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diff --git a/1848-h/1848-h.htm b/1848-h/1848-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7d9b524 --- /dev/null +++ b/1848-h/1848-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,18047 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Montezuma's Daughter, by H. Rider Haggard</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.footnote {font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +sup { vertical-align: top; font-size: 0.6em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold;'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Montezuma’s Daughter, by H. Rider Haggard</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Montezuma’s Daughter</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: H. Rider Haggard</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August, 1999 [eBook #1848]<br /> +[Most recently updated: December 14, 2020]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Donald Lainson, Anonymous Volunteers and David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONTEZUMA’S DAUGHTER ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:55%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<h1>Montezuma’s Daughter</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by H. Rider Haggard</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">I. WHY THOMAS WINGFIELD TELLS HIS TALE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">II. OF THE PARENTAGE OF THOMAS WINGFIELD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">III. THE COMING OF THE SPANIARD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">IV. THOMAS TELLS HIS LOVE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">V. THOMAS SWEARS AN OATH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">VI. GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEART</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">VII. ANDRES DE FONSECA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">VIII. THE SECOND MEETING</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">IX. THOMAS BECOMES RICH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">X. THE PASSING OF ISABELLA DE SIGUENZA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">XI. THE LOSS OF THE CARAK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">XII. THOMAS COMES TO SHORE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">XIII. THE STONE OF SACRIFICE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">XIV. THE SAVING OF GUATEMOC</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">XV. THE COURT OF MONTEZUMA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">XVI. THOMAS BECOMES A GOD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">XVII. THE ARISING OF PAPANTZIN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">XVIII. THE NAMING OF THE BRIDES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">XIX. THE FOUR GODDESSES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">XX. OTOMIE’S COUNSEL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">XXI. THE KISS OF LOVE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">XXII. THE TRIUMPH OF THE CROSS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">XXIII. THOMAS IS MARRIED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">XXIV. THE NIGHT OF FEAR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">XXV. THE BURYING OF MONTEZUMA’S TREASURE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">XXVI. THE CROWNING OF GUATEMOC</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">XXVII. THE FALL OF TENOCTITLAN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap28">XXVIII. THOMAS IS DOOMED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap29">XXIX. DE GARCIA SPEAKS HIS MIND</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap30">XXX. THE ESCAPE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap31">XXXI. OTOMIE PLEADS WITH HER PEOPLE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap32">XXXII. THE END OF GUATEMOC</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap33">XXXIII. ISABELLA DE SIGUENZA IS AVENGED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap34">XXXIV. THE SIEGE OF THE CITY OF PINES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap35">XXXV. THE LAST SACRIFICE OF THE WOMEN OF THE OTOMIE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap36">XXXVI. THE SURRENDER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap37">XXXVII. VENGEANCE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap38">XXXVIII. OTOMIE’S FAREWELL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap39">XXXIX. THOMAS COMES BACK FROM THE DEAD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap40">XL. AMEN</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h4>DEDICATION</h4> + +<p> +My dear Jebb, +</p> + +<p> +Strange as were the adventures and escapes of Thomas Wingfield, once of this +parish, whereof these pages tell, your own can almost equal them in these +latter days, and, since a fellow feeling makes us kind, you at least they may +move to a sigh of sympathy. Among many a distant land you know that in which he +loved and fought, following vengeance and his fate, and by your side I saw its +relics and its peoples, its volcans and its valleys. You know even where lies +the treasure which, three centuries and more ago, he helped to bury, the +countless treasure that an evil fortune held us back from seeking. Now the +Indians have taken back their secret, and though many may search, none will +lift the graven stone that seals it, nor shall the light of day shine again +upon the golden head of Montezuma. So be it! The wealth which Cortes wept over, +and his Spaniards sinned and died for, is for ever hidden yonder by the shores +of the bitter lake whose waters gave up to you that ancient horror, the +veritable and sleepless god of Sacrifice, of whom I would not rob +you—and, for my part, I do not regret the loss. +</p> + +<p> +What cannot be lost, what to me seem of more worth than the dead hero +Guatemoc’s gems and jars of gold, are the memories of true friendship +shown to us far away beneath the shadow of the Slumbering Woman,<a href="#fn-1" name="fnref-1" id="fnref-1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +and it is in gratitude for these that I ask permission to set your name within +a book which were it not for you would never have been written. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +I am, my dear Jebb,<br /> +Always sincerely yours,<br /> +H. RIDER HAGGARD. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +DITCHINGHAM, NORFOLK, <i>October</i> 5, 1892.<br /> +To J. Gladwyn Jebb, Esq. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +NOTE +</p> + +<p> +Worn out prematurely by a life of hardship and extraordinary adventure, Mr. +Jebb passed away on March 18, 1893, taking with him the respect and affection +of all who had the honour of his friendship. The author has learned with +pleasure that the reading of this tale in proof and the fact of its dedication +to himself afforded him some amusement and satisfaction in the intervals of his +sufferings. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. R. H. +</p> + +<p> +<i>March</i> 22, 1893. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-1" id="fn-1"></a> <a href="#fnref-1">[1]</a> +The volcano Izticcihuatl in Mexico. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p class="center"> +NOTE +</p> + +<p> +The more unpronounceable of the Aztec names are shortened in many instances out +of consideration for the patience of the reader; thus +“Popocatapetl” becomes “Popo,” +“Huitzelcoatl” becomes “Huitzel,” &c. The prayer in +Chapter xxvi. is freely rendered from Jourdanet’s French translation of +Fray Bernardino de Sahagun’s History of New Spain, written shortly after +the conquest of Mexico (Book VI, chap. v.), to which monumental work and to +Prescott’s admirable history the author of this romance is much indebted. +The portents described as heralding the fall of the Aztec Empire, and many of +the incidents and events written of in this story, such as the annual +personation of the god Tezcatlipoca by a captive distinguished for his personal +beauty, and destined to sacrifice, are in the main historical. The noble speech +of the Emperor Guatemoc to the Prince of Tacuba uttered while they both were +suffering beneath the hands of the Spaniards is also authentic. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>Montezuma’s Daughter</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I<br /> +WHY THOMAS WINGFIELD TELLS HIS TALE</h2> + +<p> +Now glory be to God who has given us the victory! It is true, the strength of +Spain is shattered, her ships are sunk or fled, the sea has swallowed her +soldiers and her sailors by hundreds and by thousands, and England breathes +again. They came to conquer, to bring us to the torture and the stake—to +do to us free Englishmen as Cortes did by the Indians of Anahuac. Our manhood +to the slave bench, our daughters to dishonour, our souls to the +loving-kindness of the priest, our wealth to the Emperor and the Pope! God has +answered them with his winds, Drake has answered them with his guns. They are +gone, and with them the glory of Spain. +</p> + +<p> +I, Thomas Wingfield, heard the news to-day on this very Thursday in the Bungay +market-place, whither I went to gossip and to sell the apples which these +dreadful gales have left me, as they hang upon my trees. +</p> + +<p> +Before there had been rumours of this and of that, but here in Bungay was a man +named Young, of the Youngs of Yarmouth, who had served in one of the Yarmouth +ships in the fight at Gravelines, aye and sailed north after the Spaniards till +they were lost in the Scottish seas. +</p> + +<p> +Little things lead to great, men say, but here great things lead to little, for +because of these tidings it comes about that I, Thomas Wingfield, of the Lodge +and the parish of Ditchingham in the county of Norfolk, being now of a great +age and having only a short time to live, turn to pen and ink. Ten years ago, +namely, in the year 1578, it pleased her Majesty, our gracious Queen Elizabeth, +who at that date visited this county, that I should be brought before her at +Norwich. There and then, saying that the fame of it had reached her, she +commanded me to give her some particulars of the story of my life, or rather of +those twenty years, more or less, which I spent among the Indians at that time +when Cortes conquered their country of Anahuac, which is now known as Mexico. +But almost before I could begin my tale, it was time for her to start for +Cossey to hunt the deer, and she said it was her wish that I should write the +story down that she might read it, and moreover that if it were but half as +wonderful as it promised to be, I should end my days as Sir Thomas Wingfield. +To this I answered her Majesty that pen and ink were tools I had no skill in, +yet I would bear her command in mind. Then I made bold to give her a great +emerald that once had hung upon the breast of Montezuma’s daughter, and +of many a princess before her, and at the sight of it her eyes glistened +brightly as the gem, for this Queen of ours loves such costly playthings. +Indeed, had I so desired, I think that I might then and there have struck a +bargain, and set the stone against a title; but I, who for many years had been +the prince of a great tribe, had no wish to be a knight. So I kissed the royal +hand, and so tightly did it grip the gem within that the knuckle joints shone +white, and I went my ways, coming back home to this my house by the Waveney on +that same day. +</p> + +<p> +Now the Queen’s wish that I should set down the story of my life remained +in my mind, and for long I have desired to do it before life and story end +together. The labour, indeed, is great to one unused to such tasks; but why +should I fear labour who am so near to the holiday of death? I have seen things +that no other Englishman has seen, which are worthy to be recorded; my life has +been most strange, many a time it has pleased God to preserve it when all +seemed lost, and this perchance He has done that the lesson of it might become +known to others. For there is a lesson in it and in the things that I have +seen, and it is that no wrong can ever bring about a right, that wrong will +breed wrong at last, and be it in man or people, will fall upon the brain that +thought it and the hand that wrought it. +</p> + +<p> +Look now at the fate of Cortes—that great man whom I have known clothed +with power like a god. Nearly forty years ago, so I have heard, he died poor +and disgraced in Spain; he, the conqueror—yes, and I have learned also +that his son Don Martin has been put to the torture in that city which the +father won with so great cruelties for Spain. Malinche, she whom the Spaniards +named Marina, the chief and best beloved of all the women of this same Cortes, +foretold it to him in her anguish when after all that had been, after she had +so many times preserved him and his soldiers to look upon the sun, at the last +he deserted her, giving her in marriage to Don Juan Xaramillo. Look again at +the fate of Marina herself. Because she loved this man Cortes, or Malinche, as +the Indians named him after her, she brought evil on her native land; for +without her aid Tenoctitlan, or Mexico, as they call it now, had never bowed +beneath the yoke of Spain—yes, she forgot her honour in her passion. And +what was her reward, what right came to her of her wrongdoing? This was her +reward at last: to be given away in marriage to another and a lesser man when +her beauty waned, as a worn-out beast is sold to a poorer master. +</p> + +<p> +Consider also the fate of those great peoples of the land of Anahuac. They did +evil that good might come. They sacrificed the lives of thousands to their +false gods, that their wealth might increase, and peace and prosperity be +theirs throughout the generations. And now the true God has answered them. For +wealth He has given them desolation, for peace the sword of the Spaniard, for +prosperity the rack and the torment and the day of slavery. For this it was +that they did sacrifice, offering their own children on the altars of Huitzel +and of Tezcat. +</p> + +<p> +And the Spaniards themselves, who in the name of mercy have wrought cruelties +greater than any that were done by the benighted Aztecs, who in the name of +Christ daily violate His law to the uttermost extreme, say shall they prosper, +shall their evil-doing bring them welfare? I am old and cannot live to see the +question answered, though even now it is in the way of answering. Yet I know +that their wickedness shall fall upon their own heads, and I seem to see them, +the proudest of the peoples of the earth, bereft of fame and wealth and honour, +a starveling remnant happy in nothing save their past. What Drake began at +Gravelines God will finish in many another place and time, till at last Spain +is of no more account and lies as low as the empire of Montezuma lies to-day. +</p> + +<p> +Thus it is in these great instances of which all the world may know, and thus +it is even in the life of so humble a man as I, Thomas Wingfield. Heaven indeed +has been merciful to me, giving me time to repent my sins; yet my sins have +been visited on my head, on me who took His prerogative of vengeance from the +hand of the Most High. It is just, and because it is so I wish to set out the +matter of my life’s history that others may learn from it. For many years +this has been in my mind, as I have said, though to speak truth it was her +Majesty the Queen who first set the seed. But only on this day, when I have +heard for certain of the fate of the Armada, does it begin to grow, and who can +say if ever it will come to flower? For this tidings has stirred me strangely, +bringing back my youth and the deeds of love and war and wild adventure which I +have been mingled in, fighting for my own hand and for Guatemoc and the people +of the Otomie against these same Spaniards, as they have not been brought back +for many years. Indeed, it seems to me, and this is no rare thing with the +aged, as though there in the far past my true life lay, and all the rest were +nothing but a dream. +</p> + +<p> +From the window of the room wherein I write I can see the peaceful valley of +the Waveney. Beyond its stream are the common lands golden with gorse, the +ruined castle, and the red roofs of Bungay town gathered about the tower of St. +Mary’s Church. Yonder far away are the king’s forests of Stowe and +the fields of Flixton Abbey; to the right the steep bank is green with the +Earsham oaks, to the left the fast marsh lands spotted with cattle stretch on +to Beccles and Lowestoft, while behind me my gardens and orchards rise in +terraces up the turfy hill that in old days was known as the Earl’s +Vineyard. All these are about me, and yet in this hour they are as though they +were not. For the valley of the Waveney I see the vale of Tenoctitlan, for the +slopes of Stowe the snowy shapes of the volcans Popo and Iztac, for the spire +of Earsham and the towers of Ditchingham, of Bungay, and of Beccles, the +soaring pyramids of sacrifice gleaming with the sacred fires, and for the +cattle in the meadows the horsemen of Cortes sweeping to war. +</p> + +<p> +It comes back to me; that was life, the rest is but a dream. Once more I feel +young, and, should I be spared so long, I will set down the story of my youth +before I am laid in yonder churchyard and lost in the world of dreams. Long ago +I had begun it, but it was only on last Christmas Day that my dear wife died, +and while she lived I knew that this task was better left undone. Indeed, to be +frank, it was thus with my wife: She loved me, I believe, as few men have the +fortune to be loved, and there is much in my past that jarred upon this love of +hers, moving her to a jealousy of the dead that was not the less deep because +it was so gentle and so closely coupled with forgiveness. For she had a secret +sorrow that ate her heart away, although she never spoke of it. But one child +was born to us, and this child died in infancy, nor for all her prayers did it +please God to give her another, and indeed remembering the words of Otomie I +did not expect that it would be so. Now she knew well that yonder across the +seas I had children whom I loved by another wife, and though they were long +dead, must always love unalterably, and this thought wrung her heart. That I +had been the husband of another woman she could forgive, but that this woman +should have borne me children whose memory was still so dear, she could not +forget if she forgave it, she who was childless. Why it was so, being but a +man, I cannot say; for who can know all the mystery of a loving woman’s +heart? But so it was. Once, indeed, we quarrelled on the matter; it was our +only quarrel. +</p> + +<p> +It chanced that when we had been married but two years, and our babe was some +few days buried in the churchyard of this parish of Ditchingham, I dreamed a +very vivid dream as I slept one night at my wife’s side. I dreamed that +my dead children, the four of them, for the tallest lad bore in his arms my +firstborn, that infant who died in the great siege, came to me as they had +often come when I ruled the people of the Otomie in the City of Pines, and +talked with me, giving me flowers and kissing my hands. I looked upon their +strength and beauty, and was proud at heart, and, in my dream, it seemed as +though some great sorrow had been lifted from my mind; as though these dear +ones had been lost and now were found again. Ah! what misery is there like to +this misery of dreams, that can thus give us back our dead in mockery, and then +departing, leave us with a keener woe? +</p> + +<p> +Well, I dreamed on, talking with my children in my sleep and naming them by +their beloved names, till at length I woke to look on emptiness, and knowing +all my sorrow I sobbed aloud. Now it was early morning, and the light of the +August sun streamed through the window, but I, deeming that my wife slept, +still lay in the shadow of my dream as it were, and groaned, murmuring the +names of those whom I might never see again. It chanced, however, that she was +awake, and had overheard those words which I spoke with the dead, while I was +yet asleep and after; and though some of this talk was in the tongue of the +Otomie, the most was English, and knowing the names of my children she guessed +the purport of it all. Suddenly she sprang from the bed and stood over me, and +there was such anger in her eyes as I had never seen before nor have seen +since, nor did it last long then, for presently indeed it was quenched in +tears. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, wife?” I asked astonished. +</p> + +<p> +“It is hard,” she answered, “that I must bear to listen to +such talk from your lips, husband. Was it not enough that, when all men thought +you dead, I wore my youth away faithful to your memory? though how faithful you +were to mine you know best. Did I ever reproach you because you had forgotten +me, and wedded a savage woman in a distant land?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never, dear wife, nor had I forgotten you as you know well; but what I +wonder at is that you should grow jealous now when all cause is done +with.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cannot we be jealous of the dead? With the living we may cope, but who +can fight against the love which death has completed, sealing it for ever and +making it immortal! Still, <i>that</i> I forgive you, for against this woman I +can hold my own, seeing that you were mine before you became hers, and are mine +after it. But with the children it is otherwise. They are hers and yours alone. +I have no part nor lot in them, and whether they be dead or living I know well +you love them always, and will love them beyond the grave if you may find them +there. Already I grow old, who waited twenty years and more before I was your +wife, and I shall give you no other children. One I gave you, and God took it +back lest I should be too happy; yet its name was not on your lips with those +strange names. My dead babe is little to you, husband!” +</p> + +<p> +Here she choked, bursting into tears; nor did I think it well to answer her +that there was this difference in the matter, that whereas, with the exception +of one infant, those sons whom I had lost were almost adolescent, the babe she +bore lived but sixty days. +</p> + +<p> +Now when the Queen first put it in my mind to write down the history of my +life, I remembered this outbreak of my beloved wife; and seeing that I could +write no true tale and leave out of it the story of her who was also my wife, +Montezuma’s daughter, Otomie, Princess of the Otomie, and of the children +that she gave me, I let the matter lie. For I knew well, that though we spoke +very rarely on the subject during all the many years we passed together, still +it was always in Lily’s mind; nor did her jealousy, being of the finer +sort, abate at all with age, but rather gathered with the gathering days. That +I should execute the task without the knowledge of my wife would not have been +possible, for till the very last she watched over my every act, and, as I +verily believe, divined the most of my thoughts. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +And so we grew old together, peacefully, and side by side, speaking seldom of +that great gap in my life when we were lost to each other and of all that then +befell. At length the end came. My wife died suddenly in her sleep in the +eighty-seventh year of her age. I buried her on the south side of the church +here, with sorrow indeed, but not with sorrow inconsolable, for I know that I +must soon rejoin her, and those others whom I have loved. +</p> + +<p> +There in that wide heaven are my mother and my sister and my sons; there are +great Guatemoc my friend, last of the emperors, and many other companions in +war who have preceded me to peace; there, too, though she doubted of it, is +Otomie the beautiful and proud. In the heaven which I trust to reach, all the +sins of my youth and the errors of my age notwithstanding, it is told us there +is no marrying and giving in marriage; and this is well, for I do not know how +my wives, Montezuma’s daughter and the sweet English gentlewoman, would +agree together were it otherwise. +</p> + +<p> +And now to my task. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II<br /> +OF THE PARENTAGE OF THOMAS WINGFIELD</h2> + +<p> +I, Thomas Wingfield, was born here at Ditchingham, and in this very room where +I write to-day. The house of my birth was built or added to early in the reign +of the seventh Henry, but long before his time some kind of tenement stood +here, which was lived in by the keeper of the vineyards, and known as +Gardener’s Lodge. Whether it chanced that the climate was more kindly in +old times, or the skill of those who tended the fields was greater, I do not +know, but this at the least is true, that the hillside beneath which the house +nestles, and which once was the bank of an arm of the sea or of a great broad, +was a vineyard in Earl Bigod’s days. Long since it has ceased to grow +grapes, though the name of the “Earl’s Vineyard” still clings +to all that slope of land which lies between this house and a certain +health-giving spring that bubbles from the bank the half of a mile away, in the +waters of which sick folks come to bathe even from Norwich and Lowestoft. But +sheltered as it is from the east winds, to this hour the place has the +advantage that gardens planted here are earlier by fourteen days than any +others in the country side, and that a man may sit in them coatless in the +bitter month of May, when on the top of the hill, not two hundred paces hence, +he must shiver in a jacket of otterskins. +</p> + +<p> +The Lodge, for so it has always been named, in its beginnings having been but a +farmhouse, faces to the south-west, and is built so low that it might well be +thought that the damp from the river Waveney, which runs through the marshes +close by, would rise in it. But this is not so, for though in autumn the roke, +as here in Norfolk we name ground fog, hangs about the house at nightfall, and +in seasons of great flood the water has been known to pour into the stables at +the back of it, yet being built on sand and gravel there is no healthier +habitation in the parish. For the rest the building is of stud-work and red +brick, quaint and mellow looking, with many corners and gables that in summer +are half hidden in roses and other creeping plants, and with its outlook on the +marshes and the common where the lights vary continually with the seasons and +even with the hours of the day, on the red roofs of Bungay town, and on the +wooded bank that stretches round the Earsham lands; though there are many +larger, to my mind there is none pleasanter in these parts. Here in this house +I was born, and here doubtless I shall die, and having spoken of it at some +length, as we are wont to do of spots which long custom has endeared to us, I +will go on to tell of my parentage. +</p> + +<p> +First, then, I would set out with a certain pride—for who of us does not +love an ancient name when we happen to be born to it?—that I am sprung +from the family of the Wingfields of Wingfield Castle in Suffolk, that lies +some two hours on horseback from this place. Long ago the heiress of the +Wingfields married a De la Pole, a family famous in our history, the last of +whom, Edmund, Earl of Suffolk, lost his head for treason when I was young, and +the castle passed to the De la Poles with her. But some offshoots of the old +Wingfield stock lingered in the neighbourhood, perchance there was a bar +sinister on their coat of arms, I know not and do not care to know; at the +least my fathers and I are of this blood. My grandfather was a shrewd man, more +of a yeoman than a squire, though his birth was gentle. He it was who bought +this place with the lands round it, and gathered up some fortune, mostly by +careful marrying and living, for though he had but one son he was twice +married, and also by trading in cattle. +</p> + +<p> +Now my grandfather was godly-minded even to superstition, and strange as it may +seem, having only one son, nothing would satisfy him but that the boy should be +made a priest. But my father had little leaning towards the priesthood and life +in a monastery, though at all seasons my grandfather strove to reason it into +him, sometimes with words and examples, at others with his thick cudgel of +holly, that still hangs over the ingle in the smaller sitting-room. The end of +it was that the lad was sent to the priory here in Bungay, where his conduct +was of such nature that within a year the prior prayed his parents to take him +back and set him in some way of secular life. Not only, so said the prior, did +my father cause scandal by his actions, breaking out of the priory at night and +visiting drinking houses and other places; but, such was the sum of his +wickedness, he did not scruple to question and make mock of the very doctrines +of the Church, alleging even that there was nothing sacred in the image of the +Virgin Mary which stood in the chancel, and shut its eyes in prayer before all +the congregation when the priest elevated the Host. “Therefore,” +said the prior, “I pray you take back your son, and let him find some +other road to the stake than that which runs through the gates of Bungay +Priory.” +</p> + +<p> +Now at this story my grandfather was so enraged that he almost fell into a fit; +then recovering, he bethought him of his cudgel of holly, and would have used +it. But my father, who was now nineteen years of age and very stout and strong, +twisted it from his hand and flung it full fifty yards, saying that no man +should touch him more were he a hundred times his father. Then he walked away, +leaving the prior and my grandfather staring at each other. +</p> + +<p> +Now to shorten a long tale, the end of the matter was this. It was believed +both by my grandfather and the prior that the true cause of my father’s +contumacy was a passion which he had conceived for a girl of humble birth, a +miller’s fair daughter who dwelt at Waingford Mills. Perhaps there was +truth in this belief, or perhaps there was none. What does it matter, seeing +that the maid married a butcher at Beccles and died years since at the good age +of ninety and five? But true or false, my grandfather believed the tale, and +knowing well that absence is the surest cure for love, he entered into a plan +with the prior that my father should be sent to a monastery at Seville in +Spain, of which the prior’s brother was abbot, and there learn to forget +the miller’s daughter and all other worldly things. +</p> + +<p> +When this was told to my father he fell into it readily enough, being a young +man of spirit and having a great desire to see the world, otherwise, however, +than through the gratings of a monastery window. So the end of it was that he +went to foreign parts in the care of a party of Spanish monks, who had +journeyed here to Norfolk on a pilgrimage to the shrine of our Lady of +Walsingham. +</p> + +<p> +It is said that my grandfather wept when he parted with his son, feeling that +he should see him no more; yet so strong was his religion, or rather his +superstition, that he did not hesitate to send him away, though for no reason +save that he would mortify his own love and flesh, offering his son for a +sacrifice as Abraham would have offered Isaac. But though my father appeared to +consent to the sacrifice, as did Isaac, yet his mind was not altogether set on +altars and faggots; in short, as he himself told me in after years, his plans +were already laid. +</p> + +<p> +Thus it chanced that when he had sailed from Yarmouth a year and six months, +there came a letter from the abbot of the monastery in Seville to his brother, +the prior of St. Mary’s at Bungay, saying that my father had fled from +the monastery, leaving no trace of where he had gone. My grandfather was +grieved at this tidings, but said little about it. +</p> + +<p> +Two more years passed away, and there came other news, namely, that my father +had been captured, that he had been handed over to the power of the Holy +Office, as the accursed Inquisition was then named, and tortured to death at +Seville. When my grandfather heard this he wept, and bemoaned himself that his +folly in forcing one into the Church who had no liking for that path, had +brought about the shameful end of his only son. After that date also he broke +his friendship with the prior of St. Mary’s at Bungay, and ceased his +offerings to the priory. Still he did not believe that my father was dead in +truth, since on the last day of his own life, that ended two years later, he +spoke of him as a living man, and left messages to him as to the management of +the lands which now were his. +</p> + +<p> +And in the end it became clear that this belief was not ill-founded, for one +day three years after the old man’s death, there landed at the port of +Yarmouth none other than my father, who had been absent some eight years in +all. Nor did he come alone, for with him he brought a wife, a young and very +lovely lady, who afterwards was my mother. She was a Spaniard of noble family, +having been born at Seville, and her maiden name was Donna Luisa de Garcia. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Now of all that befell my father during his eight years of wandering I cannot +speak certainly, for he was very silent on the matter, though I may have need +to touch on some of his adventures. But I know it is true that he fell under +the power of the Holy Office, for once when as a little lad I bathed with him +in the Elbow Pool, where the river Waveney bends some three hundred yards above +this house, I saw that his breast and arms were scored with long white scars, +and asked him what had caused them. I remember well how his face changed as I +spoke, from kindliness to the hue of blackest hate, and how he answered +speaking to himself rather than to me. +</p> + +<p> +“Devils,” he said, “devils set on their work by the chief of +all devils that live upon the earth and shall reign in hell. Hark you, my son +Thomas, there is a country called Spain where your mother was born, and there +these devils abide who torture men and women, aye, and burn them living in the +name of Christ. I was betrayed into their hands by him whom I name the chief of +the devils, though he is younger than I am by three years, and their pincers +and hot irons left these marks upon me. Aye, and they would have burnt me alive +also, only I escaped, thanks to your mother—but such tales are not for a +little lad’s hearing; and see you never speak of them, Thomas, for the +Holy Office has a long arm. You are half a Spaniard, Thomas, your skin and eyes +tell their own tale, but whatever skin and eyes may tell, let your heart give +them the lie. Keep your heart English, Thomas; let no foreign devilments enter +there. Hate all Spaniards except your mother, and be watchful lest her blood +should master mine within you.” +</p> + +<p> +I was a child then, and scarcely understood his words or what he meant by them. +Afterwards I learned to understand them but too well. As for my father’s +counsel, that I should conquer my Spanish blood, would that I could always have +followed it, for I know that from this blood springs the most of such evil as +is in me. Hence come my fixedness of purpose or rather obstinacy, and my powers +of unchristian hatred that are not small towards those who have wronged me. +Well, I have done what I might to overcome these and other faults, but strive +as we may, that which is bred in the bone will out in the flesh, as I have seen +in many signal instances. +</p> + +<p> +There were three of us children, Geoffrey my elder brother, myself, and my +sister Mary, who was one year my junior, the sweetest child and the most +beautiful that I have ever known. We were very happy children, and our beauty +was the pride of our father and mother, and the envy of other parents. I was +the darkest of the three, dark indeed to swarthiness, but in Mary the Spanish +blood showed only in her rich eyes of velvet hue, and in the glow upon her +cheek that was like the blush on a ripe fruit. My mother used to call me her +little Spaniard, because of my swarthiness, that is when my father was not +near, for such names angered him. She never learned to speak English very well, +but he would suffer her to talk in no other tongue before him. Still, when he +was not there she spoke in Spanish, of which language, however, I alone of the +family became a master—and that more because of certain volumes of old +Spanish romances which she had by her, than for any other reason. From my +earliest childhood I was fond of such tales, and it was by bribing me with the +promise that I should read them that she persuaded me to learn Spanish. For my +mother’s heart still yearned towards her old sunny home, and often she +would talk of it with us children, more especially in the winter season, which +she hated as I do. Once I asked her if she wished to go back to Spain. She +shivered and answered no, for there dwelt one who was her enemy and would kill +her; also her heart was with us children and our father. I wondered if this man +who sought to kill my mother was the same as he of whom my father had spoken as +“the chief of the devils,” but I only answered that no man could +wish to kill one so good and beautiful. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! my boy,” she said, “it is just because I am, or rather +have been, beautiful that he hates me. Others would have wedded me besides your +dear father, Thomas.” And her face grew troubled as though with fear. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Now when I was eighteen and a half years old, on a certain evening in the month +of May it happened that a friend of my father’s, Squire Bozard, late of +the Hall in this parish, called at the Lodge on his road from Yarmouth, and in +the course of his talk let it fall that a Spanish ship was at anchor in the +Roads, laden with merchandise. My father pricked up his ears at this, and asked +who her captain might be. Squire Bozard answered that he did not know his name, +but that he had seen him in the market-place, a tall and stately man, richly +dressed, with a handsome face and a scar upon his temple. +</p> + +<p> +At this news my mother turned pale beneath her olive skin, and muttered in +Spanish: +</p> + +<p> +“Holy Mother! grant that it be not he.” +</p> + +<p> +My father also looked frightened, and questioned the squire closely as to the +man’s appearance, but without learning anything more. Then he bade him +adieu with little ceremony, and taking horse rode away for Yarmouth. +</p> + +<p> +That night my mother never slept, but sat all through it in her nursing chair, +brooding over I know not what. As I left her when I went to my bed, so I found +her when I came from it at dawn. I can remember well pushing the door ajar to +see her face glimmering white in the twilight of the May morning, as she sat, +her large eyes fixed upon the lattice. +</p> + +<p> +“You have risen early, mother,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I have never lain down, Thomas,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not? What do you fear?” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear the past and the future, my son. Would that your father were +back.” +</p> + +<p> +About ten o’clock of that morning, as I was making ready to walk into +Bungay to the house of that physician under whom I was learning the art of +healing, my father rode up. My mother, who was watching at the lattice, ran out +to meet him. +</p> + +<p> +Springing from his horse he embraced her, saying, “Be of good cheer, +sweet, it cannot be he. This man has another name.” +</p> + +<p> +“But did you see him?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No, he was out at his ship for the night, and I hurried home to tell +you, knowing your fears.” +</p> + +<p> +“It were surer if you had seen him, husband. He may well have taken +another name.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never thought of that, sweet,” my father answered; “but +have no fear. Should it be he, and should he dare to set foot in the parish of +Ditchingham, there are those who will know how to deal with him. But I am sure +that it is not he.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks be to Jesu then!” she said, and they began talking in a low +voice. +</p> + +<p> +Now, seeing that I was not wanted, I took my cudgel and started down the +bridle-path towards the common footbridge, when suddenly my mother called me +back. +</p> + +<p> +“Kiss me before you go, Thomas,” she said. “You must wonder +what all this may mean. One day your father will tell you. It has to do with a +shadow which has hung over my life for many years, but that is, I trust, gone +for ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it be a man who flings it, he had best keep out of reach of +this,” I said, laughing, and shaking my thick stick. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a man,” she answered, “but one to be dealt with +otherwise than by blows, Thomas, should you ever chance to meet him.” +</p> + +<p> +“May be, mother, but might is the best argument at the last, for the most +cunning have a life to lose.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are too ready to use your strength, son,” she said, smiling +and kissing me. “Remember the old Spanish proverb: ‘He strikes +hardest who strikes last.’” +</p> + +<p> +“And remember the other proverb, mother: ‘Strike before thou art +stricken,’” I answered, and went. +</p> + +<p> +When I had gone some ten paces something prompted me to look back, I know not +what. My mother was standing by the open door, her stately shape framed as it +were in the flowers of a white creeping shrub that grew upon the wall of the +old house. As was her custom, she wore a mantilla of white lace upon her head, +the ends of which were wound beneath her chin, and the arrangement of it was +such that at this distance for one moment it put me in mind of the wrappings +which are placed about the dead. I started at the thought and looked at her +face. She was watching me with sad and earnest eyes that seemed to be filled +with the spirit of farewell. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +I never saw her again till she was dead. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III<br /> +THE COMING OF THE SPANIARD</h2> + +<p> +And now I must go back and speak of my own matters. As I have told, it was my +father’s wish that I should be a physician, and since I came back from my +schooling at Norwich, that was when I had entered on my sixteenth year, I had +studied medicine under the doctor who practised his art in the neighbourhood of +Bungay. He was a very learned man and an honest, Grimstone by name, and as I +had some liking for the business I made good progress under him. Indeed I had +learned almost all that he could teach me, and my father purposed to send me to +London, there to push on my studies, so soon as I should attain my twentieth +year, that is within some five months of the date of the coming of the +Spaniard. +</p> + +<p> +But it was not fated that I should go to London. +</p> + +<p> +Medicine was not the only thing that I studied in those days, however. Squire +Bozard of Ditchingham, the same who told my father of the coming of the Spanish +ship, had two living children, a son and a daughter, though his wife had borne +him many more who died in infancy. The daughter was named Lily and of my own +age, having been born three weeks after me in the same year. Now the Bozards +are gone from these parts, for my great-niece, the granddaughter and sole +heiress of this son, has married and has issue of another name. But this is by +the way. +</p> + +<p> +From our earliest days we children, Bozards and Wingfields, lived almost as +brothers and sisters, for day by day we met and played together in the snow or +in the flowers. Thus it would be hard for me to say when I began to love Lily +or when she began to love me; but I know that when first I went to school at +Norwich I grieved more at losing sight of her than because I must part from my +mother and the rest. In all our games she was ever my partner, and I would +search the country round for days to find such flowers as she chanced to love. +When I came back from school it was the same, though by degrees Lily grew +shyer, and I also grew suddenly shy, perceiving that from a child she had +become a woman. Still we met often, and though neither said anything of it, it +was sweet to us to meet. +</p> + +<p> +Thus things went on till this day of my mother’s death. But before I go +further I must tell that Squire Bozard looked with no favour on the friendship +between his daughter and myself—and this, not because he disliked me, but +rather because he would have seen Lily wedded to my elder brother Geoffrey, my +father’s heir, and not to a younger son. So hard did he grow about the +matter at last that we two might scarcely meet except by seeming accident, +whereas my brother was ever welcome at the Hall. And on this account some +bitterness arose between us two brothers, as is apt to be the case when a woman +comes between friends however close. For it must be known that my brother +Geoffrey also loved Lily, as all men would have loved her, and with a better +right perhaps than I had—for he was my elder by three years and born to +possessions. It may seem indeed that I was somewhat hasty to fall into this +state, seeing that at the time of which I write I was not yet of age; but young +blood is nimble, and moreover mine was half Spanish, and made a man of me when +many a pure-bred Englishman is still nothing but a boy. For the blood and the +sun that ripens it have much to do with such matters, as I have seen often +enough among the Indian peoples of Anahuac, who at the age of fifteen will take +to themselves a bride of twelve. At the least it is certain that when I was +eighteen years of age I was old enough to fall in love after such fashion that +I never fell out of it again altogether, although the history of my life may +seem to give me the lie when I say so. But I take it that a man may love +several women and yet love one of them the best of all, being true in the +spirit to the law which he breaks in the letter. +</p> + +<p> +Now when I had attained nineteen years I was a man full grown, and writing as I +do in extreme old age, I may say it without false shame, a very handsome youth +to boot. I was not over tall, indeed, measuring but five feet nine inches and a +half in height, but my limbs were well made, and I was both deep and broad in +the chest. In colour I was, and my white hair notwithstanding, am still +extraordinarily dark hued, my eyes also were large and dark, and my hair, which +was wavy, was coal black. In my deportment I was reserved and grave to sadness, +in speech I was slow and temperate, and more apt at listening than in talking. +I weighed matters well before I made up my mind upon them, but being made up, +nothing could turn me from that mind short of death itself, whether it were set +on good or evil, on folly or wisdom. In those days also I had little religion, +since, partly because of my father’s secret teaching and partly through +the workings of my own reason, I had learned to doubt the doctrines of the +Church as they used to be set out. Youth is prone to reason by large leaps as +it were, and to hold that all things are false because some are proved false; +and thus at times in those days I thought that there was no God, because the +priest said that the image of the Virgin at Bungay wept and did other things +which I knew that it did not do. Now I know well that there is a God, for my +own story proves it to my heart. In truth, what man can look back across a long +life and say that there is no God, when he can see the shadow of His hand lying +deep upon his tale of years? +</p> + +<p> +On this sad day of which I write I knew that Lily, whom I loved, would be +walking alone beneath the great pollard oaks in the park of Ditchingham Hall. +Here, in Grubswell as the spot is called, grew, and indeed still grow, certain +hawthorn trees that are the earliest to blow of any in these parts, and when we +had met at the church door on the Sunday, Lily said that there would be bloom +upon them by the Wednesday, and on that afternoon she should go to cut it. It +may well be that she spoke thus with design, for love will breed cunning in the +heart of the most guileless and truthful maid. Moreover, I noticed that though +she said it before her father and the rest of us, yet she waited to speak till +my brother Geoffrey was out of hearing, for she did not wish to go maying with +him, and also that as she spoke she shot a glance of her grey eyes at me. Then +and there I vowed to myself that I also would be gathering hawthorn bloom in +this same place and on that Wednesday afternoon, yes, even if I must play +truant and leave all the sick of Bungay to Nature’s nursing. Moreover, I +was determined on one thing, that if I could find Lily alone I would delay no +longer, but tell her all that was in my heart; no great secret indeed, for +though no word of love had ever passed between us as yet, each knew the +other’s hidden thoughts. Not that I was in the way to become affianced to +a maid, who had my path to cut in the world, but I feared that if I delayed to +make sure of her affection my brother would be before me with her father, and +Lily might yield to that to which she would not yield if once we had plighted +troth. +</p> + +<p> +Now it chanced that on this afternoon I was hard put to it to escape to my +tryst, for my master, the physician, was ailing, and sent me to visit the sick +for him, carrying them their medicines. At the last, however, between four and +five o’clock, I fled, asking no leave. Taking the Norwich road I ran for +a mile and more till I had passed the Manor House and the church turn, and drew +near to Ditchingham Park. Then I dropped my pace to a walk, for I did not wish +to come before Lily heated and disordered, but rather looking my best, to which +end I had put on my Sunday garments. Now as I went down the little hill in the +road that runs past the park, I saw a man on horseback who looked first at the +bridle-path, that at this spot turns off to the right, then back across the +common lands towards the Vineyard Hills and the Waveney, and then along the +road as though he did not know which way to turn. I was quick to notice +things—though at this moment my mind was not at its swiftest, being set +on other matters, and chiefly as to how I should tell my tale to Lily—and +I saw at once that this man was not of our country. +</p> + +<p> +He was very tall and noble-looking, dressed in rich garments of velvet adorned +by a gold chain that hung about his neck, and as I judged about forty years of +age. But it was his face which chiefly caught my eye, for at that moment there +was something terrible about it. It was long, thin, and deeply carved; the eyes +were large, and gleamed like gold in sunlight; the mouth was small and well +shaped, but it wore a devilish and cruel sneer; the forehead lofty, indicating +a man of mind, and marked with a slight scar. For the rest the cavalier was +dark and southern-looking, his curling hair, like my own, was black, and he +wore a peaked chestnut-coloured beard. +</p> + +<p> +By the time that I had finished these observations my feet had brought me +almost to the stranger’s side, and for the first time he caught sight of +me. Instantly his face changed, the sneer left it, and it became kindly and +pleasant looking. Lifting his bonnet with much courtesy he stammered something +in broken English, of which all that I could catch was the word Yarmouth; then +perceiving that I did not understand him, he cursed the English tongue and all +those who spoke it, aloud and in good Castilian. +</p> + +<p> +“If the señor will graciously express his wish in Spanish,” I said, +speaking in that language, “it may be in my power to help him.” +</p> + +<p> +“What! you speak Spanish, young sir,” he said, starting, “and +yet you are not a Spaniard, though by your face you well might be. Caramba! but +it is strange!” and he eyed me curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“It may be strange, sir,” I answered, “but I am in haste. Be +pleased to ask your question and let me go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” he said, “perhaps I can guess the reason of your hurry. +I saw a white robe down by the streamlet yonder,” and he nodded towards +the park. “Take the advice of an older man, young sir, and be careful. +Make what sport you will with such, but never believe them and never marry +them—lest you should live to desire to kill them!” +</p> + +<p> +Here I made as though I would pass on, but he spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon my words, they were well meant, and perhaps you may come to learn +their truth. I will detain you no more. Will you graciously direct me on my +road to Yarmouth, for I am not sure of it, having ridden by another way, and +your English country is so full of trees that a man cannot see a mile?” +</p> + +<p> +I walked a dozen paces down the bridle-path that joined the road at this place, +and pointed out the way that he should go, past Ditchingham church. As I did so +I noticed that while I spoke the stranger was watching my face keenly and, as +it seemed to me, with an inward fear which he strove to master and could not. +When I had finished again he raised his bonnet and thanked me, saying, +</p> + +<p> +“Will you be so gracious as to tell me your name, young Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“What is my name to you?” I answered roughly, for I disliked this +man. “You have not told me yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed, I am travelling incognito. Perhaps I also have met a lady in +these parts,” and he smiled strangely. “I only wished to know the +name of one who had done me a courtesy, but who it seems is not so courteous as +I deemed.” And he shook his horse’s reins. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not ashamed of my name,” I said. “It has been an honest +one so far, and if you wish to know it, it is Thomas Wingfield.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought it,” he cried, and as he spoke his face grew like the +face of a fiend. Then before I could find time even to wonder, he had sprung +from his horse and stood within three paces of me. +</p> + +<p> +“A lucky day! Now we will see what truth there is in prophecies,” +he said, drawing his silver-mounted sword. “A name for a name; Juan de +Garcia gives you greeting, Thomas Wingfield.” +</p> + +<p> +Now, strange as it may seem, it was at this moment only that there flashed +across my mind the thought of all that I had heard about the Spanish stranger, +the report of whose coming to Yarmouth had stirred my father and mother so +deeply. At any other time I should have remembered it soon enough, but on this +day I was so set upon my tryst with Lily and what I should say to her, that +nothing else could hold a place in my thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +“This must be the man,” I said to myself, and then I said no more, +for he was on me, sword up. I saw the keen point flash towards me, and sprang +to one side having a desire to fly, as, being unarmed except for my stick, I +might have done without shame. But spring as I would I could not avoid the +thrust altogether. It was aimed at my heart and it pierced the sleeve of my +left arm, passing through the flesh—no more. Yet at the pain of that cut +all thought of flight left me, and instead of it a cold anger filled me, +causing me to wish to kill this man who had attacked me thus and unprovoked. In +my hand was my stout oaken staff which I had cut myself on the banks of Hollow +Hill, and if I would fight I must make such play with this as I might. It seems +a poor weapon indeed to match against a Toledo blade in the hands of one who +could handle it well, and yet there are virtues in a cudgel, for when a man +sees himself threatened with it, he is likely to forget that he holds in his +hand a more deadly weapon, and to take to the guarding of his own head in place +of running his adversary through the body. +</p> + +<p> +And that was what chanced in this case, though how it came about exactly I +cannot tell. The Spaniard was a fine swordsman, and had I been armed as he was +would doubtless have overmatched me, who at that age had no practice in the +art, which was almost unknown in England. But when he saw the big stick +flourished over him he forgot his own advantage, and raised his arm to ward +away the blow. Down it came upon the back of his hand, and lo! his sword fell +from it to the grass. But I did not spare him because of that, for my blood was +up. The next stroke took him on the lips, knocking out a tooth and sending him +backwards. Then I caught him by the leg and beat him most unmercifully, not +upon the head indeed, for now that I was victor I did not wish to kill one whom +I thought a madman as I would that I had done, but on every other part of him. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed I thrashed him till my arms were weary and then I fell to kicking him, +and all the while he writhed like a wounded snake and cursed horribly, though +he never cried out or asked for mercy. At last I ceased and looked at him, and +he was no pretty sight to see—indeed, what with his cuts and bruises and +the mire of the roadway, it would have been hard to know him for the gallant +cavalier whom I had met not five minutes before. But uglier than all his hurts +was the look in his wicked eyes as he lay there on his back in the pathway and +glared up at me. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, friend Spaniard,” I said, “you have learned a lesson; +and what is there to hinder me from treating you as you would have dealt with +me who had never harmed you?” and I took up his sword and held it to his +throat. +</p> + +<p> +“Strike home, you accursed whelp!” he answered in a broken voice; +“it is better to die than to live to remember such shame as this.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” I said, “I am no foreign murderer to kill a defenceless +man. You shall away to the justice to answer for yourself. The hangman has a +rope for such as you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you must drag me thither,” he groaned, and shut his eyes as +though with faintness, and doubtless he was somewhat faint. +</p> + +<p> +Now as I pondered on what should be done with the villain, it chanced that I +looked up through a gap in the fence, and there, among the Grubswell Oaks three +hundred yards or more away, I caught sight of the flutter of a white robe that +I knew well, and it seemed to me that the wearer of that robe was moving +towards the bridge of the “watering” as though she were weary of +waiting for one who did not come. +</p> + +<p> +Then I thought to myself that if I stayed to drag this man to the village +stocks or some other safe place, there would be an end of meeting with my love +that day, and I did not know when I might find another chance. Now I would not +have missed that hour’s talk with Lily to bring a score of +murderous-minded foreigners to their deserts, and, moreover, this one had +earned good payment for his behaviour. Surely, thought I, he might wait a while +till I had done my love-making, and if he would not wait I could find a means +to make him do so. Not twenty paces from us the horse stood cropping the grass. +I went to him and undid his bridle rein, and with it fastened the Spaniard to a +small wayside tree as best I was able. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, here you stay,” I said, “till I am ready to fetch +you;” and I turned to go. +</p> + +<p> +But as I went a great doubt took me, and once more I remembered my +mother’s fear, and how my father had ridden in haste to Yarmouth on +business about a Spaniard. Now to-day a Spaniard had wandered to Ditchingham, +and when he learned my name had fallen upon me madly trying to kill me. Was not +this the man whom my mother feared, and was it right that I should leave him +thus that I might go maying with my dear? I knew in my breast that it was not +right, but I was so set upon my desire and so strongly did my heartstrings pull +me towards her whose white robe now fluttered on the slope of the Park Hill, +that I never heeded the warning. +</p> + +<p> +Well had it been for me if I had done so, and well for some who were yet +unborn. Then they had never known death, nor I the land of exile, the taste of +slavery, and the altar of sacrifice. