When he awoke, Hans found himself tied to a stake in the middle of the square of a Maya village of palm-thatched huts. Presiding over the plaza rose a group of austere buildings: one with a gabled roof and a cross on its peak; beside it, instead of a bell tower, stood a military watchtower; and, adjoining, a building with a severe façade that reminded him of the stark houses of the English countryside, with thick whitewashed walls, small windows, and a palm roof crowned by a crude stone chimney.
A native saw him stir and ran toward what seemed to be the village church, shouting in Maya:
"Táan u k'áat u yáanal, k'aas wíinik táan u yáanal! " ("He has awoken, the foreigner has awoken!").
At once, the villagers began to gather around the strange visitor, their eyes filled with suspicion. Hans noted that all wore white cotton garments and bore crosses hanging from their necks. Men, women, and children murmured among themselves. Moments later, several other figures arrived, also clad in white, but with hats adorned with ribbons of color. One of them carried a staff of authority. Hans assumed he was the village chieftain, who regarded him with a furrowed brow.
It was not long before another figure appeared: a tall man dressed in a tattered black cassock, much like Hans's own, which made him think at first that he was a fellow Jesuit. Beneath the cassock, however, Hans glimpsed leather boots. The man's forehead was broad, his blond hair sparse, worn long and tied in a queue, and his beard thick like that of Moses. His blue eyes shone with a cold, authoritarian gleam. Behind him trailed six other Europeans. They all wore loose white cotton shirts, trousers, high boots, and leather belts from which hung pistols, machetes, and whips. Some wore straw hats, others battered tricorne hats. To Hans's eyes, they looked like a band of sailors grotesquely out of place.
The priest fixed him with a stern gaze. Hans, on seeing him, did not know whether to rejoice or to fear. He barely managed to stammer a word, the first thing that left his lips:
"Water…"
The priest nodded slightly at one of the gathered natives, who then allowed a child to timidly hand Hans a gourd of water.
"Where am I?" Hans asked.
The priest approached, flanked by two men: one broad-shouldered, with a heavy jaw and narrow brow; the other tall and gaunt, with a long face and expressionless gray eyes.
"You are in the redoubt of San Jorge de Ch'en Sasil. I am Father Rafael Blaco, parish priest, spiritual guide, and ruler of this village. Who are you?"
Hans cleared his throat and replied:
"I am Father Hans Von Lübeck, a member of the Society of Jesus. I assume we both belong to the same order and therefore answer to the Provincial of New Spain, Father Horst Maria Von…"
The priest regarded him in silence, then glanced at his men. Only the tall, gaunt one returned his stare; the other four scanned the assembled crowd with severe, authoritarian expressions, their hands resting on the pistols at their belts.
"What business brings you here, Father Lübeck?" asked the priest.
"I was sent to support an audit at the mission of San Ignacio de Chenutialbak. However, I lost my way in the jungle…" Hans replied.
"You did not seem very lost, considering you were exploring near the temple of Hun-Hunahpú," Rafael retorted. "Mister Derek Jackson, what do you think?" he added, turning to the tall, long-faced man.
Derek clicked his tongue and glared at Hans.
"How did you fall into the cenote?" he asked.
Hans swallowed hard.
"Eh… I was searching for water… and I slipped in," he muttered.
"The ropes set at the excavation by the pyramid tell another story… you entered without authorization," said Father Rafael.
"Your story makes no sense. How exactly did you come to be in the cenote?" Derek pressed again.
"I already told you, Father," Hans insisted, directing himself to Rafael. "I was looking for water and I did not know I had to ask for permission."
The priest folded his arms with a skeptical frown.
"Brian," he said to the broad-shouldered man who had not once taken his severe gaze off Hans. "Bring me a chair."
Brian barked a few words in Maya, and soon a villager appeared with a wicker chair upon which Rafael sat. Brian and Derek positioned themselves at his sides, guarding him with weapons ready, while another native stepped forward holding a palm parasol, and a child fanned him with a woven fan.
"You are not here by chance," Rafael said, staring directly into Hans's eyes. "You came seeking that temple, did you not?"
Hans realized he was cornered.
"Forgive me, Father… as I said, I am an auditor of the same Jesuit order as you… I was reviewing certain books and wished to understand the justification for some expeditions. You may consult my letters of safe-conduct."
"Wow…" Derek sneered. "You walked several leagues into the jungle… just to verify an expedition?"
He smiled with feigned amusement, seconded by Brian, who let out a harsh, derisive laugh.
The priest remained rigid, arms crossed, watching Hans with inquisitorial severity.
"Anyone can forge documents, and anyone can invent a story as absurd as yours—pretending to be an auditor," Derek declared.
"You may send someone to inquire at the mission…" Hans suggested.
"It is several days' journey from here," the priest retorted. "Have you checked the documents he carries?"
"He has a journal written in German… I think, among other things," Derek said.
"A damned Saxon," Brian spat with contempt.
The priest's expression hardened further. He motioned to Derek, who leaned close to listen. Rafael whispered something into his ear. Derek straightened, then turned to face the gathered crowd and addressed them in Maya, provoking a wave of startled murmurs.
"Where are you from?" Rafael demanded.
"From Schwarzwald, to be precise," Hans replied.
"German?"
Hans realized his mistake—perhaps he had revealed too much.
"I am from the Catholic region of Schwarzwald," he hastened to clarify, "where my family, like the rest of the villagers, are vassals of the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire. I studied in Münster…"
"Enough. Do you know what I think? I think you are no Jesuit," Rafael said.
Hans shook his head.
"I am, Father. You may send word to the mission of San Ignacio…" Hans started to say.
"I think not," Rafael cut him off. "You must be some adventurer searching for treasure… perhaps even a pirate. Who do you work for?"
Hans felt a cold sweat trickle down his spine.
"I have told you, and I swear by our holy founder, I am who I claim to be: Hans Von Lübeck, priest of the Society of Jesus."
Derek leaned close to him.
"Confess who you really are, and what those documents you carry mean," he demanded, staring into Hans's eyes.
"I don't know what you mean," Hans answered.
Derek rose to his feet and signaled to Brian, who let out a sharp whistle.