone texts, early Chinese documents of the Shang dynasty, Keightley observes that The oracle-bone inscriptions...are "hard" 152documents in the best historiographical sense This is not to say that they were documents with no interest to serve; if that were so they would not have been recorded. They have their biases, but they are genuine and contemporary biases of the recorders and not the ideological biases of later transmitters; the texts say what their authors intended they should say (Keightley 1978:153) . In the Maya case as in China, rather than bemoaning the lack of "objective history" presented in the inscriptions (Marcus 1992), it is more appropriate to acknowledge that the inherent biases of the sources can provide a compelling window on the Maya elite world-view. Reading history through the Maya "lens" is arguably a valuable means of studying the social, political and religious forces that gave shape to Maya elite culture. That is, what the Maya considered as important history and worthy of record is also, by its nature, important to the goals of Maya archaeology and anthropology. Interestingly, both the textually-oriented and the more skeptical anti-historical approaches have failed to realize is that the Maya themselves displayed a concept of history largely foreign to us. The Classic Maya history that has been left for us to find was apparently an elite construct, but it does not necessarily follow that the history of non-elites is correspondingly invisible. On the contrary, as Sahlins (1985:35-54) argues, the history of divine kings often translates into the history of whole communities, where "the 153general 1ife-conditions of a people are hegemonically ordered, as social form and collective destiny, by the particular dispositions of the powers that be" The possibility must be entertained, or at least not automatically dismissed, that the ritual and historical episodes represented in the Classic Maya inscriptions contributed to what might be called a collective representation of the societies that produced them. This is not to say that the common folk of Tikal or Palenque had any direct say in what was written down for posterity, but rather that there was a tacit acknowledgement by the societies at large that the events surrounding the K'ul Ahawob and their activities were what really "mattered". The battles or ritual celebrations recorded on Maya monuments may have been events celebrated by the peasantry in song and story, becoming part of what must have been an extensive oral tradition. Commoners could hardly have been unaware of occurrences such as wars or huge ritual displays, and are likely to have often been directly affected by, or even participants in, the former. The orientation of Maya history toward royal persons is now widely acknoweldged, ever since the famous breakthroughs by Berlin (1959) and Proskouriakoff (1960, 1963, 1964). A basic tenet of Maya archaeology holds that the inscriptions of the Classic period are principally documents relating the Glorified lives of rulers and their close kinsmen and associates (e.g. Santley 1991:92; Marcus 1992), largely for 154political or legitimating purposes. However, to cast the ancient texts in a purely political light is to impose our own Western historical template upon theirs. As this chapter and others to follow will demonstrate, public inscriptions emphasize ritual accounts above any other life events of royalty or nobility. As has been shown, long texts listing births, deaths, inaugurations, and so on, usually serve as simple prologue to the culminating event of a dedication rite--whether dedicating a building, a stone monument, a vessel or other object. Thus, it is evident that the celebration of the making and dedication of certain things was a primary concern of those Maya who wrote or commissioned the inscriptions. This is not to argue that the Maya were therefore not interested in relating "history"; rather, this was their history (B.H. Stuart, personal communication 1994). What does this seemingly small revelation actually tell the interested Mayanist? For one, it demonstrates a concept of history where objects, through ritual associations, often came to rival personages as focal points. Maya history is clearly in many ways a record of events and people, but it is perhaps more accurate to see it as a "history of things" And yet, it seems an object could take on certain qualities who in through association with an individual of power turn may have acquired some of his aura of power through building or ownership of significant objects -- and so the cycle would continue. This finding also shows that, despite 18sthis consistent and all-pervasive lack in the Maya texts of a Western-style presentation of history, " story" in the Western sense can nonetheless be gleaned from them Histori The study of Classic Maya history requires an acute awareness of not only what the ancient sources say, but of what factors affect the preservation and distribution of the texts in the archaeological record. We have seen that writing was employed by Maya elite cultures throughout the southern lowlands, not only on stone monuments but on countless objects of ceramic, bone, shell, plaster, wood, and bark paper. Even with thousands of texts at our disposal, it is obvious that only a small fraction of Maya writings have survived the depredations of time and the environment, leaving us without any books or manuscripts of the Classic Period. Although many texts were on stone, these too degenerated at rates corresponding with the hardness and porosity of the stone on which they were carved, factors which vary throughout the lowlands. Although Calakmul, for example, ia renowned for its large quantity of monuments, what exists today is surely only a very small percentage of the original total, due to the poor quality of the local limestone. How preservation factors may have influenced the current view of Maya literate culture is impossible to know, but we can be sure that the current sample of texts is not 156completely representative of what must have existed in antiquity. One result of these circumstances of poor preservation is that the sources used by Maya scribes for the construction of historical texts cannot be studied in much detail. When a scribe wrote of past events, often with the intent of creating an interesting juxtaposition with the present circumstance being commemorated, his sources must have been quite varied. A scribe did not compose his own texts in a vacuum, but in full awareness of the precedents set by others, whose inscriptions may have been on view for decades if not centuries. Clearly these earlier monuments represented primary sources for the recounting of the past They may also have been used as models for teaching the writing system, which might have encouraged a measure of conformity among the scribes so taught. This may help explain why many sites exhibit relatively static scribal and artistic styles, in form as well as in content. Adherence to tradition, at these sites, may have been valued far more than innovation or individual scribal creativity. Doubtless, primary documents more important to the scribes than the monuments, were the codices. It is of all things likely that scribes who wished to record an event the life of a long-dead king could easily look up the essential information, including dates, specific verbs, and auguries, in a codex. It would be of great interest to delve further into this question of source materials, for 187perhaps we could actually identify certain prototypes from parallel passages in some inscriptions, following the methods used with Central Mexican manuscripts (Barlow 1945). Also, it would be interesting to consider the question of how internally consistent the manuscript sources were at certain sites. If we were able to identify contradictions in historical inscriptions, might these be the result of conflicting statements in primary sources rather than conscious manipulations of history? If so, under what circumstances would such contradictions come about? Many of the so-called scribal errors we sometimes encounter in carved texts are numerological in character and might have their origins in misplaced brush strokes in original manuscript sources. Although Maya historiography remains in its infancy, the evaluation and classification of Central Mexican documentary sources offers some interesting models and comparisons (Nicholson 1971). Nicholson (1972:38) mentions the "chronicle consciousness" of Pre- Hispanic Central Mexico, but cites the lack of study of the native concepts of history and the historiographical method Maya sources are much more numerous than those from Central Mexico, even if their contents are in comparison somewhat less explicitly historical and far-ranging In what ways do Maya records differ from the late Aztec manuscripts Nicholson describes? Central Mexican histories seem to be roughly classifiable into (1) continuous year- count annals, (2) sporadically dated or undated annals, (3) isehistorical or genealogical maps, (4) genealogies, (5) @ynastic lists. While topical overlaps are considerable, no Maya inscription or historical record can be said to fit in any of these categories, a fact we must concede could be due entirely to issues of preservation. For example, no comparable Maya "annals" exist for the Classic period, although a fascinating day-by-day count is known from the site of Uaxactun (Figure 5.1), which has yet to receive any study whatsoever, but the existence of which strongly implies that there were similar counts on perishable media which have been destroyed. This type of record may correspond to Nicholson's (1971:52) reference to gecemilhuitlacuilolli, "historia de cada dia", mentioned by Molina (1977). In any case, the format of this Vaxactun wall painting is strikingly like some of the xiuhamatl annals Nicholson discusses, such as the Codices Boturini and Aubin The reasons for some of these essential differences between Mexican and Maya documents lie mainly in their design and purpose, which in turn ultimately center around the chosen media for the historical records. Maya monumental records were conceived principally to record and commemorate specific moments in time, in much the same way that Mexica Aztec stone sculptures monuments commemorate specific events like accessions, architectural dedications, and new year ceremonies (Umburger 1981). By contrast, Central Mexican documents from the Conquest period appear to 159reflect a concern with record keeping for its own sake (Nicholson 1971). Colonial Maya documents, which are historical annals using the katun as unit of reference, are much more similar to their Central Mexican counterparts than to any Classic Maya records. Central Mexican and Maya historical concepts are therefore quite similar, once we take into account the scopes and purposes of the different kinds of extant documents. @ and Mava History Maya notions of history, as briefly discussed elsewhere in this work, are very different from our own, intermingled as they are with cosmology, worldview, and the course of time (Gossen and Leventhal 1993). The events of human history were an integral part of the changes occurring in the natural world of the sky and the earth. Related to this idea is the notion that the ruler was the embodiment of the sun, the principal player on the cosmic stage (see Chapter 6). Noting his deeds and concerns was thus by definition a record of cosmological significance. It is no accident, therefore, that detailed astronomical records usually accompanied the celebrated events of dynastic and ritual history. The astronomical information provided the cosmic backdrop for the dedication, birth, or accession that was to be recorded. By recording “purely historical" events, Maya scribes were not simply trying to trumpet the glory of rulership through propaganda, but may have been noting the 160interplay of this course of events with the cosmos around them. Early Mayanists such as Morley and Thompson are often criticized, for their insistence that Maya inscriptions dealt only with chronology and astronomy, and never with “secular” matters like personal histories (e.g. Schele and Miller 1986:18-19). While these earlier scholars were certainly mistaken in many of their views, it is also a mistake to apply modern distinctions between astronomical and cosmological events, on the one hand, and personalized "history" on the other. Certainly the Maya scribe or chronicler would never have understood our frequent separation of the two. Several terms in Mayan languages might be translated as “history” in the sense that we understand it. The Books of Chilam Balam, chronicling many of the pre-Columbian events in the history of Yucatan, contained sections called u ktahlay k'atunob, literally the "remembrance of the Katuns". The word k'ahlay, "memorial, remembrance", contains the root ktah, "to know, remember, or record", providing a commemorative sense of "history" that is very like our own. Another Yucatec term for "historiar, escribir historia" is siyan, which also means "generation" (based on the root sih, “to be born") (Barrera Vasquez 1980). In this sense, Maya history can be understood as a record of generations, of births, with a focus on the happenings of the individual. History is, of course, intimately related with 1621conceptions of time, and the words xok and tsol meaning “to recount, count, put in order" apply equally to units of time as well as to histories of people. Implicit in this terminology is a linear structure of history that corresponds with the unending progression of days. But Maya time, and Maya history, was not exclusively linear in the modern Western sense. Cyclical revolutions in the calendar operated in conjunction with this linear aspect to create an interesting interface of outlooks on the nature of time and history (Gossen and Leventhal 1993). It is clear from the inscriptions and ethnohistorical sources, however, that the Maya did not view time as an abstract reckoning of days or other units to which events of real life are linked. The interplay between time and event, rather, was thought of as an ongoing juxtaposition of cosmic temporal beings, on the one hand, and the actions and actors of more tangible history. As among some Maya communities today, units of time, particularly the day in the 260-day sacred round, were considered animate entities in their own right (Thompson 1950:96-97). This was a widely held idea in Mesoamerican thought, and on a most basic level is perhaps reflected in the common use of "calendar names" for individuals in myth and history throughout Mesoamerica. Oliver La Farge forcefully illustrated this idea when writing of the conception of the day in the 260-day calendar of Jacaltenango, Guatemala, earlier in the century: 162When speaking of these day-names I have called them "he" instead of "it", and referred to them as being "in charge" of a day, or in the case of the year bearer, "coming into office". This is...done to emphasize the fact that strictly speaking these names are not the names of days but of "men" who control days. ... These twenty men have charge of their respective days, the informants spoke of “his day". The soothsayers stated definitely that "these men" granted the prayers, and would say of a given day-god "he does so-and-so." More recently, Barbara Tedlock (1982) has discussed the divinity of Maya days in highland Guatemala in considerable detail, lending great refinement to the earlier and simpler notions that the days were simply considered as gods who exert "good" or "bad" influences on the everyday world. In prayers and divinations, individual days are addressed directly with the title ahaw, as in Sa'i la, Ahaw Wajxaquib Batz', "Greetings sir, Lord 8 Batz'". Tedlock (1982:127) illustrates how diviners interpret the meaning and significance of certain days through a complex process of mnemonic association and paronomasia, a practice that seems also to be reflected to some extent in certain passages of the Yucatec Books of Chilam Balam. The likelihood exists that the ancient day-names composed of a number and day-sign ("12 Eb, 4 Anau", etc.) were not considered individual "gods", as Thompson and others have asserted, but individual manifestations of aspects of the k'in, itself an animate concept generally represented by the notion of the sun-god, K'inich Ahaw, or “sun-faced Lord". Among the 260 days that were aspects of 163the solar deity, the principal "calendar name" was 1 Ahau, or Hun Ahaw, the headband-wearing youth who was apparently the role model of Maya rulership (cite?). This direct identity of rulers with the sun will be discussed in the next chapter, but we already see a how the association between the ruler and time was may have gone so far as to have identify the personae of the rulers and the rituals they undertook with the continuously shifting significances of the passing days. Before continuing with our discussion of animate time, we ought to consider why the twentieth day should be called Ahau, “ruler”, when in other Mesoamerican cultures the name consistently means "flower". There exist some conceptual links between flowers, the sun, and rulership, yet the reason for the Maya name "Ruler" may lie in the machinations of the Long Count, which seems to have existed only in eastern Mesoamerica. Period Ending stations in the Long Count all fall on the twentieth day Ahau, making it in effect the "ruler" of the tun, katun, or whatever time- period is commemorated. Possibly the name ahaw, "ruler", was applied to this day because of this mechanical relationship to the Long Count, for this may explain why it does not appear among the cultures of western Mesoamerica, where the Long Count was never employed. The interplay I have described between animate time and historical events is visually represented in several inscriptions of the classic period. In a very basic 164illustration of the concept, the familiar day-sign cartouche may become a frame for portraying royal persons (Figure 5.2). We surely can interpret such images as representations of the twentieth day sign Ahau, specifically in association with important Period Ending stations in the Long Count. Ahaw, of course, is the basic term for "noble" or "ruler", and the portraits may simply be considered complex examples of the personified young lord variant of the day sign which, in more generic instances, portrays Hun Ahaw. An extreme extension of this relationship between ruler and day can be found on Quirigua Stelae A and C, both named in their respective inscriptions as "6 Ahau stones". This name derives from the 260 position of the Period Endings on each monument: $.17.5.0.0 6 Ahau 13 Kayab. The north faces of each monument show very similar full-length portraits of the god of the number six (Figure 5.3), while the front or south sides depict frontal views of the ruler Cauac Sky. It is tempting to "read" these two portraits on the "6 Ahau stones" as full-figure glyphs par excellence for "six and "ahaw". But there is more to it than a visual play between identical terms for a day name and rulership. At Quirigua, the ruler within the cartouche (Figure 5.2c) seems to be performing a specific act of ritual or historical importance, as the surrounding caption, also within the day sign, indicate. I suggest that these visual displays based on the uses of the term ahaw show rulers as "temporal 165beings" that were rulers of the time periods they commemorated through their monuments. If this train of thought is correct, the kings of individual polities did not merely celebrate the passage of period endings, but through the rites associated with these important stations came to be identified with that time period. The period ending rites may have been periodic "re-inaugurations" for rulers who took on both political and temporal or cosmic aspects. One interesting inscription from Itsimte, Guatemala, appears within a large day-sign cartouche, probably standing for Ahau, which in turn overlays a large turtle carapace (Figure 5.4). According to Taube (1988a), the turtle shell almost certainly represents the surface of the earth, as kab, "earth" signs on the carapace make clear. Placing the narrative of history within a day sign cartouche -- a literal "time frame" succinctly illustrates this idea of how certain events were intimately associated with a particular named ages or katuns. Also on this monument a tacit statement that these recorded events (now unreadable, unfortunately) occurred "on the earth," with the numbered Ahau designation for the Katun also possibly standing as the very name of the world at that particular time. The large Ahau altars from Caracol and Tonina prominently depict the Period Ending day names flat on the ground, perhaps indicting their use as designations for the disc-shaped earth (Taube 1988a). This type of altar bears some relationship, no doubt, to the famous Calendar Stone of 166Tenochtitlan, depicting a central day sign (4 Olin) as the name of the current earth. The date of Moteuczomah's accession occurs within this extended Aztec day-sign cartouche (the solar disc), placing the event in its proper temporal context. Most monumental inscriptions were designed to celebrate a certain contemporaneous event, and no examples of what might be called “pure recollection history" exist. All records of the past are purposefully tied to some circumstance in the present. This produces a remarkable narrative quality of Maya inscriptions, for rather than reflecting an annalistic concern with documenting random events, each text is designed to provide background and context for the particular event being celebrated. Often the thematic links between events are obvious, yet at other times the intended connections are lost to us, though apparently obvious to past readers armed with the necessary historical and cultural knowledge. As Lowenthal (1985:218) has said, "even the most empirical chroniclers invent narrative structures to give a shape to time". Maya inscriptions display a frequent concern with "pattern history," to borrow a term used by Nicholson (1972) for similar ideas present in the sources of Central México Pattern history is founded on the idea of recurrence, where calendar cycles, or certain permutations of these cycles, repeat, thus producing like-in-kind repetitions of 167mythological or historical events. At the center of this idea is the notion that as dates (or parts of dates) repeat, 80 too do the mythological or historical events, or whatever other associations, connected with them. The concepts appear to have been closely associated with the 260-day and 365-day rounds, but not with the Long Count. Certainly tun and katun anniversaries are frequently recorded, yet there is no evidence of a cyclicity or repetition associated with their passing. Long Count anniversaries occur on a linear time-frame as simple commemorations, whereas the pattern history of mesoamerican belief almost certainly involved thoughts of recurrence. Nicholson's discussion of Aztec pattern history certainly has parallels in the Maya sources. The commemoration of 260-day anniversaries are quite numerous, linking the ritual events of the present to those of the past. The text on an altar at Tonina, Monument 34, dedicated on the date 4 Ahau 13 Ceh (9.18.5.0.0) makes a deliberate backward reckoning to the beginning of Maya time on 4 Ahau 8 Cumku (13.0.0.0.0). The huge "4 Ahau" glyph in the center of the altar establishes the connection at a glance (Figure 5.5). Peter Mathews (n.d.) identified several other anniversaries in the inscriptions of Tonina based on a single interval of 260 days. Monument 69 (see Figure 4.1) records the death of a Tonina lord on the day 8 Chicchan 18 Zac, and 260 days later on 8 Chicchan 13 Xul he is "13 tuk 168| 4 type of anniversary appears on another altar where 12 Akbal or "260 in his tomb". Precisely the same 11 Kankin is the death and 12 Akbal 11 Kayab, one 260-day round, is the anniversary. Another Tonina altar (Figure 5.6) bears a large "on 5 Eb" glyph, with the Initial Series on the perimeter of 9.14.18.14.12 5 Bb 10 Yaxkin. The texts describes a och Klak' or "fire entering" event in the tomb of K'inich Baknal Chaak, an important Late Classic ruler of Tonina. The dominant 5 Eb glyph clearly makes reference to the inauguration of this king over forty years earlier on 9.12.16.3.12 5 Eb End of Xul. The tomb rite, involving the burning of fire in renovation of the burial (Stuart 1994), presumably was timed for this reason, and while no mention is made in this text of the accession date, the significance must have been clear to the intended audience. The recorded renovation or renewal rite might have been an explicit attempt to repeat some similar ritual conducted as part the inauguration on the previous 5 Bb, although this is in no way verifiable. only very rarely do records of pattern events go further to include the 365-day round position as well, making a full calendar round anniversary. Thus at Yaxchilan we find the dedication date for Structure 44 at Yaxchilan is 7 Imix 14 Zotz', precisely the date recorded as the accession of the first known ruler as recorded on Hieroglyphic Stairway 4 169Pattern dates may span even larger, almost unimaginable distances in time. Several inscriptions from Copan and Quirigua refer to specific dates in mythical time, sometimes hundreds of thousands or millions of years in the past (Thompson 1950:315). Quirigua Stela F, for examples, commemorating the ritual of 9.16.10.0.0 1 Ahau 3 Zip, hearkens back another date "1 Ahau 13 Yaxkin, end of 13 Kinchiltuns," approximately 90,000,000 years. Such chronological leaps reveal the Maya desire to place calendar rituals and other events on a grand cosmological setting. The present mirrored the past, just as the past mirrored the present. Lowenthal's (1984:63) description of the temporal framework of our western historical conciousness could equally well apply to the Classic May: An ordered chronology yields manifold rewards. We celebrate anniversaries, count up the days since important events, and base expectations on calendric regularities. We segment the past into equal or unequal intervals, marking off periods in our own lives along with those in other histories. Sequence clarifies, places things in context, underscores the uniqueness of past events, and forms them into lineaments of a true landscape. The idea of landscape is important, for like all Mesoamericans the Maya exhibited a very strong concern with not just the “when" and "who" of history, but also the "where". The geographical dimension of history was just as important as the personal and temporal ones (Stuart and Houston 1994) . 170Despite an intense concern with specifying the location of events, the scope of Maya written history seldom looks beyond individual communities or polities. Certainly, nowhere does one sense the idea of a cohesive "Maya history," even though distant sites and rulers often made reference to one another. The situation of Classic times thus offers a contrast to Post-Classic Yucatan, where the various books of Chilam Balam kept at many different towns recounted parallel accounts of a more-or-less single native history. Evidently, each city-state of Classic times, having its own historical traditions and origins, conceived of itself as an independent player in the passage of the tun and katun. This conceptual understanding of historical representations goes far toward illustrating the fundamental role of the community in the definition of cultural, ethnic, or historical identity. In general, each community represented its own history in different ways, as the genres of inscriptions discussed earlier show.?° Rewriting" History In her recent book on writing in Mesoamerican society, Marcus (1993) raises an important historiographical question on the "rewriting" of Maya history. Specifically she posits that Maya historical sources was occasionally if not continuously being destroyed and rewritten by those rulers wishing to modify and revise the public record. Clearly Maya inscriptions and monumental art were sometimes recarved 171in antiquity. Hieroglyphic Stairway 1 from Yaxchilan is an excellent example of a modified text (Figure 5.7). an earlier inscription contained within large, distantly spaced cartouches was at some point obliterated in favor of a much longer inscription running continously along the risers. A few elements of the earlier text are barely discernable, including two possible examples of the "step" glyph, but overall it is impossible to read. The later text presents a summary of Yaxchilan's dynastic history.