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV<br /> +THOMAS TELLS HIS LOVE</h2> + +<p> +Having made the Spaniard as fast as I could, his arms being bound to the tree +behind him, and taking his sword with me, I began to run hard after Lily and +caught her not too soon, for in one more minute she would have turned along the +road that runs to the watering and over the bridge by the Park Hill path to the +Hall. +</p> + +<p> +Hearing my footsteps, she faced about to greet me, or rather as though to see +who it was that followed her. There she stood in the evening light, a bough of +hawthorn bloom in her hand, and my heart beat yet more wildly at the sight of +her. Never had she seemed fairer than as she stood thus in her white robe, a +look of amaze upon her face and in her grey eyes, that was half real half +feigned, and with the sunlight shifting on her auburn hair that showed beneath +her little bonnet. Lily was no round-checked country maid with few beauties +save those of health and youth, but a tall and shapely lady who had ripened +early to her full grace and sweetness, and so it came about that though we were +almost of an age, yet in her presence I felt always as though I were the +younger. Thus in my love for her was mingled some touch of reverence. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! it is you, Thomas,” she said, blushing as she spoke. “I +thought you were not—I mean that I am going home as it grows late. But +say, why do you run so fast, and what has happened to you, Thomas, that your +arm is bloody and you carry a sword in your hand?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no breath to speak yet,” I answered. “Come back to +the hawthorns and I will tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I must be wending homewards. I have been among the trees for more +than an hour, and there is little bloom upon them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I could not come before, Lily. I was kept, and in a strange manner. Also +I saw bloom as I ran.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, I never thought that you would come, Thomas,” she +answered, looking down, “who have other things to do than to go out +maying like a girl. But I wish to hear your story, if it is short, and I will +walk a little way with you.” +</p> + +<p> +So we turned and walked side by side towards the great pollard oaks, and by the +time that we reached them, I had told her the tale of the Spaniard, and how he +strove to kill me, and how I had beaten him with my staff. Now Lily listened +eagerly enough, and sighed with fear when she learned how close I had been to +death. +</p> + +<p> +“But you are wounded, Thomas,” she broke in; “see, the blood +runs fast from your arm. Is the thrust deep?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have not looked to see. I have had no time to look.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take off your coat, Thomas, that I may dress the wound. Nay, I will have +it so.” +</p> + +<p> +So I drew off the garment, not without pain, and rolled up the shirt beneath, +and there was the hurt, a clean thrust through the fleshy part of the lower +arm. Lily washed it with water from the brook, and bound it with her kerchief, +murmuring words of pity all the while. To say truth, I would have suffered a +worse harm gladly, if only I could find her to tend it. Indeed, her gentle care +broke down the fence of my doubts and gave me a courage that otherwise might +have failed me in her presence. At first, indeed, I could find no words, but as +she bound my wound, I bent down and kissed her ministering hand. She flushed +red as the evening sky, the flood of crimson losing itself at last beneath her +auburn hair, but it burned deepest upon the white hand which I had kissed. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you do that, Thomas?” she said, in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +Then I spoke. “I did it because I love you, Lily, and do not know how to +begin the telling of my love. I love you, dear, and have always loved as I +always shall love you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you so sure of that, Thomas?” she said, again. +</p> + +<p> +“There is nothing else in the world of which I am so sure, Lily. What I +wish to be as sure of is that you love me as I love you.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment she stood quiet, her head sunk almost to her breast, then she +lifted it and her eyes shone as I had never seen them shine before. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you doubt it, Thomas?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +And now I took her in my arms and kissed her on the lips, and the memory of +that kiss has gone with me through my long life, and is with me yet, when, old +and withered, I stand upon the borders of the grave. It was the greatest joy +that has been given to me in all my days. Too soon, alas! it was done, that +first pure kiss of youthful love—and I spoke again somewhat aimlessly. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems then that you do love me who love you so well.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you doubted it before, can you doubt it <i>now?</i>” she +answered very softly. “But listen, Thomas. It is well that we should love +each other, for we were born to it, and have no help in the matter, even if we +wished to find it. Still, though love be sweet and holy, it is not all, for +there is duty to be thought of, and what will my father say to this, +Thomas?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know, Lily, and yet I can guess. I am sure, sweet, that he +wishes you to take my brother Geoffrey, and leave me on one side.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then his wishes are not mine, Thomas. Also, though duty be strong, it is +not strong enough to force a woman to a marriage for which she has no liking. +Yet it may prove strong enough to keep a woman from a marriage for which her +heart pleads—perhaps, also, it should have been strong enough to hold me +back from the telling of my love.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Lily, the love itself is much, and though it should bring no fruit, +still it is something to have won it for ever and a day.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are very young to talk thus, Thomas. I am also young, I know, but we +women ripen quicker. Perhaps all this is but a boy’s fancy, to pass with +boyhood.” +</p> + +<p> +“It will never pass, Lily. They say that our first loves are the longest, +and that which is sown in youth will flourish in our age. Listen, Lily; I have +my place to make in the world, and it may take a time in the making, and I ask +one promise of you, though perhaps it is a selfish thing to seek. I ask of you +that you will be faithful to me, and come fair weather or foul, will wed no +other man till you know me dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is something to promise, Thomas, for with time come changes. Still I +am so sure of myself that I promise—nay I swear it. Of you I cannot be +sure, but things are so with us women that we must risk all upon a throw, and +if we lose, good-bye to happiness.” +</p> + +<p> +Then we talked on, and I cannot remember what we said, though these words that +I have written down remain in my mind, partly because of their own weight, and +in part because of all that came about in the after years. +</p> + +<p> +And at last I knew that I must go, though we were sad enough at parting. So I +took her in my arms and kissed her so closely that some blood from my wound ran +down her white attire. But as we embraced I chanced to look up, and saw a sight +that frightened me enough. For there, not five paces from us, stood Squire +Bozard, Lily’s father, watching all, and his face wore no smile. +</p> + +<p> +He had been riding by a bridle-path to the watering ford, and seeing a couple +trespassing beneath the oaks, dismounted from his horse to hunt them away. Not +till he was quite near did he know whom he came to hunt, and then he stood +still in astonishment. Lily and I drew slowly apart and looked at him. He was a +short stout man, with a red face and stern grey eyes, that seemed to be +starting from his head with anger. For a while he could not speak, but when he +began at length the words came fast enough. All that he said I forget, but the +upshot of it was that he desired to know what my business was with his +daughter. I waited till he was out of breath, then answered him that Lily and I +loved each other well, and were plighting our troth. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this so, daughter?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“It is so, my father,” she answered boldly. +</p> + +<p> +Then he broke out swearing. “You light minx,” he said, “you +shall be whipped and kept cool on bread and water in your chamber. And for you, +my half-bred Spanish cockerel, know once and for all that this maid is for your +betters. How dare you come wooing my daughter, you empty pill-box, who have not +two silver pennies to rattle in your pouch! Go win fortune and a name before +you dare to look up to such as she.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is my desire, and I will do it, sir,” I answered. +</p> + +<p> +“So, you apothecary’s drudge, you will win name and place, will +you! Well, long before that deed is done the maid shall be safely wedded to one +who has them and who is not unknown to you. Daughter, say now that you have +finished with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot say that, father,” she replied, plucking at her robe. +“If it is not your will that I should marry Thomas here, my duty is plain +and I may not wed him. But I am my own and no duty can make me marry where I +will not. While Thomas lives I am sworn to him and to no other man.” +</p> + +<p> +“At the least you have courage, hussey,” said her father. +“But listen now, either you will marry where and when I wish, or tramp it +for your bread. Ungrateful girl, did I breed you to flaunt me to my face? Now +for you, pill-box. I will teach you to come kissing honest men’s +daughters without their leave,” and with a curse he rushed at me, stick +aloft, to thrash me. +</p> + +<p> +Then for the second time that day my quick blood boiled in me, and snatching up +the Spaniard’s sword that lay upon the grass beside me, I held it at the +point, for the game was changed, and I who had fought with cudgel against +sword, must now fight with sword against cudgel. And had it not been that Lily +with a quick cry of fear struck my arm from beneath, causing the point of the +sword to pass over his shoulder, I believe truly that I should then and there +have pierced her father through, and ended my days early with a noose about my +neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you mad?” she cried. “And do you think to win me by +slaying my father? Throw down that sword, Thomas.” +</p> + +<p> +“As for winning you, it seems that there is small chance of it;” I +answered hotly, “but I tell you this, not for the sake of all the maids +upon the earth will I stand to be beaten with a stick like a scullion.” +</p> + +<p> +“And there I do not blame you, lad,” said her father, more kindly. +“I see that you also have courage which may serve you in good stead, and +it was unworthy of me to call you ‘pill-box’ in my anger. Still, as +I have said, the girl is not for you, so be gone and forget her as best you +may, and if you value your life, never let me find you two kissing again. And +know that to-morrow I will have a word with your father on this matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will go since I must go,” I answered, “but, sir, I still +hope to live to call your daughter wife. Lily, farewell till these storms are +overpast.” +</p> + +<p> +“Farewell, Thomas,” she said weeping. “Forget me not and I +will never forget my oath to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Then taking Lily by the arm her father led her away. +</p> + +<p> +I also went away—sad, but not altogether ill-pleased. For now I knew that +if I had won the father’s anger, I had also won the daughter’s +unalterable love, and love lasts longer than wrath, and here or hereafter will +win its way at length. When I had gone a little distance I remembered the +Spaniard, who had been clean forgotten by me in all this love and war, and I +turned to seek him and drag him to the stocks, the which I should have done +with joy, and been glad to find some one on whom to wreak my wrongs. But when I +came to the spot where I had left him, I found that fate had befriended him by +the hand of a fool, for there was no Spaniard but only the village idiot, Billy +Minns by name, who stood staring first at the tree to which the foreigner had +been made fast, and then at a piece of silver in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is the man who was tied here, Billy?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I know not, Master Thomas,” he answered in his Norfolk talk which +I will not set down. “Half-way to wheresoever he was going I should say, +measured by the pace at which he left when once I had set him upon his +horse.” +</p> + +<p> +“You set him on his horse, fool? How long was that ago?” +</p> + +<p> +“How long! Well, it might be one hour, and it might be two. I’m no +reckoner of time, that keeps its own score like an innkeeper, without my help. +Lawks! how he did gallop off, working those long spurs he wore right into the +ribs of the horse. And little wonder, poor man, and he daft, not being able to +speak, but only to bleat sheeplike, and fallen upon by robbers on the +king’s roads, and in broad daylight. But Billy cut him loose and caught +his horse and set him on it, and got this piece for his good charity. Lawks! +but he was glad to be gone. How he did gallop!” +</p> + +<p> +“Now you are a bigger fool even than I thought you, Billy Minns,” I +said in anger. “That man would have murdered me, I overcame him and made +him fast, and you have let him go.” +</p> + +<p> +“He would have murdered you, Master, and you made him fast! Then why did +you not stop to keep him till I came along, and we would have haled him to the +stocks? That would have been sport and all. You call me fool—but if you +found a man covered with blood and hurts tied to a tree, and he daft and not +able to speak, had you not cut him loose? Well, he’s gone, and this alone +is left of him,” and he spun the piece into the air. +</p> + +<p> +Now, seeing that there was reason in Billy’s talk, for the fault was +mine, I turned away without more words, not straight homewards, for I wished to +think alone awhile on all that had come about between me and Lily and her +father, but down the way which runs across the lane to the crest of the +Vineyard Hills. These hills are clothed with underwood, in which large oaks +grow to within some two hundred yards of this house where I write, and this +underwood is pierced by paths that my mother laid out, for she loved to walk +here. One of these paths runs along the bottom of the hill by the edge of the +pleasant river Waveney, and the other a hundred feet or more above and near the +crest of the slope, or to speak more plainly, there is but one path shaped like +the letter O, placed thus ⬭, the curved ends of the letter marking how +the path turns upon the hill-side. +</p> + +<p> +Now I struck the path at the end that is furthest from this house, and followed +that half of it which runs down by the river bank, having the water on one side +of it and the brushwood upon the other. Along this lower path I wandered, my +eyes fixed upon the ground, thinking deeply as I went, now of the joy of +Lily’s love, and now of the sorrow of our parting and of her +father’s wrath. As I went, thus wrapped in meditation, I saw something +white lying upon the grass, and pushed it aside with the point of the +Spaniard’s sword, not heeding it. Still, its shape and fashioning +remained in my mind, and when I had left it some three hundred paces behind me, +and was drawing near to the house, the sight of it came back to me as it lay +soft and white upon the grass, and I knew that it was familiar to my eyes. From +the thing, whatever it might be, my mind passed to the Spaniard’s sword +with which I had tossed it aside, and from the sword to the man himself. What +had been his business in this parish?—an ill one surely—and why had +he looked as though he feared me and fallen upon me when he learned my name? +</p> + +<p> +I stood still, looking downward, and my eyes fell upon footprints stamped in +the wet sand of the path. One of them was my mother’s. I could have sworn +to it among a thousand, for no other woman in these parts had so delicate a +foot. Close to it, as though following after, was another that at first I +thought must also have been made by a woman, it was so narrow. But presently I +saw that this could scarcely be, because of its length, and moreover, that the +boot which left it was like none that I knew, being cut very high at the instep +and very pointed at the toe. Then, of a sudden, it came upon me that the +Spanish stranger wore such boots, for I had noted them while I talked with him, +and that his feet were following those of my mother, for they had trodden on +her track, and in some places, his alone had stamped their impress on the sand +blotting out her footprints. Then, too, I knew what the white rag was that I +had thrown aside. It was my mother’s mantilla which I knew, and yet did +not know, because I always saw it set daintily upon her head. In a moment it +had come home to me, and with the knowledge a keen and sickening dread. Why had +this man followed my mother, and why did her mantilla lie thus upon the ground? +</p> + +<p> +I turned and sped like a deer back to where I had seen the lace. All the way +the footprints went before me. Now I was there. Yes, the wrapping was hers, and +it had been rent as though by a rude hand; but where was she? +</p> + +<p> +With a beating heart once more I bent to read the writing of the footsteps. +Here they were mixed one with another, as though the two had stood close +together, moving now this way and now that in struggle. I looked up the path, +but there were none. Then I cast round about like a beagle, first along the +river side, then up the bank. Here they were again, and made by feet that flew +and feet that followed. Up the bank they went fifty yards and more, now lost +where the turf was sound, now seen in sand or loam, till they led to the bole +of a big oak, and were once more mixed together, for here the pursuer had come +up with the pursued. +</p> + +<p> +Despairingly as one who dreams, for now I guessed all and grew mad with fear, I +looked this way and that, till at length I found more footsteps, those of the +Spaniard. These were deep marked, as of a man who carried some heavy burden. I +followed them; first they went down the hill towards the river, then turned +aside to a spot where the brushwood was thick. In the deepest of the clump the +boughs, now bursting into leaf, were bent downwards as though to hide something +beneath. I wrenched them aside, and there, gleaming whitely in the gathering +twilight was the dead face of my mother. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V<br /> +THOMAS SWEARS AN OATH</h2> + +<p> +For a while I stood amazed with horror, staring down at the dead face of my +beloved mother. Then I stooped to lift her and saw that she had been stabbed, +and through the breast, stabbed with the sword which I carried in my hand. +</p> + +<p> +Now I understood. This was the work of that Spanish stranger whom I had met as +he hurried from the place of murder, who, because of the wickedness of his +heart or for some secret reason, had striven to slay me also when he learned +that I was my mother’s son. And I had held this devil in my power, and +that I might meet my May, I had suffered him to escape my vengeance, who, had I +known the truth, would have dealt with him as the priests of Anahuac deal with +the victims of their gods. I understood and shed tears of pity, rage, and +shame. Then I turned and fled homewards like one mad. +</p> + +<p> +At the doorway I met my father and my brother Geoffrey riding up from Bungay +market, and there was that written on my face which caused them to ask as with +one voice: +</p> + +<p> +“What evil thing has happened?” +</p> + +<p> +Thrice I looked at my father before I could speak, for I feared lest the blow +should kill him. But speak I must at last, though I chose that it should be to +Geoffrey my brother. “Our mother lies murdered yonder on the Vineyard +Hill. A Spanish man has done the deed, Juan de Garcia by name.” When my +father heard these words his face became livid as though with pain of the +heart, his jaw fell and a low moan issued from his open mouth. Presently he +rested his hand upon the pommel of the saddle, and lifting his ghastly face he +said: +</p> + +<p> +“Where is this Spaniard? Have you killed him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, father. He chanced upon me in Grubswell, and when he learned my name +he would have murdered me. But I played quarter staff with him and beat him to +a pulp, taking his sword.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, and then?” +</p> + +<p> +“And then I let him go, knowing nothing of the deed he had already +wrought upon our mother. Afterwards I will tell you all.” +</p> + +<p> +“You let him go, son! You let Juan de Garcia go! Then, Thomas, may the +curse of God rest upon you till you find him and finish that which you began +to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Spare to curse me, father, who am accursed by my own conscience. Turn +your horses rather and ride for Yarmouth, for there his ship lies and thither +he has gone with two hours’ start. Perhaps you may still trap him before +he sets sail.” +</p> + +<p> +Without another word my father and brother wheeled their horses round and +departed at full gallop into the gloom of the gathering night. +</p> + +<p> +They rode so fiercely that, their horses being good, they came to the gates of +Yarmouth in little more than an hour and a half, and that is fast riding. But +the bird was flown. They tracked him to the quay and found that he had shipped +a while before in a boat which was in waiting for him, and passed to his vessel +that lay in the Roads at anchor but with the most of her canvas set. Instantly +she sailed, and now was lost in the night. Then my father caused notice to be +given that he would pay reward of two hundred pieces in gold to any ship that +should capture the Spaniard, and two started on the quest, but they did not +find her that before morning was far on her way across the sea. +</p> + +<p> +So soon as they had galloped away I called together the grooms and other +serving men and told them what had chanced. Then we went with lanterns, for by +now it was dark, and came to the thick brushwood where lay the body of my +mother. I drew near the first, for the men were afraid, and so indeed was I, +though why I should fear her lying dead who living had loved me tenderly, I do +not know. Yet I know this, that when I came to the spot and saw two eyes +glowering at me and heard the crash of bushes as something broke them, I could +almost have fallen with fear, although I knew well that it was but a fox or +wandering hound haunting the place of death. +</p> + +<p> +Still I went on, calling the others to follow, and the end of it was that we +laid my mother’s body upon a door which had been lifted from its hinges, +and bore her home for the last time. And to me that path is still a haunted +place. It is seventy years and more since my mother died by the hand of Juan de +Garcia her cousin, yet old as I am and hardened to such sad scenes, I do not +love to walk that path alone at night. +</p> + +<p> +Doubtless it was fancy which plays us strange tricks, still but a year ago, +having gone to set a springe for a woodcock, I chanced to pass by yonder big +oak upon a November eve, and I could have sworn that I saw it all again. I saw +myself a lad, my wounded arm still bound with Lily’s kerchief, climbing +slowly down the hill-side, while behind me, groaning beneath their burden, were +the forms of the four serving men. I heard the murmur of the river and the wind +that seventy years ago whispered in the reeds. I saw the clouded sky flawed +here and there with blue, and the broken light that gleamed on the white burden +stretched upon the door, and the red stain at its breast. Ay, I heard myself +talk as I went forward with the lantern, bidding the men pass to the right of +some steep and rotten ground, and it was strange to me to listen to my own +voice as it had been in youth. Well, well, it was but a dream, yet such slaves +are we to the fears of fancy, that because of the dead, I, who am almost of +their number, do not love to pass that path at night. +</p> + +<p> +At length we came home with our burden, and the women took it weeping and set +about their task with it. And now I must not only fight my own sorrows but must +strive to soothe those of my sister Mary, who as I feared would go mad with +grief and horror. At last she sobbed herself into a torpor, and I went and +questioned the men who sat round the fire in the kitchen, for none sought their +beds that night. From them I learned that an hour or more before I met the +Spaniard, a richly-dressed stranger had been seen walking along the +church-path, and that he had tied his horse among some gorse and brambles on +the top of the hill, where he stood as though in doubt, till my mother came +out, when he descended and followed her. Also I learned that one of the men at +work in the garden, which is not more than three hundred paces from where the +deed was done, heard cries, but had taken no note of them, thinking forsooth +that it was but the play of some lover from Bungay and his lass chasing each +other through the woods, as to this hour it is their fashion to do. Truly it +seemed to me that day as though this parish of Ditchingham were the very +nursery of fools, of whom I was the first and biggest, and indeed this same +thought has struck me since concerning other matters. +</p> + +<p> +At length the morning came, and with it my father and brother, who returned +from Yarmouth on hired horses, for their own were spent. In the afternoon also +news followed them that the ships which had put to sea on the track of the +Spaniard had been driven back by bad weather, having seen nothing of him. +</p> + +<p> +Now I told all the story of my dealings with the murderer of my mother, keeping +nothing back, and I must bear my father’s bitter anger because knowing +that my mother was in dread of a Spaniard, I had suffered my reason to be led +astray by my desire to win speech with my love. Nor did I meet with any comfort +from my brother Geoffrey, who was fierce against me because he learned that I +had not pleaded in vain with the maid whom he desired for himself. But he said +nothing of this reason. Also that no drop might be lacking in my cup, Squire +Bozard, who came with many other neighbours to view the corpse and offer +sympathy with my father in his loss, told him at the same time that he took it +ill that I should woo his daughter against his wish, and that if I continued in +this course it would strain their ancient friendship. Thus I was hit on every +side; by sorrow for my mother whom I had loved tenderly, by longing for my dear +whom I might not see, by self-reproach because I had let the Spaniard go when I +held him fast, and by the anger of my father and my brother. Indeed those days +were so dark and bitter, for I was at the age when shame and sorrow sting their +sharpest, that I wished that I were dead beside my mother. One comfort reached +me indeed, a message from Lily sent by a servant girl whom she trusted, giving +me her dear love and bidding me to be of good cheer. +</p> + +<p> +At length came the day of burial, and my mother, wrapped in fair white robes, +was laid to her rest in the chancel of the church at Ditchingham, where my +father has long been set beside her, hard by the brass effigies that mark the +burying place of Lily’s forefather, his wife, and many of their children. +This funeral was the saddest of sights, for the bitterness of my father’s +grief broke from him in sobs and my sister Mary swooned away in my arms. Indeed +there were few dry eyes in all that church, for my mother, notwithstanding her +foreign birth, was much loved because of her gentle ways and the goodness of +her heart. But it came to an end, and the noble Spanish lady and English wife +was left to her long sleep in the ancient church, where she shall rest on when +her tragic story and her very name are forgotten among men. Indeed this is +likely to be soon, for I am the last of the Wingfields alive in these parts, +though my sister Mary has left descendants of another name to whom my lands and +fortune go except for certain gifts to the poor of Bungay and of Ditchingham. +</p> + +<p> +When it was over I went back home. My father was sitting in the front room well +nigh beside himself with grief, and by him was my brother. Presently he began +to assail me with bitter words because I had let the murderer go when God gave +him into my hand. +</p> + +<p> +“You forget, father,” sneered Geoffrey, “Thomas woos a maid, +and it was more to him to hold her in his arms than to keep his mother’s +murderer safely. But by this it seems he has killed two birds with one stone, +he has suffered the Spanish devil to escape when he knew that our mother feared +the coming of a Spaniard, and he has made enmity between us and Squire Bozard, +our good neighbour, who strangely enough does not favour his wooing.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is so,” said my father. “Thomas, your mother’s +blood is on your hands.” +</p> + +<p> +I listened and could bear this goading injustice no longer. +</p> + +<p> +“It is false,” I said, “I say it even to my father. The man +had killed my mother before I met him riding back to seek his ship at Yarmouth +and having lost his way; how then is her blood upon my hands? As for my wooing +of Lily Bozard, that is my matter, brother, and not yours, though perhaps you +wish that it was yours and not mine. Why, father, did you not tell me what you +feared of this Spaniard? I heard some loose talk only and gave little thought +to it, my mind being full of other things. And now I will say something. You +called down God’s curse upon me, father, till such time as I should find +this murderer and finish what I had begun. So be it! Let God’s curse rest +upon me till I do find him. I am young, but I am quick and strong, and so soon +as may be I start for Spain to hunt him there till I shall run him down or know +him to be dead. If you will give me money to help me on my quest, so be +it—if not I go without. I swear before God and by my mother’s +spirit that I will neither rest nor stay till with the very sword that slew +her, I have avenged her blood upon her murderer or know him dead, and if I +suffer myself to be led astray from the purpose of this oath by aught that is, +then may a worse end than hers overtake me, may my soul be rejected in heaven, +and my name be shameful for ever upon the earth!” +</p> + +<p> +Thus I swore in my rage and anguish, holding up my hand to heaven that I called +upon to witness the oath. +</p> + +<p> +My father looked at me keenly. “If that is your mind, son Thomas, you +shall not lack for money. I would go myself, for blood must be wiped out with +blood, but I am too broken in my health; also I am known in Spain and the Holy +Office would claim me there. Go, and my blessing go with you. It is right that +you should go, for it is through your folly that our enemy has escaped +us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it is right that he should go,” said Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“You say that because you wish to be rid of me, Geoffrey,” I +answered hotly, “and you would be rid of me because you desire to take my +place at the side of a certain maid. Follow your nature and do as you will, but +if you would outwit an absent man no good shall come to you of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“The girl is to him who can win her,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“The girl’s heart is won already, Geoffrey. You may buy her from +her father but you can never win her heart, and without a heart she will be but +a poor prize.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peace! now is no time for such talk of love and maids,” said my +father, “and listen. This is the tale of the Spanish murderer and your +mother. I have said nothing of it heretofore, but now it must out. When I was a +lad it happened that I also went to Spain because my father willed it. I went +to a monastery at Seville, but I had no liking for monks and their ways, and I +broke out from the monastery. For a year or more I made my living as I best +might, for I feared to return to England as a runaway. Still I made a living +and not a bad one, now in this way and now in that, but though I am ashamed to +say it, mostly by gaming, at which I had great luck. One night I met this man +Juan de Garcia—for in his hate he gave you his true name when he would +have stabbed you—at play. Even then he had an evil fame, though he was +scarcely more than a lad, but he was handsome in person, set high in birth, and +of a pleasing manner. It chanced that he won of me at the dice, and being in a +good humour, he took me to visit at the house of his aunt, his uncle’s +widow, a lady of Seville. This aunt had one child, a daughter, and that +daughter was your mother. Now your mother, Luisa de Garcia, was affianced to +her cousin Juan de Garcia, not with her own will indeed, for the contract had +been signed when she was only eight years old. Still it was binding, more +binding indeed than in this country, being a marriage in all except in fact. +But those women who are thus bound for the most part bear no wife’s love +in their hearts, and so it was with your mother. Indeed she both hated and +feared her cousin Juan, though I think that he loved her more than anything on +earth, and by one pretext and another she contrived to bring him to an +agreement that no marriage should be celebrated till she was full twenty years +of age. But the colder she was to him, the more was he inflamed with desire to +win her and also her possessions, which were not small, for like all Spaniards +he was passionate, and like most gamesters and men of evil life, much in want +of money. +</p> + +<p> +“Now to be brief, from the first moment that your mother and I set eyes +on each other we loved one another, and it was our one desire to meet as often +as might be; and in this we had no great difficulty, for her mother also feared +and hated Juan de Garcia, her nephew by marriage, and would have seen her +daughter clear of him if possible. The end of it was that I told my love, and a +plot was made between us that we should fly to England. But all this had not +escaped the ears of Juan, who had spies in the household, and was jealous and +revengeful as only a Spaniard can be. First he tried to be rid of me by +challenging me to a duel, but we were parted before we could draw swords. Then +he hired bravos to murder me as I walked the streets at night, but I wore a +chain shirt beneath my doublet and their daggers broke upon it, and in place of +being slain I slew one of them. Twice baffled, de Garcia was not defeated. +Fight and murder had failed, but another and surer means remained. I know not +how, but he had won some clue to the history of my life, and of how I had +broken out from the monastery. It was left to him, therefore, to denounce me to +the Holy Office as a renegade and an infidel, and this he did one night; it was +the night before the day when we should have taken ship. I was sitting with +your mother and her mother in their house at Seville, when six cowled men +entered and seized me without a word. When I prayed to know their purpose they +gave no other answer than to hold a crucifix before my eyes. Then I knew why I +was taken, and the women ceased clinging to me and fell back sobbing. Secretly +and silently I was hurried away to the dungeons of the Holy Office, but of all +that befell me there I will not stop to tell. +</p> + +<p> +“Twice I was racked, once I was seared with hot irons, thrice I was +flogged with wire whips, and all this while I was fed on food such as we should +scarcely offer to a dog here in England. At length my offence of having escaped +from a monastery and sundry blasphemies, so-called, being proved against me, I +was condemned to death by fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Then at last, when after a long year of torment and of horror, I had +abandoned hope and resigned myself to die, help came. On the eve of the day +upon which I was to be consumed by flame, the chief of my tormentors entered +the dungeon where I lay on straw, and embracing me bade me be of good cheer, +for the church had taken pity on my youth and given me my freedom. At first I +laughed wildly, for I thought that this was but another torment, and not till I +was freed of my fetters, clothed in decent garments, and set at midnight +without the prison gates, would I believe that so good a thing had befallen me +through the hand of God. I stood weak and wondering outside the gates, not +knowing where to fly, and as I stood a woman glided up to me wrapped in a dark +cloak, who whispered ‘Come.’ That woman was your mother. She had +learned of my fate from the boasting of de Garcia and set herself to save me. +Thrice her plans failed, but at length through the help of some cunning agent, +gold won what was denied to justice and to mercy, and my life and liberty were +bought with a very great sum. +</p> + +<p> +“That same night we were married and fled for Cadiz, your mother and I, +but not her mother, who was bedridden with a sickness. For my sake your beloved +mother abandoned her people, what remained to her of her fortune after paying +the price of my life, and her country, so strong is the love of woman. All had +been made ready, for at Cadiz lay an English ship, the ‘Mary’ of +Bristol, in which passage was taken for us. But the ‘Mary’ was +delayed in port by a contrary wind which blew so strongly that notwithstanding +his desire to save us, her master dared not take the sea. Two days and a night +we lay in the harbour, fearing all things not without cause, and yet most happy +in each other’s love. Now those who had charge of me in the dungeon had +given out that I had escaped by the help of my master the Devil, and I was +searched for throughout the country side. De Garcia also, finding that his +cousin and affianced wife was missing, guessed that we two were not far apart. +It was his cunning, sharpened by jealousy and hate, that dogged us down step by +step till at length he found us. +</p> + +<p> +“On the morning of the third day, the gale having abated, the anchor of +the ‘Mary’ was got home and she swung out into the tideway. As she +came round and while the seamen were making ready to hoist the sails, a boat +carrying some twenty soldiers, and followed by two others, shot alongside and +summoned the captain to heave to, that his ship might be boarded and searched +under warrant from the Holy Office. It chanced that I was on deck at the time, +and suddenly, as I prepared to hide myself below, a man, in whom I knew de +Garcia himself, stood up and called out that I was the escaped heretic whom +they sought. Fearing lest his ship should be boarded and he himself thrown into +prison with the rest of his crew, the captain would then have surrendered me. +But I, desperate with fear, tore my clothes from my body and showed the cruel +scars that marked it. +</p> + +<p> +“‘You are Englishmen,’ I cried to the sailors, ‘and +will you deliver me to these foreign devils, who am of your blood? Look at +their handiwork,’ and I pointed to the half-healed scars left by the +red-hot pincers; ‘if you give me up, you send me back to more of this +torment and to death by burning. Pity my wife if you will not pity me, or if +you will pity neither, then lend me a sword that by death I may save myself +from torture.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Then one of the seamen, a Southwold man who had known my father, called +out: ‘By God! I for one will stand by you, Thomas Wingfield. If they want +you and your sweet lady they must kill me first,’ and seizing a bow from +the rack he drew it out of its case and strung it, and setting an arrow on the +string he pointed it at the Spaniards in the boat. +</p> + +<p> +“Then the others broke into shouts of: +</p> + +<p> +“‘If you want any man from among us, come aboard and take him, you +torturing devils,’ and the like. +</p> + +<p> +“Seeing where the heart of the crew lay, the captain found courage in his +turn. He made no answer to the Spaniards, but bade half of the men hoist the +sails with all speed, and the rest make ready to keep off the soldiers should +they seek to board us. +</p> + +<p> +“By now the other two boats had come up and fastened on to us with their +hooks. One man climbed into the chains and thence to the deck, and I knew him +for a priest of the Holy Office, one of those who had stood by while I was +tormented. Then I grew mad at the thought of all that I had suffered, while +that devil watched, bidding them lay on for the love of God. Snatching the bow +from the hand of the Southwold seaman, I drew the arrow to its head and loosed. +It did not miss its mark, for like you, Thomas, I was skilled with the bow, and +he dived back into the sea with an English yard shaft in his heart. +</p> + +<p> +“After that they tried to board us no more, though they shot at us with +arrows, wounding one man. The captain called to us to lay down our bows and +take cover behind the bulwarks, for by now the sails began to draw. Then de +Garcia stood up in the boat and cursed me and my wife. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I will find you yet,’ he screamed, with many Spanish oaths +and foul words. ‘If I must wait for twenty years I will be avenged upon +you and all you love. Be assured of this, Luisa de Garcia, hide where you will, +I shall find you, and when we meet, you shall come with me for so long as I +will keep you or that shall be the hour of your death.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Then we sailed away for England, and the boats fell astern. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +“My sons, this is the story of my youth, and of how I came to wed your +mother whom I have buried to-day. Juan de Garcia has kept his word.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet it seems strange,” said my brother, “that after all +these years he should have murdered her thus, whom you say he loved. Surely +even the evilest of men had shrunk from such a deed!” +</p> + +<p> +“There is little that is strange about it,” answered my father. +“How can we know what words were spoken between them before he stabbed +her? Doubtless he told of some of them when he cried to Thomas that now they +would see what truth there was in prophecies. What did de Garcia swear years +since?—that she should come with him or he would kill her. Your mother +was still beautiful, Geoffrey, and he may have given her choice between flight +and death. Seek to know no more, son”—and suddenly my father hid +his face in his hands and broke into sobs that were dreadful to hear. +</p> + +<p> +“Would that you had told us this tale before, father,” I said so +soon as I could speak. “Then there would have lived a devil the less in +the world to-day, and I should have been spared a long journey.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Little did I know how long that journey would be! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI<br /> +GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEART</h2> + +<p> +Within twelve days of the burial of my mother and the telling of the story of +his marriage to her by my father, I was ready to start upon my search. As it +chanced a vessel was about to sail from Yarmouth to Cadiz. She was named the +“Adventuress,” of one hundred tons burden, and carried wool and +other goods outwards, purposing to return with a cargo of wine and yew staves +for bows. In this vessel my father bought me a passage. Moreover, he gave me +fifty pounds in gold, which was as much as I would risk upon my person, and +obtained letters from the Yarmouth firm of merchants to their agents in Cadiz, +in which they were advised to advance me such sums as I might need up to a +total of one hundred and fifty English pounds, and further to assist me in any +way that was possible. +</p> + +<p> +Now the ship “Adventuress” was to sail on the third day of June. +Already it was the first of that month, and that evening I must ride to +Yarmouth, whither my baggage had gone already. Except one my farewells were +made, and yet that was the one I most wished to make. Since the day when we had +sworn our troth I had gained no sight of Lily except once at my mother’s +burial, and then we had not spoken. Now it seemed that I must go without any +parting word, for her father had sent me notice that if I came near the Hall +his serving men had orders to thrust me from the door, and this was a shame +that I would not risk. Yet it was hard that I must go upon so long a journey, +whence it well might chance I should not return, and bid her no goodbye. In my +grief and perplexity I spoke to my father, telling him how the matter stood and +asking his help. +</p> + +<p> +“I go hence,” I said, “to avenge our common loss, and if need +be to give my life for the honour of our name. Aid me then in this.” +</p> + +<p> +“My neighbour Bozard means his daughter for your brother Geoffrey, and +not for you, Thomas,” he answered; “and a man may do what he wills +with his own. Still I will help you if I can, at the least he cannot drive me +from his door. Bid them bring horses, and we will ride to the Hall.” +</p> + +<p> +Within the half of an hour we were there, and my father asked for speech with +its master. The serving man looked at me askance, remembering his orders, still +he ushered us into the justice room where the Squire sat drinking ale. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morrow to you, neighbour,” said the Squire; “you are +welcome here, but you bring one with you who is not welcome, though he be your +son.” +</p> + +<p> +“I bring him for the last time, friend Bozard. Listen to his request, +then grant it or refuse it as you will; but if you refuse it, it will not bind +us closer. The lad rides to-night to take ship for Spain to seek that man who +murdered his mother. He goes of his own free will because after the doing of +the deed it was he who unwittingly suffered the murderer to escape, and it is +well that he should go.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is a young hound to run such a quarry to earth, and in a strange +country,” said the Squire. “Still I like his spirit and wish him +well. What would he of me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave to bid farewell to your daughter. I know that his suit does not +please you and cannot wonder at it, and for my own part I think it too early +for him to set his fancy in the way of marriage. But if he would see the maid +it can do no harm, for such harm as there is has been done already. Now for +your answer.” +</p> + +<p> +Squire Bozard thought a while, then said: +</p> + +<p> +“The lad is a brave lad though he shall be no son-in-law of mine. He is +going far, and mayhap will return no more, and I do not wish that he should +think unkindly of me when I am dead. Go without, Thomas Wingfield, and stand +under yonder beech—Lily shall join you there and you may speak with her +for the half of an hour—no more. See to it that you keep within sight of +the window. Nay, no thanks; go before I change my mind.” +</p> + +<p> +So I went and waited under the beech with a beating heart, and presently Lily +glided up to me, a more welcome sight to my eyes than any angel out of heaven. +And, indeed, I doubt if an angel could have been more fair than she, or more +good and gentle. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Thomas,” she whispered, when I had greeted her, “is this +true that you sail oversea to seek the Spaniard?” +</p> + +<p> +“I sail to seek the Spaniard, and to find him and to kill him when he is +found. It was to come to you, Lily, that I let him go, now I must let you go to +come to him. Nay, do not weep, I have sworn to do it, and were I to break my +oath I should be dishonoured.” +</p> + +<p> +“And because of this oath of yours I must be widowed, Thomas, before I am +a wife? You go and I shall never see you more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who can say, my sweet? My father went over seas and came back safe, +having passed through many perils.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he came back and—not alone. You are young, Thomas, and in far +countries there are ladies great and fair, and how shall I hold my own in your +heart against them, I being so far away?” +</p> + +<p> +“I swear to you, Lily—” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Thomas, swear no oaths lest you should add to your sins by breaking +them. Yet, love, forget me not, who shall forget you never. Perhaps—oh! +it wrings my heart to say it—this is our last meeting on the earth. If +so, then we must hope to meet in heaven. At the least be sure of this, while I +live I will be true to you, and father or no father, I will die before I break +my troth. I am young to speak so largely, but it shall be as I say. Oh! this +parting is more cruel than death. Would that we were asleep and forgotten among +men. Yet it is best that you should go, for if you stayed what could we be to +each other while my father lives, and may he live long!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sleep and forgetfulness will come soon enough, Lily; none must await +them for very long. Meanwhile we have our lives to live. Let us pray that we +may live them to each other. I go to seek fortune as well as foes, and I will +win it for your sake that we may marry.” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head sadly. “It were too much happiness, Thomas. Men and +women may seldom wed their true loves, or if they do, it is but to lose them. +At the least we love, and let us be thankful that we have learned what love can +be, for having loved here, perchance at the worst we may love otherwhere when +there are none to say us nay.” +</p> + +<p> +Then we talked on awhile, babbling broken words of love and hope and sorrow, as +young folks so placed are wont to do, till at length Lily looked up with a sad +sweet smile and said: +</p> + +<p> +“It is time to go, sweetheart. My father beckons me from the lattice. All +is finished.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us go then,” I answered huskily, and drew her behind the trunk +of the old beech. And there I caught her in my arms and kissed her again and +yet again, nor was she ashamed to kiss me back. +</p> + +<p> +After this I remember little of what happened, except that as we rode away I +saw her beloved face, wan and wistful, watching me departing out of her life. +For twenty years that sad and beautiful face haunted me, and it haunts me yet +athwart life and death. Other women have loved me and I have known other +partings, some of them more terrible, but the memory of this woman as she was +then, and of her farewell look, overruns them all. Whenever I gaze down the +past I see this picture framed in it and I know that it is one which cannot +fade. Are there any sorrows like these sorrows of our youth? Can any bitterness +equal the bitterness of such good-byes? I know but one of which I was fated to +taste in after years, and that shall be told of in its place. It is a common +jest to mock at early love, but if it be real, if it be something more than the +mere arising of the passions, early love is late love also; it is love for +ever, the best and worst event which can befall a man or woman. I say it who am +old and who have done with everything, and it is true. +</p> + +<p> +One thing I have forgotten. As we kissed and clung in our despair behind the +bole of the great beech, Lily drew a ring from her finger and pressed it into +my hand saying, “Look on this each morning when you wake, and think of +me.” It had been her mother’s, and to-day it still is set upon my +withered hand, gleaming in the winter sunlight as I trace these words. Through +the long years of wild adventure, through all the time of after peace, in love +and war, in the shine of the camp fire, in the glare of the sacrificial flame, +in the light of lonely stars illumining the lonely wilderness, that ring has +shone upon my hand, reminding me always of her who gave it, and on this hand it +shall go down into the grave. It is a plain circlet of thick gold, somewhat +worn now, a posy-ring, and on its inner surface is cut this quaint couplet: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Heart to heart,<br /> +Though far apart. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +A fitting motto for us indeed, and one that has its meaning to this hour. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +That same day of our farewell I rode with my father to Yarmouth. My brother +Geoffrey did not come with us, but we parted with kindly words, and of this I +am glad, for we never saw each other again. No more was said between us as to +Lily Bozard and our wooing of her, though I knew well enough that so soon as my +back was turned he would try to take my place at her side, as indeed happened. +I forgive it to him; in truth I cannot blame him much, for what man is there +that would not have desired to wed Lily who knew her? Once we were dear +friends, Geoffrey and I, but when we ripened towards manhood, our love of Lily +came between us, and we grew more and more apart. It is a common case enough. +Well, as it chanced he failed, so why should I think unkindly of him? Let me +rather remember the affection of our childhood and forget the rest. God rest +his soul. +</p> + +<p> +Mary, my sister, who after Lily Bozard was now the fairest maiden in the +country side, wept much at my going. There was but a year between us, and we +loved each other dearly, for no such shadow of jealousy had fallen on our +affection. I comforted her as well as I was able, and telling her all that had +passed between me and Lily, I prayed her to stand my friend and Lily’s, +should it ever be in her power to do so. This Mary promised to do readily +enough, and though she did not give the reason, I could see that she thought it +possible that she might be able to help us. As I have said, Lily had a brother, +a young man of some promise, who at this time was away at college, and he and +my sister Mary had a strong fancy for each other, that might or might not ripen +into something closer. So we kissed and bade farewell with tears. +</p> + +<p> +And after that my father and I rode away. But when we had passed down Pirnhow +Street, and mounted the little hill beyond Waingford Mills to the left of +Bungay town, I halted my horse, and looked back upon the pleasant valley of the +Waveney where I was born, and my heart grew full to bursting. Had I known all +that must befall me, before my eyes beheld that scene again, I think indeed +that it would have burst. But God, who in his wisdom has laid many a burden +upon the backs of men, has saved them from this; for had we foreknowledge of +the future, I think that of our own will but few of us would live to see it. So +I cast one long last look towards the distant mass of oaks that marked the spot +where Lily lived, and rode on. +</p> + +<p> +On the following day I embarked on board the “Adventuress” and we +sailed. Before I left, my father’s heart softened much towards me, for he +remembered that I was my mother’s best beloved, and feared also lest we +should meet no more. So much did it soften indeed, that at the last hour he +changed his mind and wished to hold me back from going. But having put my hand +to the plough and suffered all the bitterness of farewell, I would not return +to be mocked by my brother and my neighbours. “You speak too late, +father,” I said. “You desired me to go to work this vengeance and +stirred me to it with many bitter words, and now I would go if I knew that I +must die within a week, for such oaths cannot be lightly broken, and till mine +is fulfilled the curse rests on me.” +</p> + +<p> +“So be it, son,” he answered with a sigh. “Your +mother’s cruel death maddened me and I said what I may live to be sorry +for, though at the best I shall not live long, for my heart is broken. Perhaps +I should have remembered that vengeance is in the hand of the Lord, who wreaks +it at His own time and without our help. Do not think unkindly of me, my boy, +if we should chance to meet no more, for I love you, and it was but the deeper +love that I bore to your mother which made me deal harshly with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it, father, and bear no grudge. But if you think that you owe me +anything, pay it by holding back my brother from working wrong to me and Lily +Bozard while I am absent.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will do my best, son, though were it not that you and she have grown +so dear to each other, the match would have pleased me well. But as I have +said, I shall not be long here to watch your welfare in this or any other +matter, and when I am gone things must follow their own fate. Do not forget +your God or your home wherever you chance to wander, Thomas: keep yourself from +brawling, beware of women that are the snare of youth, and set a watch upon +your tongue and your temper which is not of the best. Moreover, wherever you +may be do not speak ill of the religion of the land, or make a mock of it by +your way of life, lest you should learn how cruel men can be when they think +that it is pleasing to their gods, as I have learnt already.” +</p> + +<p> +I said that I would bear his counsel in mind, and indeed it saved me from many +a sorrow. Then he embraced me and called on the Almighty to take me in His +care, and we parted. +</p> + +<p> +I never saw him more, for though he was but middle-aged, within a year of my +going my father died suddenly of a distemper of the heart in the nave of +Ditchingham church, as he stood there, near the rood screen, musing by my +mother’s grave one Sunday after mass, and my brother took his lands and +place. God rest him also! He was a true-hearted man, but more wrapped up in his +love for my mother than it is well for any man to be who would look at life +largely and do right by all. For such love, though natural to women, is apt to +turn to something that partakes of selfishness, and to cause him who bears it +to think all else of small account. His children were nothing to my father when +compared to my mother, and he would have been content to lose them every one if +thereby he might have purchased back her life. But after all it was a noble +infirmity, for he thought little of himself and had gone through much to win +her. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Of my voyage to Cadiz, to which port I had learned that de Garcia’s ship +was bound, there is little to be told. We met with contrary winds in the Bay of +Biscay and were driven into the harbour of Lisbon, where we refitted. But at +last we came safely to Cadiz, having been forty days at sea. