“‘The gods have smitten us sorely for our sins, you and me and all our people. I, Batab of Mani, with my people desire to make peace with our god by a pilgrimage of atonement and solemn rites of sacrifice, that we may once more receive the blessing of the Rain God, your god and ours.
“‘We have had our brothers’ quarrels, but the quarrels of brothers can be forgotten. We have had our hard-fought battles, but wars that have been fought are things of the past, things to forget. To-day we are scourged together, you and I and all our people. Let us, then, forget the past with its bitter memories and come together like brothers, forgiving and forgiven. Let us unite in a great and solemn pilgrimage of atonement and sacrifice to the angered god, in his temple at the Sacred Well of Chi-chen Itza. Thus will his wrath be appeased. The rains will follow the clouds in the heavens and fecundity will come once more to the earth, now sterile, baked, and dead.
“‘For this we ask your word and your promise that my people may pass undisturbed and unharmed to pray in the temples and to make sacrifice to the Rain God in the Sacred Well at Chi-chen Itza. I and my people await your answer.’”
Nachi Cocom sat motionless in thought, neither asking nor receiving counsel from those about him; and such was their fear and awe of this indomitable and cruel ruler that none dared speak as he sat with crafty eyes staring at the ground before him. At last he raised his head and fixed the messengers with his inscrutable gaze and said:
“Messengers from the Batab of Mani, listen closely and carefully that your words to him be my words to you.
“‘From the Batab of Zotuta to the Batab of Mani, greetings! You say that we are brothers, in that this land of Mayab is our common mother. You say that we are together and alike scourged by an outraged god. These things are true. The land, our common mother, has felt the curse of the white man’s tread. By this act was she violated and we, her sons, permitted it—you by acquiescence, I by impotence.
“‘But all this is past, you say, and we must now find means to avert the disaster which threatens to overwhelm us both—a calamity that can be avoided only by a pilgrimage and sacrifice to Noh-och Yum Chac at the Sacred Well of Chi-chen Itza.
“‘Be wale!—so let it be!
“‘You say that brothers quarrel and then forgive; that the war that is ended may be forgotten.’
“Now,” and here he bent forward and spoke in deep earnestness, while about his thin lips wreathed a twisted smile that made those who knew him well recoil in terror, “tell my brother, Ah Pula, Batab of Mani, to send his pilgrims, the maiden messengers, the sacrificial offerings, and the priests, when and how he wishes. When they come they will find me and my people ready and waiting to give them warm welcome. No spear shall be cast, no weapon raised against them. We will guard the pilgrims and send them on their way to worship and to make sacrifice to that god with whom they so urgently wish to make peace—to your god and our god, for are we not the offspring of a common mother?