*! The question remains whether the later text represents an actual rewriting of events. or whether the earlier of the two texts, seemingly dedicatory in nature, was considered somehow out-of-date. Another conspicuous example of recarving appears on Yaxchilan, Stela 6 (Figure 5.8), and suggests that the reworking of history was not necessarily the main purpose behind the recarving of stones. This monument is one of a number of iconographically similar stelae from that site that portray a standing ruler in the so-called “scattering” gesture that I have previously surmised to be a representation of ritual bloodletting (Stuart 1988). The image and inscription on its face are carved in low relief and are quite well preserved, but there are clearly vestiges at the bottom of the monument, below the image of the ruler, of an earlier carving in somewhat deeper, more rounded relief. The earlier carving is difficult to make out, and certainly was hidden below the plaza surface when the stela 172(as it now appears) was erected. However, some costume elements and hieroglyphs are clearly discernable. The ruler on Stela 6 is Bird Jaguar III, father of Shield Jaguar I and grandfather of the well-known Bird Jaguar VI (Mathews 1988). He is clearly named in the inscription, and the long count date of the monument is 9.11.14.10.13 5 Ben 1 Uayeb, the 2 katun anniversary of his inauguration. The ritual bloodletting was presumably done at this time in celebration of the anniversary. Above the portrait we find the standard iconographic symbolism typical of these scattering monuments: a skyband ending in serpent heads surmounted by two solar cartouches that contain full- figure portraits of the ruler's father and mother. Significantly, the symbolic program above the scene seems poorly executed, for in other monuments of this type the serpent and cartouches occupy a much greater space, competing, it almost seems, against the ruler's for the viewer's attention. Here the celestial imagery is confined to a very small space. A closer examination of the lower-most portion of the sculpture -- the vestiges of an earlier carving -- show certain similarities to the later image above. Certain costume elements are clearly discernable, including portions of a necklace or collar on a human figure, with associated jade ornaments. An upper arm emerges from beneath the collar and falls to the right, suggesting that the portrait itself faced in this direction. At the back of the human 173torso that remains is a animal head of some sort exhibiting some skeletal features with a possible kin glyph resting atop. In the earlier carving are also seen parts of a hieroglyphic text that would have occupied a panel in front of the figure. Only a few glyphs are recognizable, including a rare example of glyph G6 of the nine lords of the night, and Glyph B of a Lunar Series. It appears that these glyphs comprised a vertical text panel placed to the right, and in front, of the figure. Clearly a date was recorded here, very possibly in long count form. The early sculpture certainly is battered almost beyond recognition, yet the combination of visible elements clearly shows that it was an earlier portrait of a ruler "scattering," very much like the later image on Stela 6 and several other similar stelae at Yaxchilan. All of these monuments are very much alike in their design, and together they comprise a distinctive set within Yaxchilané sculptural tradition. The collar visible is extremely large and ornate, as shown on the other stelae. The original stela must have been very tall. The stela broke around the torso area of the earlier figure, and by adding the proportions of a standing figure below the break, approximately another 1.5 meters would be added to the area of carving. If an iconographic panel was carved below its feet, as is often the case on these monuments, the original stela would have been extemely tall and narrow. 174Evidently, this large early stelae was broken, either accidentally or intentionally, and the top portion was used for Stela 6.!? Enough of the earlier figure and inscriptions survives to suggest that the later carving is a reproduction of the earlier version, portraying the same individual and the same date. The tell-tale glyph Gé present in both sculptures, of which only a handful are known otherwise, is the most important clue pointing to the recarving. Also significant is the shallow-relief style of the later carving, typically associated with the reign of Bird Jaguar IV, roughly a century after the anniversary celebrated on the stela. I would suggest that when the stela was broken, it was deemed important enough to recarve and re-erect in the form it now takes Many Maya monuments suffered intentional destruction in ancient times, but the motivations behind the defacement of stelae cannot be known. Nowhere is there a visible case of "editing" or altering an already existing text, suggesting that the Maya did not "rewrite" their history in the way Marcus describes. As I have argued in Chapter 3, history was in fact often a secondary concern of scribes working with the monumental texts. The destruction of monuments, when intentional, may instead have been akin to the destruction and burial of early architecture before rebuilding. Texts that formed parts of a certain built environment may sometimes have suffered the same fate, but this does not necessarily say anything about the ancient 175perceptions of these monuments as acceptable records of history. The correct explanations, if we can ever arrive at them, were surely more complicated. 176actun, Figure 5.1. Day count painted on the wall of U B-XIII (drawing courtesy archives of Corpus of Maya Hieroglyphic Inscriptions, Peabody Museum, Harvard University) 177 siFigure 5.2. Royal portraits in Ahau cartouches (a! Machaquila Stela 13 (from Graham 1967:Fig. 67) (b) altar of unknown provenience, Guatemala City (inked after a pencil sketch by Ian Graham), (c) Quirigua, Altar L (from Sch and Freidel 1990: Fig. 8.5)Figure 5.3. Animated "six" figures from Quirigua Stela A and © (from Maudslay 1888-1902:II, Pls. 8, 20)Figure 5.4. Day cartouche from Itsimte, Altar 1 (from Morley 1937-1938:P1. 43g) 180Figure 5.5. Tonina, Monument 34 (drawing by Peter Mathews, courtesy the Corpus of Maya Hieroglyphic Inscriptions, Peabody Museum, Harvard University) isiFigure 5.7. Portion of Yaxchilan, Hierogly; (€rom Graham 1982:139) 383Figure 5.8. Yaxchilan, Stela 6 (from Tate 1992:Fig. 7, after drawing by Ian Graham) 284PART IT THEMATIC STUDIESCHAPTER VI AHAW AND THE INSTITUTIONS OF RULE Intr n As royally sanctioned texts, monumental inscriptions are uniquely suited to the study of political institutions in the Classic period (Stuart 1985; Freidel and Schele 1988; Houston 1992; Marcus 1992). It seems natural enough, therefore, to begin our closer examination of what the inscriptions say by concentrating on the ruling hierarchies as they are portrayed in the inscriptions, first looking at the conceptual basis of the institution of rulership then, in the following chapter, analyzing the lower levels of the political structure. From the outset I must reiterate the obvious and important point, all too often overlooked, that Maya rulership and political organization were not geograpically or temporally homogeneous; therefore one cannot claim to speak of "Maya political organization" as it were a single modus operandi, for as I hope to demonstrate in this chapter and later in Chapter 8, the varied genres of texts may go beyond differences of literary style to reflect substantial distinctions in the structure of government. Interpretations of the roles and nature of rulership in Maya society have changed dramatically over the decades. Today, for example, it is common knowledge that the 186individuals portrayed on stelae and wall panels are historical characters, and not gods as assumed by some before the 1960's (see Schele and Miller [1986:18-33] for a compelling historiographical discussion of shifting interpretations). However, there is sometimes a tendency to overstate this truth to the degree that the priestly functions of rulership are downplayed in many interpreations in favor of more secular roles centering on warfare and political showmanship (e.g. Marcus 1974, 1993). This stems in large part from cultural-materialist theory as it is applied to Maya archaeology, in which inscriptions are viewed as little more than limited, propagandistic statements exhalting the life events and deeds of rulers, specifically of their births, marriages, accessions, wars, and so-forth (Santley 198: Marcus 1993). As discussed in the introduction, this view is only partially correct and over-simplifies the complex nature of the hieroglyphic xecord. The principal aim of most inscriptions, perhaps reflecting the oldest "genre" of monumental writing, was to record rituals in connection to monument dedications and important stations in the calendar. Rulers were important actors in these rites, although very often the narrative focus is on the object and not on the ruler. More "secular" historical data, conataining naratives of life history principally serves as a background to this more important information. The ritual character of Maya kingship is generally 187acknowledged; much has been said about it, yet it remains only poorly understocd. Whereas we are able to translate many texts that have military or more secular themes, those inscriptions discussing ceremonial events involving bloodletting and other rites have proved more difficult to interpret. The confusion is due in large part to the non- specific language used in the hieroglyphic descriptions of the rites, where we often find statements such as “he enclosed the stone," or "he cast the droplets." Such brief remarks may have been cues to informed readers, who could supply a host of mental images deriving from custom and usage. The importance of bloodletting in Maya ritual is now accepted (Stuart 1984, 1988; Schele and Miller 1986), yet even so, we lack an understanding of its actual meaning within the larger complex of ritual activity. The at least partly shamanic character of Maya rulership has also been rightly emphasized of late (Freidel, Schele and Parker 1993), but some of the evidence mustered in support of such views needs to be evaluated and refined. For example, no Maya ruler was ever labelled with the title way, "shaman," contrary to recent claims (Schele and Freidel 1990:141,441).13 Despite all these limitations, howeve: some of the advances I will describe in elucidating the supernatural and ritualistic foundations of Maya culture have made divine kingship one of the more engaging subjects for research. 188The Ne aw The basic term for "ruler" or "noble" in Mayan languages is ahaw (variant spellings include ahau, ajaw, etc Several equivalent hieroglyphs for ahaw appear throughout the inscriptions from the earliest times to the end of the Post-Classic (Figure 6.1). The word ahaw is instantly recognizable also as the name of the twentieth Maya day-sign (in that context traditionally spelled Ahau), corresponding to Nahuatl xochitl, "flower." The existence of this honorific term in the inscriptions was first established by Lounsbury (1973) and later greatly elaborated upon by Mathews and Justeson (1984). Ahaw can claim to be not only the most common title mentioned in the Maya inscriptions, but indeed one of the most common words. The frequency illustrates in itself how central the theme of rulership was in the monumental texts. Ahaw may be taken to mean "ruler" or "king" in some contexts, but it also can represent a wider category of the nobility, at least in the Late Classic period. An important @istinction made by the Maya themselves was between ahaw and the more specific title k'ul ahaw, "Holy Lord," which was reserved for the highest position of divine kingship (Figure 6.2). The K'UL sign representing a stream of sacrificial blood is prefixed to AHAW to render the term. K'ul ahay is extremely common in the Late Classic inscriptions, and is the translation of the well-known “emblem glyphs" discussed by Berlin (1958), Marcus (1976), and many others (see 189Mathews 1991; Stuart 1993). Nearly always emblem glyphs include a third, intervening sign between K'UL and AHAW that is the name of a site or ruling family (the "Holy Yaxha Lord," for example) . The etymology of ahaw is somewhat obscure, although not for lack of suggestions. Most agree that the term incorporates the widespread agentive prefix ah-, customarily found on titles of occupation or association, before the root aw, the meaning of which is debated. Brinton (1882), apparently following an entry in Ximenez's (1985) colonial dictionary of Quiche and Cackchiquel, suggested that aw refers to a jewel (Ximenez glosses au as "cadena de la que pende una joya" (1985:61])). The problem with an etymology of “he of the jewel" or something similar rests with the troubling fact that aw does not occur as "jewel" in any other lexical source. In a different interpretation, Justeson (1984) has suggested that ahaw originated as ah-aw, “sower," since aw is a common root for "to sow" or "seed." This meaning is found in Eastern Mayan and Proto Tzotzil- Tzeltal, but, perhaps significantly, it is not documented in Cholan or Yucatecan Mayan. While this seems more supportable than Brinton's offering, there is still another attractive possibility based on yet another attested meaning for aw: "shout." This root is found in Western Mayan as well as in Yucatecan, lowland language groups more closely affiliated with the production of Maya hieroglyphic script I offer the possibility, therefore, that ah-aw is literally 190"shouter" or “proclaimer," a title that is in many ways parallel to the Aztec term for “ruler,” tlahtoani, literally "one who customarily says things." Interestingly, the common Yucatec designation for rulers in the colonial sources, halach winik, has been translated by Thompson (197. 5) as, "man who commands " Nevertheless, as we shall see, the visual origins of ahaw hieroglyphs still show some intriguing links to Brinton's and Ximenez's unsubstantiated etymology based on "jewel." Lounsbury's (1973). pioneering study of the title exclusively concerned one of the more common ways of writing ahaw, the so-called "ben-ich" affix, numbered T168 in Thompson's (1962) catalog (Figure 6.1b). Much of Lounsbury's elegant argument concerns T168's original value as ahpo or abpop, a title for "chief, lord," where the two componenets of T168 had the original values AH and po or POP. At some Classic sites, Lounsbury noted, the reversed arrangement of the supposed ah and po componenets in 7168, together with the frequent addition of the syllabic suffix wa, suggested that ahaw was an alternative reading for T168 Since Lounsbury's initial argument, he has published new evidence suggesting that pop ahaw was specifically the alternative value (Lounsbury 1989). However, phonetic evidence and sign substitutions indicate that ahaw was the probably the only pronunciation of this sign in the inscriptions (Mathews and Justeson 1984:204). Indeed, there is reason to doubt the title's 192origin in ahpop or similar titles involving the term pop, "mat." Two facts lead to this conclusion, the first of which is that eastern Mayan languages such as Quiche and Cackchiquel, where ahpop is attested, had apparently little if any input into the hieroglyphic system (Campbell 1988) A more convincing point against the ahpo or ahpop value, however, comes from the graphic history of the sign in question. All early examples of T168 dating before the Late Classic consistently show the ordering po-ah, if we momentarily adopt the proposed assigned values. More importantly, it can clearly be shown that T168 is an "abbreviation" of a much larger sign of which Lounsbury was apparently unaware. This larger unit exhibits a large main element (T518) beneath T168 (Figure 6.1a), but its usage demonstrates that it is a single unit of the writing system, functionally equivalent to 7168 by itself and all documented forms of ahaw. The common phonetic complements a- and -wa further reveal that the reading of this expanded sign was itself ahaw. What finally renders the proposition of an ahpo origin for the hieroglyph untenableis the fact that it appears to simply represent a flower, or more precisely a flower of jadeite worn as jewelry. This can be clearly shown by locking at the earliest examples of the sign in question, and comparing the images to those of jade ornaments (Stuart 1992b). It becomes immediately evident that earliest examples of T168, always reflecting the po-ah order 192mentioned above, are comprised of a circle and half of a “flare," precisely the two elements of jewelry ubiquitous on costumes of the Early and Late Classic periods (Figure 6.3a). Often the beads, if that is what they are, are accompanied by three radiating elements emanating from the flare. The internal markings of the flare, moreover, are shown in the T168 sign, and probably indicate that the larger unabbreviated form of this glyph as described above also derives from a piece of jewelry. The circle-and-flare jewels, as I call them, can in turn be easily linked to flower representations, where the circle corresponds to the base of the flower, the flare to the blossom, and the three optional radiating elements to stamen (Figure 6.3b). The flower identification of this particular ahaw hieroglyph is in keeping with the other ways in which Maya scribes wrote the title. The two head variants (Figure 6.1¢ and a), to be discussed in more detail momentarily, both wear a distinctive headband, which by itself represents rulership much in the way the Aztec royal diadem stood as the hieroglyph for teuctli, "noble, ruler" (Figure 6.1f). Attached to the front of the Maya headbands is a representation of a flower, usually in the form of the well- known "face" commonly found as the day sign Ahau. The face is a late visual manipulation of an image that originally had no facial characteristics, but which was clearly a flower (hence the equivalence between the Maya day Ahau and Aztec Xochitl, Flower"). Also found on headbands is the 193so-called "Jester God," which is probably an animated flower of some type. The ahaw headband seems to be a variation on @ pan-Mesoamerican flower headband probably denoting rulership and traceable to all sub-cultures of the area, including the pre-Classic Olmec (Figure 6.4). Flowers, then, were one of the original and principal symbols for representing the concept of ahaw, and of Mesoamerican rulership in general. But why flowers? Several related symbolic associations of flowers may be key, including ideas associated with elegance, fragrance, brightness, heat, powerful souls, and, most importantly, the sun (Hill 1992; Laughlin 1962; Stuart 1992b). Thompson (1932) long ago described the Maya sign for KIN (a word widely glossed as "sun" or "day," and a root for terms relating to "heat") as a four-petaled flower, and this in turn is incorporated as a basic title of Maya royalty. One of the more important titles for Maya lords was ktinich, literally "sun-faced" or "sun-eyed" (Figure 6.5). The clear link between the Maya sun god and royalty, however, comes from the straightforward visual associations between portraits of the Sun God, K'inich Ahaw, and the head-variant hieroglyph AHAW, representing Hunahpu or Hun Ahau, as he was called in Classic times (Coe 1989) (Figure 6.6). The link between Hun Ahau and the sun in strengthened by yet another parallel in the Aztec sources: Hun Ahaw, "One Ahau" is a calendar name corresponding to Ce Xochitl, "One Flower," the calendar name of the Aztec Sun God Tonahtiuh 194(Robelo 1911). Significantly for this line of reasoning, ethnographic evidence shows that heat is an important element in the definition of power within modern Maya political institutions (Gossen 1979:123). Among the Tzotzil of highland Chiapas, It is said that a man, from the time of his birth, has more "heat" than a woman; that his ch'ulel [soul] is stronger than hers, due to its superior heat. The superior heat is explained by the fact that it is to him that the obligation of office holding falls. It is he who is called to continue that which was begun by the gods in the "beginning of the world (Guiteras-Holmes 1961:306) Villa Rojas (1963) notes that the highest dignitary among the Tzeltal Maya of Oxchuc, Chiapas, is viewed as the vhottest." Among the Yucatec Maya, the idea of heat, like the Aztec tonalli, referred to temperament, especially among the chiefs and nobles who commanded fear and respect (Villa Rojas 1980). The concept of heat among the Colonial Yucatec Maya refers to one's temperament, especially of the chiefs and lords who commanded fear and respect (ibid.). The same idea is found reflected in numerous Mayan languages. The Yucatec term K:inam, meaning "heat," also means "valor" and "bravery." Among the Pokomam, Miles notes that "la idea de calor estaba siempre ligada a la de los sefiores. Kak Tepeu se podria my bien traducir como ‘ardiente Majestad'" (Miles 1957). Similarly, the Tzotzil term k'ak'al ik’, literally "hot breath" or "hot spirit,” is glossed as "majesty" (Laughlin 1988). Heat therefore is 195associated with strong souls, and strong or forceful spirits (strong blood) are assigned to those of high status. Guiteras-Holmes (1961:306) notes that "through ‘heat’ man becomes godlike," reflecting the etymological link in Tzotzil between ch'ulel, "soul," and ch'u, "god." The relative strengths of souls therefore have profound social implications in modern Mayan communities. Villa Rojas (1963) describes how social control comes as a result of elders manipulating the weaker naguales of others. The village elders depend on naguales (animal companion spirits, called way in Classic times [Houston and Stuart 1989]), and “are able to know the thoughts of their subordinates and thus mete out punishment in the shape of illness and other misfortunes." As a result, it is believed that all people with prestige should have their own forceful nagual spirit. The flower, as a symbol of the sun and of heat, among other things (Laughlin 1962), is therefore an appropriate means of representing the ideas surrounding ahaw. The insights derived from ethnographic sources, particularly with regard to flowers, souls, and blood, will be extended further in the following chapter. reclassic Foundation of au" As noted above, the ahaw title appears in some of the very earliest inscriptions exhibiting Maya writing. Freidel (1992) and Freidel and Schele (1986; 1989) have discussed the origins of the "institution" of ahaw at some length, 196claiming that it was invented in the middle and late Preclassic periods, decisive juncture in Maya culture history. Freidel recently states that "by A.D. 199, the lowland Maya had firmly established their definition of central power, k'ul_ahau, as both idea and artifact." The date cited by Freidel comes from the so-called Hauberg stela, as reconstructed by Schele (1985a), although its reading and chronological placement are highly dubious. Nevertheless, it is true that the emergence of rulership must have come before the second century A.D., as reflected by the existence of royal art and portraiture from more firmly dated Late Preclassic materials at, for example, UVaxactun (Valdes 1988) and Nakbe (Hansen 1991). The question remains whether the k'ul ahaw concept of rulership was invented as part of a sudden cultural transformation or "revolutionary episode," as Freidel and Schele have claimed, or whether it came into being more gradually during the Late Preclassic. Hansen's recent dating of major monumental architecture at Nakbe to the Middle Preclassic era (Hansen 1991) suggests that the latter alternative is more likely. Relevant to this question, also, is the apparent scarcity of the specialized title k'ul ahaw in texts of the Late Pre-Classic or Early Classic. At Tikal, for example, the rulers of the Early Classic are simply called ahaw for the most part; the addition of the ktul prefix became consistent only during the Late Classic. A similar pattern holds throughout sites of the Maya 197Lowland: kul ahaw, while certainly present in some earlier cases, is generally used only in the later texts of the Classic era. In the Early Classic and before, rulers were usually referred to as ahaw, seemingly without any explicit differentiation from other lords and nobles of the local court. From this pattern one may argue that the "institution" of k'ul_ahaw -- of explicitly divine kinship - - was solidified much later than Freidel and others have suggested. If during the Late Classic period, elite populations were increasing along with their visibility in the royal art (see Chapter 8), the k'ul ahaw title may have become useful at this time for distinguishing the high king from the surrounding nobility. The val Foundations of Rulershij By now it seems evident that the basic ideal of Maya rulership was the sun, specifically in its manifestation as "One Ahau" (Hun Ahaw or Hunahpu) as identified by Coe (1989). Yet while the accoutrements of the personified ahaw hieroglyphs and the basic costume of rulership seem to be derived from this supernatural proto-type, these remain only superficial visual links between rulership and its basis in religious thought. Here we might do well to examine the textual passages that reflect this general relationship, with an eye toward defining more precisely how Maya rulers discussed their own position in the cosmos and society as a 198whole. In some portraits, rulers often wear a distinctive headdress representing the so-called Principal Bird Deity, a zoological manifestation of the all important "God D," or Itsamah. This entity was featured very prominently in some of the earliest monumental art of the Maya lowlands, such as in the large stucco masks at Nakbe, and was an integral part of royal symbolism ever since. It is significant that the Mut _Itsamnah, or "Bird Itsamnah" -- its Maya name, according to the ancient texts’ -- is an aspect of Itsamnah himself, the ubiquitous god who was possibly an aspect of the sun and a the ruler of the heavens (Taube 1992). The historical sources tell us that Itsamnah was also the inventor of writing, and a calendar priest, or ah kin (lit. "diviner,” or “he of days"). These symbols of supernatural identity strongly suggest that rulers had significant priestly functions in the marking and celebrating of stations of the calendar, a function that was central in defining their ritual responsibilities which will be elaborated upon in the next chapter. Several studies over the last decade has established that much of Maya royal symbolism may be understood on the basis of shamanistic qualities of kingly power (Freidel and Schele 1988; Houston and Stuart 1989; Freidel 1992; Freidel, Schele and Parker 1993). Although, as stated above, detailed decipherments are few and must be refined, the very ancient identification of rulers with Itsamnah shows that 199this emphasis on ritual symbolsim is a very old iconographic tradition. Inauguration Ceremonies The inauguration of rulers was of foremost importance in the religious and political life of Maya society, yet our knowledge of these events from the hieroglyphic inscriptions remains sketchy at best. The principal terms used in recording official installations were chum, "to sit" (Figure 6.7) or hok', "to put in office" (Figure 6.8). The general meanings of these verbal glyphs were recognized long ago, where, for instance, the "seating" glyph is used in connection with the installment of months in the 365-day solar year. Indeed, the metaphor of the month becoming seated or inaugurated probably goes back quite far in Mesoamerican thought, for month signs of the Epi-Olmec or Isthmian writing system are pictured atop signs that may represent thrones (Winfield Capitaine 1988:Fig. 11). In his seminal analysis of the Tablet of the 96 Glyphs at Palenque, Berlin (1968) applied Thompson's "seating" meaning to inauguration events, thus establishing its importance in historical contexts. Thompson's seating interpretation has since been confirmed by the phonetic complement -mu, surely representing the ending for the word kum or chum, "to si The sign itself derives originally from the side-view of the lower half of a cross-legged individual Seating events are nearly always taken to be records of 200inauguration, but the glyph may be used in a variety of contexts (in addition to its broader calendrical usage) that do not necessarily refer to the installment of rulers in office. For example, Lintel 21 of Yaxchilan records a seating event concerning Bird-Jaguar IV nine days after his formal inauguration on 9.16.1.0.0 (Figure 6.9). It seems most reasonable to interpret this event as a ritual seating of the ruler in this one particular structure, probably as part of a series of important rites connected with his installation in office. His actual inauguration, as recorded by the hok' verb, is noted many times in Yaxchilan's inscriptions likened to the earlier date. The seating glyph, then, only refers to actual accessions when it is accompanied by the so-called “affix cluster," the prepositional phrase that specifies the office or quality attained (Figure 6.7b). At least three different offices can be specified: awawlel, "kingship," is by far the most common, kalomte'lel, "kalomte'-ship," was used to describe the royal office at Tikal during the Late Classic period, and sahalil, "sahal-ship," a subsidiary position most frequently discussed in the Usumacinta River region (these will be treated seperately below and also in the following chapter). knowing that rulers can be "seated" more than once, we are forced to reconsider the validity of some accession events that have been posited on the basis of certain the historical inscriptions. The supposed very early accession 202date on the Leiden Plaque, for example, is one of the events we should now subject to critical scrutiny. It has been long considered one of the earliest known accession dates -- which may well be true -- but the seating event as recorded in the short inscription says nothing about an office, instead mentioning a place name directly after the verb. The same place name is mentioned in the inscriptions of Tikal and Copan, and it is probably supernatural in nature, being assoaicted on Copan's Stela J with a clearly mythical date. We cannot conclude from the text that the ruler was actually installed in office on the date recorded, but merely that he was "seated" in some ritual capacity at the mythical place. It is possible that seating events took place often and in a variety of situations throughout a ruler's reign. One inscription from Copan makes similar use of the seating event, in connection with a historical individual named U Kit Tok', who appears only in this text near the end of the dynastic history of that site (Figure 6.10). Grube and Schele interpret the record of his seating as good evidence for considering him the successor of the sixteenth (and long-considered last) Copan ruler (see Fash 1991:178). However, since no office is specified in this inscription, unlike nearly all confirmable accession statements, it is probable that U Kit Tok’ was not a ruler, but as a subsidiary ruler under the sixteenth king, who is pictured with him on the monument. 