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII<br /> +ANDRES DE FONSECA</h2> + +<p> +Now I shall dwell but briefly on all the adventures which befell me during the +year or so that I remained in Spain, for were I to set out everything at +length, this history would have no end, or at least mine would find me before I +came to it. +</p> + +<p> +Many travellers have told of the glories of Seville, to which ancient Moorish +city I journeyed with all speed, sailing there up the Guadalquivir, and I have +to tell of lands from which no other wanderer has returned to England, and must +press on to them. To be short then; foreseeing that it might be necessary for +me to stop some time in Seville, and being desirous to escape notice and to be +at the smallest expense possible, I bethought me that it would be well if I +could find means of continuing my studies of medicine, and to this end I +obtained certain introductions from the firm of merchants to whose care I had +been recommended, addressed to doctors of medicine in Seville. These letters at +my request were made out not in my own name but in that of “Diego +d’Aila,” for I did not wish it to be known that I was an +Englishman. Nor, indeed, was this likely, except my speech should betray me, +for, as I have said, in appearance I was very Spanish, and the hindrance of the +language was one that lessened every day, since having already learned it from +my mother, and taking every opportunity to read and speak it, within six months +I could talk Castilian except for some slight accent, like a native of the +land. Also I have a gift for the acquiring of languages. +</p> + +<p> +When I was come to Seville, and had placed my baggage in an inn, not one of the +most frequented, I set out to deliver a letter of recommendation to a famous +physician of the town whose name I have long forgotten. This physician had a +fine house in the street of Las Palmas, a great avenue planted with graceful +trees, that has other little streets running into it. Down one of these I came +from my inn, a quiet narrow place having houses with <i>patios</i> or +courtyards on either side of it. As I walked down this street I noticed a man +sitting in the shade on a stool in the doorway of his <i>patio</i>. He was +small and withered, with keen black eyes and a wonderful air of wisdom, and he +watched me as I went by. Now the house of the famous physician whom I sought +was so placed that the man sitting at this doorway could command it with his +eyes and take note of all who went in and came out. When I had found the house +I returned again into the quiet street and walked to and fro there for a while, +thinking of what tale I should tell to the physician, and all the time the +little man watched me with his keen eyes. At last I had made up my story and +went to the house, only to find that the physician was from home. Having +inquired when I might find him I left, and once more took to the narrow street, +walking slowly till I came to where the little man sat. As I passed him, his +broad hat with which he was fanning himself slipped to the ground before my +feet. I stooped down, lifted it from the pavement, and restored it to him. +</p> + +<p> +“A thousand thanks, young sir,” he said in a full and gentle voice. +“You are courteous for a foreigner.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know me to be a foreigner, señor?” I asked, surprised +out of my caution. +</p> + +<p> +“If I had not guessed it before, I should know it now,” he +answered, smiling gravely. “Your Castilian tells its own tale.” +</p> + +<p> +I bowed, and was about to pass on, when he addressed me again. +</p> + +<p> +“What is your hurry, young sir? Step in and take a cup of wine with me; +it is good.” +</p> + +<p> +I was about to say him nay, when it came into my mind that I had nothing to do, +and that perhaps I might learn something from this gossip. +</p> + +<p> +“The day is hot, señor, and I accept.” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke no more, but rising, led me into a courtyard paved with marble in the +centre of which was a basin of water, having vines trained around it. Here were +chairs and a little table placed in the shade of the vines. When he had closed +the door of the <i>patio</i> and we were seated, he rang a silver bell that +stood upon the table, and a girl, young and fair, appeared from the house, +dressed in a quaint Spanish dress. +</p> + +<p> +“Bring wine,” said my host. +</p> + +<p> +The wine was brought, white wine of Oporto such as I had never tasted before. +</p> + +<p> +“Your health, señor?” And my host stopped, his glass in his hand, +and looked at me inquiringly. +</p> + +<p> +“Diego d’Aila,” I answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Humph,” he said. “A Spanish name, or perhaps an imitation +Spanish name, for I do not know it, and I have a good head for names.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is my name, to take or to leave, señor?”—And I looked +at him in turn. +</p> + +<p> +“Andres de Fonseca,” he replied bowing, “a physician of this +city, well known enough, especially among the fair. Well, Señor Diego, I take +your name, for names are nothing, and at times it is convenient to change them, +which is nobody’s business except their owners”. I see that you are +a stranger in this city—no need to look surprised, señor, one who is +familiar with a town does not gaze and stare and ask the path of passers-by, +nor does a native of Seville walk on the sunny side of the street in summer. +And now, if you will not think me impertinent, I will ask you what can be the +business of so healthy a young man with my rival yonder?” And he nodded +towards the house of the famous physician. +</p> + +<p> +“A man’s business, like his name, is his own affair, señor,” +I answered, setting my host down in my mind as one of those who disgrace our +art by plying openly for patients that they may capture their fees. +“Still, I will tell you. I am also a physician, though not yet fully +qualified, and I seek a place where I may help some doctor of repute in his +daily practice, and thus gain experience and my living with it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah is it so? Well, señor, then you will look in vain yonder,” and +again he nodded towards the physician’s house. “Such as he will +take no apprentice without the fee be large indeed; it is not the custom of +this city.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I must seek a livelihood elsewhere, or otherwise.” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not say so. Now, señor, let us see what you know of medicine, and +what is more important, of human nature, for of the first none of us can ever +know much, but he who knows the latter will be a leader of men—or of +women—who lead the men.” +</p> + +<p> +And without more ado he put me many questions, each of them so shrewd and going +so directly to the heart of the matter in hand, that I marvelled at his +sagacity. Some of these questions were medical, dealing chiefly with the +ailments of women, others were general and dealt more with their characters. At +length he finished. +</p> + +<p> +“You will do, señor,” he said; “you are a young man of parts +and promise, though, as was to be expected from one of your years, you lack +experience. There is stuff in you, señor, and you have a heart, which is a good +thing, for the blunders of a man with a heart often carry him further than the +cunning of the cynic; also you have a will and know how to direct it.” +</p> + +<p> +I bowed, and did my best to hold back my satisfaction at his words from showing +in my face. +</p> + +<p> +“Still,” he went on, “all this would not cause me to submit +to you the offer that I am about to make, for many a prettier fellow than +yourself is after all unlucky, or a fool at the bottom, or bad tempered and +destined to the dogs, as for aught I know you may be also. But I take my chance +of that because you suit me in another way. Perhaps you may scarcely know it +yourself, but you have beauty, señor, beauty of a very rare and singular type, +which half the ladies of Seville will praise when they come to know you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am much flattered,” I said, “but might I ask what all +these compliments may mean? To be brief, what is your offer?” +</p> + +<p> +“To be brief then, it is this. I am in need of an assistant who must +possess all the qualities that I see in you, but most of all one which I can +only guess you to possess—discretion. That assistant would not be +ill-paid; this house would be at his disposal, and he would have opportunities +of learning the world such as are given to few. What say you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I say this, señor, that I should wish to know more of the business in +which I am expected to assist. Your offers sound too liberal, and I fear that I +must earn your bounty by the doing of work that honest men might shrink +from.” +</p> + +<p> +“A fair argument, but, as it happens, not quite a correct one. Listen: +you have been told that yonder physician, to whose house you went but now, and +these”—here he repeated four or five names—“are the +greatest of their tribe in Seville. It is not so. I am the greatest and the +richest, and I do more business than any two of them. Do you know what my +earnings have been this day alone? I will tell you; just over twenty-five gold +pesos,<a href="#fn-2" name="fnref-2" id="fnref-2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> more than +all the rest of the profession have taken together, I will wager. You want to +know how I earn so much; you want to know also, why, if I have earned so much, +I am not content to rest from my labours. Good, I will tell you. I earn it by +ministering to the vanities of women and sheltering them from the results of +their own folly. Has a lady a sore heart, she comes to me for comfort and +advice. Has she pimples on her face, she flies to me to cure them. Has she a +secret love affair, it is I who hide her indiscretion; I consult the future for +her, I help her to atone the past, I doctor her for imaginary ailments, and +often enough I cure her of real ones. Half the secrets of Seville are in my +hands; did I choose to speak I could set a score of noble houses to broil and +bloodshed. But I do not speak, I am paid to keep silent; and when I am not +paid, still I keep silent for my credit’s sake. Hundreds of women think +me their saviour, I know them for my dupes. But mark you, I do not push this +game too far. A love philtre—of coloured water—I may give at a +price, but not a poisoned rose. These they must seek elsewhere. For the rest, +in my way I am honest. I take the world as it comes, that is all, and, as women +will be fools, I profit by their folly and have grown rich upon it. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-2" id="fn-2"></a> <a href="#fnref-2">[2]</a> +About sixty-three pounds sterling. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I have grown rich, and yet I cannot stop. I love the money that is +power; but more than all, I love the way of life. Talk of romances and +adventure! What romance or adventure is half so wonderful as those that come +daily to my notice? And I play a part in every one of them, and none the less a +leading part because I do not shout and strut upon the boards.” +</p> + +<p> +“If all this is so, why do you seek the help of an unknown lad, a +stranger of whom you know nothing?” I asked bluntly. +</p> + +<p> +“Truly, you lack experience,” the old man answered with a laugh. +“Do you then suppose that I should choose one who was <i>not</i> a +stranger—one who might have ties within this city with which I was +unacquainted. And as for knowing nothing of you, young man, do you think that I +have followed this strange trade of mine for forty years without learning to +judge at sight? Perhaps I know you better than you know yourself. By the way, +the fact that you are deeply enamoured of that maid whom you have left in +England is a recommendation to me, for whatever follies you may commit, you +will scarcely embarrass me and yourself by suffering your affections to be +seriously entangled. Ah! have I astonished you?” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know?” I began—then ceased. +</p> + +<p> +“How do I know? Why, easily enough. Those boots you wear were made in +England. I have seen many such when I travelled there; your accent also though +faint is English, and twice you have spoken English words when your Castilian +failed you. Then for the maid, is not that a betrothal ring upon your hand? And +when I spoke to you of the ladies of this country, my talk did not interest you +overmuch as at your age it had done were you heart-whole. Surely also the lady +is fair and tall? Ah! I thought so. I have noticed that men and women love +their opposite in colour, no invariable rule indeed, but good for a +guess.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are very clever, señor.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, not clever, but trained, as you will be when you have been a year in +my hands, though perchance you do not intend to stop so long in Seville. +Perhaps you came here with an object, and wish to pass the time profitably till +it is fulfilled. A good guess again, I think. Well, so be it, I will risk that; +object and attainment are often far apart. Do you take my offer?” +</p> + +<p> +“I incline to do so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you will take it. Now I have something more to say before we come +to terms. I do not want you to play the part of an apothecary’s drudge. +You will figure before the world as my nephew, come from abroad to learn my +trade. You will help me in it indeed, but that is not all your duty. Your part +will be to mix in the life of Seville, and to watch those whom I bid you watch, +to drop a word here and a hint there, and in a hundred ways that I shall show +you to draw grist to my mill—and to your own. You must be brilliant and +witty, or sad and learned, as I wish; you must make the most of your person and +your talents, for these go far with my customers. To the hidalgo you must talk +of arms, to the lady, of love; but you must never commit yourself beyond +redemption. And above all, young man”—and here his manner changed +and his face grew stern and almost fierce—“you must never violate +my confidence or the confidence of my clients. On this point I will be quite +open with you, and I pray you for your own sake to believe what I say, however +much you may mistrust the rest. If you break faith with me, <i>you die</i>. You +die, not by my hand, but you die. That is my price; take it or leave it. Should +you leave it and go hence to tell what you have heard this day, even then +misfortune may overtake you suddenly. Do you understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand. For my own sake I will respect your confidence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Young sir, I like you better than ever. Had you said that you would +respect it because it was a confidence, I should have mistrusted you, for +doubtless you feel that secrets communicated so readily have no claim to be +held sacred. Nor have they, but when their violation involves the sad and +accidental end of the violator, it is another matter. Well now, do you +accept?” +</p> + +<p> +“I accept.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good. Your baggage I suppose is at the inn. I will send porters to +discharge your score and bring it here. No need for you to go, nephew, let us +stop and drink another glass of wine; the sooner we grow intimate the better, +nephew.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It was thus that first I became acquainted with Señor Andres de Fonseca, my +benefactor, the strangest man whom I have ever known. Doubtless any person +reading this history would think that I, the narrator, was sowing a plentiful +crop of troubles for myself in having to deal with him, setting him down as a +rogue of the deepest, such as sometimes, for their own wicked purposes, decoy +young men to crime and ruin. But it was not so, and this is the strangest part +of the strange story. All that Andres de Fonseca told me was true to the very +letter. +</p> + +<p> +He was a gentleman of great talent who had been rendered a little mad by +misfortunes in his early life. As a physician I have never met his master, if +indeed he has one in these times, and as a man versed in the world and more +especially in the world of women, I have known none to compare with him. He had +travelled far, and seen much, and he forgot nothing. In part he was a quack, +but his quackery always had a meaning in it. He fleeced the foolish, indeed, +and even juggled with astronomy, making money out of their superstition; but on +the other hand he did many a kind act without reward. He would make a rich lady +pay ten gold pesos for the dyeing of her hair, but often he would nurse some +poor girl through her trouble and ask no charge; yes, and find her honest +employment after it. He who knew all the secrets of Seville never made money +out of them by threat of exposure, as he said because it would not pay to do +so, but really because though he affected to be a selfish knave, at bottom his +heart was honest. +</p> + +<p> +For my own part I found life with him both easy and happy, so far as mine could +be quite happy. Soon I learned my role and played it well. It was given out +that I was the nephew of the rich old physician Fonseca, whom he was training +to take his place; and this, together with my own appearance and manners, +ensured me a welcome in the best houses of Seville. Here I took that share of +our business which my master could not take, for now he never mixed among the +fashion of the city. Money I was supplied with in abundance so that I could +ruffle it with the best, but soon it became known that I looked to business as +well as to pleasure. Often and often during some gay ball or carnival, a lady +would glide up to me and ask beneath her breath if Don Andres de Fonseca would +consent to see her privately on a matter of some importance, and I would fix an +hour then and there. Had it not been for me such patients would have been lost +to us, since, for the most part, their timidity had kept them away. +</p> + +<p> +In the same fashion when the festival was ended and I prepared to wend +homewards, now and again a gallant would slip his arm in mine and ask my +master’s help in some affair of love or honour, or even of the purse. +Then I would lead him straight to the old Moorish house where Don Andres sat +writing in his velvet robe like some spider in his web, for the most of our +business was done at night; and straight-way the matter would be attended to, +to my master’s profit and the satisfaction of all. By degrees it became +known that though I was so young yet I had discretion, and that nothing which +went in at my ears came out of my lips; that I neither brawled nor drank nor +gambled to any length, and that though I was friendly with many fair ladies, +there were none who were entitled to know my secrets. Also it became known that +I had some skill in my art of healing, and it was said among the ladies of +Seville that there lived no man in that city so deft at clearing the skin of +blemishes or changing the colour of the hair as old Fonseca’s nephew, and +as any one may know this reputation alone was worth a fortune. Thus it came +about that I was more and more consulted on my own account. In short, things +went so well with us that in the first six months of my service I added by one +third to the receipts of my master’s practice, large as they had been +before, besides lightening his labours not a little. +</p> + +<p> +It was a strange life, and of the things that I saw and learned, could they be +written, I might make a tale indeed, but they have no part in this history. For +it was as though the smiles and silence with which men and women hide their +thoughts were done away, and their hearts spoke to us in the accents of truth. +Now some fair young maid or wife would come to us with confessions of +wickedness that would be thought impossible, did not her story prove itself; +the secret murder perchance of a spouse, or a lover, or a rival; now some aged +dame who would win a husband in his teens, now some wealthy low-born man or +woman, who desired to buy an alliance with one lacking money, but of noble +blood. Such I did not care to help indeed, but to the love-sick or the +love-deluded I listened with a ready ear, for I had a fellow-feeling with them. +Indeed so deep and earnest was my sympathy that more than once I found the +unhappy fair ready to transfer their affections to my unworthy self, and in +fact once things came about so that, had I willed it, I could have married one +of the loveliest and wealthiest noble ladies of Seville. +</p> + +<p> +But I would none of it, who thought of my English Lily by day and night. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br /> +THE SECOND MEETING</h2> + +<p> +It may be thought that while I was employed thus I had forgotten the object of +my coming to Spain, namely to avenge my mother’s murder on the person of +Juan de Garcia. But this was not so. So soon as I was settled in the house of +Andres de Fonseca I set myself to make inquiries as to de Garcia’s +whereabouts with all possible diligence, but without result. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, when I came to consider the matter coolly it seemed that I had but a +slender chance of finding him in this city. He had, indeed, given it out in +Yarmouth that he was bound for Seville, but no ship bearing the same name as +his had put in at Cadiz or sailed up the Guadalquivir, nor was it likely, +having committed murder in England, that he would speak the truth as to his +destination. Still I searched on. The house where my mother and grandmother had +lived was burned down, and as their mode of life had been retired, after more +than twenty years of change few even remembered their existence. Indeed I only +discovered one, an old woman whom I found living in extreme poverty, and who +once had been my grandmother’s servant and knew my mother well, although +she was not in the house at the time of her flight to England. From this woman +I gathered some information, though, needless to say, I did not tell her that I +was the grandson of her old mistress. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed that after my mother fled to England with my father, de Garcia +persecuted my grandmother and his aunt with lawsuits and by other means, till +at last she was reduced to beggary, in which condition the villain left her to +die. So poor was she indeed, that she was buried in a public grave. After that +the old woman, my informant, said she had heard that de Garcia had committed +some crime and been forced to flee the country. What the crime was she could +not remember, but it had happened about fifteen years ago. +</p> + +<p> +All this I learned when I had been about three months in Seville, and though it +was of interest it did not advance me in my search. +</p> + +<p> +Some four or five nights afterwards, as I entered my employer’s house I +met a young woman coming out of the doorway of the <i>patio;</i> she was +thickly veiled and my notice was drawn to her by her tall and beautiful figure +and because she was weeping so violently that her body shook with her sobs. I +was already well accustomed to such sights, for many of those who sought my +master’s counsel had good cause to weep, and I passed her without remark. +But when I was come into the room where he received his patients, I mentioned +that I had met such a person and asked if it was any one whom I knew. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! nephew,” said Fonseca, who always called me thus by now, and +indeed began to treat me with as much affection as though I were really of his +blood, “a sad case, but you do not know her and she is no paying patient. +A poor girl of noble birth who had entered religion and taken her vows, when a +gallant appears, meets her secretly in the convent garden, promises to marry +her if she will fly with him, indeed does go through some mummery of marriage +with her—so she says—and the rest of it. Now he has deserted her +and she is in trouble, and what is more, should the priests catch her, likely +to learn what it feels like to die by inches in a convent wall. She came to me +for counsel and brought some silver ornaments as the fee. Here they are.” +</p> + +<p> +“You took them!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I took them—I always take a fee, but I gave her back their +weight in gold. What is more, I told her where she might hide from the priests +till the hunt is done with. What I did not like to tell her is that her lover +is the greatest villain who ever trod the streets of Seville. What was the +good? She will see little more of him. Hist! here comes the duchess—an +astrological case this. Where are the horoscope and the wand, yes, and the +crystal ball? There, shade the lamps, give me the book, and vanish.” +</p> + +<p> +I obeyed, and presently met the great lady, a stout woman attended by a duenna, +gliding fearfully through the darkened archways to learn the answer of the +stars and pay many good pesos for it, and the sight of her made me laugh so +much that I forgot quickly about the other lady and her woes. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +And now I must tell how I met my cousin and my enemy de Garcia for the second +time. Two days after my meeting with the veiled lady it chanced that I was +wandering towards midnight through a lonely part of the old city little +frequented by passers-by. It was scarcely safe to be thus alone in such a place +and hour, but the business with which I had been charged by my master was one +that must be carried out unattended. Also I had no enemies whom I knew of, and +was armed with the very sword that I had taken from de Garcia in the lane at +Ditchingham, the sword that had slain my mother, and which I bore in the hope +that it might serve to avenge her. In the use of this weapon I had grown expert +enough by now, for every morning I took lessons in the art of fence. +</p> + +<p> +My business being done I was walking slowly homeward, and as I went I fell to +thinking of the strangeness of my present life and of how far it differed from +my boyhood in the valley of the Waveney, and of many other things. And then I +thought of Lily and wondered how her days passed, and if my brother Geoffrey +persecuted her to marry him, and whether or no she would resist his +importunities and her father’s. And so as I walked musing I came to a +water-gate that opened on to the Guadalquivir, and leaning upon the coping of a +low wall I rested there idly to consider the beauty of the night. In truth it +was a lovely night, for across all these years I remember it. Let those who +have seen it say if they know any prospect more beautiful than the sight of the +August moon shining on the broad waters of the Guadalquivir and the clustering +habitations of the ancient city. +</p> + +<p> +Now as I leaned upon the wall and looked, I saw a man pass up the steps beside +me and go on into the shadow of the street. I took no note of him till +presently I heard a murmur of distant voices, and turning my head I discovered +that the man was in conversation with a woman whom he had met at the head of +the path that ran down to the water-gate. Doubtless it was a lovers’ +meeting, and since such sights are of interest to all, and more especially to +the young, I watched the pair. Soon I learned that there was little of +tenderness in this tryst, at least on the part of the gallant, who drew +continually backwards toward me as though he would seek the boat by which +doubtless he had come, and I marvelled at this, for the moonlight shone upon +the woman’s face, and even at that distance I could see that it was very +fair. The man’s face I could not see however, since his back was towards +me for the most part, moreover he wore a large <i>sombrero</i> that shaded it. +Now they came nearer to me, the man always drawing backward and the woman +always following, till at length they were within earshot. The woman was +pleading with the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely you will not desert me,” she said, “after marrying me +and all that you have sworn; you will not have the heart to desert me. I +abandoned everything for you. I am in great danger. I—” and here +her voice fell so that I could not catch her words. +</p> + +<p> +Then he spoke. “Fairest, now as always I adore you. But we must part +awhile. You owe me much, Isabella. I have rescued you from the grave, I have +taught you what it is to live and love. Doubtless with your advantages and +charms, your great charms, you will profit by the lesson. Money I cannot give +you, for I have none to spare, but I have endowed you with experience that is +more valuable by far. This is our farewell for awhile and I am brokenhearted. +Yet +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘’Neath fairer skies<br /> +Shine other eyes,’ +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +and I—” and again he spoke so low that I could not catch his words. +</p> + +<p> +As he talked on, all my body began to tremble. The scene was moving indeed, but +it was not that which stirred me so deeply, it was the man’s voice and +bearing that reminded me—no, it could scarcely be! +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! you will not be so cruel,” said the lady, “to leave me, +your wife, thus alone and in such sore trouble and danger. Take me with you, +Juan, I beseech you!” and she caught him by the arm and clung to him. +</p> + +<p> +He shook her from him somewhat roughly, and as he did so his wide hat fell to +the ground so that the moonlight shone upon his face. By Heaven! it was +he—Juan de Garcia and no other! I could not be mistaken. There was the +deeply carved, cruel face, the high forehead with the scar on it, the thin +sneering mouth, the peaked beard and curling hair. Chance had given him into my +hand, and I would kill him or he should kill me. +</p> + +<p> +I took three paces and stood before him, drawing my sword as I came. +</p> + +<p> +“What, my dove, have you a bully at hand?” he said stepping back +astonished. “Your business, señor? Are you here to champion beauty in +distress?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am here, Juan de Garcia, to avenge a murdered woman. Do you remember a +certain river bank away in England, where you chanced to meet a lady you had +known, and to leave her dead? Or if you have forgotten, perhaps at least you +will remember this, which I carry that it may kill you,” and I flashed +the sword that had been his before his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother of God! It is the English boy who—” and he stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“It is Thomas Wingfield who beat and bound you, and who now purposes to +finish what he began yonder as he has sworn. Draw, or, Juan de Garcia, I will +stab you where you stand.” +</p> + +<p> +De Garcia heard this speech, that to-day seems to me to smack of the theatre, +though it was spoken in grimmest earnest, and his face grew like the face of a +trapped wolf. Yet I saw that he had no mind to fight, not because of cowardice, +for to do him justice he was no coward, but because of superstition. He feared +to fight with me since, as I learned afterwards, he believed that he would meet +his end at my hand, and it was for this reason chiefly that he strove to kill +me when first we met. +</p> + +<p> +“The duello has its laws, señor,” he said courteously. “It is +not usual to fight thus unseconded and in the presence of a woman. If you +believe that you have any grievance against me—though I know not of what +you rave, or the name by which you call me—I will meet you where and when +you will.” And all the while he looked over his shoulder seeking some way +of escape. +</p> + +<p> +“You will meet me now,” I answered. “Draw or I strike!” +</p> + +<p> +Then he drew, and we fell to it desperately enough, till the sparks flew, +indeed, and the rattle of steel upon steel rang down the quiet street. At first +he had somewhat the better of me, for my hate made me wild in my play, but soon +I settled to the work and grew cooler. I meant to kill him—more, I knew +that I should kill him if none came between us. He was still a better swordsman +than I, who, till I fought with him in the lane at Ditchingham, had never even +seen one of these Spanish rapiers, but I had the youth and the right on my +side, as also I had an eye like a hawk’s and a wrist of steel. +</p> + +<p> +Slowly I pressed him back, and ever my play grew closer and better and his +became wilder. Now I had touched him twice, once in the face, and I held him +with his back against the wall of the way that led down to the water-gate, and +it had come to this, that he scarcely strove to thrust at me at all, but stood +on his defence waiting till I should tire. Then, when victory was in my hand +disaster overtook me, for the woman, who had been watching bewildered, saw that +her faithless lover was in danger of death and straightway seized me from +behind, at the same time sending up shriek after shriek for help. I shook her +from me quickly enough, but not before de Garcia, seeing his advantage, had +dealt me a coward’s thrust that took me in the right shoulder and half +crippled me, so that in my turn I must stand on my defence if I would keep my +life in me. Meanwhile the shrieks had been heard, and of a sudden the watch +came running round the corner whistling for help. De Garcia saw them, and +disengaging suddenly, turned and ran for the water-gate, the lady also +vanishing, whither I do not know. +</p> + +<p> +Now the watch was on me, and their leader came at me to seize me, holding a +lantern in his hand. I struck it with the handle of the sword, so that it fell +upon the roadway, where it blazed up like a bonfire. Then I turned also and +fled, for I did not wish to be dragged before the magistrates of the city as a +brawler, and in my desire to escape I forgot that de Garcia was escaping also. +Away I went and three of the watch after me, but they were stout and scant of +breath, and by the time that I had run three furlongs I distanced them. I +halted to get my breath and remembered that I had lost de Garcia and did not +know when I should find him again. At first I was minded to return and seek +him, but reflection told me that by now it would be useless, also that the end +of it might be that I should fall into the hands of the watch, who would know +me by my wound, which began to pain me. So I went homeward cursing my fortune, +and the woman who had clasped me from behind just as I was about to send the +death-thrust home, and also my lack of skill which had delayed that thrust so +long. Twice I might have made it and twice I had waited, being overcautious and +over-anxious to be sure, and now I had lost my chance, and might bide many a +day before it came again. +</p> + +<p> +How should I find him in this great city? Doubtless, though I had not thought +of it, de Garcia passed under some feigned name as he had done at Yarmouth. It +was bitter indeed to have been so near to vengeance and to have missed it. +</p> + +<p> +By now I was at home and bethought me that I should do well to go to Fonseca, +my master, and ask his help. Hitherto I had said nothing of this matter to him, +for I have always loved to keep my own counsel, and as yet I had not spoken of +my past even to him. Going to the room where he was accustomed to receive +patients, I found he had retired to rest, leaving orders that I was not to +awake him this night as he was weary. So I bound up my hurt after a fashion and +sought my bed also, very ill-satisfied with my fortune. +</p> + +<p> +On the morrow I went to my master’s chamber where he still lay abed, +having been seized by a sudden weakness that was the beginning of the illness +which ended in his death. As I mixed a draught for him he noticed that my +shoulder was hurt and asked me what had happened. This gave me my opportunity, +which I was not slow to take. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you patience to listen to a story?” I said, “for I +would seek your help.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” he answered, “it is the old case, the physician cannot +heal himself. Speak on, nephew.” +</p> + +<p> +Then I sat down by the bed and told him all, keeping nothing back. I told him +the history of my mother and my father’s courtship, of my own childhood, +of the murder of my mother by de Garcia, and of the oath that I had sworn to be +avenged upon him. Lastly I told him of what had happened upon the previous +night and how my enemy had evaded me. All the while that I was speaking +Fonseca, wrapped in a rich Moorish robe, sat up in the bed holding his knees +beneath his chin, and watching my face with his keen eyes. But he spoke no word +and made no sign till I had finished the tale. +</p> + +<p> +“You are strangely foolish, nephew,” he said at length. “For +the most part youth fails through rashness, but you err by over-caution. By +over-caution in your fence you lost your chance last night, and so by +over-caution in hiding this tale from me you have lost a far greater +opportunity. What, have you not seen me give counsel in many such matters, and +have you ever known me to betray the confidence even of the veriest stranger? +Why then did you fear for yours?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know,” I answered, “but I thought that first I +would search for myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pride goeth before a fall, nephew. Now listen: had I known this history +a month ago, by now de Garcia had perished miserably, and not by your hand, but +by that of the law. I have been acquainted with the man from his childhood, and +know enough to hang him twice over did I choose to speak. More, I knew your +mother, boy, and now I see that it was the likeness in your face to hers that +haunted me, for from the first it was familiar. It was I also who bribed the +keepers of the Holy Office to let your father loose, though, as it chanced, I +never saw him, and arranged his flight. Since then, I have had de Garcia +through my hands some four or five times, now under this name and now under +that. Once even he came to me as a client, but the villainy that he would have +worked was too black for me to touch. This man is the wickedest whom I have +known in Seville, and that is saying much, also he is the cleverest and the +most revengeful. He lives by vice for vice, and there are many deaths upon his +hands. But he has never prospered in his evil-doing, and to-day he is but an +adventurer without a name, who lives by blackmail, and by ruining women that he +may rob them at his leisure. Give me those books from the strong box yonder, +and I will tell you of this de Garcia.” +</p> + +<p> +I did as he bade me, bringing the heavy parchment volumes, each bound in vellum +and written in cipher. +</p> + +<p> +“These are my records,” he said, “though none can read them +except myself. Now for the index. Ah! here it is. Give me volume three, and +open it at page two hundred and one.” +</p> + +<p> +I obeyed, laying the book on the bed before him, and he began to read the +crabbed marks as easily as though they were good black-letter. +</p> + +<p> +“De Garcia—Juan. Height, appearance, family, false names, and so +on. This is it—history. Now listen.” +</p> + +<p> +Then came some two pages of closely written matter, expressed in secret signs +that Fonseca translated as he read. It was brief enough, but such a record as +it contained I have never heard before nor since. Here, set out against this +one man’s name, was well nigh every wickedness of which a human being +could be capable, carried through by him to gratify his appetites and +revengeful hate, and to provide himself with gold. +</p> + +<p> +In that black list were two murders: one of a rival by the knife, and one of a +mistress by poison. And there were other things even worse, too shameful, +indeed, to be written. +</p> + +<p> +“Doubtless there is more that has not come beneath my notice,” said +Fonseca coolly, “but these things I know for truth, and one of the +murders could be proved against him were he captured. Stay, give me ink, I must +add to the record.” +</p> + +<p> +And he wrote in his cipher: “In May, 1517, the said de Garcia sailed to +England on a trading voyage, and there, in the parish of Ditchingham, in the +county of Norfolk, he murdered Luisa Wingfield, spoken of above as Luisa de +Garcia, his cousin, to whom he was once betrothed. In September of the same +year, or previously, under cover of a false marriage, he decoyed and deserted +one Donna Isabella of the noble family of Siguenza, a nun in a religious house +in this city.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” I exclaimed, “is the girl who came to seek your help +two nights since the same that de Garcia deserted?” +</p> + +<p> +“The very same, nephew. It was she whom you heard pleading with him last +night. Had I known two days ago what I know to-day, by now this villain had +been safe in prison. But perhaps it is not yet too late. I am ill, but I will +rise and see to it. Leave it to me, nephew. Go, nurse yourself, and leave it to +me; if anything may be done I can do it. Stay, bid a messenger be ready. This +evening I shall know whatever there is to be known.” +</p> + +<p> +That night Fonseca sent for me again. +</p> + +<p> +“I have made inquiries,” he said. “I have even warned the +officers of justice for the first time for many years, and they are hunting de +Garcia as bloodhounds hunt a slave. But nothing can be heard of him. He has +vanished and left no trace. To-night I write to Cadiz, for he may have fled +there down the river. One thing I have discovered, however. The Señora Isabella +was caught by the watch, and being recognised as having escaped from a convent, +she was handed over to the executories of the Holy Office, that her case may be +investigated, or in other words, should her fault be proved, to death.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can she be rescued?” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible. Had she followed my counsel she would never have been +taken.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can she be communicated with?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Twenty years ago it might have been managed, now the Office is +stricter and purer. Gold has no power there. We shall never see or hear of her +again, unless, indeed, it is at the hour of her death, when, should she choose +to speak with me, the indulgence may possibly be granted to her, though I doubt +it. But it is not likely that she will wish to do so. Should she succeed in +hiding her disgrace, she may escape; but it is not probable. Do not look so +sad, nephew, religion must have its sacrifices. Perchance it is better for her +to die thus than to live for many years dead in life. She can die but once. May +her blood lie heavy on de Garcia’s head!” +</p> + +<p> +“Amen!” I answered. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX<br /> +THOMAS BECOMES RICH</h2> + +<p> +For many months we heard no more of de Garcia or of Isabella de Siguenza. Both +had vanished leaving no sign, and we searched for them in vain. As for me I +fell back into my former way of life of assistant to Fonseca, posing before the +world as his nephew. But it came about that from the night of my duel with the +murderer, my master’s health declined steadily through the action of a +wasting disease of the liver which baffled all skill, so that within eight +months of that time he lay almost bedridden and at the point of death. His mind +indeed remained quite clear, and on occasions he would even receive those who +came to consult him, reclining on a chair and wrapped in his embroidered robe. +But the hand of death lay on him, and he knew that it was so. As the weeks went +by he grew more and more attached to me, till at length, had I been his son, he +could not have treated me with a greater affection, while for my part I did +what lay in my power to lessen his sufferings, for he would let no other +physician near him. +</p> + +<p> +At length when he had grown very feeble he expressed a desire to see a notary. +The man he named was sent for and remained closeted with him for an hour or +more, when he left for a while to return with several of his clerks, who +accompanied him to my master’s room, from which I was excluded. Presently +they all went away, bearing some parchments with them. +</p> + +<p> +That evening Fonseca sent for me. I found him very weak, but cheerful and full +of talk. +</p> + +<p> +“Come here, nephew,” he said, “I have had a busy day. I have +been busy all my life through, and it would not be well to grow idle at the +last. Do you know what I have been doing this day?” +</p> + +<p> +I shook my head. +</p> + +<p> +“I will tell you. I have been making my will—there is something to +leave; not so very much, but still something.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not talk of wills,” I said; “I trust that you may live +for many years.” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed. “You must think badly of my case, nephew, when you think that +I can be deceived thus. I am about to die as you know well, and I do not fear +death. My life has been prosperous but not happy, for it was blighted in its +spring—no matter how. The story is an old one and not worth telling; +moreover, whichever way it had read, it had all been one now in the hour of +death. We must travel our journey each of us; what does it matter if the road +has been good or bad when we have reached the goal? For my part religion +neither comforts nor frightens me now at the last. I will stand or fall upon +the record of my life. I have done evil in it and I have done good; the evil I +have done because nature and temptation have been too strong for me at times, +the good also because my heart prompted me to it. Well, it is finished, and +after all death cannot be so terrible, seeing that every human being is born to +undergo it, together with all living things. Whatever else is false, I hold +this to be true, that God exists and is more merciful than those who preach Him +would have us to believe.” And he ceased exhausted. +</p> + +<p> +Often since then I have thought of his words, and I still think of them now +that my own hour is so near. As will be seen Fonseca was a fatalist, a belief +which I do not altogether share, holding as I do that within certain limits we +are allowed to shape our own characters and destinies. But his last sayings I +believe to be true. God is merciful, and death is not terrible either in its +act or in its consequence. +</p> + +<p> +Presently Fonseca spoke again. “Why do you lead me to talk of such +things? They weary me and I have little time. I was telling of my will. Nephew, +listen. Except certain sums that I have given to be spent in +charities—not in masses, mind you—I have left you all I +possess.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have left it to <i>me!</i>” I said astonished. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, nephew, to you. Why not? I have no relations living and I have +learned to love you, I who thought that I could never care again for any man or +woman or child. I am grateful to you, who have proved to me that my heart is +not dead, take what I give you as a mark of my gratitude.” +</p> + +<p> +Now I began to stammer my thanks, but he stopped me. “The sum that you +will inherit, nephew, amounts in all to about five thousand gold pesos, or +perhaps twelve thousand of your English pounds, enough for a young man to begin +life on, even with a wife. Indeed there in England it may well be held a great +fortune, and I think that your betrothed’s father will make no more +objection to you as a son-in-law. Also there is this house and all that it +contains; the library and the silver are valuable, and you will do well to keep +them. All is left to you with the fullest formality, so that no question can +arise as to your right to take it; indeed, foreseeing my end, I have of late +called in my moneys, and for the most part the gold lies in strong boxes in the +secret cupboard in the wall yonder that you know of. It would have been more +had I known you some years ago, for then, thinking that I grew too rich who was +without an heir, I gave away as much as what remains in acts of mercy and in +providing refuge for the homeless and the suffering. Thomas Wingfield, for the +most part this money has come to me as the fruit of human folly and human +wretchedness, frailty and sin. Use it for the purposes of wisdom and the +advancing of right and liberty. May it prosper you, and remind you of me, your +old master, the Spanish quack, till at last you pass it on to your children or +the poor. And now one word more. If your conscience will let you, abandon the +pursuit of de Garcia. Take your fortune and go with it to England; wed that +maid whom you desire, and follow after happiness in whatever way seems best to +you. Who are you that you should mete out vengeance on this knave de Garcia? +Let him be, and he will avenge himself upon himself. Otherwise you may undergo +much toil and danger, and in the end lose love, and life, and fortune at a +blow.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I have sworn to kill him,” I answered, “and how can I +break so solemn an oath? How could I sit at home in peace beneath the burden of +such shame?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know; it is not for me to judge. You must do as you wish, but +in the doing of it, it may happen that you will fall into greater shames than +this. You have fought the man and he has escaped you. Let him go if you are +wise. Now bend down and kiss me, and bid me farewell. I do not desire that you +should see me die, and my death is near. I cannot tell if we shall meet again +when in your turn you have lain as I lie now, or if we shape our course for +different stars. If so, farewell for ever.” +</p> + +<p> +Then I leant down and kissed him on the forehead, and as I did so I wept, for +not till this hour did I learn how truly I had come to love him, so truly that +it seemed to me as though my father lay there dying. +</p> + +<p> +“Weep not,” he said, “for all our life is but a parting. Once +I had a son like you, and ours was the bitterest of farewells. Now I go to seek +for him again who could not come back to me, so weep not because I die. +Good-bye, Thomas Wingfield. May God prosper and protect you! Now go!” +</p> + +<p> +So I went weeping, and that night, before the dawn, all was over with Andres de +Fonseca. They told me that he was conscious to the end and died murmuring the +name of that son of whom he spoke in his last words to me. +</p> + +<p> +What was the history of this son, or of Fonseca himself, I never learned, for +like an Indian he hid his trail as step by step he wandered down the path of +life. He never spoke of his past, and in all the books and documents that he +left behind him there is no allusion to it. Once, some years ago, I read +through the cipher volumes of records that I have spoken of, and of which he +gave me the key before he died. They stand before me on the shelf as I write, +and in them are many histories of shame, sorrow, and evil, of faith deluded and +innocence betrayed, of the cruelty of priests, of avarice triumphant over love, +and of love triumphant over death—enough, indeed, to furnish half a +hundred of true romances. But among these chronicles of a generation now past +and forgotten, there is no mention of Fonseca’s own name and no hint of +his own story. It is lost for ever, and perhaps this is well. So died my +benefactor and best friend. +</p> + +<p> +When he was made ready for burial I went in to see him and he looked calm and +beautiful in his death sleep. Then it was that she who had arrayed him for the +grave handed to me two portraits most delicately painted on ivory and set in +gold, which had been found about his neck. I have them yet. One is of the head +of a lady with a sweet and wistful countenance, and the other the face of a +dead youth also beautiful, but very sad. Doubtless they were mother and son, +but I know no more about them. +</p> + +<p> +On the morrow I buried Andres de Fonseca, but with no pomp, for he had said +that he wished as little money as possible spent upon his dead body, and +returned to the house to meet the notaries. Then the seals were broken and the +parchments read and I was put in full possession of the dead man’s +wealth, and having deducted such sums as were payable for dues, legacies, and +fees, the notaries left me bowing humbly, for was I not rich? Yes, I was rich, +wealth had come to me without effort, and I had reason to desire it, yet this +was the saddest night that I had passed since I set foot in Spain, for my mind +was filled with doubts and sorrow, and moreover my loneliness got a hold of me. +But sad as it might be, it was destined to seem yet more sorrowful before the +morning. For as I sat making pretence to eat, a servant came to me saying that +a woman waited in the outer room who had asked to see his late master. Guessing +that this was some client who had not heard of Fonseca’s death I was +about to order that she should be dismissed, then bethought me that I might be +of service to her or at the least forget some of my own trouble in listening to +hers. So I bade him bring her in. Presently she came, a tall woman wrapped in a +dark cloak that hid her face. I bowed and motioned to her to be seated, when +suddenly she started and spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“I asked to see Don Andres de Fonseca,” she said in a low quick +voice. “You are not he, señor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Andres de Fonseca was buried to-day,” I answered. “I was his +assistant in his business and am his heir. If I can serve you in any way I am +at your disposal.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are young—very young,” she murmured confusedly, +“and the matter is terrible and urgent. How can I trust you?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is for you to judge, señora.” +</p> + +<p> +She thought a while, then drew off her cloak, displaying the robes of a nun. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen,” she said. “I must do many a penance for this +night’s work, and very hardly have I won leave to come hither upon an +errand of mercy. Now I cannot go back empty-handed, so I must trust you. But +first swear by thine blessed Mother of God that you will not betray me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I give you my word,” I answered; “if that is not enough, let +us end this talk.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not be angry with me,” she pleaded; “I have not left my +convent walls for many years and I am distraught with grief. I seek a poison of +the deadliest. I will pay well for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not the tool of murderers,” I answered. “For what +purpose do you wish the poison?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I must tell you—yet how can I? In our convent there dies +to-night a woman young and fair, almost a girl indeed, who has broken the vows +she took. She dies to-night with her babe—thus, oh God, thus! by being +built alive into the foundations of the house she has disgraced. It is the +judgment that has been passed upon her, judgment without forgiveness or +reprieve. I am the abbess of this convent—ask not its name or +mine—and I love this sinner as though she were my daughter. I have +obtained this much of mercy for her because of my faithful services to the +church and by secret influence, that when I give her the cup of water before +the work is done, I may mix poison with it and touch the lips of the babe with +poison, so that their end is swift. I may do this and yet have no sin upon my +soul. I have my pardon under seal. Help me then to be an innocent murderess, +and to save this sinner from her last agonies on earth.” +</p> + +<p> +I cannot set down the feelings with which I listened to this tale of horror, +for words could not carry them. I stood aghast seeking an answer, and a +dreadful thought entered my mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this woman named Isabella de Siguenza?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“That name was hers in the world,” she answered, “though how +you know it I cannot guess.” +</p> + +<p> +“We know many things in this house, mother. Say now, can this Isabella be +saved by money or by interest?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is impossible; her sentence has been confirmed by the Tribunal of +Mercy. She must die and within two hours. Will you not give the poison?” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot give it unless I know its purpose, mother. This may be a barren +tale, and the medicine might be used in such a fashion that I should fall +beneath the law. At one price only can I give it, and it is that I am there to +see it used.” +</p> + +<p> +She thought a while and answered: “It may be done, for as it chances the +wording of my absolution will cover it. But you must come cowled as a priest, +that those who carry out the sentence may know nothing. Still others will know +and I warn you that should you speak of the matter you yourself will meet with +misfortune. The Church avenges itself on those who betray its secrets, +señor.” +</p> + +<p> +“As one day its secrets will avenge themselves upon the Church,” I +answered bitterly. “And now let me seek a fitting drug—one that is +swift, yet not too swift, lest your hounds should see themselves baffled of the +prey before all their devilry is done. Here is something that will do the +work,” and I held up a phial that I drew from a case of such medicines. +“Come, veil yourself, mother, and let us be gone upon this ‘errand +of mercy.’” +</p> + +<p> +She obeyed, and presently we left the house and walked away swiftly through the +crowded streets till we came to the ancient part of the city along the +river’s edge. Here the woman led me to a wharf where a boat was in +waiting for her. We entered it, and were rowed for a mile or more up the stream +till the boat halted at a landing-place beneath a high wall. Leaving it, we +came to a door in the wall on which my companion knocked thrice. Presently a +shutter in the woodwork was drawn, and a white face peeped through the grating +and spoke. My companion answered in a low voice, and after some delay the door +was opened, and I found myself in a large walled garden planted with orange +trees. Then the abbess spoke to me. +</p> + +<p> +“I have led you to our house,” she said. “If you know where +you are, and what its name may be, for your own sake I pray you forget it when +you leave these doors.” +</p> + +<p> +I made no answer, but looked round the dim and dewy garden. +</p> + +<p> +Here it was doubtless that de Garcia had met that unfortunate who must die this +night. A walk of a hundred paces brought us to another door in the wall of a +long low building of Moorish style. Here the knocking and the questioning were +repeated at more length. Then the door was opened, and I found myself in a +passage, ill lighted, long and narrow, in the depths of which I could see the +figures of nuns flitting to and fro like bats in a tomb. The abbess walked down +the passage till she came to a door on the right which she opened. It led into +a cell, and here she left me in the dark. For ten minutes or more I stayed +there, a prey to thoughts that I had rather forget. At length the door opened +again, and she came in, followed by a tall priest whose face I could not see, +for he was dressed in the white robe and hood of the Dominicans that left +nothing visible except his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Greeting, my son,” he said, when he had scanned me for a while. +“The abbess mother has told me of your errand. You are full young for +such a task.” +</p> + +<p> +“Were I old I should not love it better, father. You know the case. I am +asked to provide a deadly drug for a certain merciful purpose. I have provided +that drug, but I must be there to see that it is put to proper use.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are very cautious, my son. The Church is no murderess. This woman +must die because her sin is flagrant, and of late such wickedness has become +common. Therefore, after much thought and prayer, and many searchings to find a +means of mercy, she is condemned to death by those whose names are too high to +be spoken. I, alas, am here to see the sentence carried out with a certain +mitigation which has been allowed by the mercy of her chief judge. It seems +that your presence is needful to this act of love, therefore I suffer it. The +mother abbess has warned you that evil dogs the feet of those who reveal the +secrets of the Church. For your own sake I pray you to lay that warning to +heart.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am no babbler, father, so the caution is not needed. One word more. +This visit should be well feed, the medicine is costly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fear not, physician,” the monk answered with a note of scorn in +his voice; “name your sum, it shall be paid to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I ask no money, father. Indeed I would pay much to be far away to-night. +I ask only that I may be allowed to speak with this girl before she +dies.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” he said, starting, “surely you are not that wicked +man? If so, you are bold indeed to risk the sharing of her fate.