The confusion traces back to colonial-era records. When Spanish administrators wrote about the Poqomam capital they had conquered and burned, they referred to it as Mixco Viejo. Centuries later, when archaeologists went looking for the site, they settled on the impressive ruins in northeastern Chimaltenango. Robert M. Carmack was among the first to raise doubts. He noticed something fundamental: the ruins were not located within the Poqomam linguistic area at all but rather within Kaqchikel territory. The Poqomam who had been resettled in colonial Mixco were known for their fine polychrome ceramics, but no evidence of such production had turned up at the site. And the ruins sat too far from colonial Mixco to match the historical accounts. The archaeological data that had been painstakingly gathered was sound, but it described the wrong civilization. It was the Chajoma -- a branch of the Kaqchikel Maya -- who had built and inhabited this place, not the Poqomam.

Jilotepeque Viejo sits at the junction of the Pixcaya and Motagua rivers, about 50 kilometers north of Guatemala City. The Chajoma chose the location deliberately: their previous capital had been vulnerable to attack from the hostile Kaqchikel kingdom based at Iximche. This new site offered natural defenses that few armies could overcome. The city spread across a narrow ridge flanked by deep ravines, its buildings organized into fortified groups connected by the ridge's spine. The architecture reflects the complicated political reality of its occupants. Though the Chajoma had moved here to escape Iximche's dominance, the city eventually fell under Kaqchikel influence anyway, and the buildings show a mixture of Chajoma and Kaqchikel styles. With an estimated population of around 1,500, it was no metropolis, but its defensive position made it formidable -- a settlement designed less for grandeur than for survival. At the time of the Spanish conquest, the Chajoma may have initially allied with both the Spanish and Iximche before joining the general Kaqchikel uprising against the invaders in 1524.

The real Mixco Viejo -- Chinautla Viejo, the Poqomam capital -- has its own dramatic story. Founded on a defensive mountaintop in the 12th century, it housed perhaps 10,000 people at its peak. In 1525, Pedro de Alvarado sent a company to conquer it. The Poqomam sealed themselves inside their fortifications. The Spanish attacked from the west through a narrow pass and were beaten back with heavy losses. Alvarado himself led a second assault with 200 Tlaxcalan allies and was repulsed again. When Poqomam reinforcements arrived and clashed with the Spanish on open ground, the battle raged for most of the day before Spanish cavalry finally turned the tide. The defeated reinforcement leaders surrendered three days later and revealed a secret: a cave leading up from a nearby river provided a hidden entrance to the city. Armed with this knowledge, Alvarado posted forty men at the cave's exit and launched a third assault through the western ravine. Crossbowmen alternated with musket-bearers, each shielded by a companion. The tactic broke through, and the Poqomam defenders fell back in chaos. Those who fled through the valley were ambushed by the cavalry waiting at the cave. The month-long siege was over.

Alvarado recognized the defensive strength of both cities. At Chinautla Viejo, he ordered the Poqomam capital burned and its inhabitants relocated to the new colonial settlement of Mixco, where their descendants remain. Jilotepeque Viejo, the Chajoma capital that tourists now visit, was abandoned after the conquest and never reoccupied. The jungle reclaimed it, the ravines held their silence, and when scholars finally returned, the wrong name had already attached itself to the stones. Today the site sits within the municipality of San Martin Jilotepeque, about 33 miles from Guatemala City by road. Visitors walk among restored temple platforms and ball courts, looking out over the same ravines that once protected the Chajoma from their enemies. The name Mixco Viejo persists on the tourist maps and road signs despite being historically inaccurate -- a small irony for a place whose original inhabitants called it the Great Stone in Front of the Cave of the Children of Night, a name that suited the fortress far better than a borrowed one ever could.