202The phrasing we find in accession statements, “he was seated in the rulership," survived into colonial times (Closs 1982; Mathews and Justeson 1984). The historical chronicles of the sixteenth century Paxbolon Papers of the Acalan Province make use of the verb chum-wan-ix, "he was seated" before the phrase ta ahaw-lel, "in the rulership." The wording here is essentially no different than that of the Classic period inscriptions. Unlike the seating glyph, the hok' verb specifically refers to accession into office (Figure 6.8a). Barthel (1968) suggested this value, and while impossible to confirm for many years, there has since appeared phonetic evidence in its support. In many inscriptions of the Classic period, the knotted-band or "toothache" sign representing a tied bundle can be conflated with other signs, such as the vulture ti (Figure 6.8b) (introducing the prepositional phrase) or the moon sign, ha, representing the verbal ending ih (Figure 6.8c). Occasionally, though, another sign may appear beneath the knot, namely the Classic version of the syllable ho as identified by Houston (1988) (Figure 6.84) This sign almost certainly is a phonetic complement for Barthel's hok', a Yucatecan term for "to knot" as well as “to place in office." In one inscription from Yaxchilan, the ho sign even precedes the knotted sign conflated with ha, lending good support to this interpretation of the sign's function (Figure 6.8e). It seems most likely that the verbal expression hok'ah ti ahawlel, “he was tied in the 203rulership," alludes to the tying of the royal headband in coronation. The attachment of the headband is also conveyed by a third major accession phrase which will be called the "knot- over-hand" (Figure 6.11). The verb is the same as that in the the "tun-over-hand" ritual event mentioned in Chapter 4, but the knot sign read HUN or BUUN, "paper, book, paper headband" stands in the place of "stone." The reading of the hand verb remains problematic but LIK' (MacLeod persoanl communication 1991) and K'AL seem possibilities (see Chapter 4). Interestingly, k'al means "to bind, fasten" in Yucatec, which would be appropriate in this particular context. The entire accession statement, with the prepositional phrase tu-ba-hi (t-u-bah, "to, on himself") may read something similar to “the paper headband was fasten on himself." The distribution of the two important accession verbs chum and hok' reveal some noteworthy patterns. "Seating" was a popular statement of accession in the central Peten sites such as Tikal, but was virtually unknown at Piedras Negras, for instance. Hok', in turn, never was employed by the scribes of Palenque, and neither of the terms was ever used in the relatively short-lived textual history of Quirigua. The explanation for these irregular patterns may well involve linguistic differences between sites, since hok!, a Yucatecan term in the sources available, could well have been absent from the speech of the extreme western locales near Palenque (although one example does appear at 204nearby Tonina). Many other sites, such as Copan and Yaxchilan, employ both verbs, although it may well prove to be the case that their internal distribution at these sites is temprarally differentiated. As alluded to above, there are also possible functional distinctions to consider as well. At Copan, for instance, the hok' verb seems to be used exclusively by the sixteenth ruler. We come away from a consideration of these accession hieroglyphs with but a shallow understanding of coronation and the assumption of office. One aspect in particular of the accession theme that the glyphs can in some way clarify is the identification of the physical architectural space where rites of enthronement probably took place. At Palenque, on the Tablet of the 96 Glyphs, we find direct references to the house or structure where leaders were seated in the rulership. This tablet, like so many other architectural inscriptions, is largely dedicatory in nature, commemorating near its beginning the fire-entering ritual of the Sak Nuk Nah, or "White -. House," during the reign of K'inich Hanab Pakal. This almost certainly was the name of House E of the Palace, which faces the small courtyard where the tablet was originally placed (at the base of the Palace's tower), and the only building of the entire Palace complex that was painted white. The Tablet of the 96 Glyphs goes on to record the accessions of three Palenque kings, all apparently in the Sak Nuk Nah. Significantly, the interior of House E once 205held a sculpted throne, the so-called "Del Rio Throne," which itself is embellished with the accession events of at least three Palenque lords. Behind the throne, built into the stuccoed wall of the gallery, still sits the Oval Palace Tablet, portraying K'inich Hanab Pakal and a woman who was probably his mother, Lady Zak K'uk'. There seems little choice but to identify the Del Rio Throne as at least one coronation site of the Late Classic Palenque lords. Here, headdresses and headbands would have been presented to the "seated" kings. Customs surrounding inauguration rites no doubt varied from site to site, but Palenque offers the most detailed remains from which to reconstruct the physical and ritual settings of accessions No other texts offer much more detail on the proceedings that must have accompanied these important occasions, but it seems possible nevertheless to detect vague elements of the religious and political events that lead up to the inauguration of kings. Yaxchilan offers an interesting case study of lengthy accession ceremonies, which Proskouriakoff touched upon in her initial study of the historical content of its inscriptions (1963, 1964). Geographical Differences in Rulership Despite the overall heterogeneity of themes and genres characteristic of Maya inscriptions, it is true that rulership in expressed in mich the same way from site to site, employing the same titles and iconographic 206conventions. Ahaw glyphs are identical, as are statements of seating, taking office, receiving the headband of rule, and so forth. Yet despite the almost monotonous repetitions of events and titles associated with rule, there exist some differences which may reflect important distinctions in political organizations or hierarchies. Probably the most visible of these, from an overall perspective, is the unusual nature of Tikal's inscriptions There, during the Late Classic period, no ruler is said to have been "seated in the rulership,” or ti ahawlel. Instead of ahaw, the Tikal rulers were seated in an office already briefly mentioned, called kalomte'el, or, literally, “kalomte'-ship" (Figure 6.12). This is the title long called "Batab," but this reading can no longer be supported (at Copan inscription, it is rendered phonetically by the syllables ka-lo-ma-te). The word kalomte' is obscure, and though it is a title at other sites suchg as Palenque, Yaxchilan, and Copan, it cannot be found in any modern lexical source.15 However, kalomte' was clearly one of the most important titles held by Maya rulers at Tikal. What is unusual in Tikal's case is the use of kalomte’ as the one title to which a ruler is placed at inauguration. Despite its frequency at other centers, kalomte' is never so prominently used. It would appear that Tikal's distinctive use of the titie originated with the beginning of the Late Classic period, perhaps more precisely with the accession of Ruler A 207(known as “Ah-Cacaw," or more correctly Hasaw Kaan K'awil) in A.D. 682 (Jones 1977). In earlier texts, fragmented and damaged as they are, we find occasional examples of ahaw with prepositions, perhaps referring to the conventional office achieved upon inauguration. The change to accessions “as kalomte'" in the late seventh century is difficult to fathom with the current evidence available, but one possible explanations come to mind that requires the following brief historical background. Shortly before the accession of Hasaw Kaan K'awil, the kingdom of Tikal appears to have suffered a military defeat of some sort at the hands of Ruler 1 (Balah Kaan K'awil) of Dos Pilas. The motives for the conflict remain obscure, but there are indications that the Tikal ruler and the Dos Pilas ruler may have been brothers, or at least half-brothers, who could also have been rivals rivals in succeeding their father to the throne. As many have pointed out, both Tikal and Dos Pilas share the same emblem glyph, supporting the idea of a political and/or familial affinity of some sort. In the inscriptions of Dos Pilas, however, the kalomte! title so ubiquitous at Tikal is conspicuously rare, with only one example known to me from Hieroglyphic Stairway 3. It is tempting to see the change in Tikal's office of rulership and the subsequent pattern of the title's distribution as somehow related to the Dos Pilas war. Could there have been a conscious agreement or understanding between Dos Pilas and Tikal over Tikal's "right" to the 208office? Whether such issues were determined by inheritance or diplomacy is beyond the reach of the current data. Despite all these gaps in our information, the contrast between these two related sites offers an unusual glimpse into the different political structures and their modes of expression. We will not know more until the kalomte' title and all its implications are better understood. From such vaguely understood hieroglyphic titles and ritual events it is exceedingly difficult to reconstruct a vivid picture of the "institution" of Maya kingship, for one is left without knowing much about the actual mechanisms of Power structures and decision-making within the ancient kingdoms. However, looking at the ways in which rulership and its duties were or, perhaps just as importantly, were not represented in the textual sources may allow for some broader insights into the ways power and status were defined within Classic Maya communities. The widespread focus in the inscriptions on the ritual roles of rulership is of course significant in this respect, for it comes at the apparent expense of more "secular" expressions of power. In texts and portraiture, rulers and nobles make no obvious claims to the control of labor forces or the administration of agricultural land holdings, unlike their counterparts in some early Near East civilizations (Demarest 1992:146). One cannot conclude from negative evidence that Maya royal control of labor and resources was 209limited, for the construction of monumental urban zones around royal enclaves is obvious evidence that it was not. Rather, one may conclude that the Maya elites simply had little interest in making such direct claims. The internal, culturally-derived conceptions of power and the means of its representation were quite different, emphasizing ritualistic fuctions above all else. In her study of the iconographic display of power in Classic-period Maya art, Marcus (1974) emphasizes the militaristic themes of certain monuments from sites within the Usumacinta drainage, particularly those from Yaxchilan and Piedras Neagras. The frequency of records of captive- taking at these sites, both textual and artistic, has already been described (see Chapter 4), and, as will be emphasized in Chapter 9, these certainly appear to be explicit images of power and conquest, far from purely ritualistic affairs. Nevertheless, it must be remembered that such records are highly restricted in both time and space, most falling only within the reigns of a handful of rulers and only at a handful of sites. Militarism, when seen overall, was not the thematic focus of royal monumental art. The older, more widespread textual representation of Power, as has been shown, concerns the ruler's explicit relationship to sacred objects and monuments, and the acts he or she performed in their association. The foregoing discussion supports the emerging idea that royal power was ideologically defined for the most 210part. As Demarest (1992:147) puts it, "the role or ritual, religion, public display, and monumental propoganda was central to Classic Maya society" (see also Stuart 1984, 1988; Schele and Miller 1986), and that "religion -was...perhaps the source of power of Maya rulers." Such notions have gained wide acceptance over the last two decades, and can be traced to Thompson's (1973) seminal statement on the symbolism of Itsamnah in royal iconography. Due to the nature of the textual sources as thus far described, it is evident that epigraphy is particualrly well suited to understanding and refining the ideological dimensions of rulership. The symbolic analysis of the ahaw title, for example, establishes the ancient solar associations of high ranking nobility, and the k'ul ahaw or “holy lord" is an explicit reference to the divinity of kings. Other less important titles and honorific terms could be cited and analyzed in similar ways, and due to the complexities of the subject many of these will be treated the following chapters discussing sacrifice, political organization, warfare, and tribute. As will be seen, the documentary sources offer surprising new evidence on not only the ritualistic nature of royal power, but also on internal ranking structures and the militaristic and economic dimensions of rule 2urFigure 6.1. Hieroglyphs for ahaw, "lord, noble." 212Figure 6.2. The title K'ul Ahaw, "Holy Lord," as shoxn in the so-called "emblem glyph" of the Petexbatun polFigure 6.3. (a) Representation of jade jewels from at Tikal (after Jones and Satterthwaite 1982:Fig. 5 Compare the "circle" and “flare” elements to the "ben-c form of ahaw (Figure 6.1b), (b) representation of a = on a painted cylinder tripod from Kaminaljuyu (after Jennings and Shook 1946:Fig. 204b) 214Figure 6.4. Flower headbands from Mesoamerica. (a) Maya example, (b) Olmec, (c) Zapotec, and (d) AztecFigure 6.5. The honorific k'inich in logographic and syllabic formsFigure 6.6. Correspondence between portraits of (a) Ktinich Ahaw, and (b) "Hun Ahaw."Figure 6.7. The CHUM "seating" glyph 228F + SES GOESFigure 6.9. Yaxchilan, Lintel 21Figure 6.10. Copan, Altar L (drawing by Barbara Fash: (from Fash 1991:Fig. 109)Figure 6.11. The "knot-over-hand" accession phraseFigure 6.12. Inauguration statement from Tikal, Stela 2: (after Jones and Satterthwaite 1982:Fig. 31).CHAPTER VIT RITES OF SACRIFICE AND RENEWAL The study of hieroglyphic titles and accession verbs related to kingship allows for a close examination of the ways political and religious hierarchies were expressed in the inscriptions, but such evidence can take us only so far towards understanding the greater ideological underpinnings of Maya rulership. Another perhaps more illuminating avenue of research focuses on the ritual activities connected to the duties of rule. The hieroglyphic records of such rites are very old and widespread, and surely constitute a fundamental means of expressing religious and political power (Cannadine and Price 1987). Indeed, as stated earlier, Maya inscriptions from the earliest times appear to have focused on recording the use, function, and ownership of ritually important objects and monuments; the events surrounding these objects thus become a major source of study for understanding Classic period royal ritual and conceptions of power. The extant records of Classic ritual deal principally with calendar rites that were overseen or performed by rulers and nobles in connection with period endings of the Long Count. Although such ritual statements are ubiquitous, the information presented in such inscriptions is often very sparse, giving little if any information on the ritual 224procedures involved or their conceptual foundations. Terse statements such as "fire was drilled," or "he scattered” are the norm, yet viewing such truncated records in textual and cultural context lead to more penetrating understanding of their meaning and function in social and political life. One of the featured sub-categories of ritual behavior, generally referred to as bloodletting, is especially revealing in this regard. Unlike other frequently mentioned rites concerning the dedication of monuments or objects, bloodletting was an activity fundamentally connected to the royal person and the beliefs connected with it. It is in the analysis of this fundamental type of ritual that we can best view the ruler as a "doer" -- the literal meaning of on the religious and Yucatec ah-men or h-men, "shaman" political arena. The focus of bloodletting events was not so much the royal person as the sacred substances he or she embodied. Using the hieroglyphic inscriptions in conjunction with historical and ethnographic sources, I suggest we may approach a more refined understanding of what bloodletting meant as a ritual of transference. In this way I argue, building upon related ideas expressed by Monaghan (1990) with regard to the Mixtec, that sacrifice, as one of the featured topics of Maya art and writing, was one of several conceptually linked themes in the Classic texts that revolve around reciprocity, gift-giving, tribute, and duties of "service," or patan. 225Ritual bloodletting was of course a pervasive feature of Mesoamerican religious life. Various ethnohistories of the region inform us that virtually all indigenous groups practiced some form of self-sacrifice at the time of the Spanish conquest. The gruesome rituals of the Aztecs are perhaps the best documented (and, therefore, the most studied), but detailed descriptions of bloodletting rites extend far beyond the confines of central Mexico. Archaeological and iconographic studies reveal that bloodletting was prevalent among earlier cultures of Mesoamerica, such as Teotihuacan (Langley 1991), the Zapotec (Drennan 1976), and, of course, the Maya (Thompson; Stuart 1984, 1988; Schele and Miller 1986). Indeed, it appears from all accounts that ritual bloodletting was of great antiquity in Mesoamerica. Stingray spines and other material indicators of the rite have been recovered in excavations of early village sites that set the stage for the rise of Mesoamerican civilization (Drennan 1976; Joyce et. al. 1991). It is safe to assume, then, that bloodletting and human sacrifice did not simply arise as a feature of complex chiefdoms or states. Rather, these practices were an important part of the Mesoamerican cultural substratum from very early times. Maya Hieroglyphs Relating to Sacrifice Despite the apparent fact that bloodletting and sacrifice are extremely common topics in Maya writing and 226art (Stuart 1989), only a very few sacrifice hieroglyphs have so far been identified in the inscriptions. Certainly the most important of these is the so-called "scattering" glyph (Figure 7.1), which I have previously identified as a bloodletting verb (Stuart 1984a, 1984b, 1989). The logograph is pictographic in nature, representing a hand casting small circlets or drops. The sign corresponds directly with the same act as depicted on countless royal portraits. In one earlier study (Stuart 1984a) I offered support for Kelley's reading of the sign as mal, yet this is now surely incorrect. The phonetic complement suffix -ko show that the verb is instead a root ending in -k, perhaps - ok. Some examples of the verb employ fully phonetic signs to spell the root, namely a jawbone and ko. Since the first of these is not deciphered, we can only speculate on the intended root; perhaps proto-Cholan #chok, "to throw" (Kaufman and Norman 1984:118) is a viable candidate, but a cho value for the jawbone sign remains unverifiable at the moment. Alternatively, Yucatec nok, "to pour, spill," may be a possible reading, as in the suggestive usage u nokah u ktiktel k- i ‘lal, "derramé su sangre Nuestro Redentor por nosotros" (Barrera Vasquez 1980:576). Whatever the phonetic reading of the scattering verb might be, a few scholars have doubted that the rite actually involved the shedding of blood, and that some at least probably depict rather the casting of pom (copal) incense (Hammond 1981) or kernels of maize (Love 1987). It is true 227that the depiction of scattering does not specify the substance, but new evidence can be brought to bear demonstrating that many of these rituals mentioned in the texts do indeed refer to the casting of blood. The objects or substance that are cast in this rite are often specified by the object of the verb (Figure 7.1a and b). The sense here is “he ‘scattered’ X." The object is consistently spelled by the signs ch'a-hi or sometimes simply by ch'a (see Love 1987). Ch'ah means "drops of liquid," which would automatically rule out the casting of incense or maize. Bloodletting, however, remains the most likely interpretation, as shown by iconographic evidence elsewhere discussed (Stuart 1984b, 1989). Recent confirmation has come from the excavations at Dos Pilas, where Panel 19 depicts a typical scattering rite involving a young boy (Palka 1990). Before him kneels a priest holding a stingray spine, the instrument par excellence of Maya bloodletting. Although many of the scattering rites depicted in the monumental art probably depict the actual @ripping of blood, it should be stressed that the symbolic equation between blood, incense, and other substances was strong, and that a certain amount of cross-over may well have existed. The widespread Mayan word for blood is k'ik' which also means semen or a type of tree resin (Berrera Vasquez 1980:399). Copal itself might have been conceptually likened to blood, and used in rituals as a substitute for bloodletting, as in the k'exol "substitution" 228sacrifices recently described by Taube (1994) Over the past decade or so, many other glyphs have been linked directly to sacrifice and bloodletting (Schele 1984: 1986), but these have in large part remained undeciphered. Many verbs are thematically associated with such rituals, but it does not follow that they are to be interpreted as verbs or events for sacrifice, as is sometimes claimed. The "na event" described by Schele (1986) as a verb for sacrifice, for example, seems best read as naw-ah, "was adorned" (Bricker 1986:156-158) and may occur in non- sacrificial contexts (see Chapter 10); as discussed in Chapter 2, meanings are difficult to arrive simply from thematic associations. Another often cited "sacrifice" hieroglyph (Figure 7.2a) was first proposed by Mathews (1985) on the basis of the image of the glyph, showing two kneeling legs, a frequent posture for penis perforation (see Thompson 1961). Kaufman and Justeson (1993) recently adopted and applied this same meaning to a vaguely similar glyph in the Isthmian inscription of La Mojarra, Stela 1 (Figure 7.2b). However, there is little reason to assume these glyphs mean "sacrifice." The image simply refers to the act of kneeling, and no phonetic reading has yet been proposed. Indeed, it is difficult to interpret the glyph as a verb at all; in some examples it is much more likely a possessed noun expressing the relationship between two named individuals. Reviewing Maya documents overall, only the scattering 229glyph seems to be a clear glyph for bloodletting, and even then its semantic range may have extended beyond to include the casting of incense. The situation may seem to directly contradict my earlier statement that "bloodletting and ancestor imagery were the principal forces behind the vast majority of ancient Maya public art from its earliest times to its demise in the Terminal Classic" (Stuart 198! 21) The essential truth of that statement can still be supported, yet I would now be more specific in saying that although the iconography of rulership focuses on bloodletting rites to a great extent often indirectly -- the inscriptions do much the opposite. For some unknown reason, bloodletting and sacrifice were not directly described or commented upon in many of the surviving Classic texts. The role of the inscriptions was rather to place the associated ritual images in a meaningful context by specifying the date of the rite, the actor, and the placement of the commemorative monument. To describe the ritual activity in detail may have appeared redundant, if not overly candid about a rite that may have been kept private to some degree A sign that is extremely important to our understanding of Maya bloodletting is the so-called “lancet” element, identified by Proskouriakoff (1973) as having strong associations with sacrificial themes (Figure 7.3). One famous example comes from Lintel 24 of Yaxchilan, where the ruler Shield Jaguar (Itsamnah Balam) is portrayed standi is 230above his consort Ix K'abal Uk, who pulls a thorny cord through her tongue. The caption to the scene, in a small panel of glyphs to the left reads u bah ti ["lancet"] Ix K'abal Uk (with an additional title), or "Ix K'abal Uk is (is the act of) ‘lancet'-ing.