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, father, I am not that man. I never saw Isabella de Siguenza except +once, and I have never spoken to her. I am not the man who tricked her but I +know him; he is named Juan de Garcia.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” he said quickly, “she would never tell his real name, +even under threat of torture. Poor erring soul, she could be faithful in her +unfaith. Of what would you speak to her?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to ask her whither this man has gone. He is my enemy, and I would +follow him as I have already followed him far. He has done worse by me and mine +than by this poor girl even. Grant my request, father, that I may be able to +work my vengeance on him, and with mine the Church’s also.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Vengeance is mine,’ saith the Lord; ‘I will +repay.’ Yet it may be, son, that the Lord will choose you as the +instrument of his wrath. An opportunity shall be given you to speak with her. +Now put on this dress”—and he handed me a white Dominican hood and +robe—“and follow me.” +</p> + +<p> +“First,” I said, “let me give this medicine to the abbess, +for I will have no hand in its administering. Take it, mother, and when the +time comes, pour the contents of the phial into a cup of water. Then, having +touched the mouth and tongue of the babe with the fluid, give it to the mother +to drink and be sure that she does drink it. Before the bricks are built up +about them both will sleep sound, never to wake again.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will do it,” murmured the abbess; “having absolution I +will be bold, and do it for love and mercy’s sake!” +</p> + +<p> +“Your heart is too soft, sister. Justice <i>is</i> mercy,” said the +monk with a sigh. “Alas for the frailty of the flesh that wars against +the spirit!” +</p> + +<p> +Then I clothed myself in the ghastly looking dress, and they took lamps and +motioned to me to follow them. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X<br /> +THE PASSING OF ISABELLA DE SIGUENZA</h2> + +<p> +Silently we went down the long passage, and as we went I saw the eyes of the +dwellers in this living tomb watch us pass through the gratings of their cell +doors. Little wonder that the woman about to die had striven to escape from +such a home back to the world of life and love! Yet for that crime she must +perish. Surely God will remember the doings of such men as these priests, and +the nation that fosters them. And, in deed, He does remember, for where is the +splendour of Spain to-day, and where are the cruel rites she gloried in? Here +in England their fetters are broken for ever, and in striving to bind them fast +upon us free Englishmen she is broken also—never to be whole again. +</p> + +<p> +At the far end of the passage we found a stair down which we passed. At its +foot was an iron-bound door that the monk unlocked and locked again upon the +further side. Then came another passage hollowed in the thickness of the wall, +and a second door, and we were in the place of death. +</p> + +<p> +It was a vault low and damp, and the waters of the river washed its outer wall, +for I could hear their murmuring in the silence. Perhaps the place may have +measured ten paces in length by eight broad. For the rest its roof was +supported by massive columns, and on one side there was a second door that led +to a prison cell. At the further end of this gloomy den, that was dimly lighted +by torches and lamps, two men with hooded heads, and draped in coarse black +gowns, were at work, silently mixing lime that sent up a hot steam upon the +stagnant air. By their sides were squares of dressed stone ranged neatly +against the end of the vault, and before them was a niche cut in the thickness +of the wall itself, shaped like a large coffin set upon its smaller end. In +front of this niche was placed a massive chair of chestnut wood. I noticed also +that two other such coffin-shaped niches had been cut in this same wall, and +filled in with similar blocks of whitish stone. On the face of each was a date +graved in deep letters. One had been sealed up some thirty years before, and +one hard upon a hundred. +</p> + +<p> +These two men were the only occupants of the vault when we entered it, but +presently a sound of soft and solemn singing stole down the second passage. +Then the door was opened, the mason monks ceased labouring at the heap of lime, +and the sound of singing grew louder so that I could catch the refrain. It was +that of a Latin hymn for the dying. Next through the open door came the choir, +eight veiled nuns walking two by two, and ranging themselves on either side of +the vault they ceased their singing. After them followed the doomed woman, +guarded by two more nuns, and last of all a priest bearing a crucifix. This man +wore a black robe, and his thin half-frenzied face was uncovered. All these and +other things I noticed and remembered, yet at the time it seemed to me that I +saw nothing except the figure of the victim. I knew her again, although I had +seen her but once in the moonlight. She was changed indeed, her lovely face was +fuller and the great tormented eyes shone like stars against its waxen pallor, +relieved by the carmine of her lips alone. Still it was the same face that some +eight months before I had seen lifted in entreaty to her false lover. Now her +tall shape was wrapped about with grave clothes over which her black hair +streamed, and in her arms she bore a sleeping babe that from time to time she +pressed convulsively to her breast. +</p> + +<p> +On the threshold of her tomb Isabella de Siguenza paused and looked round +wildly as though for help, scanning each of the silent watchers to find a +friend among them. Then her eye fell upon the niche and the heap of smoking +lime and the men who guarded it, and she shuddered and would have fallen had +not those who attended her led her to the chair and placed her in it—a +living corpse. +</p> + +<p> +Now the dreadful rites began. The Dominican father stood before her and recited +her offence, and the sentence that had been passed upon her, which doomed her, +“to be left alone with God and the child of your sin, that He may deal +with you as He sees fit.“<a href="#fn-3" name="fnref-3" id="fnref-3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> +To all of this she seemed to pay no heed, nor to the exhortation that followed. +At length he ceased with a sigh, and turning to me said: +</p> + +<p> +“Draw near to this sinner, brother, and speak with her before it is too +late.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-3" id="fn-3"></a> <a href="#fnref-3">[3]</a> +Lest such cruelty should seem impossible and unprecedented, the writer may +mention that in the museum of the city of Mexico, he has seen the desiccated +body of a young woman, which was found immured in the walls of a religious +building. With it is the body of an infant. Although the exact cause of her +execution remains a matter of conjecture, there can be no doubt as to the +manner of her death, for in addition to other evidences, the marks of the rope +with which her limbs were bound in life are still distinctly visible. Such in +those days were the mercies of religion! +</p> + +<p> +Then he bade all present gather themselves at the far end of the vault that our +talk might not be overheard, and they did so without wonder, thinking doubtless +that I was a monk sent to confess the doomed woman. +</p> + +<p> +So I drew near with a beating heart, and bending over her I spoke in her ear. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen to me, Isabella de Siguenza!” I said; and as I uttered the +name she started wildly. “Where is that de Garcia who deceived and +deserted you?” +</p> + +<p> +“How have you learnt his true name?” she answered. “Not even +torture would have wrung it from me as you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am no monk and I know nothing. I am that man who fought with de Garcia +on the night when you were taken, and who would have killed him had you not +seized me.” +</p> + +<p> +“At the least I saved him, that is my comfort now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isabella de Siguenza,” I said, “I am your friend, the best +you ever had and the last, as you shall learn presently. Tell me where this man +is, for there is that between us which must be settled.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you are my friend, weary me no more. I do not know where he is. +Months ago he went whither you will scarcely follow, to the furthest Indies; +but you will never find him there.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may still be that I shall, and if it should so chance, say have you +any message for this man?” +</p> + +<p> +“None—yes, this. Tell him how we died, his child and his +wife—tell him that I did my best to hide his name from the priests lest +some like fate should befall him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that all?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. No, it is not all. Tell him that I passed away loving and +forgiving.” +</p> + +<p> +“My time is short,” I said; “awake and listen!” for +having spoken thus she seemed to be sinking into a lethargy. “I was the +assistant of that Andres de Fonseca whose counsel you put aside to your ruin, +and I have given a certain drug to the abbess yonder. When she offers you the +cup of water, see that you drink and deep, you and the child. If so none shall +ever die more happily. Do you understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—yes,” she gasped, “and may blessings rest upon you +for the gift. Now I am no more afraid—for I have long desired to +die—it was the way I feared.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then farewell, and God be with you, unhappy woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Farewell,” she answered softly, “but call me not unhappy who +am about to die thus easily with that I love.” And she glanced at the +sleeping babe. +</p> + +<p> +Then I drew back and stood with bent head, speaking no word. Now the Dominican +motioned to all to take the places where they had stood before and asked her: +</p> + +<p> +“Erring sister, have you aught to say before you are silent for +ever?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she answered in a clear, sweet voice, that never even +quavered, so bold had she become since she learned that her death would be +swift and easy. “Yes, I have this to say, that I go to my end with a +clean heart, for if I have sinned it is against custom and not against God. I +broke the vows indeed, but I was forced to take those vows, and, therefore, +they did not bind. I was a woman born for light and love, and yet I was thrust +into the darkness of this cloister, there to wither dead in life. And so I +broke the vows, and I am glad that I have broken them, though it has brought me +to this. If I was deceived and my marriage is no marriage before the law as +they tell me now, I knew nothing of it, therefore to me it is still valid and +holy and on my soul there rests no stain. At the least I have lived, and for +some few hours I have been wife and mother, and it is as well to die swiftly in +this cell that your mercy has prepared, as more slowly in those above. And now +for you—I tell you that your wickedness shall find you out, you who dare +to say to God’s children—‘Ye shall not love,’ and to +work murder on them because they will not listen. It shall find you out I say, +and not only you but the Church you serve. Both priest and Church shall be +broken together and shall be a scorn in the mouths of men to come.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is distraught,” said the Dominican as a sigh of fear and +wonder went round the vault, “and blasphemes in her madness. Forget her +words. Shrive her, brother, swiftly ere she adds to them.” +</p> + +<p> +Then the black-robed, keen-eyed priest came to her, and holding the cross +before her face, began to mutter I know not what. But she rose from the chair +and thrust the crucifix aside. +</p> + +<p> +“Peace!” she said, “I will not be shriven by such as you. I +take my sins to God and not to you—you who do murder in the name of +Christ.” +</p> + +<p> +The fanatic heard and a fury took him. +</p> + +<p> +“Then go unshriven down to hell, you—” and he named her by +ill names and struck her in the face with the ivory crucifix. +</p> + +<p> +The Dominican bade him cease his revilings angrily enough, but Isabella de +Siguenza wiped her bruised brow and laughed aloud a dreadful laugh to hear. +</p> + +<p> +“Now I see that you are a coward also,” she said. “Priest, +this is my last prayer, that you also may perish at the hands of fanatics, and +more terribly than I die to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +Then they hurried her into the place prepared for her and she spoke again: +</p> + +<p> +“Give me to drink, for we thirst, my babe and I!” +</p> + +<p> +Now I saw the abbess enter that passage whence the victim had been led. +Presently she came back bearing a cup of water in her hand and with it a loaf +of bread, and I knew by her mien that my draught was in the water. But of what +befell afterwards I cannot say certainly, for I prayed the Dominican to open +the door by which we had entered the vault, and passing through it I stood +dazed with horror at some distance. A while went by, I do not know how long, +till at length I saw the abbess standing before me, a lantern in her hand, and +she was sobbing bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“All is done,” she said. “Nay, have no fear, the draught +worked well. Before ever a stone was laid mother and child slept sound. Alas +for her soul who died unrepentant and unshriven!” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas for the souls of all who have shared in this night’s +work,” I answered. “Now, mother, let me hence, and may we never +meet again!” +</p> + +<p> +Then she led me back to the cell, where I tore off that accursed monk’s +robe, and thence to the door in the garden wall and to the boat which still +waited on the river, and I rejoiced to feel the sweet air upon my face as one +rejoices who awakes from some foul dream. But I won little sleep that night, +nor indeed for some days to come. For whenever I closed my eyes there rose +before me the vision of that beauteous woman as I saw her last by the murky +torchlight, wrapped in grave clothes and standing in the coffin-shaped niche, +proud and defiant to the end, her child clasped to her with one arm while the +other was outstretched to take the draught of death. Few have seen such a +sight, for the Holy Office and its helpers do not seek witnesses to their dark +deeds, and none would wish to see it twice. If I have described it ill, it is +not that I have forgotten, but because even now, after the lapse of some +seventy years, I can scarcely bear to write of it or to set out its horrors +fully. But of all that was wonderful about it perhaps the most wonderful was +that even to the last this unfortunate lady should still have clung to her love +for the villain who, having deceived her by a false marriage, deserted her, +leaving her to such a doom. To what end can so holy a gift as this great love +of hers have been bestowed on such a man? None can say, but so it was. Yet now +that I think of it, there is one thing even stranger than her faithfulness. +</p> + +<p> +It will be remembered that when the fanatic priest struck her she prayed that +he also might die at such hands and more terribly than she must do. So it came +about. In after years that very man, Father Pedro by name, was sent to convert +the heathen of Anahuac, among whom, because of his cruelty, he was known as the +“Christian Devil.” But it chanced that venturing too far among a +clan of the Otomie before they were finally subdued, he fell into the hands of +some priests of the war god Huitzel, and by them was sacrificed after their +dreadful fashion. I saw him as he went to his death, and without telling that I +had been present when it was uttered, I called to his mind the dying curse of +Isabella de Siguenza. Then for a moment his courage gave way, for seeing in me +nothing but an Indian chief, he believed that the devil had put the words into +my lips to torment him, causing me to speak of what I knew nothing. But enough +of this now; if it is necessary I will tell of it in its proper place. At +least, whether it was by chance, or because she had a gift of vision in her +last hours, or that Providence was avenged on him after this fashion, so it +came about, and I do not sorrow for it, though the death of this priest brought +much misfortune on me. +</p> + +<p> +This then was the end of Isabella de Siguenza who was murdered by priests +because she had dared to break their rule. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +So soon as I could clear my mind somewhat of all that I had seen and heard in +that dreadful vault, I began to consider the circumstances in which I found +myself. In the first place I was now a rich man, and if it pleased me to go +back to Norfolk with my wealth, as Fonseca had pointed out, my prospects were +fair indeed. But the oath that I had taken hung like lead about my neck. I had +sworn to be avenged upon de Garcia, and I had prayed that the curse of heaven +might rest upon me till I was so avenged, but in England living in peace and +plenty I could scarcely come by vengeance. Moreover, now I knew where he was, +or at least in what portion of the world I might seek him, and there where +white men are few he could not hide from me as in Spain. This tidings I had +gained from the doomed lady, and I have told her story at some length because +it was through it and her that I came to journey to Hispaniola, as it was +because of the sacrifice of her tormentor, Father Pedro, by the priests of the +Otomie that I am here in England this day, since had it not been for that +sacrifice the Spaniards would never have stormed the City of Pines, where, +alive or dead, I should doubtless have been to this hour; for thus do seeming +accidents build up the fates of men. Had those words never passed +Isabella’s lips, doubtless in time I should have wearied of a useless +search and sailed for home and happiness. But having heard them it seemed to +me, to my undoing, that this would be to play the part of a sorry coward. +Moreover, strange as it may look, now I felt as though I had two wrongs to +avenge, that of my mother and that of Isabella de Siguenza. Indeed none could +have seen that young and lovely lady die thus terribly and not desire to wreak +her death on him who had betrayed and deserted her. +</p> + +<p> +So the end of it was that being of a stubborn temper, I determined to do +violence to my own desires and the dying counsels of my benefactor, and to +follow de Garcia to the ends of the earth and there to kill him as I had sworn +to do. +</p> + +<p> +First, however, I inquired secretly and diligently as to the truth of the +statement that de Garcia had sailed for the Indies, and to be brief, having the +clue, I discovered that two days after the date of the duel I had fought with +him, a man answering to de Garcia’s description, though bearing a +different name, had shipped from Seville in a <i>carak</i> bound for the Canary +Islands, which <i>carak</i> was there to await the arrival of the fleet sailing +for Hispaniola. Indeed from various circumstances I had little doubt that the +man was none other than de Garcia himself, which, although I had not thought of +it before, was not strange, seeing that then as now the Indies were the refuge +of half the desperadoes and villains who could no longer live in Spain. Thither +then I made up my mind to follow him, consoling myself a little by the thought +that at least I should see new and wonderful countries, though how new and +wonderful they were I did not guess. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Now it remained for me to dispose of the wealth which had come to me suddenly. +While I was wondering how I could place it in safety till my return, I heard by +chance that the “Adventuress” of Yarmouth, the same ship in which I +had come to Spain a year before, was again in the port of Cadiz, and I +bethought me that the best thing I could do with the gold and other articles of +value would be to ship them to England, there to be held in trust for me. So +having despatched a message to my friend the captain of the +“Adventuress,” that I had freight of value for him, I made my +preparations to depart from Seville with such speed as I might, and to this end +I sold my benefactor’s house, with many of the effects, at a price much +below their worth. The most of the books and plate, together with some other +articles, I kept, and packing them in cases, I caused them to be transported +down the river to Cadiz, to the care of those same agents to whom I had +received letters from the Yarmouth merchants. +</p> + +<p> +This being done I followed thither myself, taking the bulk of my fortune with +me in gold, which I hid artfully in numerous packages. And so it came to pass +that after a stay of a year in Seville, I turned my back on it for ever. My +sojourn there had been fortunate, for I came to it poor and left it a rich man, +to say nothing of what I had gained in experience, which was much. Yet I was +glad to be gone, for here Juan de Garcia had escaped me, here I had lost my +best friend and seen Isabella de Siguenza die. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +I came to Cadiz in safety and without loss of any of my goods or gold, and +taking boat proceeded on board the “Adventuress,” where I found her +captain, whose name was Bell, in good health and very glad to see me. What +pleased me more, however, was that he had three letters for me, one from my +father, one from my sister Mary, and one from my betrothed, Lily Bozard, the +only letter I ever received from her. The contents of these writings were not +altogether pleasing however, for I learned from them that my father was in +broken health and almost bedridden, and indeed, though I did not know it for +many years after, he died in Ditchingham Church upon the very day that I +received his letter. It was short and sad, and in it he said that he sorrowed +much that he had allowed me to go upon my mission, since he should see me no +more and could only commend me to the care of the Almighty, and pray Him for my +safe return. As for Lily’s letter, which, hearing that the +“Adventuress” was to sail for Cadiz, she had found means to +despatch secretly, though it was not short it was sad also, and told me that so +soon as my back was turned on home, my brother Geoffrey had asked her in +marriage from her father, and that they pushed the matter strongly, so that her +life was made a misery to her, for my brother waylaid her everywhere, and her +father did not cease to revile her as an obstinate jade who would fling away +her fortune for the sake of a penniless wanderer. +</p> + +<p> +“But,” it went on, “be assured, sweetheart, that unless they +marry me by force, as they have threatened to do, I will not budge from my +promise. And, Thomas, should I be wedded thus against my will, I shall not be a +wife for long, for though I am strong I believe that I shall die of shame and +sorrow. It is hard that I should be thus tormented, and for one reason only, +that you are not rich. Still I have good hope that things may better +themselves, for I see that my brother Wilfred is much inclined towards your +sister Mary, and though he also urges this marriage on me to-day, she is a +friend to both of us and may be in the way to make terms with him before she +accepts his suit.” Then the writing ended with many tender words and +prayers for my safe return. +</p> + +<p> +As for the letter from my sister Mary it was to the same purpose. As yet, she +said, she could do nothing for me with Lily Bozard, for my brother Geoffrey was +mad with love for her, my father was too ill to meddle in the matter, and +Squire Bozard was fiercely set upon the marriage because of the lands that were +at stake. Still, she hinted, things might not always be so, as a time might +come when she could speak up for me and not in vain. +</p> + +<p> +Now all this news gave me much cause for thought. More indeed, it awoke in me a +longing for home which was so strong that it grew almost to a sickness. Her +loving words and the perfume that hung about the letter of my betrothed brought +Lily back to me in such sort that my heart ached with a desire to be with her. +Moreover I knew that I should be welcome now, for my fortune was far greater +than my brother’s would ever be, and parents do not show the door to +suitors who bring more than twelve thousand golden pieces in their baggage. +Also I wished to see my father again before he passed beyond my reach. But +still between me and my desire lay the shadow of de Garcia and my oath. I had +brooded on vengeance for so long that I felt even in the midst of this strong +temptation that I should have no pleasure in my life if I forsook my quest. To +be happy I must first kill de Garcia. Moreover I had come to believe that did I +so forsake it the curse which I had invoked would surely fall upon me. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile I did this. Going to a notary I caused him to prepare a deed which I +translated into English. By this deed I vested all my fortune except two +hundred pesos that I kept for my own use, in three persons to hold the same on +my behalf till I came to claim it. Those three persons were my old master, +Doctor Grimstone of Bungay, whom I knew for the honestest of men, my sister +Mary Wingfield, and my betrothed, Lily Bozard. I directed them by this deed, +which for greater validity I signed upon the ship and caused to be witnessed by +Captain Bell and two other Englishmen, to deal with the property according to +their discretion, investing not less than half of it in the purchase of lands +and putting the rest out to interest, which interest with the rent of the lands +was to be paid to the said Lily Bozard for her own use for so long as she +remained unmarried. +</p> + +<p> +Also with the deed I executed a will by which I devised the most of my property +to Lily Bozard should she be unmarried at the date of my death, and the residue +to my sister Mary. In the event of the marriage or death of Lily, then the +whole was to pass to Mary and her heirs. +</p> + +<p> +These two documents being signed and sealed, I delivered them, together with +all my treasure and other goods, into the keeping of Captain Bell, charging him +solemnly to hand them and my possessions to Dr. Grimstone of Bungay, by whom he +would be liberally rewarded. This he promised to do, though not until he had +urged me almost with tears to accompany them myself. +</p> + +<p> +With the gold and the deeds I sent several letters; to my father, my sister, my +brother, Dr. Grimstone, Squire Bozard, and lastly to Lily herself. In these +letters I gave an account of my life and fortunes since I had come to Spain, +for I gathered that others which I had sent had never reached England, and told +them of my resolution to follow de Garcia to the ends of the earth. +</p> + +<p> +“Others,” I wrote to Lily, “may think me a madman thus to +postpone, or perchance to lose, a happiness which I desire above anything on +earth, but you who understand my heart will not blame me, however much you may +grieve for my decision. You will know that when once I have set my mind upon an +object, nothing except death itself can turn me from it, and that in this +matter I am bound by an oath which my conscience will not suffer me to break. I +could never be happy even at your side if I abandoned my search now. First must +come the toil and then the rest, first the sorrow and then the joy. Do not fear +for me, I feel that I shall live to return again, and if I do not return, at +least I am able to provide for you in such fashion that you need never be +married against your will. While de Garcia lives I must follow him.” +</p> + +<p> +To my brother Geoffrey I wrote very shortly, telling him what I thought of his +conduct in persecuting an undefended maiden and striving to do wrong to an +absent brother. I have heard that my letter pleased him very ill. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +And here I may state that those letters and everything else that I sent came +safely to Yarmouth. There the gold and goods were taken to Lowestoft and put +aboard a wherry, and when he had discharged his ship, Captain Bell sailed up +the Waveney with them till he brought them to Bungay Staithe and thence to the +house of Dr. Grimstone in Nethergate Street. Here were gathered my sister and +brother, for my father was then two months buried—and also Squire Bozard +and his son and daughter, for Captain Bell had advised them of his coming by +messenger, and when all the tale was told there was wonder and to spare. Still +greater did it grow when the chests were opened and the weight of bullion +compared with that set out in my letters, for there had never been so much gold +at once in Bungay within the memory of man. +</p> + +<p> +And now Lily wept, first for joy because of my good fortune, and then for +sorrow because I had not come with my treasure, and when he had seen all and +heard the deeds read by virtue of which Lily was a rich woman whether I lived +or died, the Squire her father swore aloud and said that he had always thought +well of me, and kissed his daughter, wishing her joy of her luck. In short all +were pleased except my brother, who left the house without a word and +straightway took to evil courses. For now the cup was dashed from his lips, +seeing that having come into my father’s lands, he had brought it about +that Lily was to be married to him by might if no other means would serve. For +even now a man can force his daughter into marriage while she is under age, and +Squire Bozard was not one to shrink from such a deed, holding as he did that a +woman’s fancies were of no account. But on this day, so great is the +power of gold, there was no more talk of her marrying any man except myself, +indeed her father would have held her back from such a thing had she shown a +mind to it, seeing that then Lily would have lost the wealth which I had +settled on her. But all talked loudly of my madness because I would not abandon +the chase of my enemy but chose to follow him to the far Indies, though Squire +Bozard took comfort from the thought that whether I lived or died the money was +still his daughter’s. Only Lily spoke up for me, saying “Thomas has +sworn an oath and he does well to keep it, for his honour is at stake. Now I go +to wait until he comes to me in this world or the next.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +But all this is out of place, for many a year passed away before I heard of +these doings. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI<br /> +THE LOSS OF THE CARAK</h2> + +<p> +On the day after I had given my fortune and letters into the charge of Captain +Bell, I watched the “Adventuress” drop slowly round the mole of +Cadiz, and so sad was I at heart, that I am not ashamed to confess I wept. I +would gladly have lost the wealth she carried if she had but carried me. But my +purpose was indomitable, and it must be some other ship that would bear me home +to the shores of England. +</p> + +<p> +As it chanced, a large Spanish <i>carak</i> named “Las Cinque +Llagas,” or “The Five Wounds,” was about to sail for +Hispaniola, and having obtained a licence to trade, I took passage in her under +my assumed name of d’Aila, passing myself off as a merchant. To further +this deception I purchased goods the value of one hundred and five pesos, and +of such nature as I was informed were most readily saleable in the Indies, +which merchandise I shipped with me. The vessel was full of Spanish +adventurers, mostly ruffians of varied career and strange history, but none the +less good companions enough when not in drink. By this time I could speak +Castilian so perfectly, and was so Spanish in appearance, that it was not +difficult for me to pass myself off as one of their nation and this I did, +inventing a feigned tale of my parentage, and of the reasons that led me to +tempt the seas. For the rest, now as ever I kept my own counsel, and +notwithstanding my reserve, for I would not mingle in their orgies, I soon +became well liked by my comrades, chiefly because of my skill in ministering to +their sicknesses. +</p> + +<p> +Of our voyage there is little to tell except of its sad end. At the Canary +Isles we stayed a month, and then sailed away for Hispaniola, meeting with fine +weather but light winds. When, as our captain reckoned, we were within a +week’s sail of the port of San Domingo for which we were bound, the +weather changed, and presently gathered to a furious tempest from the north +that grew more terrible every hour. For three days and nights our cumbrous +vessel groaned and laboured beneath the stress of the gale, that drove us on +rapidly we knew not whither, till at length it became clear that, unless the +weather moderated, we must founder. Our ship leaked at every seam, one of our +masts was carried away, and another broken in two, at a height of twenty feet +from the deck. But all these misfortunes were small compared to what was to +come, for on the fourth morning a great wave swept off our rudder, and we +drifted helpless before the waves. An hour later a green sea came aboard of us, +washing away the captain, so that we filled and settled down to founder. +</p> + +<p> +Then began a most horrid scene. For several days both the crew and passengers +had been drinking heavily to allay their terror, and now that they saw their +end at hand, they rushed to and fro screaming, praying, and blaspheming. Such +of them as remained sober began to get out the two boats, into which I and +another man, a worthy priest, strove to place the women and children, of whom +we had several on board. But this was no easy task, for the drunken sailors +pushed them aside and tried to spring into the boats, the first of which +overturned, so that all were lost. Just then the <i>carak</i> gave a lurch +before she sank, and, seeing that everything was over, I called to the priest +to follow me, and springing into the sea I swam for the second boat, which, +laden with some shrieking women, had drifted loose in the confusion. As it +chanced I reached it safely, being a strong swimmer, and was able to rescue the +priest before he sank. Then the vessel reared herself up on her stern and +floated thus for a minute or more, which gave us time to get out the oars and +row some fathoms further away from her. Scarcely had we done so, when, with one +wild and fearful scream from those on board of her, she rushed down into the +depths below, nearly taking us with her. For a while we sat silent, for our +horror overwhelmed us, but when the whirlpool which she made had ceased to +boil, we rowed back to where the <i>carak</i> had been. Now all the sea was +strewn with wreckage, but among it we found only one child living that had +clung to an oar. The rest, some two hundred souls, had been sucked down with +the ship and perished miserably, or if there were any still living, we could +not find them in that weltering sea over which the darkness was falling. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, it was well for our own safety that we failed in so doing, for the +little boat had ten souls on board in all, which was as many as she could +carry—the priest and I being the only men among them. I have said that +the darkness was falling, and as it chanced happily for us, so was the sea, or +assuredly we must have been swamped. All that we could do was to keep the +boat’s head straight to the waves, and this we did through the long +night. It was a strange thing to see, or rather to hear, that good man the +priest my companion, confessing the women one by one as he laboured at his oar, +and when all were shriven sending up prayers to God for the salvation of our +souls, for of the safety of our bodies we despaired. What I felt may well be +imagined, but I forbear to describe it, seeing that, bad as was my case, there +were worse ones before me of which I shall have to tell in their season. +</p> + +<p> +At length the night wore away, and the dawn broke upon the desolate sea. +Presently the sun came up, for which at first we were thankful, for we were +chilled to the bone, but soon its heat grew intolerable, since we had neither +food nor water in the boat, and already we were parched with thirst. But now +the wind had fallen to a steady breeze, and with the help of the oars and a +blanket, we contrived to fashion a sail that drew us through the water at a +good speed. But the ocean was vast, and we did not know whither we were +sailing, and every hour the agony of thirst pressed us more closely. Towards +mid-day a child died suddenly and was thrown into the sea, and some three hours +later the mother filled a bailing bowl and drank deep of the bitter water. For +a while it seemed to assuage her thirst, then suddenly a madness took her, and +springing up she cast herself overboard and sank. Before the sun, glowing like +a red-hot ball, had sunk beneath the horizon, the priest and I were the only +ones in that company who could sit upright—the rest lay upon the bottom +of the boat heaped one on another like dying fish groaning in their misery. +Night fell at last and brought us some relief from our sufferings, for the air +grew cooler. But the rain we prayed for did not fall, and so great was the heat +that, when the sun rose again in a cloudless sky, we knew, if no help reached +us, that it must be the last which we should see. +</p> + +<p> +An hour after dawn another child died, and as we were in the act of casting the +body into the sea, I looked up and saw a vessel far away, that seemed to be +sailing in such fashion that she would pass within two miles of where we were. +Returning thanks to God for this most blessed sight, we took to the oars, for +the wind was now so light that our clumsy sail would no longer draw us through +the water, and rowed feebly so as to cut the path of the ship. When we had +laboured for more than an hour the wind fell altogether and the vessel lay +becalmed at a distance of about three miles. So the priest and I rowed on till +I thought that we must die in the boat, for the heat of the sun was like that +of a flame and there came no wind to temper it; by now, too, our lips were +cracked with thirst. Still we struggled on till the shadow of the ship’s +masts fell athwart us and we saw her sailors watching us from the deck. Now we +were alongside and they let down a ladder of rope, speaking to us in Spanish. +</p> + +<p> +How we reached the deck I cannot say, but I remember falling beneath the shade +of an awning and drinking cup after cup of the water that was brought to me. At +last even my thirst was satisfied, and for a while I grew faint and dizzy, and +had no stomach for the meat which was thrust into my hand. Indeed, I think that +I must have fainted, for when I came to myself the sun was straight overhead, +and it seemed to me that I had dreamed I heard a familiar and hateful voice. At +the time I was alone beneath the awning, for the crew of the ship were gathered +on the foredeck clustering round what appeared to be the body of a man. By my +side was a large plate of victuals and a flask of spirits, and feeling stronger +I ate and drank of them heartily. I had scarcely finished my meal when the men +on the foredeck lifted the body of the man, which I saw was black in colour, +and cast it overboard. Then three of them, whom from their port I took to be +officers, came towards me and I rose to my feet to meet them. +</p> + +<p> +“Señor,” said the tallest of them in a soft and gentle voice, +“suffer me to offer you our felicitations on your wonderful—” +and he stopped suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +Did I still dream, or did I know the voice? Now for the first time I could see +the man’s face—it was that of <i>Juan de Garcia!</i> But if I knew +him he also knew me. +</p> + +<p> +“Caramba!” he said, “whom have we here? Señor Thomas +Wingfield I salute you. Look, my comrades, you see this young man whom the sea +has brought to us. He is no Spaniard but an English spy. The last time that I +saw him was in the streets of Seville, and there he tried to murder me because +I threatened to reveal his trade to the authorities. Now he is here, upon what +errand he knows best.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is false,” I answered; “I am no spy, and I am come to +these seas for one purpose only—to find you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you have succeeded well, too well for your own comfort, perhaps. +Say now, do you deny that you are Thomas Wingfield and an Englishman?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not deny it. I—” +</p> + +<p> +“Your pardon. How comes it then that, as your companion the priest tells +me, you sailed in <i>Las Cinque Llagas</i> under the name of +<i>d’Aila?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“For my own reasons, Juan de Garcia.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are confused, señor. My name is Sarceda, as these gentlemen can bear +me witness. Once I knew a cavalier of the name of de Garcia, but he is +dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“You lie,” I answered; whereon one of De Garcia’s companions +struck me across the mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“Gently, friend,” said de Garcia; “do not defile your hand by +striking such rats as this, or if you must strike, use a stick. You have heard +that he confesses to passing under a false name and to being an Englishman, and +therefore one of our country’s foes. To this I add upon my word of honour +that to my knowledge he is a spy and a would-be murderer. Now, gentlemen, under +the commission of his majesty’s representative, we are judges here, but +since you may think that, having been called a liar openly by this English dog, +I might be minded to deal unjustly with him, I prefer to leave the matter in +your hands.” +</p> + +<p> +Now I tried to speak once more, but the Spaniard who had struck me, a +ferocious-looking villain, drew his sword and swore that he would run me +through if I dared to open my lips. So I thought it well to keep silent. +</p> + +<p> +“This Englishman would grace a yardarm very well,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +De Garcia, who had begun to hum a tune indifferently, smiled, looking first at +the yard and then at my neck, and the hate in his eyes seemed to burn me. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a better thought than that,” said the third officer. +“If we hung him questions might be asked, and at the least, it would be a +waste of good money. He is a finely built young man and would last some years +in the mines. Let him be sold with the rest of the cargo, or I will take him +myself at a valuation. I am in want of a few such on my estate.” +</p> + +<p> +At these words I saw de Garcia’s face fall a little, for he wished to be +rid of me for ever. Still he did not think it politic to interfere beyond +saying with a slight yawn: +</p> + +<p> +“So far as I am concerned, take him, comrade, and free of cost. Only I +warn you, watch him well or you will find a stiletto in your back.” +</p> + +<p> +The officer laughed and said: “Our friend will scarcely get a chance at +me, for I do not go a hundred paces underground, where he will find his +quarters. And now, Englishman, there is room for you below I think;” and +he called to a sailor bidding him bring the irons of the man who had died. +</p> + +<p> +This was done, and after I had been searched and a small sum in gold that I had +upon my person taken from me—it was all that remained to me of my +possessions—fetters were placed upon my ankles and round my neck, and I +was dragged into the hold. Before I reached it I knew from various signs what +was the cargo of this ship. She was laden with slaves captured in Fernandina, +as the Spaniards name the island of Cuba, that were to be sold in Hispaniola. +Among these slaves I was now numbered. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +How to tell the horrors of that hold I know not. The place was low, not more +than seven feet in height, and the slaves lay ironed in the bilge water on the +bottom of the vessel. They were crowded as thick as they could lie, being +chained to rings fixed in the sides of the ship. Altogether there may have been +two hundred of them, men, women and children, or rather there had been two +hundred when the ship sailed a week before. Now some twenty were dead, which +was a small number, since the Spaniards reckon to lose from a third to half of +their cargo in this devilish traffic. When I entered the place a deadly +sickness seized me, weak as I was, brought on by the horrible sounds and +smells, and the sights that I saw in the flare of the lanterns which my +conductors carried, for the hold was shut off from light and air. But they +dragged me along and presently I found myself chained in the midst of a line of +black men and women, many feet resting in the bilge water. There the Spaniards +left me with a jeer, saying that this was too good a bed for an Englishman to +lie on. For a while I endured, then sleep or insensibility came to my succour, +and I sank into oblivion, and so I must have remained for a day and a night. +</p> + +<p> +When I awoke it was to find the Spaniard to whom I had been sold or given, +standing near me with a lantern and directing the removal of the fetters from a +woman who was chained next to me. She was dead, and in the light of the lantern +I could see that she had been carried off by some horrible disease that was new +to me, but which I afterwards learned to know by the name of the Black Vomit. +Nor was she the only one, for I counted twenty dead who were dragged out in +succession, and I could see that many more were sick. Also I saw that the +Spaniards were not a little frightened, for they could make nothing of this +sickness, and strove to lessen it by cleansing the hold and letting air into it +by the removal of some planks in the deck above. Had they not done this I +believe that every soul of us must have perished, and I set down my own escape +from the sickness to the fact that the largest opening in the deck was made +directly above my head, so that by standing up, which my chains allowed me to +do, I could breathe air that was almost pure. +</p> + +<p> +Having distributed water and meal cakes, the Spaniards went away. I drank +greedily of the water, but the cakes I could not eat, for they were mouldy. The +sights and sounds around me were so awful that I will not try to write of them. +</p> + +<p> +And all the while we sweltered in the terrible heat, for the sun pierced +through the deck planking of the vessel, and I could feel by her lack of motion +that we were becalmed and drifting. I stood up, and by resting my heels upon a +rib of the ship and my back against her side, I found myself in a position +whence I could see the feet of the passers-by on the deck above. +</p> + +<p> +Presently I saw that one of these wore a priest’s robe, and guessing that +he must be my companion with whom I had escaped, I strove to attract his +notice, and at length succeeded. So soon as he knew who it was beneath him, the +priest lay down on the deck as though to rest himself, and we spoke together. +He told me, as I had guessed, that we were becalmed and that a great sickness +had taken hold of the ship, already laying low a third of the crew, adding that +it was a judgment from heaven because of their cruelty and wickedness. +</p> + +<p> +To this I answered that the judgment was working on the captives as well as on +the captors, and asked him where was Sarceda, as they named de Garcia. Then I +learned that he had been taken sick that morning, and I rejoiced at the news, +for if I had hated him before, it may be judged how deeply I hated him now. +Presently the priest left me and returned with water mixed with the juice of +limes, that tasted to me like nectar from the gods, and some good meat and +fruit. These he gave me through the hole in the planks, and I made shift to +seize them in my manacled hands and devoured them. After this he went away, to +my great chagrin; why, I did not discover till the following morning. +</p> + +<p> +That day passed and the long night passed, and when at length the Spaniards +visited the hold once more, there were forty bodies to be dragged out of it, +and many others were sick. After they had gone I stood up, watching for my +friend the priest, but he did not come then, nor ever again. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII<br /> +THOMAS COMES TO SHORE</h2> + +<p> +For an hour or more I stood thus craning my neck upwards to seek for the +priest. At length when I was about to sink back into the hold, for I could +stand no longer in that cramped posture, I saw a woman’s dress pass by +the hole in the deck, and knew it for one that was worn by a lady who had +escaped with me in the boat. +</p> + +<p> +“Señora,” I whispered, “for the love of God listen to me. It +is I, d’Aila, who am chained down here among the slaves.” +</p> + +<p> +She started, then as the priest had done, she sat herself down upon the deck, +and I told her of my dreadful plight, not knowing that she was acquainted with +it, and of the horrors below. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! señor,” she answered, “they can be little worse than +those above. A dreadful sickness is raging among the crew, six are already dead +and many more are raving in their last madness. I would that the sea had +swallowed us with the rest, for we have been rescued from it only to fall into +hell. Already my mother is dead and my little brother is dying.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is the priest?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“He died this morning and has just been cast into the sea. Before he died +he spoke of you, and prayed me to help you if I could. But his words were wild +and I thought that he might be distraught. And indeed how can I help +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you can find me food and drink,” I answered, “and +for our friend, God rest his soul. What of the Captain Sarceda? Is he also +dead?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, señor, he alone is recovering of all whom the scourge has smitten. +And now I must go to my brother, but first I will seek food for you.” +</p> + +<p> +She went and presently returned with meat and a flask of wine which she had +hidden beneath her dress, and I ate and blessed her. +</p> + +<p> +For two days she fed me thus, bringing me food at night. On the second night +she told me that her brother was dead and of all the crew only fifteen men and +one officer remained untouched by the sickness, and that she herself grew ill. +Also she said that the water was almost finished, and there was little food +left for the slaves. After this she came no more, and I suppose that she died +also. +</p> + +<p> +It was within twenty hours of her last visit that I left this accursed ship. +For a day none had come to feed or tend the slaves, and indeed many needed no +tending, for they were dead. Some still lived however, though so far as I could +see the most of them were smitten with the plague. I myself had escaped the +sickness, perhaps because of the strength and natural healthiness of my body, +which has always saved me from fevers and diseases, fortified as it was by the +good food that I had obtained. But now I knew that I could not live long, +indeed chained in this dreadful charnel-house I prayed for death to release me +from the horrors of such existence. The day passed as before in sweltering +heat, unbroken by any air or motion, and night came at last, made hideous by +the barbarous ravings of the dying. But even there and then I slept and dreamed +that I was walking with my love in the vale of Waveney. +</p> + +<p> +Towards the morning I was awakened by a sound of clanking iron, and opening my +eyes, I saw that men were at work, by the light of lanterns, knocking the +fetters from the dead and the living together. As the fetters were loosed a +rope was put round the body of the slave, and dead or quick, he was hauled +through the hatchway. Presently a heavy splash in the water without told the +rest of the tale. Now I understood that all the slaves were being thrown +overboard because of the want of water, and in the hope that it might avail to +save from the pestilence those of the Spaniards who still remained alive. +</p> + +<p> +I watched them at their work for a while till there were but two slaves between +me and the workers, of whom one was living and the other dead. Then I bethought +me that this would be my fate also, to be cast quick into the sea, and took +counsel with myself as to whether I should declare that I was whole from the +plague and pray them to spare me, or whether I should suffer myself to be +drowned. The desire for life was strong, but perhaps it may serve to show how +great were the torments from which I was suffering, and how broken was my +spirit by misfortunes and the horrors around me, when I say that I determined +to make no further effort to live, but rather to accept death as a merciful +release. And, indeed, I knew that there was little likelihood of such attempts +being of avail, for I saw that the Spanish sailors were mad with fear and had +but one desire, to be rid of the slaves who consumed the water, and as they +believed, had bred the pestilence. So I said such prayers as came into my head, +and although with a great shivering of fear, for the poor flesh shrinks from +its end and the unknown beyond it, however high may be the spirit, I prepared +myself to die. +</p> + +<p> +Now, having dragged away my neighbour in misery, the living savage, the men +turned to me. They were naked to the middle, and worked furiously to be done +with their hateful task, sweating with the heat, and keeping themselves from +fainting by draughts of spirit. +</p> + +<p> +“This one is alive also and does not seem so sick,” said a man as +he struck the fetters from me. +</p> + +<p> +“Alive or dead, away with the dog!” answered another hoarsely, and +I saw that it was the same officer to whom I had been given as a slave. +“It is that Englishman, and he it is who brought us ill luck. Cast the +Jonah overboard and let him try his evil eye upon the sharks.” +</p> + +<p> +“So be it,” answered the other man, and finished striking off my +fetters. “Those who have come to a cup of water each a day, do not press +their guests to share it. They show them the door. Say your prayers, +Englishman, and may they do you more good than they have done for most on this +accursed ship. Here, this is the stuff to make drowning easy, and there is more +of it on board than of water,” and he handed me the flask of spirit. I +took it and drank deep, and it comforted me a little. Then they put the rope +round me and at a signal those on the deck above began to haul till I swung +loose beneath the hatchway. As I passed that Spaniard to whom I had been given +in slavery, and who but now had counselled my casting away, I saw his face well +in the light of the lantern, and there were signs on it that a physician could +read clearly. +</p> + +<p> +“Farewell,” I said to him, “we may soon meet again. Fool, why +do you labour? Take your rest, for the plague is on you. In six hours you will +be dead!” +</p> + +<p> +His jaw dropped with terror at my words, and for a moment he stood speechless. +Then he uttered a fearful oath and aimed a blow at me with the hammer he held, +which would swiftly have put an end to my sufferings had I not at that moment +been lifted from his reach by those who pulled above. +</p> + +<p> +In another second I had fallen on the deck as they slacked the rope. Near me +stood two black men whose office it was to cast us poor wretches into the sea, +and behind them, seated in a chair, his face haggard from recent illness, sat +de Garcia fanning himself with his <i>sombrero</i>, for the night was very hot. +</p> + +<p> +He recognised me at once in the moonlight, which was brilliant, and said, +“What! are you here and still alive, Cousin? You are tough indeed; I +thought that you must be dead or dying. Indeed had it not been for this +accursed plague, I would have seen to it myself. Well, it has come right at +last, and here is the only lucky thing in all this voyage, that I shall have +the pleasure of sending you to the sharks. It consoles me for much, friend +Wingfield. So you came across the seas to seek vengeance on me? Well, I hope +that your stay has been pleasant. The accommodation was a little poor, but at +least the welcome was hearty. And now it is time to speed the parting guest. +Good night, Thomas Wingfield; if you should chance to meet your mother +presently, tell her from me that I was grieved to have to kill her, for she is +the one being whom I have loved. I did not come to murder her as you may have +thought, but she forced me to it to save myself, since had I not done so, I +should never have lived to return to Spain. She had too much of my own blood to +suffer me to escape, and it seems that it runs strong in your veins also, else +you would scarcely hold so fast by vengeance. Well, it has not prospered +you!” And he dropped back into the chair and fell to fanning himself +again with the broad hat. +</p> + +<p> +Even then, as I stood upon the eve of death, I felt my blood run hot within me +at the sting of his coarse taunts. Truly de Garcia’s triumph was +complete. I had come to hunt him down, and what was the end of it? He was about +to hurl me to the sharks. Still I answered him with such dignity as I could +command. +</p> + +<p> +“You have me at some disadvantage,” I said. “Now if there is +any manhood left in you, give me a sword and let us settle our quarrel once and +for all. You are weak from sickness I know, but what am I who have spent +certain days and nights in this hell of yours. We should be well matched, de +Garcia.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps so, Cousin, but where is the need? To be frank, things have not +gone over well with me when we stood face to face before, and it is odd, but do +you know, I have been troubled with a foreboding that you would be the end of +me. That is one of the reasons why I sought a change of air to these warmer +regions. But see the folly of forebodings, my friend. I am still alive, though +I have been ill, and I mean to go on living, but you are—forgive me for +mentioning it—you are already dead. Indeed those gentlemen,” and he +pointed to the two black men who were taking advantage of our talk to throw +into the sea the slave who followed me up the hatchway, “are waiting to +put a stop to our conversation. Have you any message that I can deliver for +you? If so, out with it, for time is short and that hold must be cleared by +daybreak.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no message to give you from myself, though I have a message for +you, de Garcia,” I answered. “But before I tell it, let me say a +word. You seem to have won, wicked murderer as you are, but perhaps the game is +not yet played. Your fears may still come true. I am dead, but my vengeance may +yet live on, for I leave it to the Hand in which I should have left it at +first. You may live some years longer, but do you think that you shall escape? +One day you will die as surely as I must die to-night, and what then, de +Garcia?” +</p> + +<p> +“A truce, I pray you,” he said with a sneer. “Surely you have +not been consecrated priest. You had a message, you said. Pray deliver it +quickly. Time presses, Cousin Wingfield. Who sends messages to an exile like +myself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Isabella de Siguenza, whom you cheated with a false marriage and +abandoned,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +He started from his chair and stood over me. +</p> + +<p> +“What of her?” he whispered fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +“Only this, the monks walled her up alive with her babe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Walled her up alive! Mother of God! how do you know that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I chanced to see it done, that is all. She prayed me to tell you of her +end and the child’s, and that she died hiding your name, loving and +forgiving. This was all her message, but I will add to it. May she haunt you +for ever, she and my mother; may they haunt you through life and death, through +earth and hell.” +</p> + +<p> +He covered his face with his hands for a moment, then dropping them sank back +into the chair and called to the black sailors. +</p> + +<p> +“Away with this slave. Why are you so slow?” +</p> + +<p> +The men advanced upon me, but I was not minded to be handled by them if I could +help it, and I was minded to cause de Garcia to share my fate. Suddenly I +bounded at him, and gripping him round the middle, I dragged him from his +chair. Such was the strength that rage and despair gave to me that I succeeded +in swinging him up to the level of the bulwarks. But there the matter ended, +for at that moment the two black sailors sprang upon us both, and tore him from +my grip. Then seeing that all was lost, for they were about to cut me down with +their swords, I placed my hand upon the bulwark and leaped into the sea. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +My reason told me that I should do well to drown as quickly as possible, and I +thought to myself that I would not try to swim, but would sink at once. Yet +love of life was too strong for me, and so soon as I touched the water, I +struck out and began to swim along the side of the ship, keeping myself in her +shadow, for I feared lest de Garcia should cause me to be shot at with arrows +and musket balls. Presently as I went I heard him say with an oath: +</p> + +<p> +“He has gone, and for good this time, but my foreboding went near to +coming true after all. Bah! how the sight of that man frightens me.” +</p> + +<p> +Now I knew in my heart that I was doing a mad thing, for though if no shark +took me, I might float for six or eight hours in this warm water yet I must +sink at last, and what would my struggle have profited me? Still I swam on +slowly, and after the filth and stench of the slave hold, the touch of the +clean water and the breath of the pure air were like food and wine to me, and I +felt strength enter into me as I went. By this time I was a hundred yards or +more from the ship, and though those on board could scarcely have seen me, I +could still hear the splash of the bodies, as the slaves were flung from her, +and the drowning cries of such among them as still lived. +</p> + +<p> +I lifted my head and looked round the waste of water, and seeing something +floating on it at a distance, I swam towards it, expecting that every moment +would be my last, because of the sharks which abound in these seas. Soon I was +near it, and to my joy I perceived that it was a large barrel, which had been +thrown from the ship, and was floating upright in the water. I reached it, and +pushing at it from below, contrived to tilt it so that I caught its upper edge +with my hand. Then I saw that it was half full of meal cakes, and that it had +been cast away because the meal was stinking. It was the weight of these rotten +cakes acting as ballast, that caused the tub to float upright in the water. Now +I bethought me, that if I could get into this barrel I should be safe from the +sharks for a while, but how to do it I did not know. +</p> + +<p> +While I wondered, chancing to glance behind me, I saw the fin of a shark +standing above the water not twenty paces away, and advancing rapidly towards +me. Then terror seized me and gave me strength and the wit of despair. Pulling +down the edge of the barrel till the water began to pour into it, I seized it +on either side with my hands, and lifting my weight upon them, I doubled my +knees. To this hour I cannot tell how I accomplished it, but the next second I +was in the cask, with no other hurt than a scraped shin. But though I had found +a boat, the boat itself was like to sink, for what with my weight and that of +the rotten meal, and of the water which had poured over the rim, the edge of +the barrel was not now an inch above the level of the sea, and I knew that did +another bucketful come aboard, it would no longer bear me. At that moment also +I saw the fin of the shark within four yards, and then felt the barrel shake as +the fish struck it with his nose. +</p> + +<p> +Now I began to bail furiously with my hands, and as I bailed, the edge of the +cask lifted itself above the water. When it had risen some two inches, the +shark, enraged at my escape, came to the surface, and turning on its side, bit +at the tub so that I heard its teeth grate on the wood and iron bands, causing +it to heel over and to spin round, shipping more water as it heeled. Now I must +bail afresh, and had the fish renewed its onset, I should have been lost. But +not finding wood and iron to its taste, it went away for a while, although I +saw its fin from time to time for the space of some hours. I bailed with my +hands till I could lift the water no longer, then making shift to take off my +boot, I bailed with that. Soon the edge of the cask stood twelve inches above +the water, and I did not lighten it further, fearing lest it should overturn. +Now I had time to rest and to remember that all this was of no avail, since I +must die at last either by the sea or because of thirst, and I lamented that my +cowardice had only sufficed to prolong my sufferings. +</p> + +<p> +Then I prayed to God to succour me, and never did I pray more heartily than in +that hour, and when I had finished praying some sort of peace and hope fell +upon me. I thought it marvellous that I should thus have escaped thrice from +great perils within the space of a few days, first from the sinking +<i>carak</i>, then from pestilence and starvation in the hold of the +slave-ship, and now, if only for a while, from the cruel jaws of the sharks. It +seemed to me that I had not been preserved from dangers which proved fatal to +so many, only that I might perish miserably at last, and even in my despair I +began to hope when hope was folly; though whether this relief was sent to me +from above, or whether it was simply that being so much alive at the moment I +could not believe that I should soon be dead, is not for me to say. +</p> + +<p> +At the least my courage rose again, and I could even find heart to note the +beauty of the night. The sea was smooth as a pond, there was no breath of wind, +and now that the moon began to sink, thousands of stars of a marvellous +brightness, such as we do not see in England, gemmed the heavens everywhere. At +last these grew pale, and dawn began to flush the east, and after it came the +first rays of sunlight. But now I could not see fifty yards around me, because +of a dense mist that gathered on the face of the quiet water, and hung there +for an hour or more. When the sun was well up and at length the mist cleared +away, I perceived that I had drifted far from the ship, of which I could only +see the masts that grew ever fainter till they vanished. Now the surface of the +sea was clear of fog except in one direction, where it hung in a thick bank of +vapour, though why it should rest there and nowhere else, I could not +understand. +</p> + +<p> +Then the sun grew hot, and my sufferings commenced, for except the draught of +spirits that had been given me in the hold of the slave-ship, I had touched no +drink for a day and a night. I will not tell them all in particular detail, it +is enough to say that those can scarcely imagine them who have never stood for +hour after hour in a barrel, bare-headed and parched with thirst, while the +fierce heat of a tropical sun beat down on them from above, and was reflected +upward from the glassy surface of the water. In time, indeed, I grew faint and +dizzy, and could hardly save myself from falling into the sea, and at last I +sank into a sort of sleep or insensibility, from which I was awakened by a +sound of screaming birds and of falling water. I looked and saw to my wonder +and delight, that what I had taken to be a bank of mist was really low-lying +land, and that I was drifting rapidly with the tide towards the bar of a large +river. The sound of birds came from great flocks of sea-gulls that were preying +on the shoals of fish, which fed at the meeting of the fresh and salt water. +Presently, as I watched, a gull seized a fish that could not have weighed less +than three pounds, and strove to lift it from the sea. Failing in this, it beat +the fish on the head with its beak till it died, and had begun to devour it, +when I drifted down upon the spot and made haste to seize the fish. In another +moment, dreadful as it may seem, I was devouring the food raw, and never have I +eaten with better appetite, or found more refreshment in a meal. +</p> + +<p> +When I had swallowed all that I was able, without drinking water, I put the +rest of the fish into the pocket of my coat, and turned my thoughts to the +breakers on the bar. Soon it was evident to me that I could not pass them +standing in my barrel, so I hastened to upset myself into the water and to +climb astride of it. Presently we were in the surf, and I had much ado to cling +on, but the tide bore me forward bravely, and in half an hour more the breakers +were past, and I was in the mouth of the great river. Now fortune favoured me +still further, for I found a piece of wood floating on the stream which served +me for a paddle, and by its help I was enabled to steer my craft towards the +shore, that as I went I perceived to be clothed with thick reeds, in which tall +and lovely trees grew in groups, bearing clusters of large nuts in their +crowns. Hither to this shore I came without further accident, having spent some +ten hours in my tub, though it was but a chance that I did so, because of the +horrible reptiles called crocodiles, or, by some, alligators, with which this +river swarmed. But of them I knew nothing as yet. +</p> + +<p> +I reached land but just in time, for before I was ashore the tide turned, and +tide and current began to carry me out to sea again, whence assuredly I had +never come back. Indeed, for the last ten minutes, it took all the strength +that I had to force the barrel along towards the bank. At length, however, I +perceived that it floated in not more than four feet of water, and sliding from +it, I waded to the bank and cast myself at length there to rest and thank God +who thus far had preserved me miraculously. But my thirst, which now returned +upon me more fiercely than ever, would not suffer me to lie thus for long, so I +staggered to my feet and walked along the bank of the river till I came to a +pool of rain water, which on the tasting, proved to be sweet and good. Then I +drank, weeping for joy at the taste of the water, drank till I could drink no +more, and let those who have stood in such a plight remember what water was to +them, for no words of mine can tell it. After I had drunk and washed the brine +from my face and body, I drew out the remainder of my fish and ate it +thankfully, and thus refreshed, cast myself down to sleep in the shade of a +bush bearing white flowers, for I was utterly outworn. +</p> + +<p> +When I opened my eyes again it was night, and doubtless I should have slept on +through many hours more had it not been for a dreadful itch and pain that took +me in every part, till at length I sprang up and cursed in my agony. At first I +was at a loss to know what occasioned this torment, till I perceived that the +air was alive with gnat-like insects which made a singing noise, and then +settling on my flesh, sucked blood and spat poison into the wound at one and +the same time. These dreadful insects the Spaniards name <i>mosquitoes</i>. Nor +were they the only flies, for hundreds of other creatures, no bigger than a +pin’s head, had fastened on to me like bulldogs to a baited bear, boring +their heads into the flesh, where in the end they cause festers. They are named +<i>garrapatas</i> by the Spanish, and I take them to be the young of the tic. +Others there were, also, too numerous to mention, and of every shape and size, +though they had this in common, all bit and all were venomous. Before the +morning these plagues had driven me almost to madness, for in no way could I +obtain relief from them. Towards dawn I went and lay in the water, thinking to +lessen my sufferings, but before I had been there ten minutes I saw a huge +crocodile rise up from the mud beside me. I sprang away to the bank horribly +afraid, for never before had I beheld so monstrous and evil-looking a brute, to +fall again into the clutches of the creatures, winged and crawling, that were +waiting for me there by myriads. +</p> + +<p> +But enough of these damnable insects! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII<br /> +THE STONE OF SACRIFICE</h2> + +<p> +At length the morning broke and found me in a sorry plight, for my face was +swollen to the size of a pumpkin by the venom of the mosquitoes, and the rest +of my body was in little better case. Moreover I could not keep myself still +because of the itching, but must run and jump like a madman. And where was I to +run to through this huge swamp, in which I could see no shelter or sign of man? +I could not guess, so since I must keep moving I followed the bank of the +river, as I walked disturbing many crocodiles and loathsome snakes. Now I knew +that I could not live long in such suffering, and determined to struggle +forward till I fell down insensible and death put an end to my torments. +</p> + +<p> +For an hour or more I went on thus till I came to a place that was clear of +bush and reeds. Across this I skipped and danced, striking with my swollen +hands at the gnats which buzzed about my head. Now the end was not far off, for +I was exhausted and near to falling, when suddenly I came upon a party of men, +brown in colour and clothed with white garments, who had been fishing in the +river. By them on the water were several canoes in which were loads of +merchandise, and they were now engaged in eating. So soon as these men caught +sight of me they uttered exclamations in an unknown tongue and seizing weapons +that lay by them, bows and arrows and wooden clubs set on either side with +spikes of flinty glass, they made towards me as though to kill me. Now I lifted +up my hands praying for mercy, and seeing that I was unarmed and helpless the +men laid down their arms and addressed me. I shook my head to show that I could +not understand, and pointed first to the sea and then to my swollen features. +They nodded, and going to one of the canoes a man brought from it a paste of a +brown colour and aromatic smell. Then by signs he directed me to remove such +garments as remained on me, the fashion of which seemed to puzzle them greatly. +This being done, they proceeded to anoint my body with the paste, the touch of +which gave me a most blessed relief from my intolerable itching and burning, +and moreover rendered my flesh distasteful to the insects, for after that they +plagued me little. +</p> + +<p> +When I was anointed they offered me food, fried fish and cakes of meal, +together with a most delicious hot drink covered with a brown and foaming froth +that I learned to know afterwards as <i>chocolate</i>. When I had finished +eating, having talked a while together in low tones, they motioned me to enter +one of the canoes, giving me mats to lie on. I obeyed, and three other men came +with me, for the canoe was large. One of these, a very grave man with a gentle +face and manner whom I took to be the chief of the party, sat down opposite to +me, the other two placing themselves in the bow and stern of the boat which +they drove along by means of paddles. Then we started, followed by three other +canoes, and before we had gone a mile utter weariness overpowered me and I fell +asleep. +</p> + +<p> +I awoke much refreshed, having slept many hours, for now the sun was setting, +and was astonished to find the grave-looking man my companion in the canoe, +keeping watch over my sleep and warding the gnats from me with a leafy branch. +His kindness seemed to show that I was in no danger of ill-treatment, and my +fears on that point being set at rest, I began to wonder as to what strange +land I had come and who its people might be. Soon, however, I gave over, having +nothing to build on, and observed the scenery instead. Now we were paddling up +a smaller river than the one on the banks of which I had been cast away, and +were no longer in the midst of marshes. On either side of us was open land, or +rather land that would have been open had it not been for the great trees, +larger than the largest oak, which grew upon it, some of them of surpassing +beauty. Up these trees climbed creepers that hung like ropes even from the +topmost boughs, and among them were many strange and gorgeous flowering plants +that seemed to cling to the bark as moss clings to a wall. In their branches +also sat harsh-voiced birds of brilliant colours, and apes that barked and +chattered at us as we went. +</p> + +<p> +Just as the sun set over all this strange new scene the canoes came to a +landing place built of timber, and we disembarked. Now it grew dark suddenly, +and all I could discover was that I was being led along a good road. Presently +we reached a gate, which, from the barking of dogs and the numbers of people +who thronged about it, I judged to be the entrance to a town, and passing it, +we advanced down a long street with houses on either side. At the doorway of +the last house my companion halted, and taking me by the hand, led me into a +long low room lit with lamps of earthenware. Here some women came forward and +kissed him, while others whom I took to be servants, saluted him by touching +the floor with one hand. Soon, however, all eyes were turned on me and many +eager questions were asked of the chief, of which I could only guess the +purport. +</p> + +<p> +When all had gazed their fill supper was served, a rich meal of many strange +meats, and of this I was invited to partake, which I did, seated on a mat and +eating of the dishes that were placed upon the ground by the women. Among these +I noticed one girl who far surpassed all the others in grace, though none were +unpleasing to the eye. She was dark, indeed, but her features were regular and +her eyes fine. Her figure was tall and straight, and the sweetness of her face +added to the charm of her beauty. I mention this girl here for two reasons, +first because she saved me once from sacrifice and once from torture, and +secondly because she was none other than that woman who afterwards became known +as Marina, the mistress of Cortes, without whose aid he had never conquered +Mexico. But at this time she did not guess that it was her destiny to bring her +country of Anahuac beneath the cruel yoke of the Spaniard. +</p> + +<p> +From the moment of my entry I saw that Marina, as I will call her, for her +Indian name is too long to be written, took pity on my forlorn state, and did +what lay in her power to protect me from vulgar curiosity and to minister to my +wants. It was she who brought me water to wash in, and a clean robe of linen to +replace my foul and tattered garments, and a cloak fashioned of bright feathers +for my shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +When supper was done a mat was given me to sleep on in a little room apart, and +here I lay down, thinking that though I might be lost for ever to my own world, +at least I had fallen among a people who were gentle and kindly, and moreover, +as I saw from many tokens, no savages. One thing, however, disturbed me; I +discovered that though I was well treated, also I was a prisoner, for a man +armed with a copper spear slept across the doorway of my little room. Before I +lay down I looked through the wooden bars which served as a protection to the +window place, and saw that the house stood upon the border of a large open +space, in the midst of which a great pyramid towered a hundred feet or more +into the air. On the top of this pyramid was a building of stone that I took to +be a temple, and rightly, in front of which a fire burned. Marvelling what the +purpose of this great work might be, and in honour of what faith it was +erected, I went to sleep. +</p> + +<p> +On the morrow I was to learn. +</p> + +<p> +Here it may be convenient for me to state, what I did not discover till +afterwards, that I was in the city of Tobasco, the capital of one of the +southern provinces of Anahuac, which is situated at a distance of some hundreds +of miles from the central city of Tenoctitlan, or Mexico. The river where I had +been cast away was the Rio de Tobasco, where Cortes landed in the following +year, and my host, or rather my captor, was the <i>cacique</i> or chief of +Tobasco, the same man who subsequently presented Marina to Cortes. Thus it came +about that, with the exception of a certain Aguilar, who with some companions +was wrecked on the coast of Yucatan six years before, I was the first white man +who ever dwelt among the Indians. This Aguilar was rescued by Cortes, though +his companions were all sacrificed to Huitzel, the horrible war-god of the +country. But the name of the Spaniards was already known to the Indians, who +looked on them with superstitious fear, for in the year previous to my being +cast away, the hidalgo Hernandez de Cordova had visited the coast of Yucatan +and fought several battles with the natives, and earlier in the same year of my +arrival, Juan de Grigalva had come to this very river of Tobasco. Thus it came +about that I was set down as one of this strange new nation of Teules, as the +Indians named the Spaniards, and therefore as an enemy for whose blood the gods +were thirsting. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +I awoke at dawn much refreshed with sleep, and having washed and clothed myself +in the linen robes that were provided for me, I came into the large room, where +food was given me. Scarcely had I finished my meal when my captor, the +<i>cacique</i>, entered, accompanied by two men whose appearance struck terror +to my heart. In countenance they were fierce and horrible; they wore black +robes embroidered with mystic characters in red, and their long and tangled +hair was matted together with some strange substance. These men, whom all +present, including the chief or <i>cacique</i>, seemed to look on with the +utmost reverence, glared at me with a fierce glee that made my blood run cold. +One of them, indeed, tore open my white robe and placed his filthy hand upon my +heart, which beat quickly enough, counting its throbs aloud while the other +nodded at his words. Afterwards I learned that he was saying that I was very +strong. +</p> + +<p> +Glancing round to find the interpretation of this act upon the faces of those +about me, my eyes caught those of the girl Marina, and there was that in them +which left me in little doubt. Horror and pity were written there, and I knew +that some dreadful death overshadowed me. Before I could do anything, before I +could even think, I was seized by the priests, or <i>pabas</i> as the Indians +name them, and dragged from the room, all the household following us except +Marina and the <i>cacique</i>. Now I found myself in a great square or market +place bordered by many fine houses of stone and lime, and some of mud, which +was filling rapidly with a vast number of people, men women and children, who +all stared at me as I went towards the pyramid on the top of which the fire +burned. At the foot of this pyramid I was led into a little chamber hollowed in +its thickness, and here my dress was torn from me by more priests, leaving me +naked except for a cloth about my loins and a chaplet of bright flowers which +was set upon my head. In this chamber were three other men, Indians, who from +the horror on their faces I judged to be also doomed to death. +</p> + +<p> +Presently a drum began to beat high above us, and we were taken from the +chamber and placed in a procession of many priests, I being the first among the +victims. Then the priests set up a chant and we began the ascent of the +pyramid, following a road that wound round and round its bulk till it ended on +a platform at its summit, which may have measured forty paces in the square. +Hence the view of the surrounding country was very fine, but in that hour I +scarcely noticed it, having no care for prospects, however pleasing. On the +further side of the platform were two wooden towers fifty feet or so in height. +These were the temples of the gods, Huitzel God of War and Quetzal God of the +Air, whose hideous effigies carved in stone grinned at us through the open +doorways. In the chambers of these temples stood small altars, and on the +altars were large dishes of gold, containing the hearts of those who had been +sacrificed on the yesterday. These chambers, moreover, were encrusted with +every sort of filth. In front of the temples stood the altar whereon the fire +burned eternally, and before it were a hog-backed block of black marble of the +size of an inn drinking table, and a great carven stone shaped like a wheel, +measuring some ten feet across with a copper ring in its centre. +</p> + +<p> +All these things I remembered afterwards, though at the time I scarcely seemed +to see them, for hardly were we arrived on the platform when I was seized and +dragged to the wheel-shaped stone. Here a hide girdle was put round my waist +and secured to the ring by a rope long enough to enable me to run to the edge +of the stone and no further. Then a flint-pointed spear was given to me and +spears were given also to the two captives who accompanied me, and it was made +clear to me by signs that I must fight with them, it being their part to leap +upon the stone and mine to defend it. Now I thought that if I could kill these +two poor creatures, perhaps I myself should be allowed to go free, and so to +save my life I prepared to take theirs if I could. Presently the head priest +gave a signal commanding the two men to attack me, but they were so lost in +fear that they did not even stir. Then the priests began to flog them with +leather girdles till at length crying out with pain, they ran at me. One +reached the stone and leapt upon it a little before the other, and I struck the +spear through his arm. Instantly he dropped his weapon and fled, and the other +man fled also, for there was no fight in them, nor would any flogging bring +them to face me again. +</p> + +<p> +Seeing that they could not make them brave, the priests determined to have done +with them. Amidst a great noise of music and chanting, he whom I had smitten +was seized and dragged to the hog-backed block of marble, which in truth was a +stone of sacrifice. On this he was cast down, breast upwards, and held so by +five priests, two gripping his hands, two his legs, and one his head. Then, +having donned a scarlet cloak, the head priest, that same who had felt my +heart, uttered some kind of prayer, and, raising a curved knife of the +flint-like glass or <i>itztli</i>, struck open the poor wretch’s breast +at a single blow, and made the ancient offering to the sun. +</p> + +<p> +As he did this all the multitude in the place below, in full view of whom this +bloody game was played, prostrated themselves, remaining on their knees till +the offering had been thrown into the golden censer before the statue of the +god Huitzel. Thereon the horrible priests, casting themselves on the body, +carried it with shouts to the edge of the pyramid or <i>teocalli</i>, and +rolled it down the steep sides. At the foot of the slope it was lifted and +borne away by certain men who were waiting, for what purpose I did not know at +that time. +</p> + +<p> +Scarcely was the first victim dead when the second was seized and treated in a +like fashion, the multitude prostrating themselves as before. And then last of +all came my turn. I felt myself seized and my senses swam, nor did I recover +them till I found myself lying on the accursed stone, the priests dragging at +my limbs and head, my breast strained upwards till the skin was stretched tight +as that of a drum, while over me stood the human devil in his red mantle, the +glass knife in his hand. Never shall I forget his wicked face maddened with the +lust for blood, or the glare in his eyes as he tossed back his matted locks. +But he did not strike at once, he gloated over me, pricking me with the point +of the knife. It seemed to me that I lay there for years while the <i>paba</i> +aimed and pointed with the knife, but at last through a mist that gathered +before my eyes, I saw it flash upward. Then when I thought that my hour had +come, a hand caught his arm in mid-air and held it and I heard a voice +whispering. +</p> + +<p> +What was said did not please the priest, for suddenly he howled aloud and made +a dash towards me to kill me, but again his arm was caught before the knife +fell. Then he withdrew into the temple of the god Quetzal, and for a long while +I lay upon the stone suffering the agonies of a hundred deaths, for I believed +that it was determined to torture me before I died, and that my slaughter had +been stayed for this purpose. +</p> + +<p> +There I lay upon the stone, the fierce sunlight beating on my breast, while +from below came the faint murmur of the thousands of the wondering people. All +my life seemed to pass before me as I was stretched upon that awful bed, a +hundred little things which I had forgotten came back to me, and with them +memories of childhood, of my oath to my father, of Lily’s farewell kiss +and words, of de Garcia’s face as I was hurled into the sea, of the death +of Isabella de Siguenza, and lastly a vague wonder as to why all priests were +so cruel! +</p> + +<p> +At length I heard footsteps and shut my eyes, for I could bear the sight of +that dreadful knife no longer. But behold! no knife fell. Suddenly my hands +were loosed and I was lifted to my feet, on which I never hoped to stand again. +Then I was borne to the edge of the <i>teocalli</i>, for I could not walk, and +here my would-be murderer, the priest, having first shouted some words to the +spectators below, that caused them to murmur like a forest when the wind stirs +it, clasped me in his blood-stained arms and kissed me on the forehead. Now it +was for the first time that I noticed my captor, the <i>cacique</i>, standing +at my side, grave, courteous, and smiling. As he had smiled when he handed me +to the <i>pabas</i>, so he smiled when he took me back from them. Then having +been cleansed and clothed, I was led into the sanctuary of the god Quetzal and +stood face to face with the hideous image there, staring at the golden censer +that was to have received my heart while the priests uttered prayers. Thence I +was supported down the winding road of the pyramid till I came to its foot, +where my captor the <i>cacique</i> took me by the hand and led me through the +people who, it seemed, now regarded me with some strange veneration. The first +person that I saw when we reached the house was Marina, who looked at me and +murmured some soft words that I could not understand. Then I was suffered to go +to my chamber, and there I passed the rest of the day prostrated by all that I +had undergone. Truly I had come to a land of devils! +</p> + +<p> +And now I will tell how it was that I came to be saved from the knife. Marina +having taken some liking to me, pitied my sad fate, and being very +quick-witted, she found a way to rescue me. For when I had been led off to +sacrifice, she spoke to the <i>cacique</i>, her lord, bringing it to his mind +that, by common report Montezuma, the Emperor of Anahuac, was disturbed as to +the Teules or Spaniards, and desired much to see one. Now, she said, I was +evidently a Teule, and Montezuma would be angered, indeed, if I were sacrificed +in a far-off town, instead of being sent to him to sacrifice if he saw fit. To +this the <i>cacique</i> answered that the words were wise, but that she should +have spoken them before, for now the priests had got hold of me, and it was +hopeless to save me from their grip. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” answered Marina, “there is this to be said. Quetzal, +the god to whom this Teule is to be offered, was a white man,<a href="#fn-4" name="fnref-4" id="fnref-4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> +and it may well happen that this man is one of his children. Will it please the +god that his child should be offered to him? At the least, if the god is not +angered, Montezuma will certainly be wroth, and wreak a vengeance on you and on +the priests.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-4" id="fn-4"></a> <a href="#fnref-4">[4]</a> +Quetzal, or more properly Quetzalcoatl, was the divinity who is fabled to have +taught the natives of Anahuac all the useful arts, including those of +government and policy. He was white-skinned and dark-haired. Finally he sailed +from the shores of Anahuac for the fabulous country of Tlapallan in a bark of +serpents’ skins. But before he sailed he promised that he would return +again with a numerous progeny. This promise was remembered by the Aztecs, and +it was largely on account of it that the Spaniards were enabled to conquer the +country, for they were supposed to be his descendants. Perhaps Quetzalcoatl was +a Norseman! <i>Vide</i> Sagas of <i>Eric the Red</i> and of <i>Thorfinn +Karlsefne</i>.—A<small>UTHOR</small>. +</p> + +<p> +Now when the <i>cacique</i> heard this he saw that Marina spoke truth, and +hurrying up the <i>teocalli</i>, he caught the knife as it was in the act of +falling upon me. At first the head priest was angered and called out that this +was sacrilege, but when the <i>cacique</i> had told him his mind, he understood +that he would do wisely not to run a risk of the wrath of Montezuma. So I was +loosed and led into the sanctuary, and when I came out the <i>paba</i> +announced to the people that the god had declared me to be one of his children, +and it was for this reason that then and thereafter they treated me with +reverence. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV<br /> +THE SAVING OF GUATEMOC</h2> + +<p> +Now after this dreadful day I was kindly dealt with by the people of Tobasco, +who gave me the name of Teule or Spaniard, and no longer sought to put me to +sacrifice. Far from it indeed, I was well clothed and fed, and suffered to +wander where I would, though always under the care of guards who, had I +escaped, would have paid for it with their lives. I learned that on the morrow +of my rescue from the priests, messengers were despatched to Montezuma, the +great king, acquainting him with the history of my capture, and seeking to know +his pleasure concerning me. But the way to Tenoctitlan was far, and many weeks +passed before the messengers returned again. Meanwhile I filled the days in +learning the Maya language, and also something of that of the Aztecs, which I +practised with Marina and others. For Marina was not a Tobascan, having been +born at Painalla, on the southeastern borders of the empire. But her mother +sold her to merchants in order that Marina’s inheritance might come to +another child of hers by a second marriage, and thus in the end the girl fell +into the hands of the <i>cacique</i> of Tobasco. +</p> + +<p> +Also I learned something of the history and customs, and of the picture writing +of the land, and how to read it, and moreover I obtained great repute among the +Tobascans by my skill in medicine, so that in time they grew to believe that I +was indeed a child of Quetzal, the good god. And the more I studied this people +the less I could understand of them. In most ways they were equal to any nation +of our own world of which I had knowledge. None are more skilled in the arts, +few are better architects or boast purer laws. Moreover, they were brave and +had patience. But their faith was the canker at the root of the tree. In +precept it was noble and had much in common with our own, such as the rite of +baptism, but I have told what it was in practice. And yet, when all is said, is +it more cruel to offer up victims to the gods than to torture them in the +vaults of the Holy Office or to immure them in the walls of nunneries? +</p> + +<p> +When I had lived a month in Tobasco I had learned enough of the language to +talk with Marina, with whom I grew friendly, though no more, and it was from +her that I gathered the most of my knowledge, and also many hints as to the +conduct necessary to my safety. In return I taught her something of my own +faith, and of the customs of the Europeans, and it was the knowledge that she +gained from me which afterwards made her so useful to the Spaniards, and +prepared her to accept their religion, giving her insight into the ways of +white people. +</p> + +<p> +So I abode for four months and more in the house of the <i>cacique</i> of +Tobasco, who carried his kindness towards me to the length of offering me his +sister in marriage. To this proposal I said no as gently as I might, and he +marvelled at it, for the girl was fair. Indeed, so well was I treated, that had +it not been that my heart was far away, and because of the horrible rites of +their religion which I was forced to witness almost daily, I could have learned +to love this gentle, skilled, and industrious people. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +At length, when full four months had passed away, the messengers returned from +the court of Montezuma, having been much delayed by swollen rivers and other +accidents of travel. So great was the importance that the Emperor attached to +the fact of my capture, and so desirous was he to see me at his capital, that +he had sent his own nephew, the Prince Guatemoc, to fetch me and a great escort +of warriors with him. +</p> + +<p> +Never shall I forget my first meeting with this prince who afterwards became my +dear companion and brother in arms. When the escort arrived I was away from the +town shooting deer with the bow and arrow, a weapon in the use of which I had +such skill that all the Indians wondered at me, not knowing that twice I had +won the prize at the butts on Bungay Common. Our party being summoned by a +messenger, we returned bearing our deer with us. On reaching the courtyard of +the <i>cacique’s</i> house, I found it filled with warriors most +gorgeously attired, and among them one more splendid than the rest. He was +young, very tall and broad, most handsome in face, and having eyes like those +of an eagle, while his whole aspect breathed majesty and command. His body was +encased in a cuirass of gold, over which hung a mantle made of the most +gorgeous feathers, exquisitely set in bands of different colours. On his head +he wore a helmet of gold surmounted by the royal crest, an eagle, standing on a +snake fashioned in gold and gems. On his arms, and beneath his knees, he wore +circlets of gold and gems, and in his hand was a copper-bladed spear. Round +this man were many nobles dressed in a somewhat similar fashion, except that +the most of them wore a vest of quilted cotton in place of the gold cuirass, +and a jewelled <i>panache</i> of the plumes of birds instead of the royal +symbol. +</p> + +<p> +This was Guatemoc, Montezuma’s nephew, and afterwards the last emperor of +Anahuac. So soon as I saw him I saluted him in the Indian fashion by touching +the earth with my right hand, which I then raised to my head. But Guatemoc, +having scanned me with his eye as I stood, bow in hand, attired in my simple +hunter’s dress, smiled frankly and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Surely, Teule, if I know anything of the looks of men, we are too equal +in our birth, as in our age, for you to salute me as a slave greets his +master.” And he held his hand to me. +</p> + +<p> +I took it, answering with the help of Marina, who was watching this great lord +with eager eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“It may be so, prince, but though in my own country I am a man of repute +and wealth, here I am nothing but a slave snatched from the sacrifice.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it,” he said frowning. “It is well for all here that +you were so snatched before the breath of life had left you, else +Montezuma’s wrath had fallen on this city.” And he looked at the +<i>cacique</i> who trembled, such in those days was the terror of +Montezuma’s name. +</p> + +<p> +Then he asked me if I was a Teule or Spaniard. I told him that I was no +Spaniard but one of another white race who had Spanish blood in his veins. This +saying seemed to puzzle him, for he had never so much as heard of any other +white race, so I told him something of my story, at least so much of it as had +to do with my being cast away. +</p> + +<p> +When I had finished, he said, “If I have understood aright, Teule, you +say that you are no Spaniard, yet that you have Spanish blood in you, and came +hither in a Spanish ship, and I find this story strange. Well, it is for +Montezuma to judge of these matters, so let us talk of them no more. Come and +show me how you handle that great bow of yours. Did you bring it with you or +did you fashion it here? They tell me, Teule, that there is no such archer in +the land.” +</p> + +<p> +So I came up and showed him the bow which was of my own make, and would shoot +an arrow some sixty paces further than any that I saw in Anahuac, and we fell +into talk on matters of sport and war, Marina helping out my want of language, +and before that day was done we had grown friendly. +</p> + +<p> +For a week the prince Guatemoc and his company rested in the town of Tobasco, +and all this time we three talked much together. Soon I saw that Marina looked +with eyes of longing on the great lord, partly because of his beauty, rank and +might, and partly because she wearied of her captivity in the house of the +<i>cacique</i>, and would share Guatemoc’s power, for Marina was +ambitious. She tried to win his heart in many ways, but he seemed not to notice +her, so that at last she spoke more plainly and in my hearing. +</p> + +<p> +“You go hence to-morrow, prince,” she said softly, “and I +have a favour to ask of you, if you will listen to your handmaid.” +</p> + +<p> +“Speak on, maiden,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“I would ask this, that if it pleases you, you will buy me of the +<i>cacique</i> my master, or command him to give me up to you, and take me with +you to Tenoctitlan.” +</p> + +<p> +Guatemoc laughed aloud. “You put things plainly, maiden,” he said, +“but know that in the city of Tenoctitlan, my wife and royal cousin, +Tecuichpo, awaits me, and with her three other ladies, who as it chances are +somewhat jealous.” +</p> + +<p> +Now Marina flushed beneath her brown skin, and for the first and last time I +saw her gentle eyes grow hard with anger as she answered: +</p> + +<p> +“I asked you to take me with you, prince; I did not ask to be your wife +or love.” +</p> + +<p> +“But perchance you meant it,” he said dryly. +</p> + +<p> +“Whatever I may have meant, prince, it is now forgotten. I wished to see +the great city and the great king, because I weary of my life here and would +myself grow great. You have refused me, but perhaps a time will come when I +shall grow great in spite of you, and then I may remember the shame that has +been put upon me against you, prince, and all your royal house.” +</p> + +<p> +Again Guatemoc laughed, then of a sudden grew stern. +</p> + +<p> +“You are over-bold, girl,” he said; “for less words than +these many a one might find herself stretched upon the stone of sacrifice. But +I will forget them, for your woman’s pride is stung, and you know not +what you say. Do you forget them also, Teule, if you have understood.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Marina turned and went, her bosom heaving with anger and outraged love or +pride, and as she passed me I heard her mutter, “Yes, prince, you may +forget, but I shall not.” +</p> + +<p> +Often since that day I have wondered if some vision of the future entered into +the girl’s breast in that hour, or if in her wrath she spoke at random. I +have wondered also whether this scene between her and Guatemoc had anything to +do with the history of her after life; or did Marina, as she avowed to me in +days to come, bring shame and ruin on her country for the love of Cortes alone? +It is hard to say, and perhaps these things had nothing to do with what +followed, for when great events have happened, we are apt to search out causes +for them in the past that were no cause. This may have been but a passing mood +of hers and one soon put out of mind, for it is certain that few build up the +temples of their lives upon some firm foundation of hope or hate, of desire or +despair, though it has happened to me to do so, but rather take chance for +their architect—and indeed whether they take him or no, he is still the +master builder. Still that Marina did not forget this talk I know, for in after +times I heard her remind this very prince of the words that had passed between +them, ay, and heard his noble answer to her. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Now I have but one more thing to tell of my stay in Tobasco, and then let me on +to Mexico, and to the tale of how Montezuma’s daughter became my wife, +and of my further dealings with de Garcia. +</p> + +<p> +On the day of our departure a great sacrifice of slaves was held upon the +<i>teocalli</i> to propitiate the gods, so that they might give us a safe +journey, and also in honour of some festival, for to the festivals of the +Indians there was no end. Thither we went up the sides of the steep pyramid, +since I must look upon these horrors daily. When all was prepared, and we stood +around the stone of sacrifice while the multitude watched below, that fierce +<i>paba</i> who once had felt the beatings of my heart, came forth from the +sanctuary of the god Quetzal and signed to his companions to stretch the first +of the victims on the stone. Then of a sudden the prince Guatemoc stepped +forward, and addressing the priests, pointed to their chief, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Seize that man!” +</p> + +<p> +They hesitated, for though he who commanded was a prince of the blood royal, to +lay hands upon a high priest was sacrilege. Then with a smile Guatemoc drew +forth a ring having a dull blue stone set in its bezel, on which was engraved a +strange device. With the ring he drew out also a scroll of picture-writing, and +held them both before the eyes of the <i>pabas</i>. Now the ring was the ring +of Montezuma, and the scroll was signed by the great high priest of +Tenoctitlan, and those who looked on the ring and the scroll knew well that to +disobey the mandate of him who bore them was death and dishonour in one. So +without more ado they seized their chief and held him. Then Guatemoc spoke +again and shortly: +</p> + +<p> +“Lay him on the stone and sacrifice him to the god Quetzal.” +</p> + +<p> +Now he who had taken such fierce joy in the death of others on this same stone, +began to tremble and weep, for he did not desire to drink of his own medicine. +</p> + +<p> +“Why must I be offered up, O prince?” he cried, “I who have +been a faithful servant to the gods and to the Emperor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because you dared to try to offer up this Teule,” answered +Guatemoc, pointing to me, “without leave from your master Montezuma, and +because of the other evils that you have done, all of which are written in this +scroll. The Teule is a son of Quetzal, as you have yourself declared, and +Quetzal will be avenged because of his son. Away with him, here is your +warrant.” +</p> + +<p> +Then the priests, who till this moment had been his servants, dragged their +chief to the stone, and there, notwithstanding his prayers and bellowings, one +who had donned his mantle practised his own art upon him, and presently his +body was cast down the side of the pyramid. For my part I am not sufficient of +a Christian to pretend that I was sorry to see him die in that same fashion by +which he had caused the death of so many better men. +</p> + +<p> +When it was done Guatemoc turned to me and said, “So perish all your +enemies, my friend Teule.” +</p> + +<p> +Within an hour of this event, which revealed to me how great was the power of +Montezuma, seeing that the sight of a ring from his finger could bring about +the instant death of a high priest at the hands of his disciples, we started on +our long journey. But before I went I bid a warm farewell to my friend the +<i>cacique</i>, and also to Marina, who wept at my going. The <i>cacique</i> I +never saw again, but Marina I did see. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +For a whole month we travelled, for the way was far and the road rough, and +sometimes we must cut our path through forests and sometimes we must wait upon +the banks of rivers. Many were the strange sights that I saw upon that journey, +and many the cities in which we sojourned in much state and honour, but I +cannot stop to tell of all these. +</p> + +<p> +One thing I will relate, however, though briefly, because it changed the regard +that the prince Guatemoc and I felt one to the other into a friendship which +lasted till his death, and indeed endures in my heart to this hour. +</p> + +<p> +One day we were delayed by the banks of a swollen river, and in pastime went +out to hunt for deer. When we had hunted a while and killed three deer, it +chanced that Guatemoc perceived a buck standing on a hillock, and we set out to +stalk it, five of us in all. But the buck was in the open, and the trees and +bush ceased a full hundred yards away from where he stood, so that there was no +way by which we might draw near to him. Then Guatemoc began to mock me, saying, +“Now, Teule, they tell tales of your archery, and this deer is thrice as +far as we Aztecs can make sure of killing. Let us see your skill.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will try,” I answered, “though the shot is long.” +</p> + +<p> +So we drew beneath the cover of a <i>ceiba</i> tree, of which the lowest +branches drooped to within fifteen feet of the ground, and having set an arrow +on the string of the great bow that I had fashioned after the shape of those we +use in merry England, I aimed and drew it. Straight sped the arrow and struck +the buck fair, passing through its heart, and a low murmur of wonderment went +up from those who saw the feat. +</p> + +<p> +Then, just as we prepared to go to the fallen deer, a male puma, which is +nothing but a cat, though fifty times as big, that had been watching the buck +from above, dropped down from the boughs of the <i>ceiba</i> tree full on to +the shoulders of the prince Guatemoc, felling him to the ground, where he lay +face downwards while the fierce brute clawed and bit at his back. Indeed had it +not been for his golden cuirass and helm Guatemoc would never have lived to be +emperor of Anahuac, and perhaps it might have been better so. +</p> + +<p> +Now when they saw the puma snarling and tearing at the person of their prince, +though brave men enough, the three nobles who were with us were seized by +sudden panic and ran, thinking him dead. But I did not run, though I should +have been glad enough to do so. At my side hung one of the Indian weapons that +serve them instead of swords, a club of wood set on both sides with spikes of +obsidian, like the teeth in the bill of a swordfish. Snatching it from its loop +I gave the puma battle, striking a blow upon his head that rolled him over and +caused the blood to pour. In a moment he was up and at me roaring with rage. +Whirling the wooden sword with both hands I smote him in mid air, the blow +passing between his open paws and catching him full on the snout and head. So +hard was this stroke that my weapon was shattered, still it did not stop the +puma. In a second I was cast to the earth with a great shock, and the brute was +on me tearing and biting at my chest and neck. It was well for me at that +moment that I wore a garment of quilted cotton, otherwise I must have been +ripped open, and even with this covering I was sadly torn, and to this day I +bear the marks of the beast’s claws upon my body. But now when I seemed +to be lost the great blow that I had struck took effect on him, for one of the +points of glass had pierced to his brain. He lifted his head, his claws +contracted themselves in my flesh, then he howled like a dog in pain and fell +dead upon my body. So I lay upon the ground unable to stir, for I was much +hurt, until my companions, having taken heart, came back and pulled the puma +off me. By this time Guatemoc, who saw all, but till now was unable to move +from lack of breath, had found his feet again. +</p> + +<p> +“Teule,” he gasped, “you are a brave man indeed, and if you +live I swear that I will always stand your friend to the death as you have +stood mine.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus he spoke to me; but to the others he said nothing, casting no reproaches +at them. +</p> + +<p> +Then I fainted away. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV<br /> +THE COURT OF MONTEZUMA</h2> + +<p> +Now for a week I was so ill from my wounds that I was unable to be moved, and +then I must be carried in a litter till we came to within three days’ +journey of the city of Tenoctitlan or Mexico. After that, as the roads were now +better made and cared for than any I have seen in England, I was able to take +to my feet again. Of this I was glad, for I have no love of being borne on the +shoulders of other men after the womanish Indian fashion, and, moreover, as we +had now come to a cold country, the road running through vast table-lands and +across the tops of mountains, it was no longer necessary as it had been in the +hot lands. Never did I see anything more dreary than these immense lengths of +desolate plains covered with aloes and other thorny and succulent shrubs of +fantastic aspect, which alone could live on the sandy and waterless soil. This +is a strange land, that can boast three separate climates within its borders, +and is able to show all the glories of the tropics side by side with deserts of +measureless expanse. +</p> + +<p> +One night we camped in a rest house, of which there were many built along the +roads for the use of travellers, that was placed almost on the top of the +<i>sierra</i> or mountain range which surrounds the valley of Tenoctitlan. Next +morning we took the road again before dawn, for the cold was so sharp at this +great height that we, who had travelled from the hot land, could sleep very +little, and also Guatemoc desired if it were possible to reach the city that +night. +</p> + +<p> +When we had gone a few hundred paces the path came to the crest of the mountain +range, and I halted suddenly in wonder and admiration. Below me lay a vast bowl +of land and water, of which, however, I could see nothing, for the shadows of +the night still filled it. But before me, piercing the very clouds, towered the +crests of two snow-clad mountains, and on these the light of the unrisen sun +played, already changing their whiteness to the stain of blood. Popo, or the +Hill that Smokes, is the name of the one, and Ixtac, or the Sleeping Woman, +that of the other, and no grander sight was ever offered to the eyes of man +than they furnished in that hour before the dawn. From the lofty summit of Popo +went up great columns of smoke which, what with the fire in their heart and the +crimson of the sunrise, looked like rolling pillars of flame. And for the glory +of the glittering slopes below, that changed continually from the mystery of +white to dull red, from red to crimson, and from crimson to every dazzling hue +that the rainbow holds, who can tell it, who can even imagine it? None, indeed, +except those that have seen the sun rise over the volcans of Tenoctitlan. +</p> + +<p> +When I had feasted my eyes on Popo I turned to Ixtac. She is not so lofty as +her “husband,” for so the Aztecs name the volcan Popo, and when +first I looked I could see nothing but the gigantic shape of a woman fashioned +in snow, and lying like a corpse upon her lofty bier, whose hair streamed down +the mountain side. But now the sunbeams caught her also, and she seemed to +start out in majesty from a veil of rosy mist, a wonderful and thrilling sight. +But beautiful as she was then, still I love the Sleeping Woman best at eve. +Then she lies a shape of glory on the blackness beneath, and is slowly +swallowed up into the solemn night as the dark draws its veil across her. +</p> + +<p> +Now as I gazed the light began to creep down the sides of the volcans, +revealing the forests on their flanks. But still the vast valley was filled +with mist that lay in dense billows resembling those of the sea, through which +hills and temple tops started up like islands. By slow degrees as we passed +upon our downward road the vapours cleared away, and the lakes of Tezcuco, +Chalco, and Xochicalco shone in the sunlight like giant mirrors. On their banks +stood many cities, indeed the greatest of these, Mexico, seemed to float upon +the waters; beyond them and about them were green fields of corn and aloe, and +groves of forest trees, while far away towered the black wall of rock that +hedges in the valley. +</p> + +<p> +All day we journeyed swiftly through this fairy land. We passed through the +cities of Amaquem and Ajotzinco, which I will not stay to describe, and many a +lovely village that nestled upon the borders of Lake Chalco. Then we entered on +the great causeway of stone built like a road resting on the waters, and with +the afternoon we came to the town of Cuitlahuac. Thence we passed on to +Iztapalapan, and here Guatemoc would have rested for the night in the royal +house of his uncle Cuitlahua. But when we reached the town we found that +Montezuma, who had been advised of our approach by runners, had sent orders +that we were to push on to Tenoctitlan, and that palanquins had been made ready +to bear us. So we entered the palanquins, and leaving that lovely city of +gardens, were borne swiftly along the southern causeway. On we went past towns +built upon piles fixed in the bottom of the lake, past gardens that were laid +out on reeds and floated over the waters like a boat, past <i>teocallis</i> and +glistening temples without number, through fleets of light canoes and thousands +of Indians going to and fro about their business, till at length towards sunset +we reached the battlemented fort that is called Xoloc which stands upon the +dyke. I say stands, but alas! it stands no more. Cortes has destroyed it, and +with it all those glorious cities which my eyes beheld that day. +</p> + +<p> +At Xoloc we began to enter the city of Tenoctitlan or Mexico, the mightiest +city that ever I had seen. The houses on the outskirts, indeed, were built of +mud or adobe, but those in the richer parts were constructed of red stone. Each +house surrounded a courtyard and was in turn surrounded by a garden, while +between them ran canals, having footpaths on either side. Then there were +squares, and in the squares pyramids, palaces, and temples without end. I gazed +on them till I was bewildered, but all seemed as nothing when at length I saw +the great temple with its stone gateways opening to the north and the south, +the east and the west, its wall carven everywhere with serpents, its polished +pavements, its <i>teocallis</i> decked with human skulls, thousands upon +thousands of them, and its vast surrounding tianquez, or market place. I caught +but a glimpse of it then, for the darkness was falling, and afterwards we were +borne on through the darkness, I did not know whither. +</p> + +<p> +A while went by and I saw that we had left the city, and were passing up a +steep hill beneath the shadow of mighty cedar trees. Presently we halted in a +courtyard and here I was bidden to alight. Then the prince Guatemoc led me into +a wondrous house, of which all the rooms were roofed with cedar wood, and its +walls hung with richly-coloured cloths, and in that house gold seemed as +plentiful as bricks and oak are with us in England. Led by domestics who bore +cedar wands in their hands, we went through many passages and rooms, till at +length we came to a chamber where other domestics were awaiting us, who washed +us with scented waters and clothed us in gorgeous apparel. Thence they +conducted us to a door where we were bidden to remove our shoes, and a coarse +coloured robe was given to each of us to hide our splendid dress. The robes +having been put on, we were suffered to pass the door, and found ourselves in a +vast chamber in which were many noble men and some women, all standing and clad +in coarse robes. At the far end of this chamber was a gilded screen, and from +behind it floated sounds of sweet music. +</p> + +<p> +Now as we stood in the great chamber that was lighted with sweet-smelling +torches, many men advanced and greeted Guatemoc the prince, and I noticed that +all of them looked upon me curiously. Presently a woman came and I saw that her +beauty was great. She was tall and stately, and beneath her rough outer robe +splendidly attired in worked and jewelled garments. Weary and bewildered as I +was, her loveliness seized me as it were in a vice, never before had I seen +such loveliness. For her eye was proud and full like the eye of a buck, her +curling hair fell upon her shoulders, and her features were very noble, yet +tender almost to sadness, though at times she could seem fierce enough. This +lady was yet in her first youth, perchance she may have seen some eighteen +years, but her shape was that of a full-grown woman and most royal. +</p> + +<p> +“Greeting, Guatemoc my cousin,” she said in a sweet voice; +“so you are come at last. My royal father has awaited you for long and +will ask questions as to your delay. My sister your wife has wondered also why +you tarried.” +</p> + +<p> +Now as she spoke I felt rather than saw that this lady was searching me with +her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Greeting, Otomie my cousin,” answered the prince. “I have +been delayed by the accidents of travel. Tobasco is far away, also my charge +and companion, Teule,” and he nodded towards me, “met with an +accident on the road.