* This sign long evaded phonetic decipherment, until Houston (personal communication 1988) and Macleod (personal communication 1990) independently suggested a possible substitution of the sign by the syllables ch'a and ba. The substitution they proposed is strongly reinforced by the occasional presence of a ch'a prefix and a ba suffix on the lancet. From such indications, the likely value of the logographic lancet sign would be CH'AB. In several lowland Mayan languages including Chol and Yucatec, the sense of ch'ab or ch'ajb is "do penance," usually stated in terms of fasting or sexual abstinence (e.g. Barrera Vasquez 1980:120). Bloodletting was, of course, a penitential act as well in Precolumbian times, sometimes performed in conjunction with fasting and abstinence (see Tozzer 1941:151-152; Nuttall 1904; also Burkhardt 1989:143-144 for an important discussion of Aztec conceptions of "penance"). Conceivably, the use of the CH'AB hieroglyph as a bloodletting verb in the Classic texts may then refer to penitential acts performed to merit the benevolence of gods and rulers Ch’ab has an additional, possibly related meaning documented in Yucatec: "to create, to make something from 231nothing" (Barrera Vasquez 1980:120) This may well be associated with "penance," for penitential rites were strongly associated among the Maya and Aztec with renewal ceremonies (Tozzer 1941:152), rituals that were in essence acts of re-creation. Whatever the case, “create” may be applicable to some uses of ch'ab in the hieroglyphic sources. Schele has pointed out that the lancet sign is a basic component of certain child-parent relationship expressions in the inscriptions. That is, offspring are called the ch'ab of a parent. Here a meaning like “creation” might seem appropriate, but this is speculative. In any event, the associations of "do penance" and "create" with both scenes of sacrifice and expressions of the child- parent relationship may prove important in light of my earlier interpretation of birth as a metaphor for bloodletting (Stuart 1984, 1988). Another sacrifice glyph is the fish-in-hand event, probably read TSAK (Figure 7.4). In Yucatec, at least, tsak means "to conjure large clouds," which fits perfectly with those instances where the fish-in-hand glyph accompanies scenes of s-shaped cloud motifs (the basis of the glyph MOYAL, “cloud") rising above baskets filled with sacrificial ropes and instruments (Figure 7.5). It would seem from its common connection to blood sacrifice that the ritual entailed some sort of "conjuring," either of ancestral gods or some other supernatural entities. Tsak, in this way, may be conceptually related to the meaning of chtab as "create 232something out of nothing." Whatever their intended meanings in ancient times, both sacrificial terms are nevertheless closely related in the texts. As evidenced by the three major bloodletting glyphs and tsak -- the ritual discussed here -- scattering, ch'ab terminology in the ancient texts is at times opaque and difficult to interpret. "Creating" and "conjuring" may Prove to be important concepts in future discussions of these penitential rituals, however, especially when they are considered in conjunction with certain ethnographically documented conceptions of human blood, to which we will now turn. Blood and the Soul Within traditional communities throughout present-day Mesoamerica, it is widely believed that blood is an animate substance capable of communicating with individuals or native curers (B. Tedlock 1982:133-150). As Holland (1962:135-139) has noted among the modern Tzotzil Maya of Chiapas, the blood's pulse "is the tangible, material expression of the human spirit" and that the indians “maintain the ancient Mesoamerican belief that blood is the substance of the person." Consistently we find references to the human "soul," whether conceived as one or as many parts, residing in the blood. The heart, too, called the "mother of the blood" among the Tzotzil (Guiteras-Holmes 196 03), is the embodiment of the human spirit in its 233various manifestations. Among the Mexica Aztec, the spiritual essence of individuals was housed in the heart or yollotl (Lépez Austin 1981 1252-257). Even among the Raraémuri in far northern México it is believed that the “soul flows to all portions of the body through the arteries and veins" (Merril 1988:88). Today we might best see the blood-soul association manifested in indigenous curing rituals. One of the most common methods of diagnosis among curanderos is pulsing, usually described as "seeing the soul" or "seeing the blood" (indeed, among the Tzotzil Maya, one word for "soul" also means "pulse"). Wrists and ankles are common "pulse points" of the human body, and presumably therefore act as especially clear windows onto the condition of the soul. As Nash (1967) notes, the Tzeltal Maya of Amatenango, Chiapas, believe that "the blood passes from the heart and 'talks' at the joints, revealing the conditions and needs of the heart." Generally speaking, linguistic terms relating to the concept of "soul" or "spirit" among modern Mesoamerican peoples vary considerably. There is seldom a single word to express the native concept, and when there is, it is usually derived from Christianized concepts of the alma, anima, or espiritu. More traditional ideas are often contained in the widespread concepts of "nagualismo" and "tonalismo," which in turn signify different things in different areas. Suffice it to say that the native ideas of the soul are exceedingly complex, and that English and Spanish words have limited 234success is conveying their precise natures. Much of this paper is concerned with this throwing some light on this vexing question, for while native ideas and concepts of the blood and the soul have been treated in detail by a few scholars (Guiteras Holmes 1961; Lopez Austin 1980; Merril 1988), they have had virtually no application in previous explanations of the symbolism of bloodletting rituals For the moment, however, I would like to emphasize the two aspects of the soul in indigenous Mesoamerican thought that are significant for our discussio: (2) as noted, the soul or spirit is believed to reside in the blood or heart of individuals; (2) some part of the soul can be lost during sleep (as dreams), intoxication, or sickness. It is important to keep these ideas in mind as we begin to delve into more detailed treatments of language, symbol, and social process, on our way toward a refined explanation of bloodletting. The most widespread term for soul or spirit in Mayan languages is pixan, a past participle derived from the verb root pix, "to shroud, wrap" (this term is found in Yucatecan, greater Tzeltalan, and Kanjobalan Mayan languages). The soul is thus considered a "covered" or “enshrouded" aspect of human identity. This idea that the soul or some aspect of it lies hidden and beyond sight is probably related to preventative measures taken to prevent “soul-loss" (illness) among modern Maya peoples. Babies are frequently covered or secluded by their mothers so that no 235one may see them and take their souls. Interestingly, in Tzotzil Maya, the verb pis (cognate to pix) is glossed "cover (head, newborn baby, patient so that he cannot be seen)" (Laughlin 1975:277). The idea of a covered soul is by no means restricted to the Maya area. As discussed in more detail below, the Nahuatl term nahualli (or nagual), referring to one aspect of the soul, may literally mean the exact same thing as Mayan pixan: “a covered thing.” A great deal of literature on the soul has emerged from ethnographic work among the Tzotzil Maya of highland Chiapas (Guiteras-Holmes 1961; Vogt and Vogt 1970). While the otherwise common term pixan seems not to exist today among the communities studied, pixanil, "augury, soul" is listed in a colonial dictionary probably composed at Zinacantan (Laughlin 1988). Today, the principal word for soul is ch'ulel, also documented among the closely related Tzeltal Maya, as well as more distant Chol. The meanings in these languages, both colonial and modern variants, are listed in Table 7.1. Vogt (1976; Vogt and Vogt 1970) provides several detailed and thorough discussions of the ch'ulel concept among the Zinacantecos: The ch'ulel is the innate, personal "soul" located in the heart of each person; it is also found in the bloodstream, recognized as being connected to the heart. The soul is placed in the body of the embryo by the ancestral gods. It has thirteen parts, and the loss of one or more of these parts necessitates the performance of a special curing ceremony to recover them. While the ch'ulel is temporarily divisible into its component parts as 236Table 7.1 Dictionary entries for ch'ulel from Tzotzil, Tzeltal and Chol Mayan TZOTZIL (Laughlin 1988): ch'ulel - happiness; ch'ulelil - fate, happiness, luck, mind, soul. (Laughlin 1975): ctulel - soul (of everything naturally created, and of manufactured objects that have been used and so receive souls of owner), dream. TZELTAL (Ara 1986): chulel - alma, suerte, dicha, ventura (Slocum and Gerdel 1976): ch'uhlel - (el) alma CHOL (Whittaker and Warkentin 1965): ch'wijlel - spirit (Josserand and Hopkins 1988): ch'wilel - alma, pulso, arte. Alma que todos tenemos, pero también indica su arte: tecolote, tigre, lechuza, coyote, gato de monte, zorra, gato domestico, perro negro, chivo. Si se mata, muere el individuo. 237a function of the various types of "soul loss," it is considered eternal and indestructible Virtually everything important and valuable to Zinacantecos also possesses a ch'ulel: domesticated animals and plants, salt, houses and household fires, crosses, the saints, musical instruments, maize, and all the other deities in the pantheon. The most important interaction in the universe is not between persons and objects, but the innate souls of persons and material objects (Vogt 1976). What is most interesting in Vogt's analysis is that the ch'ulel soul can be possessed by all sorts of "inanimate" objects. Merril (1988:90-92) reports a similar idea among the Rarémuri in Northern México, as do Carlson and Eachus (1977) for the K'ek'chi Maya. The ch‘ulel and its conceptual relatives among other Mesoamericans is seen as an animate quality that inhabits people as well as objects of extreme ritual and cosmological importance. "Soul" thus seems a somewhat unsatisfactory translation. We can better understand the underlying principle of ch'ulel by once more turning to an etymological analysis of the word. The basic root is ch'ul, meaning "holy, sacred" (probably originally *ch'uh-ul [Kaufman 1972:101]), which in turn contains the base ch'uh, "god." Ch'ulel may thus be literally conceived as something akin to "holiness," but again there is a danger in falling into a trap of western ideals. "Spirituality" might be a more appropriate translation, since obviously we are far removed from idea of "soul" in the western sense of the exclusively human spirit. Humans, houses, maize, and musical instruments all possess this essence, and among 238humans blood is its material manifestation. It is doubtful that such ideas are restricted to the Maya area. The definition and etymology of ch'ulel recall certain concepts discussed by Hvidfeldt (1958) that revolve around the Nahuatl term teotl, usually glossed as "god" or "saint." According to his analysis, teotl more correctly refers to a sacred and impersonal force or concentration of power, rather similar to the well-known concept of mana in Polynesia. In this analysis the parallel to ch'ulel is striking. Boone's (1989) discusses the Aztec god Huitzilopochtli in the context of this refined understanding of teotl (or teoyotl, "divinity"), showing how this encompassing idea of sacrality helps to explain the attributes and at role of least one important Mesoamerican god. In compound terms, reot] usually has the meaning of "holy" or "sacred," in much the same way ch'ul or k'ul is used in Mayan languages (compare the words for "temple": Nahuatl teohcalli "holy house" and Mayan k'ulna "holy house.") One Nahuatl metaphor for blood, teoatl, "holy liquid," may vaguely point to the blood-soul association Among the Classic Maya, the hieroglyphic sign which have represents sacrificial blood (Stuart 1984; 1989) reads ktul or ch'ul, "holy" (Ringle 1988) (Figure 7.6). This surely reflects in some way or another the notion that the ch'ulel resides in the blood or heart of individuals. Significantly, the hieroglyph appears as a principal element in Maya iconography, representing the blood shed in self- 239sacrifice. In ancient writing as in modern conceptuality, blood is the material expression of the human soul, and its image is explicitly found in contexts of bloodletting. The link between ch'ulel and bloodletting might be reflected in Chontal Mayan (a Cholan language), where ch'ul is glossed as "benediction" or "drops of liquid." Whatever the case, the visual and conceptual relationship between blood and soul appears to be quite ancient. Heated Souls The previous chapter touched on the importance of souls in defining power and prestige among modern Maya communities. Specifically, the strength of ch'ulel soul of the Tzotzil and Tzeltal Maya is determined by its "heat" (Guiteras-Holmes 1961:306). Related ideas exist among the Maya of Yucatan, and it would appear to be an ancient Precolumbian idea An aspect of Mesoamerican concepts of the soul that is closely tied to the Maya ch'ulel and its relatives is called the "tonal," which, although a term used among some Maya communities, is derived from Nahuatl tonalli, literally "a thing that has become sun-warmed" (Andrews, personal communication 1995). The Aztec tonalli was a part of the soul that established one’s fate and temperament upon birth. In his interesting compilation of Aztec concepts of the soul, Lépez Austin (1988) notes that the tonalli "vital force" was seated in the head and also according to other 240sources, in the blood. Like the ch'ulel among the Tzotzil Maya, the tonalli is also possessed by animals and things In Molina (1977:150r.), totonal ("it is our tonal) means "el signo en que alguno nace, o el alma y espiritu." Tonalli is very often translated generally as "day" or "day-sign," but this may only be a partial sense of the term.16 Day-signs themselves were called machiyot] ("a sign, symbol, and seems to have been the actual designation for the tonalli "soul" of the individual, who then took the day sign as a name The well-known terms tonalamatl and tonalpohualli may refer not so mich to the “book of days" and the "reckoning of days," respectively, but rather something more specific such as the "book of (tonalli) Souls" or “reckoning of (tonalli) souls," used in divination. Souls, as we have seen, were and are important objects of concern of many Mesoamerican curing and divination rituals. Connceivably, the tonalpohualli books and their Maya counterparts, now lost, were literally-oriented tools used in the divination rituals now performed through pulsing, reading the blood, or “soul watching." The associative complex between blood, "heated souls," and power seems to have a wide distribution in Mesoamerica, and can be traced with some certainty to Classic times. As shown in the previous chapter, the ancient Maya sources emphasized the solar symbolism of rulership and the mythical prototype of kings, "One Ahau," suggesting that they were among the "hottest" of souls. Perhaps, therefore, the 242supreme rulers (Ch'ul Ahawob, or Holy Lords) of the Classic period possessed souls that were qualitatively and perhaps even quantitatively different from others in society. If the above discussion on ch'ulel and its etymological relation to ch'ul is correct, it may be that the relative strength or heat of souls went far towards defining people and objects as "holy." As will be seen, this idea is central to an understanding of the social, political, and ritual "meaning" of royal bloodletting. leasing the Gods:" The Color Symbolism of Blood One of the most interesting treatments of sacrifice and its symbolic manifestations is found in McGee's (1990) recent analysis of modern Lacandon ritual practices. Until a generation or two ago, bloodletting was still performed among the traditional Lacandon of Naja. While not actually present in more modern rituals, sacrifice in its symbolic form is alive and well, and, as Mcgee notes, may preserve several ancient concepts. One of the more important symbols he discusses is the color red, used in the painting of numerous ritual objects and paraphernalia: The use of the color red as symbolic blood is common in Lacandon ritual. The Lacandon believe red is a favorite color of the gods because it is associated with blood. Bark cloth headbands are dyed red for ceremonial use. Red circular designs are painted in the god house, the balche chem, the Bol pot from which balche is’ served, and the god pots. It was also common for Lacandon men to paint themselves red for ritual purposes (McGee 1990:89) . 242Red color, not surprisingly, is explicitly associated with blood. Its symbolic significance may be extended by recalling the conceptual significance of blood itself as the material manifestation of "soul." As the Classic Maya glyph for k'u "god" or "holy," blood symbolizes the spiritual essence of people and objects. Stated bluntly, we might envision the symbolic equation: red = blood = soul. Red color of course was a pervasive symbol in ancient Mesoamerica. Ritual buildings and objects were customarily covered with red paint. A red temple by itself held great symbolic value, for it was by virtue of its color a "holy" entity (the words for "temple" in Nahuatl, teocalli, and Maya, k'ulnah, literally mean "holy house"). Stone sculptures such as stelae and altars were painted red as well, for much the same reason, one may suspect. Thus buildings, monuments, and other ritual objects are made holy and animate (given soul) by painting them red with (at least) symbolic blood. It is worth recalling here the above description of the ch'ulel soul provided by Vogt, where various types of ritual objects possess souls. Red ocher was of great significance in Mesoamerican ritual, as Only recently has blood been "symbolic" among the Lacandon, who seem to have practiced bloodletting rituals earlier this century (McGee 1990:88). Human blood has been used since Precolumbian times as a ritual anointment, sprinkling over foodstuffs, idols, and other offerings (Duran 1971:158-159). Similar practices are also found in 243modern curing rituals, where, among the Tzotzil, for instance, animal blood is given as a drink and anointment to the patient in order to give him or her strength. What is never made clear in the descriptions of such rituals, however, is how blood becomes the substance of such metamorphoses. With what we now know about the significance of blood, the answer is obvious. Qualities of strength and divinity are made physically manifested through bloodletting and thus can be transferred from one entity (the sacrificer) to another (the patient or idol -- both play similar roles). We see this aspect of Maya bloodletting in the “scattering” stelae of Yaxchilan, each of which commemorates a Period Ending or anniversary renewal ritual (See Figure 5.6). On these monuments, the ruler stands and casts before him a long stream of blood, the iconographic basis of the hieroglyph K'U or K'UL. The sacred liquid falls atop a wrapped and knotted bundle that, if scale is any reliable indicator, probably encloses a small column altar like those found around the plaza and acropolis of Yaxchilan. The wrapped altar very likely refer to the ktaltun (or k'atun) ceremony, meaning "the binding of years" or “the binding of stone." The most likely interpretation of the scene is that it depicts the anoinment of the altar stone -- the marker of the period ending -- with blood, and by extension, the chtulel, of the ruler. 244ouls in Cl Maya Ritual How does this interpretation of bloodletting, emphasizing the indigenous concepts concerning blood and what it holds, fit with what the other sources have to say? Both ethnohistories and ethnographies state that bloodletting was performed among many different social classes for the simple purpose of averting illness and ensuring good-health. Durdn (1971:420), for example, notes that during the month of Tozoztontli, Aztec parents were required to bleed and fast their children so "that they could avoid illness and that no evil would befall them." Illness prevention is essentially the forestallment of “soul-loss," the pervasive description of illness in traditional Mesoamerica (Rubel 1964). Bloodletting was also performed as "penance" to correct "moral" transgressions such as drunkenness and indulgent sexual activity (Klein 198 95). Interestingly, such transgressions are physical states that are also described in terms of soul-loss throughout Mesoamerica (Merril 1988:105-11; Vogt 1970) Arguably, the specific idea of soul-loss is central to understanding the bloodletting rite. The act of bleeding is, on a very basic level, a physical representation of soul-loss. The material substance of the soul leaves the body and is transferred to other objects or entities in the form of offerings. Taking this to a more abstract level, it should not be surprising that bloodletting rites were accompanied by hallucinations, visions, and induced "dreams" 245that make mentally perceptible the soul-loss of bloodletting. Thus we might view bloodletting and its accompanying states of consciousness as forms of controlled soul-loss, a type of symbolic illness or death that is performed in order to forestall actual maladies and ill fortunes (c.f. Klein 1987:297 for a discussion of similar Aztec notions). One may be seen as an attempt to substitute one "manageable" soul-loss for the debilitating other, hoping to satisfy and placate whatever supernatural powers are in control. This is precisely how many of the sources throughout Mesoamerica describe the function of bloodletting. Here I have suggested a conceptual rationalization of blood and its meaning that might explain such accounts. There existed too, of course, a profound political dimension to rites of bloodletting. The pervasiveness of self sacrifice in the royal art of the Aztecs and Maya testify to this fundamental aspect of the ritual. In what way, then, might we be able to explain the use of "controlled soul-loss" as a function of royal office? We have seen that among indigenous Mesoamericans, both modern and colonial, that the soul was an important defining aspect of high rank. Rulers apparently had stronger souls, manifested by their higher "heat" and divine position as "holy lords." Logically extending this point, it would seem that the blood of rulers was invested with a special quality and strength that did much to define their political and 246social rank. For this reason their sacrifices were of the greatest importance. Those with the strongest and most vitalistic souls would have been in the unique position of sustaining the benevolence of the gods and the spiritual universe through the transference of the soul to other sacred objects, as seen for example on the stelae of Yaxchilan. The blood of sacrifice was not an alienated good, as in the case of other types of sacrifice (Gregory 1980), for it seems rather to have been a sacred substance "produced" in rituals in order to be transferred to other people and things. Rulers wielded considerable power by controlling the "production and distribution" of their own divinity. In this way, divine rulers may have played central roles in ensuring that holy objects, monuments, temples and so forth were invested with his own ch'ulel. Elsewhere in Mesoamerica, the cosmogonic importance of bloodletting is extremely important. In Aztec creation history, Quetzalcoatl shed blood on the bones of ancient populations to create the population of macehualtin, or commoners. As Klein argues (1987:350-351), this became the mythical charter for royal bloodletting by Aztec rulers Monaghan (1990) similarly discusses the mythical covenant that became the template for Mixtec sacrifices and offerings during the Postclassic period up to the present day. The mythical history of Maya kingdoms -- a subject too rich to be covered in this work -- includes similar ideas. 247The extraordinary inscription on the side of Quirigua Stela D is one of the most important accounts of Classic Maya creation mythology, as recently revealed by Freidel, Schele and Parker (1993:67). There, on the initial date 13.0.0.0.0 4 Ahau 8 Cumku, the "Paddler" gods "planted the stone," referring to a stela, presumably, and the god Itsamnah "pound the year or stone" (k'altun).17 These are two of the most significant period ending rites performed by maya rulers throughout Classic times, nearly always in association with bloodletting (again as shown on Yaxchilan, Stela 6 [Figure 5.6]). The world was created through these mythical actions, and by means of the cycles of pattern history described in Chapter 4, rulers continually "recreated" the cosmic order through their repetition. Such an interpretation may explain too why the term ch'ab, one meaning of which is "create," was used as a bloodletting glyph. The supernatural charters for Maya royal ritual constitute a large and relatively unexplored topic, and for this reason the speculations offered here are tentative Nevertheless, the analysis of Classic period rituals of bloodletting and cosmic renewal show that reciprocity was an essential component of these ceremonies. As I hope to show in the chapters that follow, these rituals can be viewed within a larger themes of reciprocity, prestation and tribute. These ideas were at the root of many aspects of Maya political and social life, and consequently were a 248focus of many Classic Maya inscriptions. 249labic) of the Figure 7.1. Two variants (logographic and sy "scattering" verb for bloodlettingFigure 7.2. A putative sign for "bloodletting" in Maya a: Isthmian scripts. (a) From Tikal Steia 31, (b) from La Mojarra, Stela 1Figure 7.3. The CH'AB sign, meaning "penance" or possibly “create.”Figure 7.4. The TSAK ve: "to conjure."om Graham 1977:39) el 15 (friB cg Figure 7.6. The sign K'U(L), "god, holy," and its iconographic origin in blood streamsCHAPTER VIII THE POLITICAL LANDSCAPE Because kingship and dynastic matters are major themes of the Late Classic inscriptions, the texts have become essential sources for the study of Classic Maya political structure (Culbert 1991; Demarest 1993; Houston 1993, 1992; Marcus 1976, 1992; Mathews 1988; Dunham 1991; Stuart 1992) Titles of political office, place names, and hierarchical statements of alliance are but a few of many types of textval information that have direct bearing on how Maya political units were organized internally and among one another. Despite the many published discussions of Maya political organization, a number of basic questions remai: to be answered, not the least of which concerns the size and nature of polities during the Late Classic period, and how these changed over time. It would be impossible to exhaustively treat these complex issues in a single chapter devoted to the workings of Maya politics, especially in the face of recent, more thorough discussions, yet a few novel observations, some building upon the discussions above, can still be offered on the subject Until only recently, sophisticated discussions of Maya political structure were greatly hindered by a poor understanding of how the Maya themselves defined their territorial units. For example, Marcus's (1976) path- 286breaking investigation of "emblem and state" relied on the assumption that emblem glyphs are the sole geographical referents of Maya inscriptions. In fact, the situation has Proved far more complicated, since it now seems agreed that emblem glyphs are not mere toponyms, but rather labels or designations for political units of varying sizes (Mathews 1991, Stuart 1992). Actual toponymic glyphs, referring to specific communities and sites within the domain of an emblem glyph, have only recently been discovered (Stuart and Houston 1994). Their use in the inscriptions often allows for a mich more precise and nuanced interpretations of how political relationships among sites were expressed and recorded, though clearly much more work needs to be done on this new and fascinating body of information in the Maya Political Lan: Maya political structure cannot be spoken of in the singular, for as varied lines of evidence, both epigraphic and archaeological, demonstrate, individual political units of the Classic period may well have had their own idiosyncratic structures and patterns of organization (Ball and Tascheck 1991). Already we have seen that textual genres change from site to site, and it stands to reason that such heterogeneity was but one reflections of other political and societal differences among major centers. Hints of the geographical distinctions in political structure come, for instance, from patterns in the usage and 287distribution of specific political titles. Ahaw and K'ul ahaw, "lord" and “holy lord,” respectively, seem to be ubiquitous in the texts of the lowlands. Rulers come to be seated as "ahaw" on a regular basis, from the earliest known texts onward through the Classic period. As discussed in Chapter 6, however, Tikal's Late Classic inscriptions are unusual in their emphasis on another office called kalomte' to which most if not all of the Late Classic rulers of that site were inaugurated. Kalomte’, once called the "Batab" glyph, is a widespread but little understood title held by rulers of many Maya sites besides Tikal. However, only the Tikal kings claim it as the single position assumed upon inauguration (All other sites state simply that rulers were seated in the ahawlel, or "in the rulership") . This distinctive usage at Tikal of the otherwise common kalomte! title may have something to do with the unusual relationship that existed during the Late Classic between Tikal and sites of the Petexbatun region, including Tikal and Aguateca. to the emblem glyph shared between Tikal and sites of the Petexbatun region centered on Dos Pilas and Aguateca. This emblem glyph Two holy lords seem to have claimed Mutul as their hegemony. Whatever the case may be, the Tikal accession statements are unique in their focus on a different ruling office altogether. This pattern may reflect some important structural difference in the highest level of Tikal's political rule, yet the distinctions we see in the lower-level power 258structures among many Maya sites seem to offer stronger evidence of variations on a regional scale. The vaguely understood title sahal (Figure 8.1), for example, refers to political subordinates, possibly military captains more specifically, yet it appears principally in the sites of Chiapas, the Usumacinta region, and also near the Pasion area. Sites of the Central Peten such as Tikal and Naranjo make no use of it whatsoever. Arguably such a distribution pattern might be explained by linguistic differences among sites of the West and those of the central lowlands, yet there are reasons to doubt this as a possibility. For one, the title appears in the texts of Dos Pilas, which was very likely founded by a branch of the Tikal royal line. Assuming from this intimate historical link that the sites composed their inscriptions in the same language, it seems unlikely that language differences would account for the geographic distribution of the sahal title. More likely, the pattern may simply reflect more differences in the way political structures were expressed over space and time Significantly as well, sahal is not found in any Early Classic inscriptions (Stuart 1993) Our awareness of scribal genres across the lowlands should warn us, however, that the supposed differences we title distributions and the like might simply reflect localized preferences about what kinds of information was deemed appropriate or inappropriate to record. 259Hierarchy and Alliance In the epigraphic literature of the last decade, explanations of Classic Maya political structure have constructed a scenario of numerous city-states dotting the landscape, each with its own Emblem Glyph and a more-or-less autonomous political identity (Mathews 1991; Stuart 1993) This view stands in contrast to earlier models proposed by Marcus (1976; 1992; 1993) and Adams and Jones (1981), which considered the existence of larger states that incorporated several emblem-bearing sites. Large political units centered on Tikal, Calakmul, Palenque, and other cities, for example, were seen as dominating the lowlands during much of the Late Classic period. Marcus, in her most recent discussions, presents little of any change to her own previous model (1992, 1993), despite the fact that the methodology behind establishing the hierarchies she originally proposed, while novel for their time, cannot be borne out by modern epigraphic knowledge (See Mathews 1991; Houston 199: -9; Stuart 1993:324-332 for detailed critiques). The problem with the models proposed by Marcus and others centers on the apparent lack of any explicit statements in the inscriptions of hierarchical relationships. However, new findings from the texts of Dos Pilas has led to some revisions of my own thoughts on the subject, as expressed an recent article (Stuart 1993). Hieroglyphic Stairway 4 of Dos Pilas, excavated during the 1990 field season (Symonds 1990), bears a lengthy 260inscription that has become very important in understanding Classic Maya political geography. The text discusses a series of military engagements involving Dos Pilas, Tikal, Calakmul, and a fourth, unknown site named Pulil. The specific historical events recorded on the stairway reveal much about the historical relations between Tikal and Dos Pilas at the beginning of the Late Classic, including an apparent war between them in 679 A.D. (9.12.6.16.17 11 Caban 10 Zotz’). Yet perhaps the most extraordinary feature of the inscription is a single hieroglyph that describes a relationship between Dos Pilas' Ruler 1 and the contemporaneous ruler of Calakmul (Figure 8.2). This is written ya-AHAW-wa, or y-ahaw, "the lord of...." It is difficult to discern what it means for one ruler to be "lord" of another, but is clear from other uses of this term in a text from nearby Arroyo de Piedra (Houston and Mathews 1985) that the "lord," Ruler 1, is somehow of lesser rank than the Calakmul king. From my own perspective, this represents a substantial theoretical shift, for in rejecting Marcus’ proposed political structures, Mathews (1991) and 1 (Stuart 1993), in papers written before the discovery of the Dos Pilas text, had previously noted that hierarchies were not apparent among major sites with Emblem Glyphs. The discovery of this one inscription forces us to consider a hierarchy among Maya polities, with Calakmul, as we shall see, being one of the more important players of Classic- period geo-politics 261Due in large part to the finds at Dos Pilas, Calakmul's place in the history of Classic Maya geopolitical relations is now much more clear. During the Preclassic era, the central lowlands, roughly corresponding to what is today the Department of Peten in northern Guatemala, saw some of the earliest and largest manifestations of Classic Maya culture. The sites of Bl Mirador, Nakbe, Tintal, and Guiro exhibit massive Middle to Late Preclassic architecture (Hansen 1989, 1990), while Tikal, and perhaps Calakml, seem to have blossomed as important centers of the Late-Preclassic/Early Classic transition.18 Due to their great age and size (although Calakmul, it must be said, remains poorly known archaeologically), it is no coincidence that these last two centers figure prominently in the geopolitical structures of the entire Classic period. Building upon the clue provided by Dos Pilas's Hieroglyphic Stairway and its explicit reference to a subordinate status under Calakmul, I have reached the conclusion that most of the military events recorded in the Late Classic texts of the central Lowlands are directly related to shifting alliances and increasing tensions between Tikal and Calakmul, two "superpowers" of the ancient political landscape. In an independent investigation, Martin and Grube have reached somewhat similar conclusions, although we differ on some larger points of interpretation. The nature of the relationships forged by these two large sites can best be appreciated by studying several military episodes of Late Classic times. 262Peten Geopolitics: A Timeline Schele and Freidel (1990:165-215) offer a complex historical picture of the "star wars in the seventh century," principally involving the sites of Tikal, Caracol, Naranjo and Calakmul. As the discussions below will show, I generally agree with the historical picture they paint, but it seems prudent to place these "wars" in a wider interpretive context, paying closer attention to the literal meaning of the pertinent hieroglyphic passages and relying less on general paraphrases of undeciphered glyphs. Such attention to detail is important -- indeed the foundation of true decipherment -- for simply to recognize the existence of a war in the hieroglyphic record says little of its actual nature and what geo-political factors may have led up to the conflict in question. This is especially true in light of the fact, to be elaborated upon in Chapter 9, that Maya “war event" glyphs are sometimes undeciphered, or vaguely understood at best. First we can turn to Naranjo, where the name of an early Calakmul ruler appears in a text on the side of Stela 25 (Schele and Freidel 1990:175-6) (Figure 8.3). This reference is particularly intriguing, for the ruler is named in connection with the accession of the important early Naranjo ruler "Double Comb" (see Closs 1985), more accurately Ah Wosa. The so-called "u kab" glyph intervenes between the two names, which Schele and Freidel (1990:175) take to mean "in the land of." There is now reason to doubt 263this translation, however, for Grube (in Chase, Grube, and Chase 1991:16) has offered convincing evidence that the glyph should rather be read u_kah-i, literally "he did it." Taken in total, therefore, the Naranjo inscription states that the Calakmul lord was the principal actor in the event. The conclusion seems inescapable that the Naranjo ruler was installed "under the auspices of" or "by" the Calakmul lord.19 A hierarchical relationship between the two rulers is implicit. only seven years later, on the date 9.5.19.1.2, a ruler of Caracol is similarly installed in office. The accession record on Stela 6 from Caracol (Figure 8.4) concludes with u kal i once again and a second name, in this case probably a ruler of Tikal. Logically assuming that another hierarchical relationship is being expressed, there is little choice but to conclude that a "subordinate" Caracol ruler was installed by a Tikal ruler on this date. Shortly after this time, in turn, Caracol's inscriptions refer to the now famous war waged against Tikal (Houston 1991; Chase and Chase 1989). while taken to mean that Caracol attacked Tikal, thus resulting in Tikal's well-known hiatus, the reference is somewhat equivocal due to several eroded glyphs. Nevertheless, for reasons we shall soon see, it does appear that Caracol's alliance shifted away from Tikal at about this time or slightly later, and, as we will see, was directed anew towards Calakmul. Stela 3 from Caracol records another early war (Figure 2648.5), using the syllabic version of hub, "to fall, collapse." (Grube, personal communication 1990) (this verb and its variants will be discussed in more detail in the following chapter). In the relevant passage we read "he fell, He of Naranjo," with the Caracol ruler named as the instigator of the conflict. Note that "He of Naranjo" is an ambiguous reference that may or may not be the Naranjo ruler. Some five years later there is another war against Naranjo expressed with the "earth star," perhaps also read hub. The place name of Naranjo follows the verb, perhaps indicating an outright conquest of a location, not just an individual. This particular war is highly featured on Stela 3 of Caracol, as well as on the Hieroglyphic Stairway of Naranjo, which is in essence a Caracol text erected by the ruler whose name was most likely Tum Yol K'inich (Houston, Personal communication 1991). What is most interesting about this war is the fact that the instigator is named as a lord of Calakmul. Caracol's involvement in the war is never explicitly stated, but perhaps is implied by the fact that we read of it only in Caracol's inscriptions. If so, we can assume that there existed a close alliance between Caracol and Calakmul at this time. We have already seen, however, that Naranjo was closely allied with Calakmul at an earlier time, when the Calakmul ruler "installed" the Naranjo king in office. why, some years later, would Calakmul sanction war, if not directly attack, its former ally and possible tributary? I can only 265speculate that some sort of rebellion took place between these dates, where Naranjo is some way expressed its independence" from Calakmul or otherwise shifted alliances in some manner. Let me stress that no textual evidence exists to support my claim; it merely seems a fitting explanation for an otherwise perplexing contradiction. The Caracol and Calakmul wars against Naranjo apparently had significant political repercussious. A gap in the inscriptional record of Naranjo lasts over 40 years. Hieroglyphic Stairway 1 of Naranjo exhibits the most explicit evidence of the Naranjo political demise, for, as noted above, it is essentially a Caracol text, bearing stylistic resemblances to Caracol's glyphs (particularly those of Stela 3) and presenting dynastic information on Caracol and, significantly, Calakml. No mention is made of Naranjo's history, save its apparent conquest discussed above. No other case in Maya archaeology so clearly demonstrates through physical remains the domination of one site over another. For a time, Caracol's relationship with Naranjo was nothing less than political dominance. Perhaps just as fascinating is the fact that the stairway remained in public view at Naranjo throughout the Classic period, remaining on the surface up to the time of Naranjo’s discovery early this century. The later kings of Naranjo did not destroy the steps, but they may well have made a significant statement by jumbling the blocks so that the text was unreadable. As found, the reading order of the 266inscription is highly confused, and must have been changed at some point in antiquity. Moving away from Naranjo's fortunes, we now can consider several political changes that occurred in the southwest Peten. Here, the site of Dos Pilas suddenly appears on the scene with inscriptions mentioning the so-called "Ruler 1" (Houston and Mathews 1985), who conspicuously makes use of the Tikal Emblem Glyph, as do all later rulers of Dos Pilas, Aguateca, and La Amelia. As recent epigraphic work at Dos Pilas has demonstrated (Houston, Symonds and Stuart 1991), there now appears to be considerable evidence to suggest that Dos Pilas warred against the ruler of Tikal, possibly even a family relation. The common use of one Emblem may indicate an inter-dynastic rivalry, with the Dos Pilas ruling line having originated as a "splinter" kingdom sometime during the mysterious hiatus period at Tikal Whatever the case, inscriptions such as Hieroglyphic Stairway 4 from Dos Pilas and others make it clear that Dos Pilas was closely allied with Calakmul. Ruler 1 of Dos Pilas is named on the stairway the ahaw of the contemporaneous Calakmul ruler. Houston and Mathews (1985) suggest that in this case, ahaw may be interpretable in the sense of "vassal." Vague hints of political hierarchies involving Calakmul and Tikal appear at other sites, suggesting that Tikal and Calakmul may have been two principal catalysts of regional instability in the Late Classic. It is at this time that we find Ruler 1 of Dos 267Pilas called the "lord," perhaps in the sense of "vassal," of the Calakmil ruler, and, a few years later, that Ruler 1 visits Calakmil to attend the inauguration of the new Calakmil king "Jaguar Paw-Smoke." Roughly at this time, as well, it seems Calakmul installed rulers at the Pasion site of Cancuen, as revealed by a newly circulated inscription almost surely from that area (Schele, personal communication, 1993). The daughter of the Dos Pilas ruler journeyed to Naranjo in A.D. 682, possibly marrying the local ruler Smoke-Squirrel at about the same time. She is featured prominently in the Naranjo records that increase greatly in number after the local hiatus following its conquest by Caracol, under Calakmul's sanction. At this time Naranjo still seems to be politically subservient to Calakmul, for on Stela 1 we see that Smoke-Squirrel is named the "lord" of Jaguar Paw of Calakmul (Figure 8.6), in precisely the same manner as the Dos Pilas's Ruler 1 described himself as subordinate to the previous Calakmul ruler. Calakmul, with its allies Dos Pilas and Naranjo now firmly tied through intermarriage, may have been attempting to surround Tikal with forceful military powers. This strategy, if real, seems to have been unsuccessful, for in A.D. 695 Ruler A of Tikal records his own victory over Calakmul, stating in the text of Temple I Lintel 3 that "Jaguar Paw's flint-and-shield went down." Although we cannot be sure, the Calakmul king may himself 268have been captured as a result of the defeat, for a short time later we are told that a new Calakmul ruler acceded to the throne. Tikal also some 43 years after its defeat of Calakmul seems to have had the upper hand over Naranjo, for a war between the two sites seems to be commemorated on Lintel 3 of Temple IV at Tikal. Martin (1994) has noted the captive on Tikal Stela 5 as a Naranjo noble anmed Yax Mayuy, probably taken at this battle. Over time, Tikal may have become more politically successful as a result of its defeat of Calakmul and, perhaps, Naranjo. I sense that Dos Pilas near the end of the Late Classic is mich more inward-looking, not discussing far-off centers such as Tikal and Calakmul but rather more local places along the Rio Pasién, such as Seibal, Itzan, and, farther to south, Cancuen. Perhaps this is a more general trend, for any traces of the large geo-political tensions of the early Late Classic disappear around the beginning of the eighth century. When considered on the whole, the scenario which emerges from the Late Classic texts, as many have come to understand, is one of weak alliances and warring kingdoms in the central Petén region. Several scholars have chracaterized lowland Maya political structures in this way (Demarest 1993, Hammond 1992, Houston 1992; Schele and Preidel 1990), but the detail of our historical understanding underlying them is continually being refined 269Martin and Grube (1994) have recently noted much of the same evidence I have outlined above, but extrapolate further, arguing that the political organization behind such statements involved actual centralized administrative centers what they call "macro-states" -- at Calakmul and Tikal. According to their interpretation, the scope of these sites’ respective political and economic controls went far beyond the confines of the central lowlands, spreading as far as Copan to the south, and as west as Palenque. Their assertion may be somewhat overstated, however, for the alliances and wars attested to by the current evidence seem restricted to the greater Petén area. Although it is true that texts at sites on the Usumacinta River, along the southeast periphery, and to the north in Yucatan do mention Tikal and Calakmul lords in a handful of cases, they do not claim close connections to Tikal or Calakmul. Indeed, within the greater southern area political relations may have been restricted within a few sub-regions, the central Petén being one of several. Other spheres of interaction probably correspond to the Usumacinta/Chiapas axis (Yaxchilan, Pomona, Palenque, and Tonina), the southeast axis (Copan and Quirigua), and several others to the north that are somewhat less well defined (Grube 1990; Dunning and Kowalski 1994). Crossover in actual political control and alliance between these areas may have been quite rare, although contact of course existed. Houston (1994) has recently cautioned that the general 270interpretation of these hierarchical statements involving Calakmul and Tikal is fraught with difficulty. The prominent mention of Calakamul at smaller centers such as Dos Pilas or Cancuen, he notes, could easily reflect local efforts to establish political links with the powerful city- state to the north, without necessarily pointing to the large-scale and "semi-rigid" administrative controls suggested by Martin and Grube (1994). In retaining a degree of political autonomy, the smaller centers may have had considerabie say in what alliances they forged, and how these connections could be used to their own advantage. Houston (1994), for example, views “a political landscape of mutual manipulation, in which small polities both participated in and exploited broader antagonisms between polities of larger populations and denser settlement." It must be stressed, however, that much of the evidence of the nuance behind such hierarchical structures remains to be worked out, and new findings will lead to more refined discussions of the issue. The Calakml-Tikal "rivalry," as their relationship may justifiably be termed, seems understandable given the immense sizes of the two centers relative to contemporary sites in the central region. The possibility should be kept in mind that these great cities were not simply political and economic rivals, but that "ethnic" conflict may have played a major role in the development of tensions. We cannot easily draw the linguistic boundaries between Yucatec 272and Cholan speakers, but it is conceivable that in Classic times the dividing line may have lain somewhere between the two great kingdoms. The language barrier surely would have carried cultural implications as well, and may have ultimately accounted for many hostilities. Does positing the early dominance of Calakmul and Tikal and their continued influence in the Late Classic entail embracing the long-standing schemata of Maya "macro-states" (Marcus 1973, 1976; Adams and Jones 1981)? The epigraphic evidence is simply too inconclusive to support the large territorial models that have been proposed by Marcus, Adams, and, most recently, Martin and Grube. Mathews's (1991) and my (Stuart 1993) view of roughly autonomous polities should now be slightly modified, however, emphasizing the function of emblem glyphs as labels for political communities of varying sizes and influences that possessed separate political identities. These identities apparently changed or were newly defined at times, as alliances shifted or were oriented to larger, more powerful centers. The smaller political units such as Dos Pilas and Caracol participated in networks of alliance and influence, but aside from cases of military conquest, their respective identities as political units or communities never seem to have been subsumed within larger territories of Calakmul or Tikal. The view of Maya polities as having varying sizes and scopes of influence, and of alliances shifting amid frequent conquests and rebellions, recalls in many ways the dynamic 272political relationships that are well documented for the Valley of Mexico shortly before the Conquest. There, the essential notion of political identity and of community was framed within the concept of the altepetl (literally "water- hill"), frequently translated as "town" or "city-state," but which also was a title for the ruler, or tlahtoani, who was the embodiment of the community (Hodge 1984). Houston (1994) has recently made a direct comparison between Maya political units as described here and the Central Mexican altepetl structure, noting a number of basic similarities. The alliance structures that were defined through intermarriage or other means sometimes gave r: se a higher- level type of political entity Lockhart (1992:20-21) has called the "complex altepetl." Houston reasonably suggests that these more complex networks of political alliance are a possible model with which to understand the geo-political hierarchies of the Central Maya lowlands. at the very least, if Central Mexico allows a valid comparison, it would seem that the Mesoamerican political structures and alliances were fluid enough to prevent any steadfast idea of rigid or semi-rigid hierarchies. Non-roval elites The nature of relations among Maya polities will no doubt continue to foster debate and discussion as the hieroglyphic evidence becomes carefully assessed and refined, yet another body of data that is of equal 273importance concerns the nature of political and social relations within polities. Rather than looking at larger political units as the units of analysis, investigations of inter-polity organization focus on individuals and the sub- royal offices or positions that sometimes associate with them. Before the mid-1980s, it was largely assumed that rulers and their immediate families were the sole protagonists of the Classic inscriptions. A number of studies have emphasized in recent years that this is not at all the case (Stuart 1985, 1992; Houston 1992). Other nobles of varying ranks and functions are named and discussed in the documentary sources of the Classic period, and their relationships to the rulers reveal a number of interesting details about political organization and its apparent variation over time and space. Perhaps the most important category of non-royal elites went by the term sahal, mentioned briefly above (Figure 8.1). As noted, sahals appear mainly in the records of the western Maya lowlands, at sites in the Usumacinta drainage such as Yaxchilan, Piedras Negras, Pomona, and Palenque, although some isolated examples appear in the inscriptions of northern Campeche, mainly at Xcalumkin, and at Copan. The distribution is striking, for the regional emphasis of sahals reflects differences in how political organization was discussed by the Maya, if not actual differences in the political structures themselves (Stuart 1992) 274Sahal appears to be the name of an office or achieved xank into which nobles could be seated (Stuart 1985) Eligibility to become a sahal may have been inherited, as indicated by the inscription of Lacanja Panel 1, where the father and mother of the sahal protagonists are also sahals (Figure 8.7). In several interesting sculptures, sahals appear to be directly identified with bacab figures who support the earth and the supreme ruler. At Pomona and La Pasadita, for example, sahals are explicitly named with the "bacab" or pahuatun" glyph, and wear waterblossom headdresses that are the distinctive costume elements of bacabs and other watery creatures of the underworld. It is quite likely that this was a cosmological metaphor for showing the hierarchical relationship between the ruler and his subordinates, emphasizing how these military captains and provincial governors were considered the supporters of the ruler (Taube 198 97-200). They may have literally performed this duty, in fact, carrying the ruler about in his litter, as Bernal Diaz described among the Aztec Cacamatzin soon arrived, with greater pomp and splendour than we had ever beheld in any Mexican prince. He came borne on a litter, most richly worked in green feathers with mich silver decoration and precious stones set in tree designs that were worked in the finest gold. His litter was carried by chieftains, each of whom, as they told us, was a ruler of a town (Bernal Diaz 1963:213). When we came near to Mexico, at a place where there were some other small’ towers, the great Montezuma descended from his litter, and these 275other great cacigues supported him beneath a marvelously rich canopy of green feathers, decorated with gold work, silver, pearls, and chalchihuites... (Bernal Diaz 1963:217) At the risk of overextending this metaphor, it would be very interesting to know if only four sahals could exist at any one time, corresponding to the four Bacabs of Maya cosmology. Moreover, their own role as governors of satellite sites may have somehow reflected the same internal quadripartite division of polities that existed on a smaller scale among communities in Post-Classic Yucatan (Coe 1965). Sahals are "owned" or "possessed" by high rulers, and when named often their superiors are specified. The protagonist of Lacanja Panel 1, for example, is named as a sahal, then as “the sahal of" the local king, Knot-eye Jaguar. The nature of the relationship between sahals and their overlords remains opaque, but their personalized nature is suggested by Houston's observation (personal communication 1989) that sahals at provincial sites near Piedras Negras acceded within a few years of the K'ul Ahaw's own