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was the accident?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Only this, that he saved me from the jaws of a puma at the risk of his +life when all the others fled from me, and was somewhat hurt in the deed. He +saved me thus—” and in few words he told the story. +</p> + +<p> +She listened and I saw that her eyes sparkled at the tale. When it was done she +spoke again, and this time to me. +</p> + +<p> +“Welcome, Teule,” she said smiling. “You are not of our +people, yet my heart goes out to such a man.” And still smiling she left +us. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is that great lady?” I asked of Guatemoc. +</p> + +<p> +“That is my cousin Otomie, the princess of the Otomie, my uncle +Montezuma’s favourite daughter,” he answered. “She likes you, +Teule, and that is well for you for many reasons. Hush!” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke the screen at the far end of the chamber was drawn aside. Beyond it +a man sat upon a broidered cushion, who was inhaling the fumes of the tobacco +weed from a gilded pipe of wood after the Indian fashion. This man, who was no +other than the monarch Montezuma, was of a tall build and melancholy +countenance, having a very pale face for one of his nation, and thin black +hair. He was dressed in a white robe of the purest cotton, and wore a golden +belt and sandals set with pearls, and on his head a plume of feathers of the +royal green. Behind him were a band of beautiful girls somewhat slightly +clothed, some of whom played on lutes and other instruments of music, and on +either side stood four ancient counsellors, all of them barefooted and clad in +the coarsest garments. +</p> + +<p> +So soon as the screen was drawn all the company in the chamber prostrated +themselves upon their knees, an example that I hastened to follow, and thus +they remained till the emperor made a sign with the gilded bowl of his pipe, +when they rose to their feet again and stood with folded hands and eyes fixed +abjectly upon the floor. Presently Montezuma made another signal, and three +aged men whom I understood to be ambassadors, advanced and asked some prayer of +him. He answered them with a nod of the head and they retreated from his +presence, making obeisance and stepping backward till they mingled with the +crowd. Then the emperor spoke a word to one of the counsellors, who bowed and +came slowly down the hall looking to the right and to the left. Presently his +eye fell upon Guatemoc, and, indeed, he was easy to see, for he stood a head +taller than any there. +</p> + +<p> +“Hail, prince,” he said. “The royal Montezuma desires to +speak with you, and with the Teule, your companion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do as I do, Teule,” said Guatemoc, and led the way up the chamber, +till we reached the place where the wooden screen had been, which, as we passed +it, was drawn behind us, shutting us off from the hall. +</p> + +<p> +Here we stood a while, with folded hands and downcast eyes, till a signal was +made to us to advance. +</p> + +<p> +“Your report, nephew,” said Montezuma in a low voice of command. +</p> + +<p> +“I went to the city of Tobasco, O glorious Montezuma. I found the Teule +and brought him hither. Also I caused the high priest to be sacrificed +according to the royal command, and now I hand back the imperial signet,” +and he gave the ring to a counsellor. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you delay so long upon the road, nephew?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because of the chances of the journey; while saving my life, royal +Montezuma, the Teule my prisoner was bitten by a puma. Its skin is brought to +you as an offering.” +</p> + +<p> +Now Montezuma looked at me for the first time, then opened a picture scroll +that one of the counsellors handed to him, and read in it, glancing at me from +time to time. +</p> + +<p> +“The description is good,” he said at length, “in all save +one thing—it does not say that this prisoner is the handsomest man in +Anahuac. Say, Teule, why have your countrymen landed on my dominions and slain +my people?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know nothing of it, O king,” I answered as well as I might with +the help of Guatemoc, “and they are not my countrymen.” +</p> + +<p> +“The report says that you confess to having the blood of these Teules in +your veins, and that you came to these shores, or near them, in one of their +great canoes.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is so, O king, yet I am not of their people, and I came to the +shore floating on a barrel.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hold that you lie,” answered Montezuma frowning, “for the +sharks and crocodiles would devour one who swam thus.” Then he added +anxiously, “Say, are you of the descendants of Quetzal?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know, O king. I am of a white race, and our forefather was +named Adam.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perchance that is another name for Quetzal,” he said. “It +has long been prophesied that his children would return, and now it seems that +the hour of their coming is at hand,” and he sighed heavily, then added: +“Go now. To-morrow you shall tell me of these Teules, and the council of +the priests shall decide your fate.” +</p> + +<p> +Now when I heard the name of the priests I trembled in all my bones and cried, +clasping my hands in supplication: +</p> + +<p> +“Slay me if you will, O king, but I beseech you deliver me not again into +the hands of the priests.” +</p> + +<p> +“We are all in the hands of the priests, who are the mouth of God,” +he answered coldly. “Besides, I hold that you have lied to me.” +</p> + +<p> +Then I went foreboding evil, and Guatemoc also looked downcast. Bitterly did I +curse the hour when I had said that I was of the Spanish blood and yet no +Spaniard. Had I known even what I knew that day, torture would not have wrung +those words from me. But now it was too late. +</p> + +<p> +Now Guatemoc led me to certain apartments of this palace of Chapoltepec, where +his wife, the royal princess Tecuichpo, was waiting him, a very lovely lady, +and with her other ladies, among them the princess Otomie, Montezuma’s +daughter, and some nobles. Here a rich repast was served to us, and I was +seated next to the princess Otomie, who spoke to me most graciously, asking me +many things concerning my land and the people of the Teules. It was from her +that I learned first that the emperor was much disturbed at heart because of +these Teules or Spaniards, for he was superstitious, and held them to be the +children of the god Quetzal, who according to ancient prophecy would come to +take the land. Indeed, so gracious was she, and so royally lovely, that for the +first time I felt my heart stirred by any other woman than my betrothed whom I +had left far away in England, and whom, as I thought, I should never see again. +And as I learned in after days mine was not the only heart that was stirred +that night. +</p> + +<p> +Near to us sat another royal lady, Papantzin, the sister of Montezuma, but she +was neither young nor lovely, and yet most sweet faced and sad as though with +the presage of death. Indeed she died not many weeks after but could not rest +quiet in her grave, as shall be told. +</p> + +<p> +When the feast was done and we had drunk of the cocoa or <i>chocolate</i>, and +smoked tobacco in pipes, a strange but most soothing custom that I learned in +Tobasco and of which I have never been able to break myself, though the weed is +still hard to come by here in England, I was led to my sleeping place, a small +chamber panelled with cedar boards. For a while I could not sleep, for I was +overcome by the memory of all the strange sights that I had seen in this +wonderful new land which was so civilised and yet so barbarous. I thought of +that sad-faced king, the absolute lord of millions, surrounded by all that the +heart of man can desire, by vast wealth, by hundreds of lovely wives, by loving +children, by countless armies, by all the glory of the arts, ruling over the +fairest empire on the earth, with every pleasure to his hand, a god in all +things save his mortality, and worshipped as a god, and yet a victim to fear +and superstition, and more heavy hearted than the meanest slave about his +palaces. Here was a lesson such as Solomon would have loved to show, for with +Solomon this Montezuma might cry: +</p> + +<p> +“I gathered me also silver and gold, and the peculiar treasure of kings +and of the provinces: I gat me men singers and women singers, and the delights +of the sons of men, and musical instruments, and that of all sorts. And +whatsoever my eyes desired I kept not from them, I withheld not my heart from +any joy. And behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and there was no +profit under the sun.” +</p> + +<p> +So he might have cried, so, indeed, he did cry in other words, for, as the +painting of the skeletons and the three monarchs that is upon the north wall of +the aisle of Ditchingham Church shows forth so aptly, kings have their fates +and happiness is not to them more than to any other of the sons of men. Indeed, +it is not at all, as my benefactor Fonseca once said to me; true happiness is +but a dream from which we awake continually to the sorrows of our short +laborious day. +</p> + +<p> +Then my thoughts flew to the vision of that most lovely maid, the princess +Otomie, who, as I believed, had looked on me so kindly, and I found that vision +sweet, for I was young, and the English Lily, my own love, was far away and +lost to me for ever. Was it then wonderful that I should find this Indian poppy +fair? Indeed, where is the man who would not have been overcome by her +sweetness, her beauty, and that stamp of royal grace which comes with kingly +blood and the daily exercise of power? Like the rich wonders of the robe she +wore, her very barbarism, of which now I saw but the better side, drew and +dazzled my mind’s eye, giving her woman’s tenderness some new +quality, sombre and strange, an eastern richness which is lacking in our well +schooled English women, that at one and the same stroke touched both the +imagination and the senses, and through them enthralled the heart. +</p> + +<p> +For Otomie seemed such woman as men dream of but very rarely win, seeing that +the world has few such natures and fewer nurseries where they can be reared. At +once pure and passionate, of royal blood and heart, rich natured and most +womanly, yet brave as a man and beautiful as the night, with a mind athirst for +knowledge and a spirit that no sorrows could avail to quell, ever changing in +her outer moods, and yet most faithful and with the honour of a man, such was +Otomie, Montezuma’s daughter, princess of the Otomie. Was it wonderful +then that I found her fair, or, when fate gave me her love, that at last I +loved her in turn? And yet there was that in her nature which should have held +me back had I but known of it, for with all her charm, her beauty and her +virtues, at heart she was still a savage, and strive as she would to hide it, +at times her blood would master her. +</p> + +<p> +But as I lay in the chamber of the palace of Chapoltepec, the tramp of the +guards without my door reminded me that I had little now to do with love and +other delights, I whose life hung from day to day upon a hair. To-morrow the +priests would decide my fate, and when the priests were judges, the prisoner +might know the sentence before it was spoken. I was a stranger and a white man, +surely such a one would prove an offering more acceptable to the gods than that +furnished by a thousand Indian hearts. I had been snatched from the altars of +Tobasco that I might grace the higher altars of Tenoctitlan, and that was all. +My fate would be to perish miserably far from my home, and in this world never +to be heard of more. +</p> + +<p> +Musing thus sadly at last I slept. When I woke the sun was up. Rising from my +mat I went to the wood-barred window place and looked through. The palace +whence I gazed was placed on the crest of a rocky hill. On one side this hill +was bathed by the blue waters of Tezcuco, on the other, a mile or more away, +rose the temple towers of Mexico. Along the slopes of the hill, and in some +directions for a mile from its base, grew huge cedar trees from the boughs of +which hung a grey and ghostly-looking moss. These trees are so large that the +smallest of them is bigger than the best oak in this parish of Ditchingham, +while the greatest measures twenty-two paces round the base. Beyond and between +these marvellous and ancient trees were the gardens of Montezuma, that with +their strange and gorgeous flowers, their marble baths, their aviaries and wild +beast dens, were, as I believe, the most wonderful in the whole world.<a href="#fn-5" name="fnref-5" id="fnref-5"><sup>[5]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p> +“At the least,” I thought to myself, “even if I must die, it +is something to have seen this country of Anahuac, its king, its customs, and +its people.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-5" id="fn-5"></a> <a href="#fnref-5">[5]</a> +The gardens of Montezuma have been long destroyed, but some of the cedars still +flourish at Chapoltepec, though the Spaniards cut down many. One of them, which +tradition says was a favourite tree of the great emperor’s, measures +(according to a rough calculation the author of this book made upon the spot) +about sixty feet round the bole. It is strange to think that a few ancient +conifers should alone survive of all the glories of Montezuma’s wealth +and state. —A<small>UTHOR</small>. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI<br /> +THOMAS BECOMES A GOD</h2> + +<p> +Little did I, plain Thomas Wingfield, gentleman, know, when I rose that +morning, that before sunset I should be a god, and after Montezuma the Emperor, +the most honoured man, or rather god, in the city of Mexico. +</p> + +<p> +It came about thus. When I had breakfasted with the household of the prince +Guatemoc, I was led to the hall of justice, which was named the “tribunal +of god.” Here on a golden throne sat Montezuma, administering justice in +such pomp as I cannot describe. About him were his counsellors and great lords, +and before him was placed a human skull crowned with emeralds so large that a +blaze of light went up from them. In his hand also he held an arrow for a +sceptre. Certain chiefs or <i>caciques</i> were on their trial for treason, nor +were they left long in doubt as to their fate. For when some evidence had been +heard they were asked what they had to say in their defence. Each of them told +his tale in few words and short. Then Montezuma, who till now had said and done +nothing, took the painted scroll of their indictments and pricked it with the +arrow in his hand where the picture of each prisoner appeared upon the scroll. +Then they were led away to death, but how they died I do not know. +</p> + +<p> +When this trial was finished certain priests entered the hall clothed in sable +robes, their matted hair hanging down their backs. They were fierce, wild-eyed +men of great dignity, and I shivered when I saw them. I noticed also that they +alone made small reverence to the majesty of Montezuma. The counsellors and +nobles having fallen back, these priests entered into talk with the emperor, +and presently two of them came forward and taking me from the custody of the +guards, led me forward before the throne. Then of a sudden I was commanded to +strip myself of my garments, and this I did with no little shame, till I stood +naked before them all. Now the priests came forward and examined every part of +me closely. On my arms were the scars left by de Garcia’s sword, and on +my breast the scarcely healed marks of the puma’s teeth and claws. These +wounds they scanned, asking how I had come by them. I told them, and thereupon +they carried on a discussion among themselves, and out of my hearing, which +grew so warm that at length they appealed to the emperor to decide the point. +He thought a while, and I heard him say: +</p> + +<p> +“The blemishes do not come from within the body, nor were they upon it at +birth, but have been inflicted by the violence of man and beast.” +</p> + +<p> +Then the priests consulted together again, and presently their leader spoke +some words into the ear of Montezuma. He nodded, and rising from his throne, +came towards me who stood naked and shivering before him, for the air of Mexico +is keen. As he advanced he loosed a chain of emeralds and gold that hung about +his neck, and unclasped the royal cloak from his shoulders. Then with his own +hand, he put the chain about my throat, and the cloak upon my shoulders, and +having humbly bent the knee before me as though in adoration, he cast his arms +about me and embraced me. +</p> + +<p> +“Hail! most blessed,” he said, “divine son of Quetzal, holder +of the spirit of Tezcat, Soul of the World, Creator of the World. What have we +done that you should honour us thus with your presence for a season? What can +we do to pay the honour back? You created us and all this country; behold! +while you tarry with us, it is yours and we are nothing but your servants. +Order and your commands shall be obeyed, think and your thought shall be +executed before it can pass your lips. O Tezcat, I, Montezuma your servant, +offer you my adoration, and through me the adoration of all my people,” +and again he bowed the knee. +</p> + +<p> +“We adore you, O Tezcat!” chimed in the priests. +</p> + +<p> +Now I remained silent and bewildered, for of all this foolery I could +understand nothing, and while I stood thus Montezuma clapped his hands and +women entered bearing beautiful clothing with them, and a wreath of flowers. +The clothing they put upon my body and the wreath of flowers on my head, +worshipping me the while and saying, “Tezcat who died yesterday is come +again. Be joyful, Tezcat has come again in the body of the captive +Teule.” +</p> + +<p> +Then I understood that I was now a god and the greatest of gods, though at that +moment within myself I felt more of a fool than I had ever been before. +</p> + +<p> +And now men appeared, grave and reverend in appearance, bearing lutes in their +hands. I was told that these were my tutors, and with them a train of royal +pages who were to be my servants. They led me forth from the hall making music +as they went, and before me marched a herald, calling out that this was the god +Tezcat, Soul of the World, Creator of the World, who had come again to visit +his people. They led me through all the courts and endless chambers of the +palace, and wherever I went, man woman and child bowed themselves to the earth +before me, and worshipped me, Thomas Wingfield of Ditchingham, in the county of +Norfolk, till I thought that I must be mad. +</p> + +<p> +Then they placed me in a litter and carried me down the hill Chapoltepec, and +along causeways and through streets, till we came to the great square of the +temple. Before me went heralds and priests, after me followed pages and nobles, +and ever as we passed the multitudes prostrated themselves till I began to +understand how wearisome a thing it is to be a god. Next they carried me +through the wall of serpents and up the winding paths of the mighty +<i>teocalli</i> till we reached the summit, where the temples and idols stood, +and here a great drum beat, and the priests sacrificed victim after victim in +my honour and I grew sick with the sight of wickedness and blood. Presently +they invited me to descend from the litter, laying rich carpets and flowers for +my feet to tread on, and I was much afraid, for I thought that they were about +to sacrifice me to myself or some other divinity. But this was not so. They led +me to the edge of the pyramid, or as near as I would go, for I shrank back lest +they should seize me suddenly and cast me over the edge. And there the high +priest called out my dignity to the thousands who were assembled beneath, and +every one of them bent the knee in adoration of me, the priests above and the +multitudes below. And so it went on till I grew dizzy with the worship, and the +shouting, and the sounds of music, and the sights of death, and very thankful +was I, when at last they carried me back to Chapoltepec. +</p> + +<p> +Here new honours awaited me, for I was conducted to a splendid range of +apartments, next to those of the emperor himself, and I was told that all +Montezuma’s household were at my command and that he who refused to do my +bidding should die. +</p> + +<p> +So at last I spoke and said it was my bidding that I should be suffered to rest +a while, till a feast was prepared for me in the apartments of Guatemoc the +prince, for there I hoped to meet Otomie. +</p> + +<p> +My tutors and the nobles who attended me answered that Montezuma my servant had +trusted that I would feast with him that night. Still my command should be +done. Then they left me, saying that they would come again in an hour to lead +me to the banquet. Now I threw off the emblems of my godhead and cast myself +down on cushions to rest and think, and a certain exultation took possession of +me, for was I not a god, and had I not power almost absolute? Still being of a +cautious mind I wondered why I was a god, and how long my power would last. +</p> + +<p> +Before the hour had gone by, pages and nobles entered, bearing new robes which +were put upon my body and fresh flowers to crown my head, and I was led away to +the apartments of Guatemoc, fair women going before me who played upon +instruments of music. +</p> + +<p> +Here Guatemoc the prince waited to receive me, which he did as though I, his +captive and companion, was the first of kings. And yet I thought that I saw +merriment in his eye, mingled with sorrow. Bending forward I spoke to him in a +whisper: +</p> + +<p> +“What does all this mean, prince?” I said. “Am I befooled, or +am I indeed a god?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” he answered, bowing low and speaking beneath his breath. +“It means both good and ill for you, my friend Teule. Another time I will +tell you.” Then he added aloud, “Does it please you, O Tezcat, god +of gods, that we should sit at meat with you, or will you eat alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“The gods like good company, prince,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +Now during this talk I had discovered that among those gathered in the hall was +the princess Otomie. So when we passed to the low table around which we were to +sit on cushions, I hung back watching where she would place herself, and then +at once seated myself beside her. This caused some little confusion among the +company, for the place of honour had been prepared for me at the head of the +table, the seat of Guatemoc being to my right and that of his wife, the royal +Tecuichpo, to my left. +</p> + +<p> +“Your seat is yonder, O Tezcat,” she said, blushing beneath her +olive skin as she spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely a god may sit where he chooses, royal Otomie,” I answered; +“besides,” I added in a low voice, “what better place can he +find than by the side of the most lovely goddess on the earth.” +</p> + +<p> +Again she blushed and answered, “Alas! I am no goddess, but only a mortal +maid. Listen, if you desire that I should be your companion at our feasts, you +must issue it as a command; none will dare to disobey you, not even Montezuma +my father.” +</p> + +<p> +So I rose and said in very halting Aztec to the nobles who waited on me, +“It is my will that my place shall always be set by the side of the +princess Otomie.” +</p> + +<p> +At these words Otomie blushed even more, and a murmur went round among the +guests, while Guatemoc first looked angry and then laughed. But the nobles, my +attendants, bowed, and their spokesman answered: +</p> + +<p> +“The words of Tezcat shall be obeyed. Let the seat of Otomie, the royal +princess, the favoured of Tezcat, be placed by the side of the god.” +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards this was always done, except when I ate with Montezuma himself. +Moreover the princess Otomie became known throughout the city as “the +blessed princess, the favoured of Tezcat.” For so strong a hold had +custom and superstition upon this people that they thought it the greatest of +honours to her, who was among the first ladies in the land, that he who for a +little space was supposed to hold the spirit of the soul of the world, should +deign to desire her companionship when he ate. Now the feast went on, and +presently I made shift to ask Otomie what all this might mean. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas!” she whispered, “you do not know, nor dare I tell you +now. But I will say this: though you who are a god may sit where you will +to-day, an hour shall come when you must lie where you would not. Listen: when +we have finished eating, say that it is your wish to walk in the gardens of the +palace and that I should accompany you. Then I may find a chance to +speak.” +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, when the feast was over I said that I desired to walk in the +gardens with the princess Otomie, and we went out and wandered under the solemn +trees, that are draped in a winding-sheet of grey moss which, hanging from +every bough as though the forest had been decked with the white beards of an +army of aged men, waved and rustled sadly in the keen night air. But alas! we +might not be alone, for after us at a distance of twenty paces followed all my +crowd of attendant nobles, together with fair dancing girls and minstrels armed +with their accursed flutes, on which they blew in season and out of it, dancing +as they blew. In vain did I command them to be silent, telling them that it was +written of old that there is a time to play and dance and a time to cease from +dancing, for in this alone they would not obey me. Never could I be at peace +because of them then or thereafter, and not till now did I learn how great a +treasure is solitude. +</p> + +<p> +Still we were allowed to walk together under the trees, and though the clamour +of music pursued us wherever we went, we were soon deep in talk. Then it was +that I learned how dreadful was the fate which overshadowed me. +</p> + +<p> +“Know, O Teule,” said Otomie, for she would call me by the old name +when there were none to hear; “this is the custom of our land, that every +year a young captive should be chosen to be the earthly image of the god +Tezcat, who created the world. Only two things are necessary to this captive, +namely, that his blood should be noble, and that his person should be beautiful +and without flaw or blemish. The day that you came hither, Teule, chanced to be +the day of choosing a new captive to personate the god, and you have been +chosen because you are both noble and more beautiful than any man in Anahuac, +and also because being of the people of the Teules, the children of Quetzal of +whom so many rumours have reached us, and whose coming my father Montezuma +dreads more than anything in the world, it was thought by the priests that you +may avert their anger from us, and the anger of the gods.” +</p> + +<p> +Now Otomie paused as one who has something to say that she can scarcely find +words to fit, but I, remembering only what had been said, swelled inwardly with +the sense of my own greatness, and because this lovely princess had declared +that I was the most beautiful man in Anahuac, I who though I was well-looking +enough, had never before been called “beautiful” by man, woman, or +child. But in this case as in many another, pride went before a fall. +</p> + +<p> +“It must be spoken, Teule,” Otomie continued. “Alas! that it +should be I who am fated to tell you. For a year you will rule as a god in this +city of Tenoctitlan, and except for certain ceremonies that you must undergo, +and certain arts which you must learn, none will trouble you. Your slightest +wish will be a law, and when you smile on any, it shall be an omen of good to +them and they will bless you; even my father Montezuma will treat you with +reverence as an equal or more. Every delight shall be yours except that of +marriage, and this will be withheld till the twelfth month of the year. Then +the four most beautiful maidens in the land will be given to you as +brides.” +</p> + +<p> +“And who will choose them?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I know not, Teule, who do not meddle in such mysteries,” she +answered hurriedly. “Sometimes the god is judge and sometimes the priests +judge for him. It is as it may chance. Listen now to the end of my tale and you +will surely forget the rest. For one month you will live with your wives, and +this month you will pass in feasting at all the noblest houses in the city. On +the last day of the month, however, you will be placed in a royal barge and +together with your wives, paddled across the lake to a place that is named +‘Melting of Metals.’ Thence you will be led to the <i>teocalli</i> +named ‘House of Weapons,’ where your wives will bid farewell to you +for ever, and there, Teule, alas! that I must say it, you are doomed to be +offered as a sacrifice to the god whose spirit you hold, the great god Tezcat, +for your heart will be torn from your body, and your head will be struck from +your shoulders and set upon the stake that is known as ‘post of +heads.’” +</p> + +<p> +Now when I heard this dreadful doom I groaned aloud and my knees trembled so +that I almost fell to the ground. Then a great fury seized me and, forgetting +my father’s counsel, I blasphemed the gods of that country and the people +who worshipped them, first in the Aztec and Maya languages, then when my +knowledge of these tongues failed me, in Spanish and good English. But Otomie, +who heard some of my words and guessed more, was seized with fear and lifted +her hands, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Curse not the awful gods, I beseech you, lest some terrible thing befall +you at once. If you are overheard it will be thought that you have an evil +spirit and not a good one, and then you must die now and by torment. At the +least the gods, who are everywhere, will hear you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let them hear,” I answered. “They are false gods and that +country is accursed which worships them. They are doomed I say, and all their +worshippers are doomed. Nay, I care not if I am heard—as well die now by +torment as live a year in the torment of approaching death. But I shall not die +alone, all the sea of blood that your priests have shed cries out for vengeance +to the true God, and He will avenge.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus I raved on, being mad with fear and impotent anger, while the princess +Otomie stood terrified and amazed at my blasphemies, and the flutes piped and +the dancers danced behind us. And as I raved I saw that the mind of Otomie +wandered from my words, for she was staring towards the east like one who sees +a vision. Then I looked also towards the east and saw that the sky was alight +there. For from the edge of the horizon to the highest parts of heaven spread a +fan of pale and fearful light powdered over with sparks of fire, the handle of +the fan resting on the earth as it were, while its wings covered the eastern +sky. Now I ceased my cursing and stood transfixed, and as I stood, a cry of +terror arose from all the precincts of the palace and people poured from every +door to gaze upon the portent that flared and blazed in the east. Presently +Montezuma himself came out, attended by his great lords, and in that ghastly +light I saw that his lips worked and his hands writhed over each other. Nor was +the miracle done with, for anon from the clear sky that hung over the city, +descended a ball of fire, which seemed to rest upon the points of the lofty +temple in the great square, lighting up the <i>teocalli</i> as with the glare +of day. It vanished, but where it had been another light now burned, for the +temple of Quetzal was afire. +</p> + +<p> +Now cries of fear and lamentation arose from all who beheld these wonders on +the hill of Chapoltepec and also from the city below. Even I was frightened, I +do not know why, for it may well be that the blaze of light which we saw on +that and after nights was nothing but the brightness of a comet, and that the +fire in the temple was caused by a thunderbolt. But to these people, and more +especially to Montezuma, whose mind was filled already with rumours of the +coming of a strange white race, which, as it was truly prophesied, would bring +his empire to nothingness, the omens seemed very evil. Indeed, if they had any +doubt as to their meaning, it was soon to be dispelled, in their minds at +least. For as we stood wonder-struck, a messenger, panting and soiled with +travel, arrived among us and prostrating himself before the majesty of the +emperor, he drew a painted scroll from his robe and handed it to an attendant +noble. So desirous was Montezuma to know its contents, that contrary to all +custom he snatched the roll from the hands of the counsellor, and unrolling it, +he began to read the picture writing by the baleful light of the blazing sky +and temple. Presently, as we watched and he read, Montezuma groaned aloud, and +casting down the writing he covered his face with his hands. As it chanced it +fell near to where I stood, and I saw painted over it rude pictures of ships of +the Spanish rig, and of men in the Spanish armour. Then I understood why +Montezuma groaned. The Spaniards had landed on his shores! +</p> + +<p> +Now some of his counsellors approached him to console him, but he thrust them +aside, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Let me mourn—the doom that was foretold is fallen upon the +children of Anahuac. The children of Quetzal muster on our shores and slay my +people. Let me mourn, I say.” +</p> + +<p> +At that moment another messenger came from the palace, having grief written on +his face. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak,” said Montezuma. +</p> + +<p> +“O king, forgive the tongue that must tell such tidings. Your royal +sister Papantzin was seized with terror at yonder dreadful sight,” and he +pointed to the heavens; “she lies dying in the palace!” +</p> + +<p> +Now when the emperor heard that his sister whom he loved was dying, he said +nothing, but covering his face with his royal mantle, he passed slowly back to +the palace. +</p> + +<p> +And all the while the crimson light gleamed and sparkled in the east like some +monstrous and unnatural dawn, while the temple of Quetzal burned fiercely in +the city beneath. +</p> + +<p> +Now, I turned to the princess Otomie, who had stood by my side throughout, +overcome with wonder and trembling. +</p> + +<p> +“Did I not say that this country was accursed, princess of the +Otomie?” +</p> + +<p> +“You said it, Teule,” she answered, “and it is +accursed.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Then we went into the palace, and even in this hour of fear, after me came the +minstrels as before. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII<br /> +THE ARISING OF PAPANTZIN</h2> + +<p> +On the morrow Papantzin died, and was buried with great pomp that same evening +in the burial-ground at Chapoltepec, by the side of the emperor’s royal +ancestors. But, as will be seen, she was not content with their company. On +that day also, I learned that to be a god is not all pleasure, since it was +expected of me that I must master various arts, and chiefly the horrid art of +music, to which I never had any desire. Still my own wishes were not allowed to +weigh in the matter, for there came to me tutors, aged men who might have found +better employment, to instruct me in the use of the lute, and on this +instrument I must learn to strum. Others there were also, who taught me +letters, poetry, and art, as they were understood among the Aztecs, and all +this knowledge I was glad of. Still I remembered the words of the preacher +which tell us that he who increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow, and moreover +I could see little use in acquiring learning that was to be lost shortly on the +stone of sacrifice. +</p> + +<p> +As to this matter of my sacrifice I was at first desperate. But reflection told +me that I had already passed many dangers and come out unscathed, and therefore +it was possible that I might escape this one also. At least death was still a +long way off, and for the present I was a god. So I determined that whether I +died or lived, while I lived I would live like a god and take such pleasures as +came to my hand, and I acted on this resolve. No man ever had greater or more +strange opportunities, and no man can have used them better. Indeed, had it not +been for the sorrowful thoughts of my lost love and home which would force +themselves upon me, I should have been almost happy, because of the power that +I wielded and the strangeness of all around me. But I must to my tale. +</p> + +<p> +During the days that followed the death of Papantzin the palace and the city +also were plunged in ferment. The minds of men were shaken strangely because of +the rumours that filled the air. Every night the fiery portent blazed in the +east, every day a new wonder or omen was reported, and with it some wild tale +of the doings of the Spaniards, who by most were held to be white gods, the +children of Quetzal, come back to take the land which their forefather ruled. +</p> + +<p> +But of all that were troubled, none were in such bad case as the emperor +himself, who, during these weeks scarcely ate or drank or slept, so heavy were +his fears upon him. In this strait he sent messengers to his ancient rival, +that wise and severe man Neza, the king of the allied state of Tezcuco, begging +that he would visit him. This king came, an old man with a fierce and gleaming +eye, and I was witness to the interview that followed, for in my quality of god +I had full liberty of the palace, and even to be present at the councils of the +emperor and his nobles. When the two monarchs had feasted together, Montezuma +spoke to Neza of the matter of the omens and of the coming of the Teules, +asking him to lighten the darkness by his wisdom. Then Neza pulled his long +grey beard and answered that heavy as the heart of Montezuma might be, it must +grow still heavier before the end. +</p> + +<p> +“See, Lord,” he said, “I am so sure that the days of our +empire are numbered, that I will play you at dice for my kingdoms which you and +your forefathers have ever desired to win.” +</p> + +<p> +“For what wager?” asked Montezuma. +</p> + +<p> +“I will play you thus,” answered Neza. “You shall stake three +fighting cocks, of which, should I win, I ask the spurs only. I set against +them all the wide empire of Tezcuco.” +</p> + +<p> +“A small stake,” said Montezuma; “cocks are many and kingdoms +few.” +</p> + +<p> +“Still, it shall serve our turn,” answered the aged king, +“for know that we play against fate. As the game goes, so shall the issue +be. If you win my kingdoms all is well; if I win the cocks, then good-bye to +the glory of Anahuac, for its people will cease to be a people, and strangers +shall possess the land.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us play and see,” said Montezuma, and they went down to the +place that is called <i>tlachco</i>, where the games are set. Here they began +the match with dice and at first all went well for Montezuma, so that he called +aloud that already he was lord of Tezcuco. +</p> + +<p> +“May it be so!” answered the aged Neza, and from that moment the +chance changed. For strive as he would, Montezuma could not win another point, +and presently the set was finished, and Neza had won the cocks. Now the music +played, and courtiers came forward to give the king homage on his success. But +he rose sighing, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“I had far sooner lose my kingdoms than have won these fowls, for if I +had lost my kingdoms they would still have passed into the hands of one of my +own race. Now alas! my possessions and his must come under the hand of +strangers, who shall cast down our gods and bring our names to nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +And having spoken thus, he rose, and taking farewell of the emperor, he +departed for his own land, where, as it chanced, he died very shortly, without +living to see the fulfilment of his fears. +</p> + +<p> +On the morrow of his departure came further accounts of the doings of the +Spaniards that plunged Montezuma into still greater alarm. In his terror he +sent for an astronomer, noted throughout the land for the truth of his +divinations. The astronomer came, and was received by the emperor privately. +What he told him I do not know, but at least it was nothing pleasant, for that +very night men were commanded to pull down the house of this sage, who was +buried in its ruins. +</p> + +<p> +Two days after the death of the astronomer, Montezuma bethought him that, as he +believed, I also was a Teule, and could give him information. So at the hour of +sunset he sent for me, bidding me walk with him in the gardens. I went thither, +followed by my musicians and attendants, who would never leave me in peace, but +he commanded that all should stand aside, as he wished to speak with me alone. +Then he began to walk beneath the mighty cedar trees, and I with him, but +keeping one pace behind. +</p> + +<p> +“Teule,” he said at length, “tell me of your countrymen, and +why they have come to these shores. See that you speak truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are no countrymen of mine, O Montezuma,” I answered, +“though my mother was one of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did I not bid you speak the truth, Teule? If your mother was one of +them, must you not also be of them; for are you not of your mother’s bone +and blood?” +</p> + +<p> +“As the king pleases,” I answered bowing. Then I began and told him +of the Spaniards—of their country, their greatness, their cruelty and +their greed of gold, and he listened eagerly, though I think that he believed +little of what I said, for his fear had made him very suspicious. When I had +done, he spoke and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Why do they come here to Anahuac?” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear, O king, that they come to take the land, or at the least to rob +it of all its treasure, and to destroy its faiths.” +</p> + +<p> +“What then is your counsel, Teule? How can I defend myself against these +mighty men, who are clothed in metal, and ride upon fierce wild beasts, who +have instruments that make a noise like thunder, at the sound of which their +adversaries fall dead by hundreds, and who bear weapons of shining silver in +their hands? Alas! there is no defence possible, for they are the children of +Quetzal come back to take the land. From my childhood I have known that this +evil overshadowed me, and now it is at my door.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I, who am only a god, may venture to speak to the lord of the +earth,” I answered, “I say that the reply is easy. Meet force by +force. The Teules are few and you can muster a thousand soldiers for every one +of theirs. Fall on them at once, do not hesitate till their prowess finds them +friends, but crush them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Such is the counsel of one whose mother was a Teule;” the emperor +answered, with sarcasm and bitter meaning. “Tell me now, counsellor, how +am I to know that in fighting against them I shall not be fighting against the +gods; how even am I to learn the true wishes and purposes of men or gods who +cannot speak my tongue and whose tongue I cannot speak?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is easy, O Montezuma,” I answered. “I can speak their +tongue; send me to discover for you.” +</p> + +<p> +Now as I spoke thus my heart bounded with hope, for if once I could come among +the Spaniards, perhaps I might escape the altar of sacrifice. Also they seemed +a link between me and home. They had sailed hither in ships, and ships can +retrace their path. For though at present my lot was not all sorrow, it will be +guessed that I should have been glad indeed to find myself once more among +Christian men. +</p> + +<p> +Montezuma looked at me a while and answered: +</p> + +<p> +“You must think me very foolish, Teule. What! shall I send you to tell my +fears and weakness to your countrymen, and to show them the joints in my +harness? Do you then suppose that I do not know you for a spy sent to this land +by these same Teules to gather knowledge of the land? Fool, I knew it from the +first, and by Huitzel! were you not vowed to Tezcat, your heart should smoke +to-morrow on the altar of Huitzel. Be warned, and give me no more false +counsels lest your end prove swifter than you think. Learn that I have asked +these questions of you to a purpose, and by the command of the gods, as it was +written on the hearts of those sacrificed this day. This was the purpose and +this was the command, that I might discover your secret mind, and that I should +shun whatever advice you chanced to give. You counsel me to fight the Teules, +therefore I will not fight them, but meet them with gifts and fair words, for I +know well that you would have me to do that which should bring me to my +doom.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus he spoke very fiercely and in a low voice, his head held low and his arms +crossed upon his breast, and I saw that he shook with passion. Even then, +though I was very much afraid, for god as I was, a nod from this mighty king +would have sent me to death by torment, I wondered at the folly of one who in +everything else was so wise. Why should he doubt me thus and allow superstition +to drag him down to ruin? To-day I see the answer. Montezuma did not these +things of himself, but because the hand of destiny worked with his hand, and +the voice of destiny spoke in his voice. The gods of the Aztecs were false gods +indeed, but I for one believe that they had life and intelligence, for those +hideous shapes of stone were the habitations of devils, and the priests spoke +truth when they said that the sacrifice of men was pleasing to their gods. +</p> + +<p> +To these devils the king went for counsel through the priests, and now this +doom was on them, that they must give false counsel to their own destruction, +and to the destruction of those who worshipped them, as was decreed by One more +powerful than they. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Now while we were talking the sun had sunk swiftly, so that all the world was +dark. But the light still lingered on the snowy crests of the volcans Popo and +Ixtac, staining them an awful red. Never before to my sight had the shape of +the dead woman whose everlasting bier is Ixtac’s bulk, seemed so clear +and wonderful as on that night, for either it was so or my fancy gave it the +very shape and colour of a woman’s corpse steeped in blood and laid out +for burial. Nor was it my phantasy alone, for when Montezuma had finished +upbraiding me he chanced to look up, and his eyes falling on the mountain +remained fixed there. +</p> + +<p> +“Look now, Teule!” he said, presently, with a solemn laugh; +“yonder lies the corpse of the nations of Anahuac washed in a water of +blood and made ready for burial. Is she not terrible in death?” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke the words and turned to go, a sound of doleful wailing came from +the direction of the mountain, a very wild and unearthly sound that caused the +blood in my veins to stand still. Now Montezuma caught my arm in his fear, and +we gazed together on Ixtac, and it seemed to us that this wonder happened. For +in that red and fearful light the red figure of the sleeping woman arose, or +appeared to rise, from its bier of stone. It arose slowly like one who awakes +from sleep, and presently it stood upright upon the mountain’s brow, +towering high into the air. There it stood a giant and awakened corpse, its +white wrappings stained with blood, and we trembled to see it. +</p> + +<p> +For a while the wraith remained thus gazing towards the city of Tenoctitlan, +then suddenly it threw its vast arms upward as though in grief, and at that +moment the night rushed in upon it and covered it, while the sound of wailing +died slowly away. +</p> + +<p> +“Say, Teule,” gasped the emperor, “do I not well to be afraid +when such portents as these meet my eyes day by day? Hearken to the +lamentations in the city; we have not seen this sight alone. Listen how the +people cry aloud with fear and the priests beat their drums to avert the omen. +Weep on, ye people, and ye priests pray and do sacrifice; it is very fitting, +for the day of your doom is upon you. O Tenoctitlan, queen of cities, I see you +ruined and desolate, your palaces blackened with fire, your temples desecrated, +your pleasant gardens a wilderness. I see your highborn women the wantons of +stranger lords, and your princes their servants; the canals run red with the +blood of your children, your gateways are blocked with their bones. Death is +about you everywhere, dishonour is your daily bread, desolation is your +portion. Farewell to you, queen of the cities, cradle of my forefathers in +which I was nursed!” +</p> + +<p> +Thus Montezuma lamented in the darkness, and as he cried aloud the great moon +rose over the edge of the world and poured its level light through the boughs +of the cedars clothed in their ghostly robe of moss. It struck upon +Montezuma’s tall shape, on his distraught countenance and thin hands as +he waved them to and fro in his prophetic agony, on my glittering garments, and +the terror-stricken band of courtiers, and the musicians who had ceased from +their music. A little wind sprang up also, moaning sadly in the mighty trees +above and against the rocks of Chapoltepec. Never did I witness a scene more +strange or more pregnant with mystery and the promise of unborn horror, than +that of this great monarch mourning over the downfall of his race and power. As +yet no misfortune had befallen the one or the other, and still he knew that +both were doomed, and these words of lamentation burst from a heart broken by a +grief of which the shadow only lay upon it. +</p> + +<p> +But the wonders of that night were not yet done with. +</p> + +<p> +When Montezuma had made an end of crying his prophecies, I asked him humbly if +I should summon to him the lords who were in attendance on him, but who stood +at some distance. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” he answered, “I will not have them see me thus with +grief and terror upon my face. Whoever fears, at least I must seem brave. Walk +with me a while, Teule, and if it is in your mind to murder me I shall not +grieve.” +</p> + +<p> +I made no answer, but followed him as he led the way down the darkest of the +winding paths that run between the cedar trees, where it would have been easy +for me to kill him if I wished, but I could not see how I should be advantaged +by the deed; also though I knew that Montezuma was my enemy, my heart shrank +from the thought of murder. For a mile or more he walked on without speaking, +now beneath the shadow of the trees, and now through open spaces of garden +planted with lovely flowers, till at last we came to the gates of the place +where the royal dead are laid to rest. Now in front of these gates was an open +space of turf on which the moonlight shone brightly, and in the centre of this +space lay something white, shaped like a woman. Here Montezuma halted and +looked at the gates, then said: +</p> + +<p> +“These gates opened four days since for Papantzin, my sister; how long, I +wonder, will pass before they open for me?” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, the white shape upon the grass which I had seen and he had not +seen, stirred like an awakening sleeper. As the snow shape upon the mountain +had stirred, so this shape stirred; as it had arisen, so this one arose; as it +threw its arms upwards, so this one threw up her arms. Now Montezuma saw and +stood still trembling, and I trembled also. +</p> + +<p> +Then the woman—for it was a woman—advanced slowly towards us, and +as she came we saw that she was draped in graveclothes. Presently she lifted +her head and the moonlight fell full upon her face. Now Montezuma groaned aloud +and I groaned, for we saw that the face was the thin pale face of the princess +Papantzin—Papantzin who had lain four days in the grave. On she came +toward us, gliding like one who walks in her sleep, till she stopped before the +bush in the shadow of which we stood. Now Papantzin, or the ghost of Papantzin, +looked at us with blind eyes, that is with eyes that were open and yet did not +seem to see. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you there, Montezuma, my brother?” she said in the voice of +Papantzin; “surely I feel your presence though I cannot see you.” +</p> + +<p> +Now Montezuma stepped from the shadow and stood face to face with the dead. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” he said, “who wear the shape of one dead and +are dressed in the garments of the dead?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am Papantzin,” she answered, “and I am risen out of death +to bring you a message, Montezuma, my brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“What message do you bring me?” he asked hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +“I bring you a message of doom, my brother. Your empire shall fall and +soon you shall be accompanied to death by tens of thousands of your people. For +four days I have lived among the dead, and there I have seen your false gods +which are devils. There also I have seen the priests that served them, and many +of those who worshipped them plunged into torment unutterable. Because of the +worship of these demon gods the people of Anahuac is destined to +destruction.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you no word of comfort for me, Papantzin, my sister?” he +asked. +</p> + +<p> +“None,” she answered. “Perchance if you abandon the worship +of the false gods you may save your soul; your life you cannot save, nor the +lives of your people.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she turned and passed away into the shadow of the trees; I heard her +graveclothes sweep upon the grass. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Now a fury seized Montezuma and he raved aloud, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Curses on you, Papantzin, my sister! Why then do you come back from the +dead to bring me such evil tidings? Had you brought hope with you, had you +shown a way of escape, then I would have welcomed you. May you go back into +darkness and may the earth lie heavy on your heart for ever. As for my gods, my +fathers worshipped them and I will worship them till the end; ay, if they +desert me, at least I will never desert them. The gods are angry because the +sacrifices are few upon their altars, henceforth they shall be doubled; ay, the +priests of the gods shall themselves be sacrificed because they neglect their +worship.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus he raved on, after the fashion of a weak man maddened with terror, while +his nobles and attendants who had followed him at a distance, clustered about +him, fearful and wondering. At length there came an end, for tearing with his +thin hands at his royal robes and at his hair and beard, Montezuma fell and +writhed in a fit upon the ground. +</p> + +<p> +Then they carried him into the palace and none saw him for three days and +nights. But he made no idle threat as to the sacrifices, for from that night +forward they were doubled throughout the land. Already the shadow of the Cross +lay deep upon the altars of Anahuac, but still the smoke of their offerings +went up to heaven and the cry of the captives rang round the <i>teocallis</i>. +The hour of the demon gods was upon them indeed, but now they reaped their last +red harvest, and it was rich. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Now I, Thomas Wingfield, saw these portents with my own eyes, but I cannot say +whether they were indeed warnings sent from heaven or illusions springing from +the accidents of nature. The land was terror-struck, and it may happen that the +minds of men thus smitten can find a dismal meaning in omens which otherwise +had passed unnoticed. That Papantzin rose from the dead is true, though perhaps +she only swooned and never really died. At the least she did not go back there +for a while, for though I never saw her again, it is said that she lived to +become a Christian and told strange tales of what she had seen in the land of +Death.<a href="#fn-6" name="fnref-6" id="fnref-6"><sup>[6]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-6" id="fn-6"></a> <a href="#fnref-6">[6]</a> +For the history of the resurrection of Papantzin, see note to +<i>Jourdanet’s</i> translation of <i>Sahagun</i>, page +870.—A<small>UTHOR</small>. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII<br /> +THE NAMING OF THE BRIDES</h2> + +<p> +Now some months passed between the date of my naming as the god Tezcat and the +entry of the Spaniards into Mexico, and during all this space the city was in a +state of ferment. Again and again Montezuma sent embassies to Cortes, bearing +with them vast treasures of gold and gems as presents, and at the same time +praying him to withdraw, for this foolish prince did not understand that by +displaying so much wealth he flew a lure which must surely bring the falcon on +himself. To these ambassadors Cortes returned courteous answers together with +presents of small value, and that was all. +</p> + +<p> +Then the advance began and the emperor learned with dismay of the conquest of +the warlike tribe of the Tlascalans, who, though they were Montezuma’s +bitter and hereditary foes, yet made a stand against the white man. Next came +the tidings that from enemies the conquered Tlascalans had become the allies +and servants of the Spaniard, and that thousands of their fiercest warriors +were advancing with him upon the sacred city of Cholula. A while passed and it +was known that Cholula also had been given to massacre, and that the holy, or +rather the unholy gods, had been torn from their shrines. Marvellous tales were +told of the Spaniards, of their courage and their might, of the armour that +they wore, the thunder that their weapons made in battle, and the fierce beasts +which they bestrode. Once two heads of white men taken in a skirmish were sent +to Montezuma, fierce-looking heads, great and hairy, and with them the head of +a horse. When Montezuma saw these ghastly relics he almost fainted with fear, +still he caused them to be set up on pinnacles of the great temple and +proclamation to be made that this fate awaited every invader of the land. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile all was confusion in his policies. Day by day councils were held of +the nobles, of high priests, and of neighbouring and friendly kings. Some +advised one thing, some another, and the end of it was hesitation and folly. +Ah! had Montezuma but listened to the voice of that great man Guatemoc, Anahuac +would not have been a Spanish fief to-day. For Guatemoc prayed him again and +yet again to put away his fears and declare open war upon the Teules before it +was too late; to cease from making gifts and sending embassies, to gather his +countless armies and smite the foe in the mountain passes. +</p> + +<p> +But Montezuma would answer, “To what end, nephew? How can I struggle +against these men when the gods themselves have declared for them? Surely the +gods can take their own parts if they wish it, and if they will not, for myself +and my own fate I do not care, but alas! for my people, alas! for the women and +the children, the aged and the weak.