inauguration. Kin relationships between sahals and members of the royal family are rare, but it is interesting that at Yaxchilan the mother of Shield Jaguar II is called an ix sahal (Figure 8.8) (see Houston 1993:130). Women often took the sahal title, but its precise meaning as a female title is also vague An enigmatic hieroglyphic title is the so-called God C or “Ah Ktul" title (Figure 8.9), which also seems to be 276associated with very high-ranking individuals who are not kings (Stuart 1993; Houston 1993:130-134).20 Often this title accompanies the names of individuals who, in court imagery on polychrome pottery, for example, often stand off near the edges of scenes or are seated among those presenting gifts or tribute to a ruler. The contexts do not make it very clear what quality or position these individuals all share. Unlike sahal, the "God C title" appears throughout the Maya lowlands, from Tonina to Copan, and possibly also in a few Early Classic inscriptions. However, like sahals those with the God C title were at least sometimes considered to be "possessions" of particular named Kings (Houston 1993:132). At Copan, in fact, we find the remarkable case of a bearer of this title who was "the ‘God C title’ of" Ruler 15, yet the event he celebrates occurred well into the reign of the next king. Significantly, this particular type of political affiliation was centered on the relationship between individuals, not offices. Until a more precise reading of the title is proposed, it is difficult to say more of its true significance in the structure and operation of Maya polities. Royal Marriages Inter-dynastic marriage or, more precisely, inter- polity marriage has received considerable attention in considerations of political and social organization during 277the Classic period (Marcus 1973, 1976, 1987; Molloy and Rathje 1974; Mathews and Schele 1991:243-245). However, only a few marriages are noted in the inscriptions, and it was certainly not a pervasive topic. Indeed, the scattered records of marriages that do exist are largely indirect, and their relationships to political alliances is particularly difficult to discern. Inter-polity marriages is often inferred from instances where a "foreign" woman appears in the inscriptions of a certain site (Schele and Mathews 1991:243). There is, of course, no reason to assume that such references must name a wife of the local ruler, but in most cases the relationship is established through explicit statements of parentage, where a local ruler is named as the son of preceding ruler and a foreign woman. Contrary to statements made in a number of sources (Marcus 1976, 1993), there is no known hieroglyph for "marriage." That is to say, no marriage events are explicitly recorded as such in the inscriptions, which may seem somewhat unusual given the importance of royal women in Maya art and writing, as well as the central role of marriage ceremonies in the historical records of Central Mexico and Oaxaca (Carrasco 1984; Spores 1974). The only possible exception to this general pattern comes from several texts at Piedras Negras that commemorate an interesting series of rites performed on or by a twelve year-old girl named "Lady Katun,” who later would be named 278as the wife of Ruler 3 of Piedras Negras (Fox and Justeson 1986). "Marriage" is a meaning often mistakenly assigned to a term of relationship pronounced y-atan, translatable as “wife of" in Yucatec, but not in Cholan languages. This glyph occurs predominantly in the Postclassic codices, but a handful of examples are known from the inscriptions and on pottery. In the Late Classic inscriptions of Naranjo we find mention of the “arrival” (MacLeod 1990) of "Lady 6-Sky" of Dos Pilas, as recorded in several different inscriptions at the site. This may be an indirect statement of marriage to some Naranjo individual, but evidently this was an event of profound importance in Naranjo's local history (see Schele and Freidel 1990:184-195) . The scarcity of marriage topics in Maya inscriptions is striking, especially given their propensity in other areas of Mesoamerica (see Marcus 1992). Evidently, the precise recording of marriage alliances was never an important priority in the scribal traditions of Maya sites in the Classic, even though the few hints that exist clearly indicate that inter-polity marriages, sometimes over long distances, did in fact take place. Concluding Remarks Although highly sophisticated in light of what was known two decades ago, many questions remain unresolved in the current understanding of Maya geo-political 279relationships. The size and nature of political and economic coercion by the larger centers such as Tikal and Calakmul, and possibly others, will no doubt garner continued attention. Also, the nature of intra-polity organizations will continue to be afocus of both archaeoligcal and epigraphic research. Given the new paradigms and the questions that arise from them, it is surprising to consider how little remains unknown about this fundamental aspect of Maya research, especially if we assume that Maya inscriptions are historical and political documents for the most part. The hints of political organization that can be gleaned from the inscriptions, mainly in the form ot subordinate titles and their distributions, may well represent the deepest insights attainable from epigraphy. As has been emphasized in several chapters above, and contrary to recent characteriizations of the material, history and political details are not ubiquitous themes in the extant documentary record. Many aspects of Maya political structure may only be discernable through other, more traditional methods in archaeology, especially in areas outside of the Usuamcinta zone and the Copan Valley where few inscriptions relate information on internal political structure. Among the traditional methods of studying regional political or social interaction is, of course, the examination of trade and exchange. Often such studies focus on the appearance of "foreig: ' goods or artifacts within a 280local site environment, and ceramic forms are constantly scrutinized for such information. The contribution of epigrpahy to such endeavors can be great, given the proper conditions for analysis. For example, elite polychrome ceramics that carry hieroglyphic texts are routinely labelled by the names of rulers an nobles that point directly to an ultimate point of origin. That is, the named “owners” of the vessels are usually not those with whom the vessel ultimately rests, but rather the name of a foreigner. Thus the famous "Altar vase" excavated at Altar de Sacrificios (Adams 1977:412-413) is from the distant "Ik" site, probably located near the western shores of Lake Peten Itzé. Other "Ik site vessels have been recovered at Dos Pilas and Tamarindito (Arthur Demarest and Juan Antonio Valdés, personal communication, 1995). Clearly these vessels were traveled over some distance, and their hieroglyphic labels lend some precision to the analysis of the ancient contacts. In fact, the appearance of elite "foreign ware" at probably indicates gift-giving and perhaps even diplomatic contacts among centers, both among polities and within them (Stuart 1989, Ball 1993). As will be discussed in the concluding chapter, the prominent hieroglyphic tags on these vessels served to display these contacts, and no doubt lent some prestige to those who Possessed them. 281Figure 8.1. The suboridante title salFigure 8.2. Passage from Dos Pilas, Hieroglyphic 5 specifying relationship between rulers of Dos Pilas and Calakmul rulers. The glyph intervening between their names (indicated by arrow) reads y-ahaw, “lord of." 2832) P S) ae Figure 8.3. Portion of inscription on Naranjo, Stela 25 (From Graham 1975:70) 284Figure 8.4. Accession statement of Caracol ruler from Caracol, Stela 6. The "seating" glyph is visible at b. B3, with the u-kah-i expression probably at D4. Note also the Tikal emblem glyph at BS (from Beetz and Satterthwaite 1981:Fig. 7)) 285Figure 8.5. War statement from Caracol, Stela 3, blocks C17- D1€ (from Beetz and Satterthwaite 1981: Fig. 4) 286Figure 8.6. Passage from Naranjo Stela 1 naming Smoke Squirrel as ahaw of Calakmul ruler "Jaguar Paw-Smoke" 287Figure 8.7. Lacanja, Panel 1. Dumbarton Oaks Collections, Washington, D.C. 288Pigure 8.6. Name phrase of Yaxchilan queen, from Yaxchilan, Stela 4. 289Figure 8.9. The "God C title," associated with political subordinatesCHAPTER IX WARFARE AND CONQUEST Maya history and culture were profoundly influenced by warfare during the Classic period, as is now generally acknowledged. Epigraphic and archaeological evidence have recently converged to present a view of frequent military conflicts between ancient polities, and changing patterns and ethics of engagement over time and space (Schele and Freidel 1989: Valdés and Demarest 30-215; Demarest 1992 1993). Beyond viewing the Maya simply as war-like, not unlike their Mesoamerican neighbors, these new findings have led to sophisticated theoretical models of the rise and collapse of numerous city-states during the Classic period (e.g. Demarest 1978, 1992, 1993; Demarest and Valdés 1994; Freidel 1986; Webster 1976). When viewed in conjunction with rapidly growing archaeological evidence, the decipherment of hieroglyphic texts has helped give direction to recent considerations of the dynamics of Maya warfare in the Classic period. The recent excavations in the Petexbatun region of Guatemala are @ case in point, as one of the principal motivations of the project has been to examine in detail the rise and collapse of an important militaristic kingdom (Demarest 1993). Archaeological surveys provided the initial evidence of warfare in his region, most clearly with the discovery of 291extensive walls at Dos Pilas and neighboring Aguateca (Graham 1967: ;} Houston 1992). Later studies of the historical records at these sites complemented the archaeologcial evidence by providing a detailed account of conquests and raids conducted against neighboring kingdoms such as Seibal and Cancuen (Houston and Mathews 1985). Other ongoing projects apply the textual evidence of warfare in different kinds of archaeological interpretations. The excavations at Structure 101-26 at Copan, with the lengthy historical text on its Hieroglyphic Stairway, were designed in large part, at least initially, to examine the dynastic consequences of the Quirigua-Copan conflict recognized long ago by Proskouriakoff (Proskouriakof£ 1973:168; Fash and Stuart 1991; Fash, et al. 1992). The theme of warfare, therefore, has come into its own both theoretically and methodologically, and can be successfully addressed using a conjunctive approach that utilizes documentary and archaeological evidence. The increasingly refined decipherment of relevant hieroglyphic texts should contribute greatly to the refinement of current models of Maya warfare. However, there have been no attempts to present an overview of the hieroglyphic evidence of war in a form accessible to the non-epigrapher. This chapter aims to fill this gap by reviewing several important decipherments and interpretations that have had a great influence on how archaeologists have reconstructed patterns of Classic period 292warfare. In addition, several new and pertinent decipherments will be offered. Glyphic analysis yields an image, though not a detailed one, of a long-standing practice of socially and politically disruptive battling among Maya polities. As many archaeologists and epigraphists now beleive, these were not ritual dances or sorties for sacrifices, but real military engagements with significant social and political repurcussions (e.g. Demarest 1992:144) . Warfare in the Inscriptions The great variety in types of war references found in the inscriptions reveals the inherent complexity of Maya warfare. This diversity within the genre is all too often overlooked, and thematically related verbal hieroglyphs, for example, are grouped under the somewhat vague category of “war events." In most discussions of the history of Maya warfare, the type of war glyph used to record a given episode is seldom specified. Moreover, only a handful of the glyphs subsumed under the title "war events" have even been deciphered. No event glyph is known that literally reads "to wage war," and occasionally epigraphers and others extrapolate this meaning for certain verbs because of thematic associations with war between sites. These hieroglyphs cannot be truly deciphered -- and therefore accurately applied to wider questions -- without their phonetic readings. It is therefore safe to say that such 293imprecise treatment of these "war events" have not really clarified the issues. We may well know that war is frequently discussed in the inscriptions, but as yet we do not know how it is discussed. War-Related Terminology Perhaps the best known war-related glyph is the verb chuk "to capture, tie-up" (Figure 9.1), a reading first Proposed by Knorosov (1956) in the Dresden Codex and later applied to the Classic inscriptions by Proskouriakoff (1964:188). The decipherment of this syllabic glyph (chu- ka-ha) is straightforward: it is composed of the verb root chuk and a verbal suffix.?2 As one of the earliest deciphered war terms, chuk has exerted some influence on theoretical considerations of Maya warfare, perhaps even fostering the notion that Maya wars were principally geared toward the acquisition of captives for sacrifice. Classic period art emphasizes this same theme, as representations of bound captives proliferate. Records and images of captive- taking certainly attest to the importance of prisoners in Maya definitions of royal power and sanction (Marcus 1976), yet they emphasize only one very visible consequence of warfare and therefore are not particularly informative about the general nature of conflict itself. For this it is necessary to move on to other more recent decipherments. At those sites where warfare is a featured topic, texts frequently note the number of prisoners, called bak, taken 294by an individual king or noble, as in the epithet "He of Twenty Captives" for the Yaxchilan ruler Bird-Jaguar IV (Stuart 1985) (Figure 9.2). Usually the numbers are far less than Bird-Jaguar's captive count, with other individuals routinely labelled "He of three captives" or "He of five captives." Every record of Bird Jaguar's name at Yaxchilan features his large number of captives, perhaps bolstering his image of legitimacy following a possible internal power struggle before his accession (Proskouriakoff 1963:163; Mathews 1988). Interestingly, such Maya captive- count titles are similar to the later Aztec system of military hierarchy based on the number of captives taken in battle (Codex Mendoza, Folio 64r; see Berdan and Anawalt 1992:I1,187-188; also Calnek 1992:90) and, as Demarest (personal communication 1995) has cogently pointed out, is part of a pan-New World captive-count phenomenon. Unfortunately, the Maya title is too infrequent to allow for @ systematic study of how it might specify ranks within specific sites or military units, however these were defined. Captives are of course frequently depicted in Maya art, either as part of actual battle scenes, or more often on stelae as trodden-upon victims depicted below rulers’ feet. In a very different setting, prisoners also are shown in "court" scenes, sitting bound on steps or below thrones, Where apparently they were presented by one or more warriors to the high ruler. Famous examples of this captive 295presentation theme are Stela 12 from Piedras Negras (Figure 9.3) and Room 2 of the Bonampak murals. Such scenes and the texts that accompany them are of special interest, for they reveal an important yet very little studied notion of captives as "gifts" offered by nobles to persons of higher rank. The so-called Kimbell panel, originally a door lintel from the vicinity of Yaxchilan, depicts a captive presentation in a particularly vivid way (Figure 9.4). According to the glyphs on the throne, the seated ruler is Shield-Jaguar II of Yaxchilan. kneeling before him is an Chak Max ("Red Monkey"), a subordinate noble who may have been a sahal (although he is not named as such). Below him, in turn, are three bound captives, seated cross-legged, each named with individual captions. A sculptor's signature is carved below the elbow of Ah Chak Max. The main inscription of the lintel can easily be translated: On the day 5 Ix 7 Zac Ba Wavab was captured by Ah Chak Max. On the third day, his prisoner was adorned for his lord. Judging by the scene, Ba Wayab and the other two captives were "adorned" with the distinctive tattered cloth ear ornaments and tied-knot headbands that characterize many other representations of captives in Maya art, and which are probably associated with sacrifice in some way (Baudez and Mathews 1978). The scene depicted on the lintel took place three days after the capture of Ba Wayab and his unfortunate cohorts, and the statement "for his lord" clearly reveals 296that this display was for the king's benefit, perhaps even in the context of an offering or presentation by Ah Chak Max. Rulers themselves may not always have been active participants in war, and the acquisition of captives and other goods may have been more directly the responsibility and duty of lesser nobles and military captains. On the other hand, although a ruler may have led men into battle and taken his own captive, it may have been expected of subordinates that they deliver up their own most desirable prisoners to the king. This may even have been a requirement for ambitious warriors who sought advancemei the king's favor, or who wished to be granted a coveted captive title ("captor of so-and-so") in order to rise through the ranks. No doubt such practices were governed by well-known rules and surrounded by ceremonial customs that we may never know in detail. Like the “capture” glyph, royal titles and epithets revolving around the taking of prisoners fostered, at least indirectly, the view among Mayanists that Maya warfare consisted of captive-taking and little else. Commenting on captive records in the inscriptions, Schele (1986:44) has observed that "with rare exception, the Emblem Glyph of captives is not recorded, nor the place of battle or conquest named... I suspect this de-emphasis of place reflects the nature of Maya warfare; I do not think it was territorial for the most part." Titles of geographic o: 297(ive., the "Lord of Lakamtun" as named at Yaxchilan) are in fact common with names of captives, and their presence or absence is probably indicative of variablity in the nature of Maya warfare and also perhaps the status of individual captives. Renowned prisoners of very high rank may have been specified by personal name, with lesser nobles referred to by their place of origin ("He of Palenque," for example). One noteworthy instance of a place name occurring with a capture reference appears on Hieroglyphic Stairway 3 at Dos Pilas (Figure 9.5). Next to a portrait of a bound prisoner is an inscription with chuk-ah, "was captured," followed immediately by the place glyph of the main group of Dos Pilas (Stuart and Houston 1993). The name of the captive follows, accompanied by the Emblem Glyph of Yaxchilan ("the Yaxchilan Lord"). The geographical origin of the captive thus is firmly established, yet the Dos Pilas place glyph is given as the location of the "capture." Are we to conclude that a battle was waged at Dos Pilas' main group? Probably not. As noted earlier, chuk means not only “to capture," but more specifically "to tie up." A reasonable inference is, therefore, that the Yaxchilan captive was "bound at Dos Pilas" for ceremonial display and/or sacrifice Another war-related term in the inscriptions, "warrior," bate'el, appears most often in the texts of Yaxchilan, spelled ba-te (Closs 1984) (Figure 9.6a, b). There, the ruler Shield-Jaguar I is called a "5 K'atun 298Bate'el," that is, a "warrior" in his fifth Katun of life (Figure 9.6c). In another context, we find the term used in a statement of relationship, where a subordinate individual, otherwise untitled, is called "the warrior of Bird Jaguar" (Figure 9.7). Interestingly, the event depicted on the panel is naw, "adornment" (Bricker 1986 56-158), and shows the enthroned ruler presenting headdress feathers to his bate'el, perhaps as a reward for military service or achievement. Such statements and images may provide a small indication of Maya military organization, where rulers "owned" particular warriors. How these individuals would have functioned within the larger military system is unclear. Nonetheless, since all those who fought under Bird-Jaguar's aegis were probably identifiable as “warriors of Bird Jaguar," the individual portrayed on the sculpture may have been an outstanding one among many. Unfortunately, the composition of armies and ranks is not discussed in any known inscription. Another significant hieroglyph with evident military associations is the so-called "axe verb," almost surely read ghtak, "to chop" (Orejel 1990) (Figure 9.8a). Usually the axe falls, so to speak, after other war-related verbs, and seems a direct allusion to a preferred method for sacrificing captives. For example, the defeat of Seibal by Dos Pilas in 735 A.D. is recorded with a "star-over-earth" verb, to be discussed below as an indicator of itary 299conflict. The following day, according to Stela 2 from Dos Pilas (Figure 9.8b) and Stela 2 from Aguateca, one unfortunate individual or sacred effigy named U Ts'ibal Pat K'awil, presumably of Seibal, "is chopped." In mythological scenes on polychrome vases, the reflexive form of this verb, ch'akba, accompanies the strange and grisly scenes of self- decapitation by wayob figures (Figure 9.8c) The axe verb appears in the texts of Quirigua in recording the now famous conflict with Waxaklahun Ubah K'awil ("18 Rabbit") of Copan in 736 A.D. (see Reise 1986; Stuart 1992). At first glance it would seem natural to take the Quirigua statements as evidence that the Copan king was sacrificed by the Quirigua ruler, but some unusual facts invite a more cautious approach to interpretation. First of all, the Quirigua axe verbs are unusual in that they are accompanied by a ba sign, producing ch'akba, the reflexive form of the verb as found in the mythological scenes mentioned above. Furthermore, on Quirigua Stela F (A14-B14), the location of the Copan ruler's presumed self- decapitation, appears to be a supernatural, underworld- related place (Stuart and Houston 1994). Following an earlier suggestion (Stuart 1992:176), I would venture to speculate that these highly unusual passages at Quirigua discuss the demise of Waxaklahun Ubah K'awil in purely mythical terms, somehow equating the Copan ruler with the self-decapitating death characters portrayed on painted ceramics 300The reasons behind such an equivalence are obscure to say the least, but it should be emphasized that, while the known Quirigua inscriptions apparently make no direct allusion to war between the two sites, a disruptive conflict certainly did exist. The drastic change of fortunes seen in the archaeological records at both sites would be a strong indication of who won and who lost. Perhaps the almost complete absence of military themes in the literary traditions of the southeastern sites account for the unusual terminology. In other words, in contrast with the direct descriptive conflict terms used by militaristic Peten and Usumacinta sites, the scribes of Copan and Quirigua may have been accustomed to discussing warfare in metaphorical ways In the colonial Mayan languages spoken in the lowlands, both Cholan and Yucatec, a widespread term for "war" or "to war" was k'atun (e.g. Barrera Vasquez 1980:386; Smailus 197: 53; Moran 1935). This familiar term also is known from colonial times, of course, as the term for a period of twenty years. Curiously, we have no evidence that this term was used in the Classic inscriptions meaning "war" (indeed it is doubtful that the common glyph for the twenty-year period was actually read k'atun).?? Instead, another term found exclusively in the inscriptions possibly signifies "war" in the general sense (see Genet 1934; Marcus 1976:Fig 4.1; Riese 1960:38-9). This is tok pakal, literally “flint-shield," deciphered by Houston (1983) (Figure 9.9) Tok! pakal is a compound noun, other examples of which aze 302found in many Mayan languages, formed by the juxtaposition of two semantically related nouns. For example, the Yucatec term almehen (al "woman's child" + mehen "man's child") refers to the broader category of "children." Likewise, tok! pakal, "flint-shield," probably takes on a more general meaning of "war" (Riese 1982). Similar compound nouns exist in Classical Nahautl, where we find the term mit] chimalli (literally, "arrow- shield") for "war."?4 In Aztec art, arrows and shields are consistently used as a general war emblem (Figure 9.9b). While tok’ pakal is unattested in any Mayan dictionary sources, the decipherment of the two signs concerned is secure, and in further support of it we find a semantically identical couplet in the Chilam Balam of Chumayel: "The shield (chimal) shall descend, the arrow (halal) shall descend [upon Chakanputun] together with the rulers of the land" (Roys 1933:160). The crude drawing accompanying this Prophecy (Roys 1933:Fig. 39) depicts the arrow and shield emblem similar to those found in the Aztec sources. As with its earlier Mayan and Nahuatl equivalents, the collective sense of the compound term is "war." Not only a term for war, tok’ pakal was also a symbol that conveyed the royal duty of warfare. The carved tablets at Palenque show several examples of the flint and shield signs in an iconographic setting, where their function seems more emblematic than hieroglyphic. In several scenes this flint-shield war emblem is offered to the ruler by his 302mother or another secondary figure, presumably in the context of taking office (Figure 9.10a). Interestingly, here the war emblem is depicted as the contents of an unwrapped bundle. Just possibly, such images represent Maya versions of the sacred warfare bundles described from other regions of Mesoamerica (Stenzel 1968). ‘The same war emblem occurs in other panels in a somewhat expanded form. On the Tablet of the Sun at Palenque, where Kan Balam II receives a simple tok’ pakal device, the central image of crossed flint spears and jaguar shield (Figure 9.10b) surely relates to tok! pakal. Here, however, the emblem may refer to the Kan Balam's first acquisition of war duties as a child.?° At Yaxchilan we see how tok’ pakal further conveys ideas surrounding the royal duty of warfare. Perhaps the most important building for the study of militarism at the site is Structure 44, which contains numerous inscribed lintels and steps recounting "war events" in the reign of Shield Jaguar II (Mathews 1988; Tate 1992:252-258). ‘Two of the lintels record captive-taking by the ruler, and afterwards state in their inscriptions that "he [the ruler] is the successor of the tok’ pakal of (ancestor's name)" (Figure 9.11). That is, the essence of tok’ pakal, of royal warfare, was inherited by the ruler from his ancestors, with the apparent expectation that victorious outcomes would continue. A similar theme appears on the famous Lintel 25 of the same site, where the ruler Shield-Jaguar I is depicted as a 303Teotihuacan-style warrior emerging from the mouth of a ‘war serpent’ (Figure 9.12). The inscription above the scene reads "he conjured it, his k!awil [that is, God x], his tok’ pakal," possibly meaning that he has acquired the fundamental supernatural aspect of his office (God x) as well as the royal duty of warfare. The symbolism of emergence is strongly suggestive that the 'war-serpent' in the picture is a way, an animal co-essence of the ruler (see Houston and Stuart 1989). If so, it is possible that the ancient concepts of the royal way was somehow thematically "subdivided" according to distinct aspects of rulership, that of the warrior being the ‘war serpent’. The earliest known example of the term tok! pakal appears on Stela D of Pusilha, Belize at the beginning of the Late Classic period. This relatively late appearance is significant, for it reflects a distinctive and overall Late Classic emphasis on warfare in the inscriptions (Stuart 1993). To my knowledge, there are no existing Early Classic inscriptions that make direct mention of warfare. However, the bound captives shown in Early Classic iconography, such as on the Leiden Plaque, proves that war, though not written about at this time in forms that survive, was even then a significant factor in royal life (Figure 9.13). hh nd_the Timing of Warfare Second only to chuk, "capture," perhaps the most widely recognized glyph connected to warfare is the so-called 304"“shell-star" or "earth-star" verb, first noted by Riese (2982) (Figure 9.14). The glyph most often accompanies militaristic scenes, and in a few places it is followed by u tok' upakal, "his flint, his shield," or "his war" (Figure 9.14Figure 9b). While sometimes taken to be two separate glyphs, where the "earth" element may be replaced by a shell-like sign (Mathews 1991:24-25), the “earth-star" and the "shell-star” are in fact one and the same hieroglyph, the latter being slightly more abbreviated in form. The "shell" in this instance is the syllable yi (Stuart 1987), which often plays the role of a verbal suffix (Schele 1983:340), as it surely does in this case. The "earth-star" is the complete form of the glyph, to which the yi may sometimes be attached, or, more commonly, superimposed over the "earth." This is simply a scribal convention for conserving space. In other instances the glyph may be overlaid yet again by a place glyph, examples of which we will discuss momentarily. In its complete form, then, a "star" or "Venus" sign rests atop the "earth" sign and emits flanking water streams or drops. Due to its graphic behavior, I take this combination of star, water, and earth to be a discrete sign of the writing system, and not a "compound" where the words for star (ek') and earth (kab) are to be read. In other words, the "earth-star" image behaves as a logograph, or word sign, in association with the suffix -yi. This word is also a verbal root associated with war in at least some contexts 305In his discussion of Emblem Glyphs, Mathews (1991) notes that Emblem Glyph main signs can substitute for the "earth" element in this compound, calling the earth element a "place name par excellence." In Mathews' view, the earth element would indicate that this war glyph somehow made reference to land, possibly implying that the raiding "had a territorial dimension" of some kind, but was “not oriented toward the actual capture of centres of power" (see Justeson 198: 06). Although this may be true, I hesitate to derive such far-reaching conclusions from the graphical workings of one hieroglyph, for it remains unclear whether the emblem glyphs truly substitute for the earth element or, as I prefer to see it, whether they simply overlay it in several examples of sign superimposition. In any event, the “earth-star" glyph has received no small amount of attention due to its explicit astronomica’ imagery. A number of scholars have investigated its associated dates, with an eye toward connecting its occurrences with important stations in the round of the planet Venus (Thompson 1950:228; Kelley 1973; Closs 1979, igs: Lounsbury 1982; Nahm 1994). Significantly, the belief was widespread among indigenous Mesoamerican peoples that Venus was a belligerent entity, used, at least on occasion, to specify the timing of battles. As Serna (1892) states, writing of beliefs in Central Mexico: Next to the Sun they adored and made more sacrifices to this star than any other celestial or terrestrial creature. The astronomers knew on 306what day it would appear again in the east after it had lost itself or disappeared in the west, and for this first day they prepared a feast, warfare, and sacrifices. Many others have pointed out the intimate connections between Venus and warfare (Seler 1904 [1898]; Thompson 1950:217). The Florentine Codex (Sahagin 1953:Book 7, Ch. 3, 11) mentions how the morning star "might bring a cause of sickness, something evil, when it came to emerge." The pre- Hispanic Mesoamerican association between Venus and war has xecently been explored in detail by Carlson (1991). Perhaps the most influential study of the connection between Venus phenomena and the timing of warfare is Lounsbury's discussion of the battle scene in the Bonampak murals and its reconstructed date (Lounsbury 1982). In Room 2 of the painted structure, the vivid battle scene is accompanied by a series of hieroglyphic captions, most of which presumably name certain prominent actors in the event. According to Miller (1986:47), one caption stands out as the longest, having a calendar round date and a verb which "undoubtedly describes the battle." Miller notes that this date, though badly obscured, is most likely 9.18.1.15.5 13 Chicchan 13 Yax, or August 2, 792 A.D. Using this date for the battle, Lounsbury has observed that it "is precisely the @ate of an inferior conjunction of Venus" (quoted in Miller 1986:51). Miller went on to cite iconographic evidence of an astronomical association, pointing out that figures with Venus glyphs occur above the section popularly known as the 307“judgement scene” of Room 2. This visual arrangement, she reasoned, duplicates the imagery of the earth-star hieroglyph, with "Venus" shown above a site. Lounsbury's discussion of the date's astronomical significance seemed to be conclusive evidence that warfare was timed in accordance with certain Venus phenomena. A problem exists, however, in the epigraphic basis of Lounsbury's hypothesis. The text of Room 2 almost certainly does not record 13 Chicchan 13 Yax, as Miller and Lounsbury once believed. A recently published photograph of this text (Anonymous 1988), taken after it was cleaned by restorers, clearly shows that the day sign is Oc, albeit in a rare form. Moreover, the coefficient of Oc is not necessarily thirteen; it could equally well be six, seven, or eight. The month glyph is also in doubt, for it is either Chen, Yax, ~Zac, Taken together, there are many possibilities to consider, though no single one stands out. Aside from such visual indications, a telling point is the Miller-Lounsbury date falls on a day several months after the dedication of the building on 9.18.1.2.0 8 Ahau 13 Muan, as clearly recorded in the text of Room. Assuming the murals were painted and conceived together, the battle depicted in Room 2 took place before its commemoration on or before this date. Logic dictates that any date for the battle which falls after the murals’ dedication should probably be rejected. If we therefore dismiss the 13 Chicchan 13 Yax date, doubt would be cast on the Venus- 308related significance of the battle This is not to say that no such astronomical associations might have existed in connection with the true date, only that the specific interpretation as stated above may be incorrect. It is ironic that this one badly preserved Bonampak text, with such a problematic reading and associations, has been influential in leading many to accept the Venus associations of what are now being called "star wars" (Schele and Freidel 1990; Carlson 1991). The Venus connections posited by Lounsbury, Closs, and others have gained wide acceptance, yet it should be remembered that some of the dates lack any such clear Venus associations. Nahm (1994) offers a possible explanation of the pattern by suggesting that warfare was timed around "Venus months" (Justeson 1989:94), or lunar months of approximately 30 days each, nineteen of which comprised a Venus year of approximately 584 days. Nahm (1994:7) notes that: in a given Venus year there were two major warfare periods, comprising the Venus months 5-7 and 13- 15, resp. These periods of three months each have no intrinsic astronomical significance, but were symmetrically arranged around heliacal rising as evening star, which occurred in month ten. If Nahm is correct, it would seem that warfare was timed not according to days of specific Venus phenomena, such as first visibility as eveningstar, but rather to broadly defined seasons. Even within the solar year, Nahm notes, there was a tendency to wage war in November and December, as well as 309in the February and March. Even so, a few exceptions in Nahm's schemes do exist, as he admits. Though the "star" element is commonly taken to signify, Venus (Forstemann 190 82; Closs 1979; Lounsbury 1982:144), there is no strong reason to automatically do so. When it appears as a discrete hieroglyphic sign (unlike its usage in "earth-star"), we can be reasonably sure that the glyph reads ek or simply "star" (Kelley 1973:184). It appears in a variety of compounds that may name different stars or other heavenly bodies. With this in mind, it is reasonable to suspect that Venus has been over-emphasized in the astronomical consideration of Maya warfare, since other heavenly bodies are known to have had similar belligerent associations. Meteors, for example, are widely seen among modern Maya groups as evil omens forecasting war and death (La Farge and Byers 1931:129; Vogt 1976:217; Lamb 1981:237; Alcorn 1964:143). In addition, Barbara Tedlock (1992:220) cites the colonial Quiche term for meteor, ch'olanic ch'umil, meaning "star that makes war." In yet another instance, among the ancient Aztec, meteors were literally "shooting stars," or citlalin tlamina (Sahagin 1950- 1982:VII,13). This widespread association between meteors and shooting survives today in the highlands of central Mexico. Sandstrom (1991:248) notes that among the modern Nahua of Veracruz, the stars in general protect human beings by shooting arrows "in the form of meteors" at nocturnal carnivores. Given such warlike associations, it would be 310prudent not to pay exclusive attention to Venus when considering the astronomical significance of the “earth- star” verb.?¢ Until now, all attempts to understand the "earth-star" glyph have relied on iconographic evidence, with the “venus” sign dominating our interpretations. Though it is obvious that the “earth-star" must represent a word, no efforts have been made to und@rot=siathe glyph on a phonetic basis. This state of affairs must change, for glyphic meanings absolutely must be derived from phonetic values and not from literal interpretations of pictorial images alone. This is due to the fact, prover many times over, that the meaning or function of a sign and its representation can be widely divergent. Significantly, there exists another verb glyph which, like "earth-star," has war associations and commonly precedes u tok’ u pakal. This has recently been deciphered by Grube (personal communication 1990) as hu-bu-yi, spelling the root hub, "to fall, collapse" (Figure 9.15a). Taken as a whole, this common war event reads "they fell, his flint and shield...," or perhaps less literally "his war failed,” referring to the ruler named immediately afterwards. Thus on Lintel 3 of Temple I at Tikal, the war of the ruler "Jaguar Paw" of Calakmul is said to have "fell" or "collapsed" (Figure 9.16). Interestingly, the "earth-star" glyph exhibits striking funct‘onal parallels with the hub verb deciphered by Grube. On the face of it, such parallel 321usage before tok’ pakal just might suggest that the “earth- star" glyph is also to be read hub, but as a logograph HUB- yi, occasionally replaced by its syllabic equivalent bu-bu- yi. The circumstantial evidence behind this equivalence includes the common yi suffix on both glyphs, and in fact both are the most frequent companions of the tok' pakal phrase. The statement hub-i u-tok'-pakal, as it is found in the Tikal inscription mentioned above, does not necessarily say that the individual who "owns" the flint and shield was hiuself captured, only that his war was unsuccessful. Thus Jaguar Paw of Calakmul is said to have lost the war with Tikal, but he may not himself have been a direct victim of the defeat, even though his own reign ended shortly thereafter. Indeed, the Calakmul captives who are mentioned at Tikal in connection with this war (Coggins 1975:453) do not include Jaguar Paw himself. Likewise, at Dos Pilas, the record of the conflict between that site and Tikal never explicitly states that "Shield skull" was captured, brought back to Dos Pilas, and publicly beheaded (cf Demarest 1993), but only that "his war fell." To the best of my knowledge, only rulers’ names follow this phrase, as owners of the flint and shield and, by short extension, the royal duties of war connoted by those objects. The semantic realm of this particular war event may therefore lie more in the political expression of war between centers, than in the individualized and ritualized consequences of capture and 312sacrifice. Returning to the possible HUB reading for the "earth- star" glyph, the inscriptions of Dos Pilas offer some circumstantial evidence in its support. Several distinctive monuments from both the main group and the group known as El Duende show Ruler 2 of Dos Pilas in the distinctive dress of zoomorphic watery creature, perhaps as an aspect of the ain god Chaak. The texts accompanying these scenes, when complete, note that these costumed rituals took place on Period Endings, specifically in the context of ritual dance (See Grube 1991). The inscriptions on all these stelae, with one exception, go on to record an “earth-star" war event on a date shortly before the Period Ending. That single exception is Stela 1, which instead hearkens back to an event recorded with the syllables hu-bu-yi. The parallel uses of the earth-star and phonetic hub within this highly specialized context would suggest their equivalence, at least functionally if not phonetically. Circumstantial evidence therefore exists to allow us to posit very tentatively the HUB value for the "earth-star" glyph. If this decipherment proves correct (though it is not at all certain that it will) its implications would affect our perceptions of Maya warfare by diffusing th astronomical lines of argument. With a phonetic reading (even if HUB proves wrong), we would no longer be so reliant on the representation of the glyph as an inference of meaning, and thus could be freer to consider any non- 313astronomical significance of the named events. The supposed astronomical associations of the "earth- star" dates have clearly left a mark on our theoretical understandings of Maya war, perhaps unintentionally, by couching it in ritualistic terms. That is, the idea that the timing of Maya battles was largely governed by the movements of planets, suggested to some scholars that geo- political factors played a correspondingly smaller military role. Schele and Miller (1986:220) followed this reasoning when they stated: "It is striking that in the representation of warfare in their art, the Maya addressed no issues of material gain. Instead they cast warfare in terms of ritual that upheld the cycles of kingship." However, the deciphered warfare events are not explicit in emphasizing ritual over more material motivations. Indeed, the opposite may well be true, since, as I will demonstrate in the following chapter, the material consequences of war and conquest were also topics of record in the Classic texts. Recently advanced theories of Maya warfare have posited a shift from limited conflicts toward more destructive modes of warfare at the end of the Late Classic. According to Demarest, for example, a profound change took place in association with the collapse of the petexbatun kingdoms in the mid-eighth century, as evidenced by hastily constructed fortifications around late settlements and agricultural fields in the Petexbatun region (Demarest 1994; Demarest and Valdés 1994). Schele and Freidel, however, have claimed 3a4that a new type of conflict also emerged with what they call the first documented war in the Maya inscriptions, between the kingdoms of Tikal and Uaxactun (Schele and Freidel 1990): The war waged by Great-Jaguar-Paw against Uaxactun :. Was not the traditional hand-to-hand combat of proud nobles striving for personal glory and for captives to give to the gods. This was war on an entirely different scale, played by rules never before heard of and for stakes far higher that the reputations or lives of individuals. In this new warfare of death and conquest, the winner would gain the kingdom of the loser. Tikal won the prize on January 16, A.D. 378 (Schele and Freidel 1990:145) This view is not in line with the evidence that, as aforementioned, the earliest examples of war glyphs occur roughly at the traditional transition point between the Early and Late Classic periods. A more detailed discussion of the Tikal-Uaxactun war therefore seems warranted. The Tikal-Uaxa ion The Tikal-Uaxactun conflict discussed at length by Schele and Freidel (1990:130-164) now occupies an important place in the recent literature on Maya warfare. In their view, the war represented a profound shift away from “traditional hand-to-hand combat" to a "new warfare of death and conquest." The apparent hieroglyphic evidence for this war was first pointed out in a somewhat tentative tone by Mathews (1985:33-46). It should be made clear, however, that Mathews stated only that there was evidence for ac. 315dynastic relationship between the two sites, with war being one of several possible explanations for this apparent close connection. Schele and Freidel have taken Mathews's idea a step further by deciding that war explains the relationship, and have explained their reasoning in some detail. The linchpin of Schele and Freidel's evidence for the war is the date 8.17.1.4.2 11 Eb 15 Mac, recorded twice at Tikal, on Stela 31 (Figure 9.17a) and the "balicourt marker" from Group 6C-XVI (Figure 9.17b) and twice at Uaxactun, on Stelae 5 and 22 (Figure 9.17c, d). In three cases a probable name glyph accompanies the date, composed of "smoke" and the well known up-ended "birth frog," hence the descriptive nickname "Smoke-Frog" or "Smoking Frog." A second glyph often accompanies this name, namely the so-called "batab" title that is probably pronounced kalomte! or (see Chapter 6), the meaning of which is obscure. Schele and Freidel (1990:153) hypothesize that Smoking Frog may have been "the war chief who led Tikal's army against the xival kingdom, and, as a result of his success, was installed as the ruling ahau of Uaxactun by the victorious Tikal king." Certainly it is true, as Mathews originally noted, that the presence of a shared date at Uaxactun and Tikal reveals an intimate connection between the two sites This is hardly surprising on the face of it, since they were two of the most important sites of the early Classic period and are located a close twenty kilometers from each other. Nevertheless, the war between the two sites that Schele and 316Freidel propose is so far without empirical foundation The "12 Eb" passage from Stela 31 at Tikal is perhaps the most important text on which the argument is based, for, unlike Uaxactun Stela 5, it is perfectly preserved and the most "transparent" of all references to the 8.17.1.4.12 date. Even so, as Schele and Freidel point out, several glyphs defy translation. The main verb of the passage is the common "completion hand," identified long ago in connection with period-endings. Schele and Freidel have proposed the value hom for this verb, meaning "to tear down buildings" in Yucatec (Stuart 1993). However, the hom value does not seem to fit, since it makes little sense in the context of period-endings. The main evidence referenced for the period-ending association is the syllabic combination ho-ma , which sometimes follows the completion hand. But all examples of this association occur when a period-ending is said to take place in the "future," that is, after its inscription was carved. Thus it seems more reasonable to suppose the "hand"-ho-ma represents the future verbal ending =0m. Moreover, to test the hypothesis along another line of reasoning, it would be highly unusual (to say the least) to have such repeated spellings in Maya writing, with the hand preceding its syllabic equivalent (ho-ma). This being said, there is actually a much likelier reading for the completion hand: tsuts, appropriately meaning "to end, to finish," in Yucatec and Tzotzil. Thus, rather than reading "to destroy buildings" the glyph may read simply "to end," without any 317obvious reference to war. In response to the tsuts reading, Schele and Freidel (199 47) note that “it still provides an appropriate meaning to the event -- that the battle ‘finished’ or ‘ended’ the defeat of Uaxactun." But, if the "to end” decipherment holds true, there remain no glyphs reading “the defeat of Uaxactun"--in fact, no references to war at all. Why "end" or "finish" is used in this context remains unclear, but surely it does not necessarily stand to reason that warfare is the context for such a vague reference. Schele and Freidel use the occurrence of Smoking Frog's name on Stela 31 to infer that he was directly responsible for the proposed war, perhaps in the role of a "war chief Mathews (1985) states that Smoking Frog was "from Tikal” on the basis of Tikal's Emblem Glyph following his name on Uaxactun Stela 5. His Tikal affiliation might be suspect, however, due to the facts that Uaxactun lacks a clear Emblem of its own, and that we know the Tikal glyph was used at several sites in both the Barly and Late Classic period, perhaps even including Uaxactun. Thus the emblem does not demonstrate beyond doubt that Smoking Frog was from Tikal itself -- merely that he was from the general polity. on another cautionary note, since the affixes around the Tikal glyph are unclear, Smoking Frog may not even be a "Tikal ahaw." This is because Emblem Glyph main signs may occur in several non-titular contexts (Stuart and Houston 1993) . One might argue from circumstantial evidence that 318smoking Frog was in fact a "foreigner," from outside the Tikal polity. The inscription on the back of the so-called "Stone Man" figure from Tikal (Fahsen 1988), notes that some event took place "in the ‘place’ of Smoking Frog," perhaps implying a non-Tikal affiliation. On Stela 31, Smoking Frog is named in connection with the accession of Curl Nose, within a sentence (at E12-E14) that reads "he received it, the 28 (or 160) [unknown object], it is his burden, he did it, Smoking Frog." This would appear to be a record of gift giving or, perhaps, tribute payment, from Smoking Frog to the newiy installed ruler of Tikal. Whatever the case, the appearance of the Smoking Frog name at both Tikal and Uaxactun (even more frequently at the latter site) make it quite difficult to ascertain his origin. My identification of Smoking Frog as a foreigner at Tikal vaguely echoes Proskouriakoff's (1992:8-9) assessment that he may have have been a Uaxactun lord who was victorious in battle over Tikal. Earlier, Proskouriakoff (cited in Coggins 1975:142) made the intriguing suggestion that the 11 Eb event, so prominent in the inscriptions of Uaxactun and Tikal, corresponds to the actual arrival of Central Mexicans in the Peten. While her evidence is not cited, there are several points of evidence in support of this idea: (1) No "Teotihuacan" art styles or personages can be connected with any date prior to 8.17.1.4.12 12 Bb 10 Mac. 319(2) Uaxactun Stelae 5 and 22 record this date in direct association with the verb hul, "to arrive," as deciphered by Macleod (1990). Tikal's Stela 31 does not use hul, but an obscure verb phrase that is repeated on the Late Classic Lintel 3 of Temple 4 in direct association with the hul verb (3) Uaxactun Stela 5 records "arrive" in direct assication with the portrait of a Teotihuacan- style warrior, the first such image in lowland Maya art. (4) The ruler "Curl Nose," closely associated with Teotinuacan costume and imagery (Coggins 1975:146- 148), took office at Tikal within two years of this "arrival." Circumstantial as it is, such evidence may indicate that the 31 Eb event, rather than recording a war between two nearby kingdoms, actually relates a major episode of culture contact in Mesoamerican history. Smoking Frog, as a "foreigner," may even have originated outside of the Maya lowlands, but there is no direct evidence of this. Whatever the case, Proskouriakoff's ideas should be considered anew and expanded, if possible, in face of the newer epigraphic data “Burnine" Events Another hieroglyph that suddenly appears in the Late Classic inscriptions has, like the "earth star," long been 320identified as having associations with other war glyphs (Schele 1983:103), but without any precise reading (Figure 9.18). The thematic association to war is easily shown on the inscription on Stela 22 of Naranjo (Figure 9.19), where the glyph refers to an event in connection with a captive named K'inich Kab (also depicted as a down-trodden prisoner on the front of Stela 24). While its association with captives and other war-related terms is well established, the meaning of the "smoking head" verb has thus far eluded scholars. The glyph displays a profile human head with a ktin element above the ear and a "smoke" sign in front or above. This combination of elements in turn takes a -yi suffix, often conflated with the profile head. Occasionally the warfare connection of the glyph is not so obvious, as in the cases where the smoking head verb appears in direct association with scenes of people holding flaming torches (Figure 9.20). These scenes are keys to the decipherment, however. At Piedras Negras, a phonetic spelling pu-lu-yi of the same verb sometimes replaces the smoking head (pu-lu being equivalent, it would seem, to the smoking head sign itself). The natural conclusion from this alternate spelling is that the smoking head sign is read pul, a verb root in Cholan languages meaning "to burn." Burning events were of supreme importance in Mesoamerican ritual, and several uses of the pul glyph, as it can now be called, appear to refer to ceremonial activities. The Piedras Negras scribes used pul in relation 322to certain objects called ts'it, a word that today serves as a numerical classifier for long, slender objects such as candles. In the ancient texts, perhaps, ts it was a term for torch bundles depicted in the art (tah, however, is the widespread attested term for "pine torch"). As has been shown, at Naranjo and other sites pul appears in connection with captives, within a clear context of warfare and sacrifice. The inscription on Stela 22 contains five examples, each in relation to the name of a person or place. The verb hub, discussed above, is also prominent in this text. One example of the "burn" verb possibly refers to the conquest of nearby Ucanal (see Houston 1983b). At blocks Hi4 and G15, pul is followed by a possessed noun that may read something like "place of" (employing the "bone" sign dicussed in Stuart and Houston 1994), and then the name Itsamnah Balam (nicknamed "Shield Jaguar") K'anwitsnal Ahaw, "Lord of Ucanal." The front of the monument shows Itsamnah Balam as a captive, and the main historical event celebrated in the text (leading up to the Period Ending) appears to be the burning of his "place." I intepret such references at Naranjo and elsewhere as explicit statements of destructive warfare and conquest. As will be shown, this interpretation may play an important role in evaluating the existing models of Classic Maya militarism. The Geo-Political Context of 1: c Warfare 322It seems safe to say on the basis of present evidence that the subject of war was exclusive to inscriptions of the Late Classic period, though we currently would be hard pressed to explain why. Nevertheless, certain other documentable ‘changes in Maya culture occur in the Classic period that may explain the phenomenal explosion of militaristic references in the texts of places like Caracol, Yaxchilan, and Dos Pilas. The sum of these changes was the increasing Classic Period balkanization of political territories. Theoretically, whereas the political picture of the Early Classic consists largely of a few sites, mainly in the "core" area of the Peten, exerting influence over their neighbors, the Late Classic scope included a far greater number of smaller and perhaps more autonomous polities (Mathews 1988, 1991). As noted above, some of the most recent discussions of Maya warfare have come from archaeological and epigraphic investigations in the Petexbatun region, centered on the important site of Dos Pilas (Houston and Mathews 1985; Houston 1992; Demarest 1993). The discovery of crude fortifications at Dos Pilas (Houston 1993:46), apparently constructed in haste from dismantled architecture, has forcefully illustrated the breakdown of elite culture at the end of the Classic period Demarest (1991) once considered Dos Pilas to have been an unusual Maya polity in that its hegemony expanded through wars of conquest, thereby changing certain rules, he 323theorized, of Maya warfare. According to this reconstruction of events, since modified by Demarest, Dos Pilas dominated most of the Pasion River by 740 A.D., including the sites of La Amelia, Tamarindito, Punta de Chimino, Aguateca, Seibal, and Cancuen. The documentary sources do record a war waged against Seibal (using the “earth-star" verb) by Dos Pilas Ruler 3, and suggest his marriage to a royal woman from Cancuen. They say little, however, of relations with the other sites in the Pasion region. The belligerent episode between Dos Pilas and Seibal is probably the most featured battle in the Dos Pilas inscriptions. Dos Pilas Stela 2 and Stela 2 from Aguateca (Graham 1967:Fig. 5) devote themselves almost entirely to the "earth-star" war at Seibal on 9.15.4.6.4 and the ensuing "adornment" of the Seibal lord Yich'ak Balaml or "Jaguar Claw," shown on each monument below the feet of the victorious Ruler 3. The emphasis on this series of events stands in contrast with the less-spectacular records of earlier wars on Dos Pilas' stelae, which occur only in secondary texts of Period Ending stelae. The historical importance of the victory seems to have been recognized at the time, perhaps given Seibal's long history and dominance in regional politics along the Rio Pasion. The Dos Pilas-Seibal war is unusual for another surprising reason. "Jaguar Claw," pictured in defeat on twin Ruler 2 monuments, was clearly not sacrificed by his 324Dos Pilas captor. At Seibal, the Palace Tablets of Structure A-1 (3. Graham 1990:7-16) make several references to "Jaguar Claw, the Holy Seibal Lord" in connection with dates over ten years subsequent to his professed capture. Thus, if we are to believe the inscription on the Palace Tablets, Jaguar Claw lived on for many years after his humiliation at the hands (or feet!) of Dos Pilas Ruler 3. Indeed, the inscriptions identify him as performing rituals near the Period Ending 9.15.15.0.0 and rededicating an ancestor's tomb on 9.15.16.7.17. Nothing may seem out of the ordinary here, save for one important detai: all this apparently takes place under the auspices of Dos Pilas Ruler 3, who oversees the actual Period Ending rites and who is a "witness" to the tom ceremony. The implication of these passages is clear, and somewhat contrary to our assumptions about the sacrificial rites associated with Maya warfare: subsequent to Dos Pilas' victory over Seibal, Jaguar Claw was retained as the local ruler and even acquired the supreme Emblem Glyph title “holy lord" (On the Petexbatun stelae he is merely called the "Seibal lord"). Yet it is reasonable to assume that Seibal is at this time still politically subservient to Dos Pilas, whose ruler is the true protagonist of the Seibal tablets The portraits of Jaguar Claw in defeat on the twin Petexbatun monuments are evidently meant to convey at least his capture, but they do not allow us to conclude that he remained a captive, much less that he was sacrificed 325Rather, we may infer from the later inscriptions that he was allowed to retain his rulership at Seibal, perhaps as a "puppet" of Ruler 3. Dos Pilas' dominance, moreover, seems to have lasted well over a decade after its initial victory This relatively detailed scenario from the Dos Pilas-Seibal conflict is of great significance in the pursuit of understanding the political ramifications of defeat in Maya warfare. Previous studies have suggested that Dos Pilas later conquered Cancuen, located some distance upstream from Seibal on the Rio Pasién (Houston and Mathews 1985:18) However, in Cancuen's case, there is no indisputable evidence that it was dominated, much less conquered, by any Dos Pilas ruler. The suggestion was based upon a misidentification of the Cancuen Emblem Glyph, which is now much better documented. Relations appear to have been strong between Cancuen and the Petexbatun sites, however, since Dos Pilas Ruler 3 seems to have married a woman from Cancuen and Dos Pilas Ruler 4 is named on Cancuen's hieroglyphic staircase, possibly even in the role of supervising ritual events (Houston 1992:114-116). Whether Dos Pilas was politically dominant or not must still remain at issue. The Petexbatun polity has been characterized in the past as unusually warlike and expansionistic when compared to other contemporaneous Maya city-states (Demarest 1993), but on the face of the hieroglyphic evidence we can no 326longer view the Petexbatun as extraordinary. Demarest now views the state of affairs at Dos Pilas to have been a fairly typical part of the more general mode until about A.D. 761 (personal communication, 1995). Dos Pilas's rise to independence and military prowess at the beginning of the Late Classic was symptomatic of the larger trend, already discussed, toward political fission in the Maya lowlands that allowed military conflict to become an ubiquitous theme in inscriptions at some sites. What accounts for the sudden appearance of war records at the beginning of the Late Classic, as I have described it? In my view, the change in what is recorded in the texts is intimately connected to broader political changes that took place in the Maya area at this pivotal time. Most would agree with the idea that the central "core" area of the lowlands, at sites such as El Mirador, Uaxactun, or Tikal, exhibits the largest manifestations of early Classic Maya culture (Culbert 1991). The sheer size of these sites in relation to their contemporaneous neighbors indicates an undeniably high level of political and economic Power. Although I have stated that textual war records are basically non-existent before the Late Classic, warfare obviously did exist. Images of captives (all nameless) abound in early Tikal and Uaxactun sculpture, and the massive fortifications at Becan may bespeak violent and destructive conflict in its surrounding area, at least 327(Webster 1976). Arguably, a correlation exists between the lack of explicit mentions of war, on the one hand, and the relatively centralized political landscape of the Late Pre- Classic and Early Classic periods. However, it does not follow that a lack of notable warfare was the reason why warfare was not recorded in the texts. It is premature to suppose that Early Classic Tikal alone forged a "macro state," for such a conclusion woulé need a great deal of non-existent documentary support. Rather, one may say in very general terms that Tikal and the central core sites, as the largest of their day, exerted a great deal of influence throughout the surrounding landscape. Judging by the frequency of captives in the symbolism of power in the Early Classic, warfare was an important mechanism in that early influence and expansion. Furthermore, the lack of specific records may correlate with the asymmetrical political and military power that would have then existed at the time, with Tikal exerting its might against smaller peripheral centers. At the beginning of the Late Classic, we see in the earliest textual references to war a possible pattern where once-secondary sites such as Caracol and Dos Pilas declare victories over Tikal. Might these be wars of independence, as Marcus (1992:428-429) asserts? Interestingly, we have seen that Calakmul appears to be the patron of both these upstart kingdoms, suggesting that the Tikal-Calakmul tensions may have had an important role in creating the 328political balkanization that defines the Late Classic political structure. The smaller kingdoms of the Late Classic were constantly forging their own political identities, and, in my view, the explicit discussion of warfare was an essential part of those emerging expressions of self-hood. Conclusions Any epigraphic consideration of Maya warfare begins with one major and profound limitation: war is present in the inscriptions only after the sixth century A.D. Events such as "capture," “war collapse," and "burn" appear only in the Late Classic period with some variation in their spatial distribution. The clear implication from this large but restricted body of data is that the dicussion of warfare in the inscriptions was varied over both time and space. The pattern is perfectly in keeping with the archaeological evidence of Maya war as complex and multi-varied throughout the Classic period, with considerable temporal and geographical heterogeneity (Demarest 1978, 1992, 1994; Freidel 1986). Most interestingly, models proposing the intensification of warfare in certain regions near the end of the Late Classic period, as in the Petexbatun region (Demarest 1994, Demarest and Valdés 1994) and in the Caracol area (Chase and Chase 1989) are supported by the textual patterns described here. Not only do war references increase with time after approximately 600 A.D., but “burn,” 329the most explicit of the war events now known, makes an even later appearance in the texts of the eastern Peten. However one might explain the distribution of "burn" events related to war, an obvious parallel can be drawn between such statements in Maya texts and the way conquest was symbolically represented among the Aztec. In several Aztec sources, the image of the burning temple was attached to the place glyphs of conquered towns (Figure 9.21). Similar imagery of conquest in the Maya and Aztec sources should not be taken as evidence for more profound analogies, but as the following chapter will argue, Maya warfare, as in Central Mexico, was often explicitly recorded and commemorated in relation to the acquisition of tribute and material gain. 330Figure 9.1. The "capture" glyph, chuk. (a) chu-ka-ha, chu ab; (b) chulkul-hi-ya, chuk-(a)h-i. 331Figure 9.2. The name of Bird Jaguar IV of Yaxchilan, with @ title Ah K'al Bak, "He of Twenty Captives"chele and Millergure 9.4. Captive presentation on the "Kimbel Panel” ifrom Schele and Miller 1986:Fig. III.S) 334Figure 9.5. Dos Pilas, Hieroglyphic Stairway 3, Step I! (from Houston 1993:Fig. 4-23)Figure 9.6. The hieroglyph ba-TE', for bate‘elFigure 9.7. Li from vacinity of Yaxchilan, at left as the bate'el of Bird J 7-33)Figure 9.8. The "axe" war verb (CH'AK?) and its usage. :2 The axe sign with the toponym of Tamarindito/Arroyo de Piedra, presumably documenting its conquest by Dos Pilas or Aguateca, From Hieroglyphic Stairway 2 of Tamarindizo, > the axe used in connection with Dos Pilas's conquest of Seibal, from Dos Pilas Stela 2, and (c) in a statement ‘or self-decapitation (from Grube and Nahm 1994:Fig. 45ap ‘@ Figure 9.9. The "flint-shield" glyph for war. (a) © pakal, (b) Aztec symbol of war, mitl-chimallFigure 9.10. The tok’ pakal symbol as war war bundle from the Palace Tablet of Pale: spears and jaguar fire god shield from the T at Palenque (drawing by Linda Schele) 340Figure 9.11. "Successor of the flint-and-shield.” Yaxchilan, Lintel 45, (b) Lintel 46 (from 101) B41Figure 9.12. Yaxchilan, Lintel 28 (from Graham 1977:55) 342Figure 9.13. The Leiden Plaque (from Schele and Miller 33b) 1986:P1 343Figure 9.14. combination (a) The “earth-star" war glyph, (b) i ith u tok’ pakalGx) Figure 9.15. (a) the hu-bu-yi war verb, (b) in combina with u tok' pakalFigure 9.16. War statement from Tikal, Temple I, Lin (from Jones and Satterthwaite 1982:Fig. 70! 34Figure 9.17 Tikal, Stel. (b) Tikal, "Marcador, (from Houston 1989:F: Vaxactun, Stela 5 (from Graham 1986;145), and (a) Us Stela 22 (from Graham 1986:191) Passages concerning ¢! (from Jones and Sai 347Figure 9.18. The “burn” verb in its (a) logograph PUL[yi] and (b) syllabic form pu-lu-yi 348Figure 9.19. Passage from the inscription of Naranjo, Stela 22 (from Graham 1975:56)4 Figure 9.20. Naranjo, Stela 35 (after Graham 1978:91 350Figure 9.21. Aztec conquest symbol of a burning temple Codex Mendoza) (from 381CHAPTER X TRIBUTE AND ECONOMY This chapter aims to establish that tribute and the transfer of elite goods and services -- that is, certain types of economic transactions -- were topics of considerable interest to Maya scribes. Previously, economic themes of any kind were conspicuous in their apparent absence from extant Maya texts, but new decipherments tevéal ~ that such transactions were recorded in connection to commemorations of conquests and other types of inter-polity interaction. The present consideration of the Classic Maya tribute system therefore draws upon many of the themes already treated in this thesis, including kingship, political hierarchies, sacrifice, and warfare. Here, and especially in the concluding chapter, the inter-weaving of such diverse themes should begin to construct a more unified view of the Classic-period inscriptions and some of the basic cultural concerns they reflect. Except for a recent treatment by Pohl and Pohl (1994), tribute is seldom mentioned, much less discussed, in considerations of Classic Maya exchange systems or political and economic organizations (e.g. Ploeg 1992; Culbert 1991; Hoopes 1985). The relative silence on the subject is simple to explain: topics relating to tribute and economics have up to now been invisible in the Maya documentary record. The 352apparent lack of Maya sources discussing tribute contrasts greatly with the well-known records of Late Post-classic Central Mexico, where detailed tribute records and other ethnohistorical sources have allowed for a number of soph isticated studies of Mexica Aztec tribute systems and political economy (Berdan 1975, 1978; Carrasco and Broda 1978; Conrad and Demarest 1984; Berdan and Anawalt 1992). Marcus (1992a:228) has recently assessed the Maya situation as follows: “not included (in Maya inscriptions) are censuses, discussions of land use, economic policies, tribute exacted, labor service, and events that occurred in the lives of the commoners." Marcus (ibid.) goes on to say that "tribute and census records were more often the concern of bureaucratic states or empires (like the Aztec and Inca), which provide a contrast to the Zapotec and Maya states Marcus is correct in stating that some of these activities (particularly those involving the lives of commoners) are absent from existing Maya sources. But, at the same time, the perishable materials that would have carried such information, if it existed, have not survived. In keeping with this scenario, most current knowledge of the Mexica Aztec tribute system derives from colonial nanuscripts, many with clear Precoiumbian antecedents. Without these written sources, scant evidence would exist upon which to say a tribute economy even existed, much less an imperial system of government. Moreover, as the discussion up to this point has continually emphasized, Maya 353writing is only partially deciphered, and it is perhaps premature to deny the existence of any economic topics in the Classic inscriptions simply because they are not presently visible. It will be argued in this chapter that some economic matters were indeed recorded by the Classic Maya, as revealed by several recent and telling decipherments. Patan, “Tributs One such hieroglyph reads patan, meaning "service" or “tribute” in numerous Mayan languages (Figure 10.1). Patan is actually a term derived from the widespread verb root pat, meaning "to build, make, or form," -an being a participial ending producing pat-an, literally "something that is worked or made." The posited hieroglyph for patan consists of the two syllabic signs pa and ta, usually preceded by a numerical coefficient (Figure 10.1a-c). According to Knorosov's theory of synharmony, the final vowel in the sequence pa-ta would be dropped, leaving the CVC root pat (Knorosov 1967:45). However, as discussed in Chapter 2, it appears that in many cases these final vowels are not to be ignored, since they provide a "lead-in" to derivational or grammatical endings, or to the final syllable of a cvcvc word (Nicholas A. Hopkins, personal communication, 1986). Words with the shape CVCVa are often spelled without the final -n, such as the glyphs for "younger brother" 354(its'in, spelled i-ts'i) and "elder brother" (sakun, spelled sa-ku). As described in Chapter 2, such imperfect spellings are in fact common in scripts that employ CV syllabic signs, such as Linear B (Chadwick 1987; Hooker 1980). It therefore stands to reason that the spelling pa-ta might represent more than just the root pat, with patan a good possibility The verb root Pat, "to make, build," is well attested in other contexts, as mentioned in Chapter 3 (Stuart 1994b), suggesting that indeed this glyph is likely to represent a derived term such as patan. The numerical coefficients that often accompany pa-ta are strikingly parallel to attested phrases such as Yucatec ox k'al patan "sesenta mantas de tributo" (Barrera Vasquez 1980:633). It is therefore appropriate to translate the numbered pa-ta glyphs as patan in the sense "X amount of tribute." In at least one case, the sequence pa-ta-na may provide the full spelling of the term (Figure 10.14). Another possible variant of the patan glyph is illustrated in Figure 10.1e. Here the word sign PAT combines with ta, after the number 14, perhaps in a variant spelling of patan. In this case, the ta in PAT-ta would be necessary to foreshadow the = n ending on the root. The presence of glyphs specifying amounts of tribute, albeit somewhat vaguely, offers the first evidence that some economic subjects were recorded in the inscriptions of the Classic period. However, such numbered patan glyphs are not common, and unfortunately the contexts of their usage remain 355largely obscure. Perhaps this should not be surprising at first, since this identification potentially opens a new and unanticipated area of hieroglyphic study. One remarkable example of the term patan from the Classic period occurs on a fascinating vessel recently published by Justin Kerr (1994) (Figure 10.2). The painted court scene on the vase is badly eroded in sections, yet the main figures are very discernable, as are most of the glyphs of the lengthy inscription that describes it. This text begins with a date, followed by the verb ts'ap-ah, usually found as a dedicatory verb for the placement of stelae (Grube 1987). In Cholan languages ts‘ap means "to plant upright," but in Yucatec its meaning is "to stack, pile up.” Following the verb is U-pa-ta-na, for u patan, "his/their tribute," and then the glyph OX-LAKAM-ma, Ox Lakam, or "Three Lakams." This probably refers to the three figures who are seated beneath t! @ royal throne in the scene, for two of them are clearly named with the LAKAM-ma combination, after their respective personal names (interestingly, one is "Bird Jaguar"). The next glyph, reading across the text, is yi-chi-NAL, for y-ich-nal, "in the presence of," and then the name of a ruler ta-ye-le CHAAN-K'INICE who is Holy Lord of the "Ik' site," perhaps modern-day Motul de San José or Polol, Guatemala. Taken together, the glyphs of this text translate as "On the day..., the tribute of the Three Lakams was stacked up before Tayel Kaan K'inich, Holy Lord of °Ik.'" ‘The tribute items themselves are no longer visible 356in the scene, probably having been shown in the eroded area beneath the bench-like throne. This vessel is one of many that show tribute presentation scenes (Figure 10.3), but the text is by far the most explicit in its elucidation of the imagery. Occasionally, the numbered tribute references appear as parts of names or titles of individuals. It could be that such cases refer to the set or expected quantity of one's tribute payment, as in the case of a woman named at Machaquila who is called "Lady Nine Patan" (Figure 10.4) Might this refer to her required payments of nine mantas de txibuto, or was she herself a part of some tribute payment to a local ruler? ‘he latter interpretation is possible, given the recent evidence from Tonina Monument 99 that female captives were sometimes gift offerings, along with more common male captives (Houston, personal communication, 1994). The other alternative (Bridget Stuart, personal communication, 1995) is that these tribute titles referred to a given unit of tribute which was received by the title- holder from each delivery of royal tribute, or from each of his or her subordinates. The possibilities are many, and as yet no specific reconstruction of the events behind such references is possible. Other Tribute-Related Terms In addition to patan, there are several other hieroglyphic terms that bear directly on these and other 357tribute scenes. One important term is ikats, "burden, load" (Figure 10.5). This glyph, spelled i-ka-tsi, was independently deciphered by Karl Taube (personal communication, 1988) and Brian Stross (1988), and sometimes appears as a label on large cloth bundles held by participants in ritual scenes (Figure 10.5b) or placed at the base of thrones (Figure 10.5c). A variant spelling of ikats appears on Stela 32 from Naranjo after the verb "he gave it" (ya-k'a-wa, for y-ak'-aw(?)), in a text incised on a series of steps shown leading up to a throne (Figure 10.6). As we will see, the placement of these glyphs on steps probably relates to the frequent positioning of bundles and various other offertory goods on terraces and before thrones. The hieroglyph for ikats is intimately tied to tribute records in other inscriptions, as for instance on Stela 1 fom Jonuta, Tabasco (Figure 10.7). The text is incomplete and portions defy translation, but clearly readable is the sign sequence ta-i-ki-tsi, probably for ta ikats, "in the cargo, bundle" (i-ki-tsi seems to have been a variant spelling, perhaps indicating localized pronunciation in the lower Usumacinta region, as the same occurs on Throne 1 at Piedras Negras). At the end of the text is u-to-ho-li, for utoh-ol, “his payment." The combination of the two terms "bundle" and "payment" may constitute an explicit reference to a tribute delivery. A term for "tribute mantle” found in Classical Yucatec 358is yubte' (Barrera Vasquez 1980:981). Stephen Houston (personal communication, 1990) has pointed out to me the spelling yu-bu-TE on a polychrome vase from the Petén published by Kerr (1989:105) (Figure 10.8). The scene accompanying this vase text shows cloth bundles being presented to a seated ruler, making it fairly clear that yu- bu-TE stands for yubte'. Interestingly, a few glyphs later is another example of u-to-bo-li, "his payment." The text seems to go on to describe the payment in some detail, although numerous glyphs still defy decipherment and translation. Both the patan and ikats terms appear in the long and fascinating inscription on Stela 12 of Naranjo, Guatemala (Graham 197! 6) (Figure 10.9a). The inscription recounts, among other historical events, a series of wars or conquests waged by Naranjo against neighboring centers (Table 10.1). The Naranjo protagonist is the ruler Itsamnah K'awil, who dedicated the stela on 9.18.10.0.0. The two years leading up to this dedication date are recorded in some detail with eight different historical episodes, each with a date. The first of these makes use of the "burn" verb for conquest At least four military engagements are also recorded using the "axe" verb (chtak, "to chop"?), and two of these appear in direct association with the place glyph of Yaxha, first recognized by Justeson (1975) ,and phonetically deciphered as Yaxha by the author (Stuart 1985). The dates of all the wars in which Naranjo was the apparent aggressor span 359Table 10.1. Dates and events recorded on Naranjo, Stela 12 9.18. 8. 8.16 9.18. 8.11.11 4.12 9.18. 8.16. 2 13 Bb 5 Zip 8 Eb 5 Uo 12 Cib 9 Uo 1 Etznab 11 Uo 2 Chuen 4 Zec 2 Ik 15 Ch'en 1 Ben 6 Ceh 7 Lamat 16 Uo 3 Men 3 Yaxkin 10 Ahau 8 Zac 360 Event, birth of ruler Itsamah K'awil, burning axe" with Yaxha "axe"; "step"; 9-patan unknown verb w/ Yaxha lord "axe" "axe" (also rec. on St. 35) adornment of Yaxha lord's cargo adornment of ? period endingapproximately four months in the year 799 A.D. A passage accompanying another of these war statements includes a clearly recognizable "9 patan" glyph (9-pa-ta), at block D2a (Figure 10.9b) It is tempting to consider that here the glyph somehow specifies an amount of tribute rendered in connection with a military defeat. Given the many eroded glyphs of this text, this interpretation may be premature, yet the direct association of warfare and tribute statements is clearly evident. Significantly, later in this same Naranjo inscription is yi-ka-tsi YAX-a-AHAW, spelling y-ikats-il Yaxha Ahaw, "the cargo of the Yaxha Lord" (Figure 10.9c). It is possible that the phrases "nine items of tribute" and “the Yaxha Lord's cargo" refer to the booty taken by victorious Naranjo from defeated Yaxha.27 Relations between Yaxha and Naranjo seem to have been hostile throughout mich of the Classic period, since another earlier defeat of Yaxha is recorded on Naranjo Stela 23 (E1- F16). On the Naranjo stela, before y-ikats-il Vaxha Ahaw, is the verbal glyph na-wa-ha, for naw-ah (Figure 10.9c). The precise interpretation of this term has been difficult, although Schele (1986) has associated it convincingly with themes of warfare and sacrifice. Supporting Schele's deduction are Dos Pilas Stela 16 and Aguateca Stela 2, which both record the conquest of Seibal and the subsequent involvement of the captured Seibal lord, Jaguar Claw, is involved in a naw event 362On the same stelae from Dos Pilas and Aguateca, Jaguar Claw is shown with large ear ornaments and an elaborate headband. As Bricker (1986:156-158) notes, naw appears in Chorti with the meaning "to adorn," which seems a reasonable interpretation in this context; after his defeat, the Seibal lord is shown "adorned," perhaps for some sacrificial ritual. In other contexts, naw-ah seems to refer to the decorating of idols or ritual images, as on Stela 15 of Dos Pilas (Houston 1993: Fig. 4-15), where "GI-God K," possibly the tutelary deity of the Dos Pilas polity,*® is said to be "adorned" as part of a period ending ritual (Figure 10.10). If this interpretation is correct, the ritual described on this monument may contribute to the ancestry to the dressing of "santos" seen in indigenous communities today A sculpted door lintel from the vicinity of Yaxchilan, Mexico, reveals another related context for naw-ah (Figure 9.7). Bn enthroned ruler, named in the accompanying text as Bird Jaguar IV, holds a small bundle of feathers, and faces a subservient bate‘el ("warrior") who stands before the throne. The inscription begins with a date and the verb naw:ah. Following the verb, in turn, is the title "Captor of Kaan Ek'," who is then called "the warrior of Bird Jaguar." The inscription tells us, in other words, that the warrior is being "adorned," presumably referring to his receipt of feathers offered by the ruler. The feathers themselves are almost surely headdress feathers, for in 362similar representations the small bead "weights" on the ends of the feathers are clearly visible. Such weights only appear in headdresses or as some other part of noble costume. To interpret this image more broadly, it is probable that the scene commemorates the ruler's gift of headdress feathers to a subordinate warrior who had seen recent success in his capture of Kaan Ek'.29 The naw event referred to on Naranjo Stela 12, in association with "the cargo of the Yaxha Lord," is probably a reference the adornment of tribute bundles, as often seen in court scenes from Maya pottery. Tied and bundled stacks of folded cloth mantas are typically present in such scenes, placed on the floor before an enthroned ruler or noble (Figure 10.11). In many instances jewels or quetzal feathers are placed on top of the cloth as possible adornments." The feathers are in fact identical to the headdress adornments held by Bird Jaguar in the sculpture just discussed, as well as many other examples in Maya art. It is possible that the placement of earplugs, necklaces, and feathers on tribute bundles indicates that they were, like captives, "adorned" for ritual presentation. Step Glyphs and Tribute As previously mentioned., Stela 12 from Naranjo contain three so-called "axe events" relating certain military victories over neighboring sites, including Yaxha. In each instance these war records are followed by another sentence 363