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he would cover his face and moan and weep like a child, and Guatemoc would +pass from his presence dumb with fury at the folly of so great a king, but +helpless to remedy it. For like myself, Guatemoc believed that Montezuma had +been smitten with a madness sent from heaven to bring the land to ruin. +</p> + +<p> +Now it must be understood that though my place as a god gave me opportunities +of knowing all that passed, yet I, Thomas Wingfield, was but a bubble on that +great wave of events which swept over the world of Anahuac two generations +since. I was a bubble on the crest of the wave indeed, but at that time I had +no more power than the foam has over the wave. Montezuma distrusted me as a +spy, the priests looked on me as a god and future victim and no more, only +Guatemoc my friend, and Otomie who loved me secretly, had any faith in me, and +with these two I often talked, showing them the true meaning of those things +that were happening before our eyes. But they also were strengthless, for +though his reason was no longer captain, still the unchecked power of Montezuma +guided the ship of state first this way and then that, just as a rudder directs +a vessel to its ruin when the helmsman has left it, and it swings at the mercy +of the wind and tide. +</p> + +<p> +The people were distraught with fear of the future, but not the less on that +account, or perhaps because of it, they plunged with fervour into pleasures, +alternating them with religious ceremonies. In those days no feast was +neglected and no altar lacked its victim. Like a river that quickens its flow +as it draws near the precipice over which it must fall, so the people of +Mexico, foreseeing ruin, awoke as it were and lived as they had never lived +before. All day long the cries of victims came from a hundred temple tops, and +all night the sounds of revelry were heard among the streets. “Let us eat +and drink,” they said, “for the gods of the sea are upon us and +to-morrow we die.” Now women who had been held virtuous proved themselves +wantons, and men whose names were honest showed themselves knaves, and none +cried fie upon them; ay, even children were seen drunken in the streets, which +is an abomination among the Aztecs. +</p> + +<p> +The emperor had moved his household from Chapoltepec to the palace in the great +square facing the temple, and this palace was a town in itself, for every night +more than a thousand human beings slept beneath its roof, not to speak of the +dwarfs and monsters, and the hundreds of wild birds and beasts in cages. Here +every day I feasted with whom I would, and when I was weary of feasting it was +my custom to sally out into the streets playing on the lute, for by now I had +in some degree mastered that hateful instrument, dressed in shining apparel and +attended by a crowd of nobles and royal pages. Then the people would rush from +their houses shouting and doing me reverence, the children pelted me with +flowers, and the maidens danced before me, kissing my hands and feet, till at +length I was attended by a mob a thousand strong. And I also danced and shouted +like any village fool, for I think that a kind of mad humour, or perhaps it was +the drunkenness of worship, entered into me in those days. Also I sought to +forget my griefs, I desired to forget that I was doomed to the sacrifice, and +that every day brought me nearer to the red knife of the priest. +</p> + +<p> +I desired to forget, but alas! I could not. The fumes of the <i>mescal</i> and +the <i>pulque</i> that I had drunk at feasts would pass from my brain, the +perfume of flowers, the sights of beauty and the adoration of the people would +cease to move me, and I could only brood heavily upon my doom and think with +longing of my distant love and home. In those days, had it not been for the +tender kindness of Otomie, I think that my heart would have broken or I should +have slain myself. But this great and beauteous lady was ever at hand to cheer +me in a thousand ways, and now and again she would let fall some vague words of +hope that set my pulses bounding. It will be remembered that when first I came +to the court of Montezuma, I had found Otomie fair and my fancy turned towards +her. Now I still found her fair, but my heart was so full of terror that there +was no room in it for tender thoughts of her or of any other woman. Indeed when +I was not drunk with wine or adoration, I turned my mind to the making of my +peace with heaven, of which I had some need. +</p> + +<p> +Still I talked much with Otomie, instructing her in the matters of my faith and +many other things, as I had done by Marina, who we now heard was the mistress +and interpreter of Cortes, the Spanish leader. She for her part listened +gravely, watching me the while with her tender eyes, but no more, for of all +women Otomie was the most modest, as she was the proudest and most beautiful. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +So matters went on until the Spaniards had left Cholula on their road to +Mexico. It was then that I chanced one morning to be sitting in the gardens, my +lute in hand, and having my attendant nobles and tutors gathered at a +respectful distance behind me. From where I sat I could see the entrance to the +court in which the emperor met his council daily, and I noted that when the +princes had gone the priests began to come, and after them a number of very +lovely girls attended by women of middle age. Presently Guatemoc the prince, +who now smiled but rarely, came up to me smiling, and asked me if I knew what +was doing yonder. I replied that I knew nothing and cared less, but I supposed +that Montezuma was gathering a peculiar treasure to send to his masters the +Spaniards. +</p> + +<p> +“Beware how you speak, Teule,” answered the prince haughtily. +“Your words may be true, and yet did I not love you, you should rue them +even though you hold the spirit of Tezcat. Alas!” he added, stamping on +the ground, “alas! that my uncle’s madness should make it possible +that such words can be spoken. Oh! were I emperor of Anahuac, in a single week +the head of every Teule in Cholula should deck a pinnacle of yonder +temple.” +</p> + +<p> +“Beware how you speak, prince,” I answered mocking him, “for +there are those who did they hear, might cause <i>you</i> to rue <i>your</i> +words. Still one day you may be emperor, and then we shall see how you will +deal with the Teules, at least others will see though I shall not. But what is +it now? Does Montezuma choose new wives?” +</p> + +<p> +“He chooses wives, but not for himself. You know, Teule, that your time +grows short. Montezuma and the priests name those who must be given to you to +wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“Given me to wife!” I said starting to my feet; “to me whose +bride is death! What have I to do with love or marriage? I who in some few +short weeks must grace an altar? Ah! Guatemoc, you say you love me, and once I +saved you. Did you love me, surely you would save me now as you swore to +do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I swore that I would give my life for yours, Teule, if it lay in my +power, and that oath I would keep, for all do not set so high a store on life +as you, my friend. But I cannot help you; you are dedicated to the gods, and +did I die a hundred times, it would not save you from your fate. Nothing can +save you except the hand of heaven if it wills. Therefore, Teule, make merry +while you may, and die bravely when you must. Your case is no worse than mine +and that of many others, for death awaits us all. Farewell.” +</p> + +<p> +When he had gone I rose, and leaving the gardens I passed into the chamber +where it was my custom to give audience to those who wished to look upon the +god Tezcat as they called me. Here I sat upon my golden couch, inhaling the +fumes of tobacco, and as it chanced I was alone, for none dared to enter that +room unless I gave them leave. Presently the chief of my pages announced that +one would speak with me, and I bent my head, signifying that the person should +enter, for I was weary of my thoughts. The page withdrew, and presently a +veiled woman stood before me. I looked at her wondering, and bade her draw her +veil and speak. She obeyed, and I saw that my visitor was the princess Otomie. +Now I rose amazed, for it was not usual that she should visit me thus alone. I +guessed therefore that she had tidings, or was following some custom of which I +was ignorant. +</p> + +<p> +“I pray you be seated,” she said confusedly; “it is not +fitting that you should stand before me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not, princess?” I answered. “If I had no respect for +rank, surely beauty must claim it.” +</p> + +<p> +“A truce to words,” she replied with a wave of her slim hand. +“I come here, O Tezcat, according to the ancient custom, because I am +charged with a message to you. Those whom you shall wed are chosen. I am the +bearer of their names.” +</p> + +<p> +“Speak on, princess of the Otomie.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are”—and she named three ladies whom I knew to be among +the loveliest in the land. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought that there were four,” I said with a bitter laugh. +“Am I to be defrauded of the fourth?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is a fourth,” she answered, and was silent. +</p> + +<p> +“Give me her name,” I cried. “What other slut has been found +to marry a felon doomed to sacrifice?” +</p> + +<p> +“One has been found, O Tezcat, who has borne other titles than this you +give her.” +</p> + +<p> +Now I looked at her questioningly, and she spoke again in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I, Otomie, princess of the Otomie, Montezuma’s daughter, am the +fourth and the first.” +</p> + +<p> +“You!” I said, sinking back upon my cushions. +“<i>You!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I. Listen: I was chosen by the priests as the most lovely in the +land, however unworthily. My father, the emperor, was angry and said that +whatever befell, I should never be the wife of a captive who must die upon the +altar of sacrifice. But the priests answered that this was no time for him to +claim exception for his blood, now when the gods were wroth. Was the first lady +in the land to be withheld from the god? they asked. Then my father sighed and +said that it should be as I willed. And I said with the priests, that now in +our sore distress the proud must humble themselves to the dust, even to the +marrying of a captive slave who is named a god and doomed to sacrifice. So I, +princess of the Otomie, have consented to become your wife, O Tezcat, though +perchance had I known all that I read in your eyes this hour, I should not have +consented. It may happen that in this shame I hoped to find love if only for +one short hour, and that I purposed to vary the custom of our people, and to +complete my marriage by the side of the victim on the altar, as, if I will, I +have the right to do. But I see well that I am not welcome, and though it is +too late to go back upon my word, have no fear. There are others, and I shall +not trouble you. I have given my message, is it your pleasure that I should go? +The solemn ceremony of wedlock will be on the twelfth day from now, O +Tezcat.” +</p> + +<p> +Now I rose from my seat and took her hand, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you, Otomie, for your nobleness of mind. Had it not been for the +comfort and friendship which you and Guatemoc your cousin have given me, I +think that ere now I should be dead. So you desire to comfort me to the last; +it seems that you even purposed to die with me. How am I to interpret this, +Otomie? In our land a woman would need to love a man after no common fashion +before she consented to share such a bed as awaits me on yonder pyramid. And +yet I may scarcely think that you whom kings have sued for can place your heart +so low. How am I to read the writing of your words, princess of the +Otomie?” +</p> + +<p> +“Read it with your heart,” she whispered low, and I felt her hand +tremble in my own. +</p> + +<p> +I looked at her beauty, it was great; I thought of her devotion, a devotion +that did not shrink from the most horrible of deaths, and a wind of feeling +which was akin to love swept through my soul. But even as I looked and thought, +I remembered the English garden and the English maid from whom I had parted +beneath the beech at Ditchingham, and the words that we had spoken then. +Doubtless she still lived and was true to me; while I lived should I not keep +true at heart to her? If I must wed these Indian girls, I must wed them, but if +once I told Otomie that I loved her, then I broke my troth, and with nothing +less would she be satisfied. As yet, though I was deeply moved and the +temptation was great, I had not come to this. +</p> + +<p> +“Be seated, Otomie,” I said, “and listen to me. You see this +golden token,” and I drew Lily’s posy ring from my hand, “and +you see the writing within it.” +</p> + +<p> +She bent her head but did not speak, and I saw that there was fear in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I will read you the words, Otomie,” and I translated into the +Aztec tongue the quaint couplet: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Heart to heart,<br /> +Though far apart. +</p> + +<p> +Then at last she spoke. “What does the writing mean?” she said. +“I can only read in pictures, Teule.” +</p> + +<p> +“It means, Otomie, that in the far land whence I come, there is a woman +who loves me, and who is my love.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is she your wife then?” +</p> + +<p> +“She is not my wife, Otomie, but she is vowed to me in marriage.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is vowed to you in marriage,” she answered bitterly: +“why, then we are equal, for so am I, Teule. But there is this difference +between us; you love her, and me you do not love. That is what you would make +clear to me. Spare me more words, I understand all. Still it seems that if I +have lost, she is also in the path of loss. Great seas roll between you and +this love of yours, Teule, seas of water, and the altar of sacrifice, and the +nothingness of death. Now let me go. Your wife I must be, for there is no +escape, but I shall not trouble you over much, and it will soon be done with. +Then you may seek your desire in the Houses of the Stars whither you must +wander, and it is my prayer that you shall win it. All these months I have been +planning to find hope for you, and I thought that I had found it. But it was +built upon a false belief, and it is ended. Had you been able to say from your +heart that you loved me, it might have been well for both of us; should you be +able to say it before the end, it may still be well. But I do not ask you to +say it, and beware how you tell me a lie. I leave you, Teule, but before I go I +will say that I honour you more in this hour than I have honoured you before, +because you have dared to speak the truth to me, Montezuma’s daughter, +when a lie had been so easy and so safe. That woman beyond the seas should be +grateful to you, but though I bear her no ill will, between me and her there is +a struggle to the death. We are strangers to each other, and strangers we shall +remain, but she has touched your hand as I touch it now; you link us together +and are our bond of enmity. Farewell my husband that is to be. We shall meet no +more till that sorry day when a ‘slut’ shall be given to a +‘felon’ in marriage. I use your own words, Teule!” +</p> + +<p> +Then rising, Otomie cast her veil about her face and passed slowly from the +chamber, leaving me much disturbed. It was a bold deed to have rejected the +proffered love of this queen among women, and now that I had done so I was not +altogether glad. Would Lily, I wondered, have offered to descend from such +state, to cast off the purple of her royal rank that she might lie at my side +on the red stone of sacrifice? Perhaps not, for this fierce fidelity is only to +be found in women of another breed. These daughters of the Sun love wholly when +they love at all, and as they love they hate. They ask no priest to consecrate +their vows, nor if these become hateful, will they be bound by them for +duty’s sake. Their own desire is their law, but while it rules them they +follow it unflinchingly, and if need be, they seek its consummation in the +gates of death, or failing that, forgetfulness. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX<br /> +THE FOUR GODDESSES</h2> + +<p> +Some weary time went by, and at last came the day of the entry into Mexico of +Cortes and his conquerors. Now of all the doings of the Spaniards after they +occupied the city, I do not propose to speak at length, for these are matters +of history, and I have my own story to tell. So I shall only write of those of +them with which I was concerned myself. I did not see the meeting between +Montezuma and Cortes, though I saw the emperor set out to it clad like Solomon +in his glory and surrounded by his nobles. But I am sure of this, that no slave +being led to sacrifice carried a heavier heart in his breast than that of +Montezuma on this unlucky day. For now his folly had ruined him, and I think he +knew that he was going to his doom. +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards, towards evening, I saw the emperor come back in his golden litter, +and pass over to the palace built by Axa his father, that stood opposite to and +some five hundred paces from his own, facing the western gate of the temple. +Presently I heard the sound of a multitude shouting, and amidst it the tramp of +horses and armed soldiers, and from a seat in my chamber I saw the Spaniards +advance down the great street, and my heart beat at the sight of Christian men. +In front, clad in rich armour, rode their leader Cortes, a man of middle size +but noble bearing, with thoughtful eyes that noted everything, and after him, +some few on horseback but the most of them on foot, marched his little army of +conquerors, staring about them with bold wondering eyes and jesting to each +other in Castilian. They were but a handful, bronzed with the sun and scarred +by battle, some of them ill-armed and almost in rags, and looking on them I +could not but marvel at the indomitable courage that had enabled them to pierce +their way through hostile thousands, sickness, and war, even to the home of +Montezuma’s power. +</p> + +<p> +By the side of Cortes, holding his stirrup in her hand, walked a beautiful +Indian woman dressed in white robes and crowned with flowers. As she passed the +palace she turned her face. I knew her at once; it was my friend Marina, who +now had attained to the greatness which she desired, and who, notwithstanding +all the evil that she had brought upon her country, looked most happy in it and +in her master’s love. +</p> + +<p> +As the Spaniards went by I searched their faces one by one, with the vague hope +of hate. For though it might well chance that death had put us out of each +other’s reach, I half thought to see de Garcia among the number of the +conquerors. Such a quest as theirs, with its promise of blood, and gold, and +rapine, would certainly commend itself to his evil heart should it be in his +power to join it, and a strange instinct told me that he was <i>not</i> dead. +But neither dead nor living was he among those men who entered Mexico that day. +</p> + +<p> +That night I saw Guatemoc and asked him how things went. +</p> + +<p> +“Well for the kite that roosts in the dove’s nest,” he +answered with a bitter laugh, “but very ill for the dove. Montezuma, my +uncle, has been cooing yonder,” and he pointed to the palace of Axa, +“and the captain of the Teules has cooed in answer, but though he tried +to hide it, I could hear the hawk’s shriek in his pigeon’s note. +Ere long there will be merry doings in Tenoctitlan.” +</p> + +<p> +He was right. Within a week Montezuma was treacherously seized by the Spaniards +and kept a prisoner in their quarters, watched day and night by their soldiers. +Then came event upon event. Certain lords in the coast lands having killed some +Spaniards, were summoned to Mexico by the instigation of Cortes. They came and +were burned alive in the courtyard of the palace. Nor was this all, for +Montezuma, their monarch, was forced to witness the execution with fetters on +his ankles. So low had the emperor of the Aztecs fallen, that he must bear +chains like a common felon. After this insult he swore allegiance to the King +of Spain, and even contrived to capture Cacama, the lord of Tezcuco, by +treachery and to deliver him into the hands of the Spaniards on whom he would +have made war. To them also he gave up all the hoarded gold and treasure of the +empire, to the value of hundreds of thousands of English pounds. All this the +nation bore, for it was stupefied and still obeyed the commands of its captive +king. But when he suffered the Spaniards to worship the true God in one of the +sanctuaries of the great temple, a murmur of discontent and sullen fury rose +among the thousands of the Aztecs. It filled the air, it could be heard +wherever men were gathered, and its sound was like that of a distant angry sea. +The hour of the breaking of the tempest was at hand. +</p> + +<p> +Now all this while my life went on as before, save that I was not allowed to go +outside the walls of the palace, for it was feared lest I should find some +means of intercourse with the Spaniards, who did not know that a man of white +blood was confined there and doomed to sacrifice. Also in these days I saw +little of the princess Otomie, the chief of my destined brides, who since our +strange love scene had avoided me, and when we met at feasts or in the gardens +spoke to me only on indifferent matters, or of the affairs of state. At length +came the day of my marriage. It was, I remember, the night before the massacre +of the six hundred Aztec nobles on the occasion of the festival of Huitzel. +</p> + +<p> +On this my wedding day I was treated with great circumstance and worshipped +like a god by the highest in the city, who came in to do me reverence and +burned incense before me, till I was weary of the smell of it, for though such +sorrow was on the land, the priests would abate no jot of their ceremonies or +cruelties, and great hopes were held that I being of the race of Teules, my +sacrifice would avert the anger of the gods. At sunset I was entertained with a +splendid feast that lasted two hours or more, and at its end all the company +rose and shouted as with one voice: +</p> + +<p> +“Glory to thee, O Tezcat! Happy art thou here on earth, happy mayst thou +be in the Houses of the Sun. When thou comest thither, remember that we dealt +well by thee, giving thee of our best, and intercede for us that our sins may +be forgiven. Glory to thee, O Tezcat!” +</p> + +<p> +Then two of the chief nobles came forward, and taking torches led me to a +magnificent chamber that I had never seen before. Here they changed my apparel, +investing me in robes which were still more splendid than any that I had worn +hitherto, being made of the finest embroidered cotton and of the glittering +feathers of the humming bird. On my head they set wreaths of flowers, and about +my neck and wrists emeralds of vast size and value, and a sorry popinjay I +looked in this attire, that seemed more suited to a woman’s beauty than +to me. +</p> + +<p> +When I was arrayed, suddenly the torches were extinguished and for a while +there was silence. Then in the distance I heard women’s voices singing a +bridal song that was beautiful enough after its fashion, though I forbear to +write it down. The singing ceased and there came a sound of rustling robes and +of low whispering. Then a man’s voice spoke, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Are ye there, ye chosen of heaven?” +</p> + +<p> +And a woman’s voice, I thought it was that of Otomie, answered: +</p> + +<p> +“We are here.” +</p> + +<p> +“O maidens of Anahuac,” said the man speaking from the darkness, +“and you, O Tezcat, god among the gods, listen to my words. Maidens, a +great honour has been done to you, for by the very choice of heaven, you have +been endowed with the names, the lovelinesses, and the virtues of the four +great goddesses, and chosen to abide a while at the side of this god, your +maker and your master, who has been pleased to visit us for a space before he +seeks his home in the habitations of the Sun. See that you show yourselves +worthy of this honour. Comfort him and cherish him, that he may forget his +glory in your kindness, and when he returns to his own place may take with him +grateful memories and a good report of your people. You have but a little while +to live at his side in this life, for already, like those of a caged bird, the +wings of his spirit beat against the bars of the flesh, and soon he will shake +himself free from us and you. Yet if you will, it is allowed to one of you to +accompany him to his home, sharing his flight to the Houses of the Sun. But to +all of you, whether you go also, or whether you stay to mourn him during your +life days, I say love and cherish him, be tender and gentle towards him, for +otherwise ruin shall overtake you here and hereafter, and you and all of us +will be ill spoken of in heaven. And you, O Tezcat, we pray of you to accept +these maidens, who bear the names and wear the charms of your celestial +consorts, for there are none more beautiful or better born in the realms of +Anahuac, and among them is numbered the daughter of our king. They are not +perfect indeed, for perfection is known to you in the heavenly kingdoms only, +since these ladies are but shadows and symbols of the divine goddesses your +true wives, and here there are no perfect women. Alas, we have none better to +offer you, and it is our hope that when it pleases you to pass hence you will +think kindly of the women of this land, and from on high bless them with your +blessing, because your memory of these who were called your wives on earth is +pleasant.” +</p> + +<p> +The voice paused, then spoke again: +</p> + +<p> +“Women, in your own divine names of Xochi, Xilo, Atla, and Clixto, and in +the name of all the gods, I wed you to Tezcat, the creator, to sojourn with him +during his stay on earth. The god incarnate takes you in marriage whom he +himself created, that the symbol may be perfect and the mystery fulfilled. Yet +lest your joy should be too full—look now on that which shall be.” +</p> + +<p> +As the voice spoke these words, many torches sprang into flame at the far end +of the great chamber, revealing a dreadful sight. For there, stretched upon a +stone of sacrifice, was the body of a man, but whether the man lived or was +modelled in wax I do not know to this hour, though unless he was painted, I +think that he must have been fashioned in wax, since his skin shone white like +mine. At the least his limbs and head were held by five priests, and a sixth +stood over him clasping a knife of obsidian in his two hands. It flashed on +high, and as it gleamed the torches were extinguished. Then came the dull echo +of a blow and a sound of groans, and all was still, till once more the brides +broke out into their marriage song, a strange chant and a wild and sweet, +though after what I had seen and heard it had little power to move me. +</p> + +<p> +They sang on in the darkness ever more loudly, till presently a single torch +was lit at the end of the chamber, then another and another, though I could not +see who lit them, and the room was a flare of light. Now the altar, the victim, +and the priests were all gone, there was no one left in the place except myself +and the four brides. They were tall and lovely women all of them, clad in white +bridal robes starred over with gems and flowers, and wearing on their brows the +emblems of the four goddesses, but Otomie was the stateliest and most beautiful +of the four, and seemed in truth a goddess. One by one they drew near to me, +smiling and sighing, and kneeling before me kissed my hand, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“I have been chosen to be your wife for a space, Tezcat, happy maid that +I am. May the good gods grant that I become pleasing to your sight, so that you +may love me as I worship you.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she who had spoken would draw back again out of earshot, and the next +would take her place. +</p> + +<p> +Last of all came Otomie. She knelt and said the words, then added in a low +voice, +</p> + +<p> +“Having spoken to you as the bride and goddess to the husband and the god +Tezcat, now, O Teule, I speak as the woman to the man. You do not love me, +Teule, therefore, if it is your will, let us be divorced of our own act who +were wed by the command of others, for so I shall be spared some shame. These +are friends to me and will not betray us;” and she nodded towards her +companion brides. +</p> + +<p> +“As you will, Otomie,” I answered briefly. +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you for your kindness, Teule,” she said smiling sadly, and +withdrew making obeisance, looking so stately and so sweet as she went, that +again my heart was shaken as though with love. Now from that night till the +dreadful hour of sacrifice, no kiss or tender word passed between me and the +princess of the Otomie. And yet our friendship and affection grew daily, for we +talked much together, and I sought to turn her heart to the true King of +Heaven. But this was not easy, for like her father Montezuma, Otomie clung to +the gods of her people, though she hated the priests, and save when the victims +were the foes of her country, shrank from the rites of human sacrifice, which +she said were instituted by the <i>pabas</i>, since in the early days there +were no men offered on the altars of the gods, but flowers only. Daily it grew +and ripened till, although I scarcely knew it, at length in my heart, after +Lily, I loved her better than anyone on earth. As for the other women, though +they were gentle and beautiful, I soon learned to hate them. Still I feasted +and revelled with them, partly since I must, or bring them to a miserable death +because they failed to please me, and partly that I might drown my terrors in +drink and pleasure, for let it be remembered that the days left to me on earth +were few, and the awful end drew near. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The day following the celebration of my marriage was that of the shameless +massacre of six hundred of the Aztec nobles by the order of the hidalgo +Alvarado, whom Cortes had left in command of the Spaniards. For at this time +Cortes was absent in the coast lands, whither he had gone to make war on +Narvaez, who had been sent to subdue him by his enemy Velasquez, the governor +of Cuba. +</p> + +<p> +On this day was celebrated the feast of Huitzel, that was held with sacrifice, +songs, and dances in the great court of the temple, that court which was +surrounded by a wall carved over with the writhing shapes of snakes. It chanced +that on this morning before he went to join in the festival, Guatemoc, the +prince, came to see me on a visit of ceremony. +</p> + +<p> +I asked him if he intended to take part in the feast, as the splendour of his +apparel brought me to believe. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he answered, “but why do you ask?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because, were I you, Guatemoc, I would not go. Say now, will the dancers +be armed?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, it is not usual.” +</p> + +<p> +“They will be unarmed, Guatemoc, and they are the flower of the land. +Unarmed they will dance in yonder enclosed space, and the Teules will watch +them armed. Now, how would it be if these chanced to pick a quarrel with the +nobles?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know why you should speak thus, Teule, for surely these white +men are not cowardly murderers, still I take your words as an omen, and though +the feast must be held, for see already the nobles gather, I will not share in +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are wise, Guatemoc,” I said. “I am sure that you are +wise.” +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards Otomie, Guatemoc, and I went into the garden of the palace and sat +upon the crest of a small pyramid, a <i>teocalli</i> in miniature that +Montezuma had built for a place of outlook on the market and the courts of the +temple. From this spot we saw the dancing of the Aztec nobles, and heard the +song of the musicians. It was a gay sight, for in the bright sunlight their +feather dresses flashed like coats of gems, and none would have guessed how it +was to end. Mingling with the dancers were groups of Spaniards clad in mail and +armed with swords and matchlocks, but I noted that, as the time went on, these +men separated themselves from the Indians and began to cluster like bees about +the gates and at various points under the shadow of the Wall of Serpents. +</p> + +<p> +“Now what may this mean?” I said to Guatemoc, and as I spoke, I saw +a Spaniard wave a white cloth in the air. Then, in an instant, before the cloth +had ceased to flutter, a smoke arose from every side, and with it came the +sound of the firing of matchlocks. Everywhere among the dancers men fell dead +or wounded, but the mass of them, unharmed as yet, huddled themselves together +like frightened sheep, and stood silent and terror-stricken. Then the +Spaniards, shouting the name of their patron saint, as it is their custom to do +when they have some such wickedness in hand, drew their swords, and rushing on +the unarmed Aztec nobles began to kill them. Now some shrieked and fled, and +some stood still till they were cut down, but whether they stayed or ran the +end was the same, for the gates were guarded and the wall was too high to +climb. There they were slaughtered every man of them, and may God, who sees +all, reward their murderers! It was soon over; within ten minutes of the waving +of the cloth, those six hundred men were stretched upon the pavement dead or +dying, and with shouts of victory the Spaniards were despoiling their corpses +of the rich ornaments they had worn. +</p> + +<p> +Then I turned to Guatemoc and said, “It seems that you did well not to +join in yonder revel.” +</p> + +<p> +But Guatemoc made no answer. He stared at the dead and those who had murdered +them, and said nothing. Only Otomie spoke: “You Christians are a gentle +people,” she said with a bitter laugh; “it is thus that you repay +our hospitality. Now I trust that Montezuma, my father, is pleased with his +guests. Ah! were I he, every man of them should lie on the stone of sacrifice. +If our gods are devils as you say, what are those who worship yours?” +</p> + +<p> +Then at length Guatemoc said, “Only one thing remains to us, and that is +vengeance. Montezuma has become a woman, and I heed him no more, nay, if it +were needful, I would kill him with my own hand. But two men are still left in +the land, Cuitlahua, my uncle, and myself. Now I go to summon our +armies.” And he went. +</p> + +<p> +All that night the city murmured like a swarm of wasps, and next day at dawn, +so far as the eye could reach, the streets and market place were filled with +tens of thousands of armed warriors. They threw themselves like a wave upon the +walls of the palace of Axa, and like a wave from a rock they were driven back +again by the fire of the guns. Thrice they attacked, and thrice they were +repulsed. Then Montezuma, the woman king, appeared upon the walls, praying them +to desist because, forsooth, did they succeed, he himself might perish. Even +then they obeyed him, so great was their reverence for his sacred royalty, and +for a while attacked the Spaniards no more. But further than this they would +not go. If Montezuma forbade them to kill the Spaniards, at least they +determined to starve them out, and from that hour a strait blockade was kept up +against the palace. Hundreds of the Aztec soldiers had been slain already, but +the loss was not all upon their side, for some of the Spaniards and many of the +Tlascalans had fallen into their hands. As for these unlucky prisoners, their +end was swift, for they were taken at once to the temples of the great +<i>teocalli</i>, and sacrificed there to the gods in the sight of their +comrades. +</p> + +<p> +Now it was that Cortes returned with many more men, for he had conquered +Narvaez, whose followers joined the standard of Cortes, and with them others, +one of whom I had good reason to know. Cortes was suffered to rejoin his +comrades in the palace of Axa without attack, I do not know why, and on the +following day Cuitlahua, Montezuma’s brother, king of Palapan, was +released by him that he might soothe the people. But Cuitlahua was no coward. +Once safe outside his prison walls, he called the council together, of whom the +chief was Guatemoc. +</p> + +<p> +There they resolved on war to the end, giving it out that Montezuma had +forfeited his kingdom by his cowardice, and on that resolve they acted. Had it +been taken but two short months before, by this date no Spaniard would have +been left alive in Tenoctitlan. For after Marina, the love of Cortes, whose +subtle wit brought about his triumph, it was Montezuma who was the chief cause +of his own fall, and of that of the kingdom of Anahuac. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX<br /> +OTOMIE’S COUNSEL</h2> + +<p> +On the day after the return of Cortes to Mexico, before the hour of dawn I was +awakened from my uneasy slumbers by the whistling cries of thousands of +warriors and the sound of <i>atabals</i> and drums. +</p> + +<p> +Hurrying to my post of outlook on the little pyramid, where Otomie joined me, I +saw that the whole people were gathered for war. So far as the eye could reach, +in square, market place, and street, they were massed in thousands and tens of +thousands. Some were armed with slings, some with bows and arrows, others with +javelins tipped with copper, and the club set with spikes of obsidian that is +called <i>maqua</i>, and yet others, citizens of the poorer sort, with stakes +hardened in the fire. The bodies of some were covered with golden coats of mail +and mantles of featherwork, and their skulls protected by painted wooden helms, +crested with hair, and fashioned like the heads of pumas, snakes, or +wolves—others wore <i>escaupils</i>, or coats of quilted cotton, but the +most of them were naked except for a cloth about the loins. On the flat +<i>azoteas</i>, or roofs of houses also, and even on the top of the +<i>teocalli</i> of sacrifice, were bands of men whose part it was to rain +missiles into the Spanish quarters. It was a strange sight to see in that red +sunrise, and one never to be forgotten, as the light flashed from temples and +palace walls, on to the glittering feather garments and gay banners, the points +of countless spears and the armour of the Spaniards, who hurried to and fro +behind their battlements making ready their defence. +</p> + +<p> +So soon as the sun was up, a priest blew a shrill note upon a shell, which was +answered by a trumpet call from the Spanish quarters. Then with a shriek of +rage the thousands of the Aztecs rushed to the attack, and the air grew dark +with missiles. Instantly a wavering line of fire and smoke, followed by a sound +as of thunder, broke from the walls of the palace of Axa, and the charging +warriors fell like autumn leaves beneath the cannon and arquebuss balls of the +Christians. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment they wavered and a great groan went up to heaven, but I saw +Guatemoc spring forward, a banner in his hand, and forming up again they rushed +after him. Now they were beneath the wall of the palace, and the assault began. +The Aztecs fought furiously. Time upon time they strove to climb the wall, +piling up the bodies of the dead to serve them as ladders, and time upon time +they were repulsed with cruel loss. Failing in this, they set themselves to +battering it down with heavy beams, but when the breach was made and they +clustered in it like herded sheep, the cannon opened fire on them, tearing long +lanes through their mass and leaving them dead by scores. Then they took to the +shooting of flaming arrows, and by this means fired the outworks, but the +palace was of stone and would not burn. Thus for twelve long hours the struggle +raged unceasingly, till the sudden fall of darkness put an end to it, and the +only sight to be seen was the flare of countless torches carried by those who +sought out the dead, and the only sounds to be heard were the voice of women +lamenting, and the groans of the dying. +</p> + +<p> +On the morrow the fight broke out again at dawn, when Cortes sallied forth with +the greater part of his soldiers, and some thousands of his Tlascalan allies. +At first I thought that he aimed his attack at Montezuma’s palace, and a +breath of hope went through me, since then it might become possible for me to +escape in the confusion. But this was not so, his object being to set fire to +the houses, from the flat roofs of which numberless missiles were hailed hourly +upon his followers. The charge was desperate and it succeeded, for the Indians +could not withstand the shock of horsemen any more than their naked skins could +turn the Spaniards’ steel. Presently scores of houses were in flames, and +thick columns of smoke rolled up like those that float from the mouth of Popo. +But many of those who rode and ran from the gates of Axa did not come back +thither, for the Aztecs clung to the legs of the horses and dragged their +riders away living. That very day these captives were sacrificed on the altar +of Huitzel, and in the sight of their comrades, and with them a horse was +offered up, which had been taken alive, and was borne and dragged with infinite +labour up the steep sides of the pyramid. Indeed never had the sacrifices been +so many as during these days of combat. All day long the altars ran red, and +all day long the cries of the victims rang in my ears, as the maddened priests +went about their work. For thus they thought to please the gods who should give +them victory over the Teules. +</p> + +<p> +Even at night the sacrifices continued by the light of the sacred fires, that +from below gave those who wrought them the appearance of devils flitting +through the flames of hell, and inflicting its torments on the damned, much as +they are depicted in the “Doom” painting of the resurrection of the +dead that is over the chancel arch in this church of Ditchingham. And hour by +hour through the darkness, a voice called out threats and warnings to the +Spaniards, saying, “Huitzel is hungry for your blood, ye Teules, ye shall +surely follow where ye have seen your fellows go: the cages are ready, the +knives are sharp, and the irons are hot for the torture. Prepare, ye Teules, +for though ye slay many, ye cannot escape.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus the struggle went on day after day, till thousands of the Aztecs were +dead, and the Spaniards were well nigh worn out with hunger, war, and wounds, +for they could not rest a single hour. At length one morning, when the assault +was at its hottest, Montezuma himself appeared upon the central tower of the +palace, clad in splendid robes and wearing the diadem. Before him stood heralds +bearing golden wands, and about him were the nobles who attended him in his +captivity, and a guard of Spaniards. He stretched out his hand, and suddenly +the fighting was stayed and a silence fell upon the place, even the wounded +ceased from their groaning. Then he addressed the multitude. What he said I was +too far off to hear, though I learned its purport afterwards. He prayed his +people to cease from war, for the Spaniards were his friends and guests and +would presently leave the city of Tenoctitlan. When these cowardly words had +passed his lips, a fury took his subjects, who for long years had worshipped +him as a god, and a shriek rent the air that seemed to say two words only: +</p> + +<p> +<i>“Woman! Traitor!”</i> +</p> + +<p> +Then I saw an arrow rush upwards and strike the emperor, and after the arrow a +shower of stones, so that he fell down there upon the tower roof. +</p> + +<p> +Now a voice cried, “We have slain our king. Montezuma is dead,” and +instantly with a dreadful wailing the multitude fled this way and that, so that +presently no living man could be seen where there had been thousands. +</p> + +<p> +I turned to comfort Otomie, who was watching at my side, and had seen her royal +father fall, and led her weeping into the palace. Here we met Guatemoc, the +prince, and his mien was fierce and wild. He was fully armed and carried a bow +in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Is Montezuma dead?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I neither know nor care,” he answered with a savage laugh, then +added: +</p> + +<p> +“Now curse me, Otomie my cousin, for it was my arrow that smote him down, +this king who has become a woman and a traitor, false to his manhood and his +country.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Otomie ceased weeping and answered: +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot curse you, Guatemoc, for the gods have smitten my father with a +madness as you smote him with your arrow, and it is best that he should die, +both for his own sake and for that of his people. Still, Guatemoc, I am sure of +this, that your crime will not go unpunished, and that in payment for this +sacrilege, you shall yourself come to a shameful death.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may be so,” said Guatemoc, “but at least I shall not die +betraying my trust;” and he went. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Now I must tell that, as I believed, this was my last day on earth, for on the +morrow my year of godhead expired, and I, Thomas Wingfield, should be led out +to sacrifice. Notwithstanding all the tumult in the city, the mourning for the +dead and the fear that hung over it like a cloud, the ceremonies of religion +and its feasts were still celebrated strictly, more strictly indeed than ever +before. Thus on this night a festival was held in my honour, and I must sit at +the feast crowned with flowers and surrounded by my wives, while those nobles +who remained alive in the city did me homage, and with them Cuitlahua, who, if +Montezuma were dead, would now be emperor. It was a dreary meal enough, for I +could scarcely be gay though I strove to drown my woes in drink, and as for the +guests, they had little jollity left in them. Hundreds of their relatives were +dead and with them thousands of the people; the Spaniards still held their own +in the fortress, and that day they had seen their emperor, who to them was a +god, smitten down by one of their own number, and above all they felt that doom +was upon themselves. What wonder that they were not merry? Indeed no funeral +feast could have been more sad, for flowers and wine and fair women do not make +pleasure, and after all it was a funeral feast—for me. +</p> + +<p> +At length it came to an end and I fled to my own apartments, whither my three +wives followed me, for Otomie did not come, calling me most happy and blessed +who to-morrow should be with myself, that is with my own godhead, in heaven. +But I did not call them blessed, for, rising in wrath, I drove them away, +saying that I had but one comfort left, and it was that wherever I might go I +should leave them behind. +</p> + +<p> +Then I cast myself upon the cushions of my bed and mourned in my fear and +bitterness of heart. This was the end of the vengeance which I had sworn to +wreak on de Garcia, that I myself must have my heart torn from my breast and +offered to a devil. Truly Fonseca, my benefactor, had spoken words of wisdom +when he counselled me to take my fortune and forget my oath. Had I done so, +to-day I might have been my betrothed’s husband and happy in her love at +home in peaceful England, instead of what I was, a lost soul in the power of +fiends and about to be offered to a fiend. In the bitterness of the thought and +the extremity of my anguish I wept aloud and prayed to my Maker that I might be +delivered from this cruel death, or at the least that my sins should be +forgiven me, so that to-morrow night I might rest at peace in heaven. +</p> + +<p> +Thus weeping and praying I sank into a half sleep, and dreamed that I walked on +the hillside near the church path that runs through the garden of the Lodge at +Ditchingham. The whispers of the wind were in the trees which clothe the bank +of the Vineyard Hills, the scent of the sweet English flowers was in my +nostrils and the balmy air of June blew on my brow. It was night in this dream +of mine, and I thought that the moon shone sweetly on the meadows and the +river, while from every side came the music of the nightingale. But I was not +thinking of these delightful sights and sounds, though they were present in my +mind, for my eyes watched the church path which goes up the hill at the back of +the house, and my heart listened for a footstep that I longed to hear. Then +there came a sound of singing from beyond the hill, and the words of the song +were sad, for they told of one who had sailed away and returned no more, and +presently between the apple trees I saw a white figure on its crest. Slowly it +came towards me and I knew that it was she for whom I waited, Lily my beloved. +Now she ceased to sing, but drew on gently and her face seemed very sad. +Moreover it was the face of a woman in middle life, but still most beautiful, +more beautiful indeed than it had been in the bloom of youth. She had reached +the foot of the hill and was turning towards the little garden gate, when I +came forward from the shadow of the trees, and stood before her. Back she +started with a cry of fear, then grew silent and gazed into my face. +</p> + +<p> +“So changed,” she murmured; “can it be the same? Thomas, is +it you come back to me from the dead, or is this but a vision?” and +slowly and doubtingly the dream wraith stretched out her arms as though to +clasp me. +</p> + +<p> +Then I awoke. I awoke and lo! before me stood a fair woman clothed in white, on +whom the moonlight shone as in my dream, and her arms were stretched towards me +lovingly. +</p> + +<p> +“It is I, beloved, and no vision,” I cried, springing from my bed +and clasping her to my breast to kiss her. But before my lips touched hers I +saw my error, for she whom I embraced was not Lily Bozard, my betrothed, but +Otomie, princess of the Otomie, who was called my wife. Then I knew that this +was the saddest and the most bitter of dreams that had been sent to mock me, +for all the truth rushed into my mind. Losing my hold of Otomie, I fell back +upon the bed and groaned aloud, and as I fell I saw the flush of shame upon her +brow and breast. For this woman loved me, and thus my act and words were an +insult to her, who could guess well what prompted them. Still she spoke gently. +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me, Teule, I came but to watch and not to waken you. I came also +that I may see you alone before the daybreak, hoping that I might be of +service, or at the least, of comfort to you, for the end draws near. Say then, +in your sleep did you mistake me for some other woman dearer and fairer than I +am, that you would have embraced me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I dreamed that you were my betrothed whom I love, and who is far away +across the sea,” I answered heavily. “But enough of love and such +matters. What have I to do with them who go down into darkness?” +</p> + +<p> +“In truth I cannot tell, Teule, still I have heard wise men say that if +love is to be found anywhere, it is in this same darkness of death, that is +light indeed. Grieve not, for if there is truth in the faith of which you have +told me or in our own, either on this earth or beyond it, with the eyes of the +spirit you will see your dear before another sun is set, and I pray that you +may find her faithful to you. Tell me now, how much does she love you? Would +<i>she</i> have lain by your side on the bed of sacrifice as, had things gone +otherwise between us, Teule, it was my hope to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” I answered, “it is not the custom of our women to kill +themselves because their husbands chance to die.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps they think it better to live and wed again,” answered +Otomie very quietly, but I saw her eyes flash and her breast heave in the +moonlight as she spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Enough of this foolish talk,” I said. “Listen, Otomie; if +you had cared for me truly, surely you would have saved me from this dreadful +doom, or prevailed on Guatemoc to save me. You are Montezuma’s daughter, +could you not have brought it about during all these months that he issued his +royal mandate, commanding that I should be spared?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you, then, take me for so poor a friend, Teule?” she answered +hotly. “Know that for all these months, by day and by night, I have +worked and striven to find a means to rescue you. Before he became a prisoner I +importuned my father the emperor, till he ordered me from his presence. I have +sought to bribe the priests, I have plotted ways of escape, ay, and Guatemoc +has helped, for he loves you. Had it not been for the coming of these accursed +Teules, and the war that they have levied in the city, I had surely saved you, +for a woman’s thought leaps far, and can find a path where none seems +possible. But this war has changed everything, and moreover the star-readers +and diviners of auguries have given a prophecy which seals your fate. For they +have prophesied that if your blood flows, and your heart is offered at the hour +of noon to-morrow on the altar of Tezcat, our people shall be victorious over +the Teules, and utterly destroy them. But if the sacrifice is celebrated one +moment before or after that propitious hour, then the doom of Tenoctitlan is +sealed. Also they have declared that you must die, not, according to custom, at +the Temple of Arms across the lake, but on the great pyramid before the chief +statue of the god. All this is known throughout the land; thousands of priests +are now offering up prayers that the sacrifice may be fortunate, and a golden +ring has been hung over the stone of slaughter in such a fashion that the light +of the sun must strike upon the centre of your breast at the very moment of +mid-day. For weeks you have been watched as a jaguar watches its prey, for it +was feared that you would escape to the Teules, and we, your wives, have been +watched also. At this moment there is a triple ring of guards about the palace, +and priests are set without your doors and beneath the window places. Judge, +then, what chance there is of escape, Teule.” +</p> + +<p> +“Little indeed,” I said, “and yet I know a road. If I kill +myself, they cannot kill me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” she answered hastily, “what shall that avail you? +While you live you may hope, but once dead, you are dead for ever. Also if you +must die, it is best that you should die by the hand of the priest. Believe me, +though the end is horrible,” and she shuddered, “it is almost +painless, so they say, and very swift. They will not torture you, that we have +saved you, Guatemoc and I, though at first they wished thus to honour the god +more particularly on this great day.” +</p> + +<p> +“O Teule,” Otomie went on, seating herself by me on the bed, and +taking my hand, “think no more of these brief terrors, but look beyond +them. Is it so hard a thing to die, and swiftly? We all must die, to-day, or +to-night, or the next day, it matters little when—and your faith, like +ours, teaches that beyond the grave is endless blessedness. Think then, my +friend, to-morrow you will have passed far from this strife and turmoil; the +struggle and the sorrows and the daily fears for the future that make the soul +sick will be over for you, you will be taken to your peace, where no one shall +disturb you for ever. There you will find that mother whom you have told me of, +and who loved you, and there perhaps one will join you who loves you better +than your mother, mayhap even <i>I</i> may meet you there, friend,” and +she looked up at me strangely. “The road that you are doomed to walk is +dark indeed, but surely it must be well-trodden, and there is light shining +beyond it. So be a man, my friend, and do not grieve; rejoice rather that at so +early an age you have done with woes and doubts, and come to the gates of joy, +that you have passed the thorny, unwatered wilderness and see the smiling lakes +and gardens, and among them the temples of your eternal city. +</p> + +<p> +“And now farewell. We meet no more till the hour of sacrifice, for we +women who masquerade as wives must accompany you to the first platforms of the +temple. Farewell, dear friend, and think upon my words; whether they are +acceptable to you or no, I am sure of this, that both for the sake of your own +honour and because I ask it of you, you will die bravely as though the eyes of +your own people were watching all.” And bending suddenly, Otomie kissed +me on the forehead gently as a sister might, and was gone. +</p> + +<p> +The curtains swung behind her, but the echoes of her noble words still dwelt in +my heart. Nothing can make man look on death lovingly, and that awaiting me was +one from which the bravest would shrink, yet I felt that Otomie had spoken +truth, and that, terrible as it seemed, it might prove less terrible than life +had shewn itself to be. An unnatural calm fell upon my soul like some dense +mist upon the face of the ocean. Beneath that mist the waters might foam, above +it the sun might shine, yet around was one grey peace. In this hour I seemed to +stand outside of my earthly self, and to look on all things with a new sense. +The tide of life was ebbing away from me, the shore of death loomed very near, +and I understood then, as in extreme old age I understand to-day, how much more +part we mortals have in death than in this short accident of life. I could +consider all my past, I could wonder on the future of my spirit, and even +marvel at the gentleness and wisdom of the Indian woman, who was able to think +such thoughts and utter them. +</p> + +<p> +Well, whatever befell, in one thing I would not disappoint her, I would die +bravely as an Englishman should do, leaving the rest to God. These barbarians +should never say of me that the foreigner was a coward. Who was I that I should +complain? Did not hundreds of men as good as I was perish daily in yonder +square, and without a murmur? Had not my mother died also at the hand of a +murderer? Was not that unhappy lady, Isabella de Siguenza, walled up alive +because she had been mad enough to love a villain who betrayed her? The world +is full of terrors and sorrows such as mine, who was I that I should complain? +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +So I mused on till at length the day dawned, and with the rising sun rose the +clamour of men making ready for battle. For now the fight raged from day to +day, and this was to be one of the most terrible. But I thought little then of +the war between the Aztecs and the Spaniards, who must prepare myself for the +struggle of my own death that was now at hand. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI<br /> +THE KISS OF LOVE</h2> + +<p> +Presently there was a sound of music, and, accompanied by certain artists, my +pages entered, bearing with them apparel more gorgeous than any that I had worn +hitherto. First, these pages having stripped me of my robes, the artists +painted all my body in hideous designs of red, and white, and blue, till I +resembled a flag, not even sparing my face and lips, which they coloured with +carmine hues. Over my heart also they drew a scarlet ring with much care and +measurement. Then they did up my hair that now hung upon my shoulders, after +the fashion in which it was worn by generals among the Indians, tying it on the +top of my head with an embroidered ribbon red in colour, and placed a plume of +cock’s feathers above it. Next, having arrayed my body in gorgeous +vestments not unlike those used by popish priests at the celebration of the +mass, they set golden earrings in my ears, golden bracelets on my wrists and +ankles, and round my neck a collar of priceless emeralds. On my breast also +they hung a great gem that gleamed like moonlit water, and beneath my chin a +false beard made from pink sea shells. Then having twined me round with wreaths +of flowers till I thought of the maypole on Bungay Common, they rested from +their labours, filled with admiration at their handiwork. +</p> + +<p> +Now the music sounded again and they gave me two lutes, one of which I must +hold in either hand, and conducted me to the great hall of the palace. Here a +number of people of rank were gathered, all dressed in festal attire, and here +also on a dais to which I was led, stood my four wives clad in the rich dresses +of the four goddesses Xochi, Xilo, Atla, and Clixto, after whom they were named +for the days of their wifehood, Atla being the princess Otomie. When I had +taken my place upon the dais, my wives came forward one by one, and kissing me +on the brow, offered me sweetmeats and meal cakes in golden platters, and cocoa +and <i>mescal</i> in golden cups. Of the <i>mescal</i> I drank, for it is a +spirit and I needed inward comfort, but the other dainties I could not touch. +These ceremonies being finished, there was silence for a while, till presently +a band of filthy priests entered at the far end of the chamber, clad in their +scarlet sacrificial robes. Blood was on them everywhere, their long locks were +matted with it, their hands were red with it, even their fierce eyes seemed +full of it. They advanced up the chamber till they stood before the dais, then +suddenly the head priest lifted up his hands, crying aloud: +</p> + +<p> +“Adore the immortal god, ye people,” and all those gathered there +prostrated themselves shouting: +</p> + +<p> +“We adore the god.” +</p> + +<p> +Thrice the priest cried aloud, and thrice they answered him thus, prostrating +themselves at every answer. Then they rose again, and the priest addressed me, +saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Forgive us, O Tezcat, that we cannot honour you as it is meet, for our +sovereign should have been here to worship you with us. But you know, O Tezcat, +how sore is the strait of your servants, who must wage war in their own city +against those who blaspheme you and your brother gods. You know that our +beloved emperor lies wounded, a prisoner in their unholy hands. When we have +gratified your longing to pass beyond the skies, O Tezcat, and when in your +earthly person you have taught us the lesson that human prosperity is but a +shadow which flees away; in memory of our love for you intercede for us, we +beseech you, that we may smite these wicked ones and honour you and them by the +rite of their own sacrifice. O Tezcat, you have dwelt with us but a little +while, and now you will not suffer that we hold you longer from your glory, for +your eyes have longed to see this happy day, and it is come at last. We have +loved you, Tezcat, and ministered to you, grant in return that we may see you +in your splendour, we who are your little children, and till we come, watch +well over our earthly welfare, and that of the people among whom you have +deigned to sojourn.” +</p> + +<p> +Having spoken some such words as these, that at times could scarcely be heard +because of the sobbing of the people, and of my wives who wept loudly, except +Otomie alone, this villainous priest made a sign and once more the music +sounded. Then he and his band placed themselves about me, my wives the +goddesses going before and after, and led me down the hall and on to the +gateways of the palace, which were thrown wide for us to pass. Looking round me +with a stony wonder, for in this my last hour nothing seemed to escape my +notice, I saw that a strange play was being played about us. Some hundreds of +paces away the attack on the palace of Axa, where the Spaniards were +entrenched, raged with fury. Bands of warriors were attempting to scale the +walls and being driven back by the deadly fire of the Spaniards and the pikes +and clubs of their Tlascalan allies, while from the roofs of such of the +neighbouring houses as remained unburned, and more especially from the platform +of the great <i>teocalli</i>, on which I must presently give up the ghost, +arrows, javelins, and stones were poured by thousands into the courtyards and +outer works of the Spanish quarters. +</p> + +<p> +Five hundred yards away or so, raged this struggle to the death, but about me, +around the gates of Montezuma’s palace on the hither side of the square, +was a different scene. Here were gathered a vast crowd, among them many women +and children, waiting to see me die. They came with flowers in their hands, +with the sound of music and joyous cries, and when they saw me they set up such +a shout of welcome that it almost drowned the thunder of the guns and the angry +roar of battle. Now and again an ill-aimed cannon ball would plough through +them, killing some and wounding others, but the rest took no heed, only crying +the more, “Welcome, Tezcat, and farewell. Blessings on you, our +deliverer, welcome and farewell!” +</p> + +<p> +We went slowly through the press, treading on a path of flowers, till we came +across the courtyard to the base of the pyramid. Here at the outer gate there +was a halt because of the multitude of the people, and while we waited a +warrior thrust his way through the crowd and bowed before me. Glancing up I saw +that it was Guatemoc. +</p> + +<p> +“Teule,” he whispered to me, “I leave my charge +yonder,” and he nodded towards the force who strove to break a way into +the palace of Axa, “to bid you farewell. Doubtless we shall meet again +ere long. Believe me, Teule, I would have helped you if I could, but it cannot +be. I wish that I might change places with you. My friend, farewell. Twice you +have saved my life, but yours I cannot save.” +</p> + +<p> +“Farewell, Guatemoc,” I answered “heaven prosper you, for you +are a true man.” +</p> + +<p> +Then we passed on. +</p> + +<p> +At the foot of the pyramid the procession was formed, and here one of my wives +bade me adieu after weeping on my neck, though I did not weep on hers. Now the +road to the summit of the <i>teocalli</i> winds round and round the pyramid, +ever mounting higher as it winds, and along this road we went in solemn state. +At each turn we halted and another wife bade me a last good-bye, or one of my +instruments of music, which I did not grieve to see the last of, or some +article of my strange attire, was taken from me. At length after an +hour’s march, for our progress was slow, we reached the flat top of the +pyramid that is approached by a great stair, a space larger than the area of +the churchyard here at Ditchingham, and unfenced at its lofty edge. Here on +this dizzy place stood the temples of Huitzel and of Tezcat, soaring structures +of stone and wood, within which were placed the horrid effigies of the gods, +and dreadful chambers stained with sacrifice. Here, too, were the holy fires +that burned eternally, the sacrificial stones, the implements of torment, and +the huge drum of snakes’ skin, but for the rest the spot was bare. It was +bare but not empty, for on that side of it which looked towards the Spanish +quarters were stationed some hundreds of men who hurled missiles into their +camp without ceasing. On the other side also were gathered a concourse of +priests awaiting the ceremony of my death. Below the great square, fringed +round with burnt-out houses, was crowded with thousands of people, some of them +engaged in combat with the Spaniards, but the larger part collected there to +witness my murder. +</p> + +<p> +Now we reached the top of the pyramid, two hours before midday, for there were +still many rites to be carried out ere the moment of sacrifice. First I was led +into the sanctuary of Tezcat, the god whose name I bore. Here was his statue or +idol, fashioned in black marble and covered with golden ornaments. In the hand +of this idol was a shield of burnished gold on which its jewelled eyes were +fixed, reading there, as his priests fabled, all that passed upon the earth he +had created. Before him also was a plate of gold, which with muttered +invocations the head priest cleansed as I watched, rubbing it with his long and +matted locks. This done he held it to my lips that I might breathe on it, and I +turned faint and sick, for I knew that it was being made ready to receive the +heart which I felt beating in my breast. +</p> + +<p> +Now what further ceremonies were to be carried out in this unholy place I do +not know, for at that moment a great tumult arose in the square beneath, and I +was hurried from the sanctuary by the priests. Then I perceived this: galled to +madness by the storm of missiles rained upon them from its crest, <i>the +Spaniards were attacking the teocalli</i>. Already they were pouring across the +courtyard in large companies, led by Cortes himself, and with them came many +hundreds of their allies the Tlascalans. On the other hand some thousands of +the Aztecs were rushing to the foot of the first stairway to give the white men +battle there. Five minutes passed and the fight grew fierce. Again and again, +covered by the fire of the arquebusiers, the Spaniards charged the Aztecs, but +their horses slipping upon the stone pavement, at length they dismounted and +continued the fray on foot. Slowly and with great slaughter the Indians were +pushed back and the Spaniards gained a footing on the first stairway. But +hundreds of warriors still crowded the lofty winding road, and hundreds more +held the top, and it was plain that if the Spaniards won through at all, the +task would be a hard one. Still a fierce hope smote me like a blow when I saw +what was toward. If the Spaniards took the temple there would be no sacrifice. +No sacrifice could be offered till midday, so Otomie had told me, and that was +not for hard upon two hours. It came to this then, if the Spaniards were +victorious within two hours, there was a chance of life for me, if not I must +die. +</p> + +<p> +Now when I was led out of the sanctuary of Tezcat, I wondered because the +princess Otomie, or rather the goddess Atla as she was then called, was +standing among the chief priests and disputing with them, for I had seen her +bow her head at the door of the holy place, and thought that it was in token of +farewell, seeing that she was the last of the four women to leave me. Of what +she disputed I could not hear because of the din of battle, but the argument +was keen and it seemed to me that the priests were somewhat dismayed at her +words, and yet had a fierce joy in them. It appeared also that she won her +cause, for presently they bowed in obeisance to her, and turning slowly she +swept to my side with a peculiar majesty of gait that even then I noted. +Glancing up at her face also, I saw that it was alight as though with a great +and holy purpose, and moreover that she looked like some happy bride passing to +her husband’s arms. +</p> + +<p> +“Why are you not gone, Otomie?” I said. “Now it is too late. +The Spaniards surround the <i>teocalli</i> and you will be killed or taken +prisoner.” +</p> + +<p> +“I await the end whatever it may be,” she answered briefly, and we +spoke no more for a while, but watched the progress of the fray, which was +fierce indeed. Grimly the Aztec warriors fought before the symbols of their +gods, and in the sight of the vast concourse of the people who crowded the +square beneath and stared at the struggle in silence. They hurled themselves +upon the Spanish swords, they gripped the Spaniards with their hands and +screaming with rage dragged them to the steep sides of the roadway, purposing +to cast them over. Sometimes they succeeded, and a ball of men clinging +together would roll down the slope and be dashed to pieces on the stone +flooring of the courtyard, a Spaniard being in the centre of the ball. But do +what they would, like some vast and writhing snake, still the long array of +Teules clad in their glittering mail ploughed its way upward through the storm +of spears and arrows. Minute by minute and step by step they crept on, fighting +as men fight who know the fate that awaits the desecrators of the gods of +Anahuac, fighting for life, and honour, and safety from the stone of sacrifice. +Thus an hour went by, and the Spaniards were half way up the pyramid. Louder +and louder grew the fearful sounds of battle, the Spaniards cheered and called +on their patron saints to aid them, the Aztecs yelled like wild beasts, the +priests screamed invocations to their gods and cries of encouragement to the +warriors, while above all rose the rattle of the arquebusses, the roar of the +cannon, and the fearful note of the great drum of snake’s skin on which a +half-naked priest beat madly. Only the multitudes below never moved, nor +shouted. They stood silent gazing upward, and I could see the sunlight flash on +the thousands of their staring eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Now all this while I was standing near the stone of sacrifice with Otomie at my +side. Round me were a ring of priests, and over the stone was fixed a square of +black cloth supported upon four poles, which were set in sockets in the +pavement. In the centre of this black cloth was sewn a golden funnel measuring +six inches or so across at its mouth, and the sunbeams passing through this +funnel fell in a bright patch, the size of an apple, upon the space of pavement +that was shaded by the cloth. As the sun moved in the heavens, so did this ring +of light creep across the shadow till at length it climbed the stone of +sacrifice and lay upon its edge. +</p> + +<p> +Then at a sign from the head priest, his ministers laid hold of me and plucked +what were left of my fine clothes from me as cruel boys pluck a living bird, +till I stood naked except for the paint upon my body and a cloth about my +loins. Now I knew that my hour had come, and strange to tell, for the first +time this day courage entered into me, and I rejoiced to think that soon I +should have done with my tormentors. Turning to Otomie I began to bid her +farewell in a clear voice, when to my amaze I saw that as I had been served so +she was being served, for her splendid robes were torn off her and she stood +before me arrayed in nothing except her beauty, her flowing hair, and a +broidered cotton smock. +</p> + +<p> +“Do not wonder, Teule,” she said in a low voice, answering the +question my tongue refused to frame, “I am your wife and yonder is our +marriage bed, the first and last. Though you do not love me, to-day I die your +death and at your side, as I have the right to do. I could not save you, Teule, +but at least I can die with you.” +</p> + +<p> +At the moment I made no answer, for I was stricken silent by my wonder, and +before I could find my tongue the priests had cast me down, and for the second +time I lay upon the stone of doom. As they held me a yell fiercer and longer +than any which had gone before, told that the Spaniards had got foot upon the +last stair of the ascent. Scarcely had my body been set upon the centre of the +great stone, when that of Otomie was laid beside it, so close that our sides +touched, for I must lie in the middle of the stone and there was no great place +for her. Then the moment of sacrifice not being come, the priests made us fast +with cords which they knotted to copper rings in the pavement, and turned to +watch the progress of the fray. +</p> + +<p> +For some minutes we lay thus side by side, and as we lay a great wonder and +gratitude grew in my heart, wonder that a woman could be so brave, gratitude +for the love she gave me, sealing it with her life-blood. Because Otomie loved +me she had chosen this fearful death, because she loved me so well that she +desired to die thus at my side rather than to live on in greatness and honour +without me. Of a sudden, in a moment while I thought of this marvel, a new +light shone upon my heart and it was changed towards her. I felt that no woman +could ever be so dear to me as this glorious woman, no, not even my betrothed. +I felt—nay, who can say what I did feel? But I know this, that the tears +rushed to my eyes and ran down my painted face, and I turned my head to look at +her. She was lying as much upon her left side as her hands would allow, her +long hair fell from the stone to the paving where it lay in masses, and her +face was towards me. So close was it indeed that there was not an inch between +our lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Otomie,” I whispered, “listen to me. I love you, +Otomie.” Now I saw her breast heave beneath the bands and the colour come +upon her brow. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I am repaid,” she answered, and our lips clung together in a +kiss, the first, and as we thought the last. Yes, there we kissed, on the stone +of sacrifice, beneath the knife of the priest and the shadow of death, and if +there has been a stranger love scene in the world, I have never heard its +story. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I am repaid,” she said again; “I would gladly die a +score of deaths to win this moment, indeed I pray that I may die before you +take back your words. For, Teule, I know well that there is one who is dearer +to you than I am, but now your heart is softened by the faithfulness of an +Indian girl, and you think that you love her. Let me die then believing that +the dream is true.” +</p> + +<p> +“Talk not so,” I answered heavily, for even at that moment the +memory of Lily came into my mind. “You give your life for me and I love +you for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“My life is nothing and your love is much,” she answered smiling. +“Ah! Teule, what magic have you that you can bring me, Montezuma’s +daughter, to the altar of the gods and of my own free will? Well, I desire no +softer bed, and for the why and wherefore it will soon be known by both of us, +and with it many other things.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII<br /> +THE TRIUMPH OF THE CROSS</h2> + +<p> +“Otomie,” I said presently, “when will they kill us?” +</p> + +<p> +“When the point of light lies within the ring that is painted over your +heart,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +Now I turned my head from her, and looked at the sunbeam which pierced the +shadow above us like a golden pencil. It rested at my side about six inches +from me, and I reckoned that it would lie in the scarlet ring painted upon my +breast within some fifteen minutes. Meanwhile the clamour of battle grew louder +and nearer. Shifting myself so far as the cords would allow, I strained my head +upwards and saw that the Spaniards had gained the crest of the pyramid, since +the battle now raged upon its edge, and I have rarely seen so terrible a fight, +for the Aztecs fought with the fury of despair, thinking little of their own +lives if they could only bring a Spaniard to his death. But for the most part +their rude weapons would not pierce the coats of mail, so that there remained +only one way to compass their desire, namely, by casting the white men over the +edge of the <i>teocalli</i> to be crushed like eggshells upon the pavement two +hundred feet below. Thus the fray broke itself up into groups of foes who rent +and tore at each other upon the brink of the pyramid, now and again to vanish +down its side, ten or twelve of them together. Some of the priests also joined +in the fight, thinking less of their own deaths than of the desecration of +their temples, for I saw one of them, a man of huge strength and stature, seize +a Spanish soldier round the middle and leap with him into space. Still, though +very slowly, the Spaniards and Tlascalans forced their way towards the centre +of the platform, and as they came the danger of this dreadful end grew less, +for the Aztecs must drag them further. +</p> + +<p> +Now the fight drew near to the stone of sacrifice, and all who remained alive +of the Aztecs, perhaps some two hundred and fifty of them, besides the priests, +ringed themselves round us and it in a circle. Also the outer rim of the +sunbeam that fell through the golden funnel, creeping on remorselessly, touched +my painted side which it seemed to burn as hot iron might, for alas, I could +not command the sun to stand still while the battle raged, as did Joshua in the +valley of Ajalon. When it touched me, five priests seized my limbs and head, +and the father of them, he who had conducted me from the palace, clasped his +flint knife in both hands. Now a deathly sickness took me and I shut my eyes +dreaming that all was done, but at that moment I heard a wild-eyed man, the +chief of the astronomers whom I had noted standing by, call out to the minister +of death: +</p> + +<p> +“Not yet, O priest of Tezcat! If you smite before the sunbeam lies upon +the victim’s heart, your gods are doomed and doomed are the people of +Anahuac.” +</p> + +<p> +The priest gnashed his teeth with rage, and glared first at the creeping point +of light and then over his shoulder at the advancing battle. Slowly the ring of +warriors closed in upon us, slowly the golden ray crept up my breast till its +outer rim touched the red circle painted upon my heart. Again the priest heaved +up his awful knife, again I shut my eyes, and again I heard the shrill scream +of the astronomer, “Not yet, not yet, or your gods are doomed!” +</p> + +<p> +Then I heard another sound. It was the voice of Otomie crying for help. +</p> + +<p> +“Save us, Teules; they murder us!” she shrieked in so piercing a +note that it reached the ears of the Spaniards, for one shouted in answer and +in the Castilian tongue, “On, my comrades, on! The dogs do murder on +their altars!” +</p> + +<p> +Then there was a mighty rush and the defending Aztecs were swept in upon the +altar, lifting the priest of sacrifice from his feet and throwing him across my +body. Thrice that rush came like a rush of the sea, and each time the stand of +the Aztecs weakened. Now their circle was broken and the swords of the +Spaniards flashed up on every side, and now the red ray lay within the ring +upon my heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Smite, priest of Tezcat,” screamed the voice of the astronomer; +“smite home for the glory of your gods!” +</p> + +<p> +With a fearful yell the priest lifted the knife; I saw the golden sunbeam that +rested full upon my heart shine on it. Then as it was descending I saw the same +sunbeam shine upon a yard of steel that flashed across me and lost itself in +the breast of the murderer priest. Down came the great flint knife, but its aim +was lost. It struck indeed, but not upon my bosom, though I did not escape it +altogether. Full upon the altar of sacrifice it fell and was shattered there, +piercing between my side and that of Otomie, and gashing the flesh of both so +that our blood was mingled upon the stone, making us one indeed. Down too came +the priest across our bodies for the second time, but to rise no more, for he +writhed dying on those whom he would have slain. +</p> + +<p> +Then as in a dream I heard the wail of the astronomer singing the dirge of the +gods of Anahuac. +</p> + +<p> +“The priest is dead and his gods are fallen,” he cried. +“Tezcat has rejected his victim and is fallen; doomed are the gods of +Anahuac! Victory is to the Cross of the Christians!” +</p> + +<p> +Thus he wailed, then came the sound of sword blows and I knew that this prophet +was dead also. +</p> + +<p> +Now a strong arm pulled the dying priest from off us, and he staggered back +till he fell over the altar where the eternal fire burned, quenching it with +his blood and body after it had flared for many generations, and a knife cut +the rope that bound us. +</p> + +<p> +I sat up staring round me wildly, and a voice spoke above me in Castilian, not +to me indeed but to some comrade. +</p> + +<p> +“These two went near to it, poor devils,” said the voice. +“Had my cut been one second later, that savage would have drilled a hole +in him as big as my head. By all the saints! the girl is lovely, or would be if +she were washed. I shall beg her of Cortes as my prize.” +</p> + +<p> +The voice spoke and I knew the voice. None other ever had that hard clear ring. +I knew it even then and looked up, slipping off the death-stone as I looked. +Now I saw. Before me fully clad in mail was my enemy, de Garcia. It was +<i>his</i> sword that by the good providence of God had pierced the breast of +the priest. He had saved me who, had he known, would as soon have turned his +steel against his own heart as on that of my destroyer. +</p> + +<p> +I gazed at him, wondering if I dreamed, then my lips spoke, without my will as +it were: +</p> + +<p> +“<i>De Garcia!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +He staggered back at the sound of my voice, like a man struck by a shot, then +stared at me, rubbed his eyes with his hand, and stared again. Now at length he +knew me through my paint. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother of God!” he gasped, “it is that knave Thomas +Wingfield, <i>and I have saved his life!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +By this time my senses had come back to me, and knowing all my folly, I turned +seeking escape. But de Garcia had no mind to suffer this. Lifting his sword, he +sprang at me with a beastlike scream of rage and hate. Swiftly as thought I +slipped round the stone of sacrifice and after me came the uplifted sword of my +enemy. It would have overtaken me soon enough, for I was weak with fear and +fasting, and my limbs were cramped with bonds, but at that moment a cavalier +whom by his dress and port I guessed to be none other than Cortes himself, +struck up de Garcia’s sword, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“How now, Sarceda? Are you mad with the lust of blood that you would take +to sacrificing victims like an Indian priest? Let the poor devil go.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is no Indian, he is an English spy,” cried de Garcia, and once +more struggled to get at me. +</p> + +<p> +“Decidedly our friend is mad,” said Cortes, scanning me; “he +says that this wretched creature is an Englishman. Come, be off both of you, or +somebody else may make the same mistake,” and he waved his sword in token +to us to go, deeming that I could not understand his words; then added angrily, +as de Garcia, speechless with rage, made a new attempt to get at me: +</p> + +<p> +“No, by heaven! I will not suffer it. We are Christians and come to save +victims, not to slay them. Here, comrades, hold this fool who would stain his +soul with murder.” +</p> + +<p> +Now the Spaniards clutched de Garcia by the arms, and he cursed and raved at +them, for as I have said, his rage was that of a beast rather than of a man. +But I stood bewildered, not knowing whither to fly. Fortunate it was for me +indeed that one was by who though she understood no Spanish, yet had a quicker +wit. For while I stood thus, Otomie clasped my hand, and whispering, +“Fly, fly swiftly!” led me away from the stone of sacrifice. +</p> + +<p> +“Whither shall we go?” I said at length. “Were it not better +to trust to the mercy of the Spaniards?” +</p> + +<p> +“To the mercy of that man-devil with the sword?” she answered. +“Peace, Teule, and follow me.” +</p> + +<p> +Now she led me on, and the Spaniards let us by unharmed, ay, and even spoke +words of pity as we passed, for they knew that we were victims snatched from +sacrifice. Indeed, when a certain brute, a Tlascalan Indian, rushed at us, +purposing to slay us with a club, one of the Spaniards ran him through the +shoulder so that he fell wounded to the pavement. +</p> + +<p> +So we went on, and at the edge of the pyramid we glanced back and saw that de +Garcia had broken from those who held him, or perhaps he found his tongue and +had explained the truth to them. At the least he was bounding from the altar of +sacrifice nearly fifty yards away, and coming towards us with uplifted sword. +Then fear gave us strength, and we fled like the wind. Along the steep path we +rushed side by side, leaping down the steps and over the hundreds of dead and +dying, only pausing now and again to save ourselves from being smitten into +space by the bodies of the priests whom the Spaniards were hurling from the +crest of the <i>teocalli</i>. Once looking up, I caught sight of de Garcia +pursuing far above us, but after that we saw him no more; doubtless he wearied +of the chase, or feared to fall into the hands of such of the Aztec warriors as +still clustered round the foot of the pyramid. +</p> + +<p> +We had lived through many dangers that day, the princess Otomie and I, but one +more awaited us before ever we found shelter for awhile. After we had reached +the foot of the pyramid and turned to mingle with the terrified rabble that +surged and flowed through the courtyard of the temple, bearing away the dead +and wounded as the sea at flood reclaims its waste and wreckage, a noise like +thunder caught my ear. I looked up, for the sound came from above, and saw a +huge mass bounding down the steep side of the pyramid. Even then I knew it +again; it was the idol of the god Tezcat that the Spaniards had torn from its +shrine, and like an avenging demon it rushed straight on to me. Already it was +upon us, there was no retreat from instant death, we had but escaped sacrifice +to the spirit of the god to be crushed to powder beneath the bulk of his marble +emblem. On he came while on high the Spaniards shouted in triumph. His base had +struck the stone side of the pyramid fifty feet above us, now he whirled round +and round in the air to strike again within three paces of where we stood. I +felt the solid mountain shake beneath the blow, and next instant the air was +filled with huge fragments of marble, that whizzed over us and past us as +though a mine of powder had been fired beneath our feet, tearing the rocks from +their base. The god Tezcat had burst into a score of pieces, and these fell +round us like a flight of arrows, and yet we were not touched. My head was +grazed by his head, his feet dug a pit before my feet, but I stood there +unhurt, the false god had no power over the victim who had escaped him! +</p> + +<p> +After that I remember nothing till I found myself once more in my apartments in +Montezuma’s palace, which I never hoped to see again. Otomie was by me, +and she brought me water to wash the paint from my body and the blood from my +wound, which, leaving her own untended, she dressed skilfully, for the cut of +the priest’s knife was deep and I had bled much. Also she clothed herself +afresh in a white robe and brought me raiment to wear, with food and drink, and +I partook of them. Then I bade her eat something herself, and when she had done +so I gathered my wits together and spoke to her. +</p> + +<p> +“What next?” I said. “Presently the priests will be on us, +and we shall be dragged back to sacrifice. There is no hope for me here, I must +fly to the Spaniards and trust to their mercy.” +</p> + +<p> +“To the mercy of that man with the sword? Say, Teule, who is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is that Spaniard of whom I have spoken to you, Otomie; he is my +mortal enemy whom I have followed across the seas.” +</p> + +<p> +“And now you would put yourself into his power. Truly, you are foolish, +Teule.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is better to fall into the hands of Christian men than into those of +your priests,” I answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Have no fear,” she said; “the priests are harmless for you. +You have escaped them and there’s an end. Few have ever come alive from +their clutches before, and he who does so is a wizard indeed. For the rest I +think that your God is stronger than our gods, for surely He must have cast His +mantle over us when we lay yonder on the stone. Ah! Teule, to what have you +brought me that I should live to doubt my gods, ay, and to call upon the foes +of my country for succour in your need. Believe me, I had not done it for my +own sake, since I would have died with your kiss upon my lips and your word of +love echoing in my ears, who now must live knowing that these joys have passed +from me.” +</p> + +<p> +“How so?” I answered. “What I have said, I have said. Otomie, +you would have died with me, and you saved my life by your wit in calling on +the Spaniards. Henceforth it is yours, for there is no other woman in the world +so tender and so brave, and I say it again, Otomie, my wife, I love you. Our +blood has mingled on the stone of sacrifice and there we kissed; let these be +our marriage rites. Perhaps I have not long to live, but till I die I am yours, +Otomie my wife.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus I spoke from the fulness of my heart, for my strength and courage were +shattered, horror and loneliness had taken hold of me. But two things were left +to me in the world, my trust in Providence and the love of this woman, who had +dared so much for me. Therefore I forgot my troth and clung to her as a child +clings to its mother. Doubtless it was wrong, but I will be bold to say that +few men so placed would have acted otherwise. Moreover, I could not take back +the fateful words that I had spoken on the stone of sacrifice. When I said them +I was expecting death indeed, but to renounce them now that its shadow was +lifted from me, if only for a little while, would have been the act of a +coward. For good or evil I had given myself to Montezuma’s daughter, and +I must abide by it or be shamed. Still such was the nobleness of this Indian +lady that even then she would not take me at my word. For a little while she +stood smiling sadly and drawing a lock of her long hair through the hollow of +her hand. Then she spoke: +</p> + +<p> +“You are not yourself, Teule, and I should be base indeed if I made so +solemn a compact with one who does not know what he sells. Yonder on the altar +and in a moment of death you said that you loved me, and doubtless it was true. +But now you have come back to life, and say, lord, who set that golden ring +upon your hand and what is written in its circle? Yet even if the words are +true that you have spoken and you love me a little, there is one across the sea +whom you love better. That I could bear, for my heart is fixed on you alone +among men, and at the least you would be kind to me, and I should move in the +sunlight of your presence. But having known the light, I cannot live to wander +in the darkness. You do not understand. I will tell you what I fear. I fear +that if—if we were wed, you would weary of me as men do, and that memory +would grow too strong for you. Then by and by it might be possible for you to +find your way back across the waters to your own land and your own love, and so +you would desert me, Teule. This is what I could not bear, Teule. I can forego +you now, ay, and remain your friend. But I cannot be put aside like a dancing +girl, the companion of a month, I, Montezuma’s daughter, a lady of my own +land. Should you wed me, it must be for my life, Teule, and that is perhaps +more than you would wish to promise, though you could kiss me on yonder stone +and there is blood fellowship between us,” and she glanced at the red +stain in the linen robe that covered the wound upon her side. +</p> + +<p> +“And now, Teule, I leave you a while, that I may find Guatemoc, if he +still lives, and others who, now that the strength of the priests is shattered, +have power to protect you and advance you to honour. Think then on all that I +have said, and do not be hasty to decide. Or would you make an end at once and +fly to the white men if I can find a means of escape?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am too weary to fly anywhere,” I answered, “even if I +could. Moreover, I forget. My enemy is among the Spaniards, he whom I have +sworn to kill, therefore his friends are my foes and his foes my friends. I +will not fly, Otomie.” +</p> + +<p> +“There you are wise,” she said, “for if you come among the +Teules that man will murder you; by fair means or foul he will murder you +within a day, I saw it in his eyes. Now rest while I seek your safety, if there +is any safety in this blood-stained land.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII<br /> +THOMAS IS MARRIED</h2> + +<p> +Otomie turned and went. I watched the golden curtains close behind her; then I +sank back upon the couch and instantly was lost in sleep, for I was faint and +weak, and so dazed with weariness, that at the time I scarcely knew what had +happened, or the purpose of our talk. Afterwards, however, it came back to me. +I must have slept for many hours, for when I awoke it was far on into the +night. It was night but not dark, for through the barred window places came the +sound of tumult and fighting, and red rays of light cast by the flames of +burning houses. One of these windows was above my couch, and standing on the +bed I seized the sill with my hands. With much pain, because of the flesh wound +in my side, I drew myself up till I could look through the bars. Then I saw +that the Spaniards, not content with the capture of the <i>teocalli</i>, had +made a night attack and set fire to hundreds of houses in the city. The glare +of the flames was that of a lurid day, and by it I could see the white men +retreating to their quarters, pursued by thousands of Aztecs, who hung upon +their flanks, shooting at them with stones and arrows. +</p> + +<p> +Now I dropped down from the window place and began to think as to what I should +do, for again my mind was wavering. Should I desert Otomie and escape to the +Spaniards if that were possible, taking my chance of death at the hands of de +Garcia? Or should I stay among the Aztecs if they would give me shelter, and +wed Otomie? There was a third choice, indeed, to stay with them and leave +Otomie alone, though it would be difficult to do this and keep my honour. One +thing I understood, if I married Otomie it must be at her own price, for then I +must become an Indian and give over all hope of returning to England and to my +betrothed. Of this, indeed, there was little chance, still, while my life +remained to me, it might come about if I was free. But once my hands were tied +by this marriage it could never be during Otomie’s lifetime, and so far +as Lily Bozard was concerned I should be dead. How could I be thus faithless to +her memory and my troth, and on the other hand, how could I discard the woman +who had risked all for me, and who, to speak truth, had grown so dear to me, +though there was one yet dearer? A hero or an angel might find a path out of +this tangle, but alas! I was neither the one nor the other, only a man +afflicted as other men are with human weakness, and Otomie was at hand, and +very sweet and fair. Still, almost I determined that I would avail myself of +her nobleness, that I would go back upon my words, and beg her to despise me +and see me no more, in order that I might not be forced to break the troth that +I had pledged beneath the beech at Ditchingham. For I greatly dreaded this oath +of life-long fidelity which I should be forced to swear if I chose any other +path. +</p> + +<p> +Thus I thought on in pitiable confusion of mind, not knowing that all these +matters were beyond my ordering, since a path was already made ready to my +feet, which I must follow or die. And let this be a proof of the honesty of my +words, since, had I been desirous of glozing the truth, I need have written +nothing of these struggles of conscience, and of my own weakness. For soon it +was to come to this, though not by her will, that I must either wed Otomie or +die at once, and few would blame me for doing the first and not the last. +Indeed, though I did wed her, I might still have declared myself to my +affianced and to all the world as a slave of events from which there was no +escape. But it is not all the truth, since my mind was divided, and had it not +been settled for me, I cannot say how the struggle would have ended. +</p> + +<p> +Now, looking back on the distant past, and weighing my actions and character as +a judge might do, I can see, however, that had I found time to consider, there +was another matter which would surely have turned the scale in favour of +Otomie. De Garcia was among the Spaniards, and my hatred of de Garcia was the +ruling passion of my life, a stronger passion even than my love for the two +dear women who have been its joy. Indeed, though he is dead these many years I +still hate him, and evil though the desire be, even in my age I long that my +vengeance was still to wreak. While I remained among the Aztecs de Garcia would +be their enemy and mine, and I might meet him in war and kill him there. But if +I succeeded in reaching the Spanish camp, then it was almost sure that he would +bring about my instant death. Doubtless he had told such a tale of me already, +that within an hour I should be hung as a spy, or otherwise made away with. +</p> + +<p> +But I will cease from these unprofitable wonderings which have but one value, +that of setting out my strange necessity of choice between an absent and a +present love, and go on with the story of an event in which there was no room +to balance scruples. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +While I sat musing on the couch the curtain was drawn, and a man entered +bearing a torch. It was Guatemoc as he had come from the fray, which, except +for its harvest of burning houses, was finished for that night. The plumes were +shorn from his head, his golden armour was hacked by the Spanish swords, and he +bled from a shot wound in the neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Greeting, Teule,” he said. “Certainly I never thought to see +you alive to-night, or myself either for that matter. But it is a strange +world, and now, if never before in Tenoctitlan, those things happen for which +we look the least. But I have no time for words. I came to summon you before +the council.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is to be my fate?” I asked. “To be dragged back to the +stone of sacrifice?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, have no fear of that. But for the rest I cannot say. In an hour you +may be dead or great among us, if any of us can be called great in these days +of shame. Otomie has worked well for you among the princes and the counsellors, +so she says, and if you have a heart, you should be grateful to her, for it +seems to me that few women have loved a man so much. As for me, I have been +employed elsewhere,” and he glanced at his rent armour, “but I will +lift up my voice for you. Now come, friend, for the torch burns low. By this +time you must be well seasoned in dangers; one more or less will matter as +little to you as to me.” +</p> + +<p> +Then I rose and followed him into the great cedar-panelled hall, where that +very morning I had received adoration as a god. Now I was a god no longer, but +a prisoner on trial for his life. Upon the dais where I had stood in the hour +of my godhead were gathered those of the princes and counsellors who were left +alive. Some of them, like Guatemoc, were clad in rent and bloody mail, others +in their customary dress, and one in a priest’s robe. They had only two +things in common among them, the sternness of their faces and the greatness of +their rank, and they sat there this night not to decide my fate, which was but +a little thing, but to take counsel as to how they might expel the Spaniards +before the city was destroyed. +</p> + +<p> +When I entered, a man in mail, who sat in the centre of the half circle, and in +whom I knew Cuitlahua, who would be emperor should Montezuma die, looked up +quickly and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Who is this, Guatemoc, that you bring with you? Ah! I remember; the +Teule that was the god Tezcat, and who escaped the sacrifice to-day. Listen, +nobles. What is to be done with this man? Say, is it lawful that he be led back +to sacrifice?” +</p> + +<p> +Then the priest answered: “I grieve to say that it is not lawful, most +noble prince. This man has lain on the altar of the god, he has even been +wounded by the holy knife. But the god rejected him in a fateful hour, and he +must lie there no more. Slay him if you will, but not upon the stone of +sacrifice.” +</p> + +<p> +“What then shall be done with him?” said the prince again. +</p> + +<p> +“He is of the blood of the Teules, and therefore an enemy. One thing is +certain; he must not be suffered to join the white devils and give them tidings +of our distresses. Is it not best that he be put away forthwith?” +</p> + +<p> +Now several of the council nodded their heads, but others sat silent, making no +sign. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” said Cuitlahua, “we have no time to waste over this +man when the lives of thousands are hourly at stake. The question is, Shall the +Teule be slain?” +</p> + +<p> +Then Guatemoc rose and spoke, saying: “Your pardon, noble kinsman, but I +hold that we may put this prisoner to better use than to kill him. I know him +well; he is brave and loyal, as I have proved, moreover, he is not all a Teule, +but half of another race that hates them as he hates them. Also he has +knowledge of their customs and mode of warfare, which we lack, and I think that +he may be able to give us good counsel in our strait.” +</p> + +<p> +“The counsel of the wolf to the deer perhaps,” said Cuitlahua, +coldly; “counsel that shall lead us to the fangs of the Teules. Who shall +answer for this foreign devil, that he will not betray us if we trust +him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will answer with my life,” answered Guatemoc. +</p> + +<p> +“Your life is of too great worth to be set on such a stake, nephew. Men +of this white breed are liars, and his own word is of no value even if he gives +it. I think that it will be best to kill him and have done with doubts.” +</p> + +<p> +“This man is wed to Otomie, princess of the Otomie, Montezuma’s +daughter, your niece,” said Guatemoc again, “and she loves him so +well that she offered herself upon the stone of sacrifice with him. Unless I +mistake she will answer for him also. Shall she be summoned before you?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you wish, nephew; but a woman in love is a blind woman, and doubtless +he has deceived her also. Moreover, she was his wife according to the rule of +religion only. Is it your desire that the princess should be summoned before +you, comrades?” +</p> + +<p> +Now some said nay, but the most, those whose interest Otomie had gained, said +yea, and the end of it was that one of their number was sent to summon her. +</p> + +<p> +Presently she came, looking very weary, but proud in mien and royally attired, +and bowed before the council. +</p> + +<p> +“This is the question, princess,” said Cuitlahua. “Whether +this Teule shall be slain forthwith, or whether he shall be sworn as one of us, +should he be willing to take the oath? The prince Guatemoc here vouches for +him, and he says, moreover, that you will vouch for him also. A woman can do +this in one way only, by taking him she vouches as her husband. You are already +wed to this foreigner by the rule of religion. Are you willing to marry him +according to the custom of our land, and to answer for his faith with your own +life?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am willing,” Otomie answered quietly, “if he is +willing.” +</p> + +<p> +“In truth it is a great honour that you would do this white dog,” +said Cuitlahua. “Bethink you, you are princess of the Otomie and one of +our master’s daughters, it is to you that we look to bring back the +mountain clans of the Otomie, of whom you are chieftainess, from their unholy +alliance with the accursed Tlascalans, the slaves of the Teules. Is not your +life too precious to be set on such a stake as this foreigner’s faith? +for learn, Otomie, if he proves false your rank shall not help you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it all,” she replied quietly. “Foreigner or not, I +love this man and I will answer for him with my blood. Moreover, I look to him +to assist me to win back the people of the Otomie to their allegiance. But let +him speak for himself, my lord. It may happen that he has no desire to take me +in marriage.” +</p> + +<p> +Cuitlahua smiled grimly and said, “When the choice lies between the +breast of death and those fair arms of yours, niece, it is easy to guess his +answer. Still, speak, Teule, and swiftly.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have little to say, lord. If the princess Otomie is willing to wed me, +I am willing to wed her,” I answered, and thus in the moment of my danger +all my doubts and scruples vanished. As Cuitlahua had said, it was easy to +guess the choice of one set between death and Otomie. +</p> + +<p> +She heard and looked at me warningly, saying in a low voice: “Remember +our words, Teule. In such a marriage you renounce your past and give me your +future.” +</p> + +<p> +“I remember,” I answered, and while I spoke, there came before my +eyes a vision of Lily’s face as it had been when I bade her farewell. +This then was the end of the vows that I had sworn. Cuitlahua looked at me with +a glance which seemed to search my heart and said: +</p> + +<p> +“I hear your words, Teule. You, a white wanderer, are graciously willing +to take this princess to wife, and by her to be lifted high among the great +lords of this land. But say, how can we trust you? If you fail us your wife +dies indeed, but that may be naught to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am ready to swear allegiance,” I answered. “I hate the +Spaniards, and among them is my bitterest enemy whom I followed across the sea +to kill—the man who strove to murder me this very day. I can say no more, +if you doubt my words it were best to make an end of me. Already I have +suffered much at the hands of your people; it matters little if I die or +live.” +</p> + +<p> +“Boldly spoken, Teule. Now, lords, I ask your judgment. Shall this man be +given to Otomie as husband and be sworn as one of us, or shall he be killed +instantly? You know the matter. If he can be trusted, as Guatemoc and Otomie +believe, he will be worth an army to us, for he is acquainted with the +language, the customs, the weapons, and the modes of warfare of these white +devils whom the gods have let loose upon us. If on the other hand he is not to +be trusted, and it is hard for us to put faith in one of his blood, he may do +us much injury, for in the end he will escape to the Teules, and betray our +counsels and our strength, or the lack of it. It is for you to judge, +lords.” +</p> + +<p> +Now the councillors consulted together, and some said one thing and some +another, for they were not by any means of a mind in the matter. At length +growing weary, Cuitlahua called on them to put the question to the vote, and +this they did by a lifting of hands. First those who were in favour of my death +held up their hands, then those who thought that it would be wise to spare me. +There were twenty-six councillors present, not counting Cuitlahua, and of these +thirteen voted for my execution and thirteen were for saving me alive. +</p> + +<p> +“Now it seems that I must give a casting vote,” said Cuitlahua when +the tale had been rendered, and my blood turned cold at his words, for I had +seen that his mind was set against me. Then it was that Otomie broke in, +saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Your pardon, my uncle, but before you speak I have a word to say. You +need my services, do you not? for if the people of the Otomie will listen to +any and suffer themselves to be led from their evil path, it is to me. My +mother was by birth their chieftainess, the last of a long line, and I am her +only child, moreover my father is their emperor. Therefore my life is of no +small worth now in this time of trouble, for though I am nothing in myself, yet +it may chance that I can bring thirty thousand warriors to your standard. The +priests knew this on yonder pyramid, and when I claimed my right to lie at the +side of the Teule, they gainsayed me, nor would they suffer it, though they +hungered for the royal blood, till I called down the vengeance of the gods upon +them. Now my uncle, and you, lords, I tell you this: Slay yonder man if you +will, but know that then you must find another than me to lure the Otomie from +their rebellion, for then I complete what I began to-day, and follow him to the +grave.” +</p> + +<p> +She ceased and a murmur of amazement went round the chamber, for none had +looked to find such love and courage in this lady’s heart. Only Cuitlahua +grew angry. +</p> + +<p> +“Disloyal girl,” he said; “do you dare to set your lover +before your country? Shame upon you, shameless daughter of our king. Why, it is +in the blood—as the father is so is the daughter. Did not Montezuma +forsake his people and choose to lie among these Teules, the false children of +Quetzal? And now this Otomie follows in his path. Tell us how is it, woman, +that you and your lover alone escaped from the <i>teocalli</i> yonder when all +the rest were killed. Are you then in league with these Teules? I say to you, +niece, that if things were otherwise and I had my way, you should win your +desire indeed, for you should be slain at this man’s side and within the +hour.” And he ceased for lack of breath, and looked upon her fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +But Otomie never quailed; she stood before him pale and quiet, with folded +hands and downcast eyes, and answered: +</p> + +<p> +“Forbear to reproach me because my love is strong, or reproach me if you +will, I have spoken my last word. Condemn this man to die and Prince you must +seek some other envoy to win back the Otomie to the cause of Anahuac.” +</p> + +<p> +Now Cuitlahua pondered, staring into the gloom above him and pulling at his +beard, and the silence was great, for none knew what his judgment would be. At +last he spoke: +</p> + +<p> +“So be it. We have need of Otomie, my niece, and it is of no avail to +fight against a woman’s love. Teule, we give you life, and with the life +honour and wealth, and the greatest of our women in marriage, and a place in +our councils. Take these gifts and her, but I say to you both, beware how you +use them. If you betray us, nay, if you do but think on treachery, I swear to +you that you shall die a death so slow and horrible that the very name of it +would turn your heart to water; you and your wife, your children and your +servants. Come, let him be sworn!” +</p> + +<p> +I heard and my head swam, and a mist gathered before my eyes. Once again I was +saved from instant death. +</p> + +<p> +Presently it cleared, and looking up my eyes met those of the woman who had +saved me, Otomie my wife, who smiled upon me somewhat sadly. Then the priest +came forward bearing a wooden bowl, carved about with strange signs, and a +flint knife, and bade me bare my arm. He cut my flesh with the knife, so that +blood ran from it into the bowl. Some drops of this blood he emptied on to the +ground, muttering invocations the while. Then he turned and looked at Cuitlahua +as though in question, and Cuitlahua answered with a bitter laugh: +</p> + +<p> +“Let him be baptized with the blood of the princess Otomie my niece, for +she is bail for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, lord,” said Guatemoc, “these two have mingled bloods +already upon the stone of sacrifice, and they are man and wife. But I also have +vouched for him, and I offer mine in earnest of my faith.” +</p> + +<p> +“This Teule has good friends,” said Cuitlahua; “you honour +him overmuch. But so be it.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Guatemoc came forward, and when the priest would have cut him with the +knife, he laughed and said, pointing to the bullet wound upon his neck: +</p> + +<p> +“No need for that, priest. Blood runs here that was shed by the Teules. +None can be fitter for this purpose.” +</p> + +<p> +So the priest drew away the bandage and suffered the blood of Guatemoc to drop +into a second smaller bowl. Then he came to me and dipping his finger into the +blood, he drew the sign of a cross upon my forehead as a Christian priest draws +it upon the forehead of an infant, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“In the presence and the name of god our lord, who is everywhere and sees +all things, I sign you with this blood and make you of this blood. In the +presence and the name of god our lord, who is everywhere and sees all things, I +pour forth your blood upon the earth!” (here he poured as he spoke). +“As this blood of yours sinks into the earth, so may the memory of your +past life sink and be forgotten, for you are born again of the people of +Anahuac. In the presence and the name of god our lord, who is everywhere and +sees all things, I mingle these bloods” (here he poured from one bowl +into the other), “and with them I touch your tongue” (here dipping +his finger into the bowl he touched the tip of my tongue with it) “and +bid you swear thus: +</p> + +<p> +“‘May every evil to which the flesh of man is subject enter into my +flesh, may I live in misery and die in torment by the dreadful death, may my +soul be rejected from the Houses of the Sun, may it wander homeless for ever in +the darkness that is behind the Stars, if I depart from this my oath. I, Teule, +swear to be faithful to the people of Anahuac and to their lawful governors. I +swear to wage war upon their foes and to compass their destruction, and more +especially upon the Teules till they are driven into the sea. I swear to offer +no affront to the gods of Anahuac. I swear myself in marriage to Otomie, +princess of the Otomie, the daughter of Montezuma my lord, for so long as her +life shall endure. I swear to attempt no escape from these shores. I swear to +renounce my father and my mother, and the land where I was born, and to cling +to this land of my new birth; and this my oath shall endure till the volcan +Popo ceases to vomit smoke and fire, till there is no king in Tenoctitlan, till +no priest serves the altars of the gods, and the people of Anahuac are no more +a people.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Do you swear these things, one and all?” +</p> + +<p> +“One and all I swear them,” I answered because I must, though there +was much in the oath that I liked little enough. And yet mark how strangely +things came to pass. Within fifteen years from that night the volcan Popo had +ceased to vomit smoke and fire, the kings had ceased to reign in Tenoctitlan, +the priests had ceased to serve the altars of the gods, the people of Anahuac +were no more a people, and my vow was null and void. Yet the priests who framed +this form chose these things as examples of what was immortal! +</p> + +<p> +When I had sworn Guatemoc came forward and embraced me, saying: “Welcome, +Teule, my brother in blood and heart. Now you are one of us, and we look to you +for help and counsel. Come, be seated by me.” +</p> + +<p> +I looked towards Cuitlahua doubtfully, but he smiled graciously, and said: +“Teule, your trial is over. We have accepted you, and you have sworn the +solemn oath of brotherhood, to break which is to die horribly in this world, +and to be tortured through eternity by demons in the next. Forget all that may +have been said in the hour of your weighing, for the balance is in your favour, +and be sure that if you give us no cause to doubt you, you shall find none to +doubt us. Now as the husband of Otomie, you are a lord among the lords, having +honour and great possessions, and as such be seated by your brother Guatemoc, +and join our council.” +</p> + +<p> +I did as he bade me, and Otomie withdrew from our presence. Then Cuitlahua +spoke again, no longer of me and my matters, but of the urgent affairs of +state. He spoke in slow words and weighty, and more than once his voice broke +in his sorrow. He told of the grievous misfortunes that had overcome the +country, of the death of hundreds of its bravest warriors, of the slaughter of +the priests and soldiers that day on the <i>teocalli</i>, and the desecration +of his nation’s gods. What was to be done in this extremity? he asked. +Montezuma lay dying, a prisoner in the camp of the Teules, and the fire that he +had nursed with his breath devoured the land. No efforts of theirs could break +the iron strength of these white devils, armed as they were with strange and +terrible weapons. Day by day disaster overtook the arms of the Aztecs. What +wisdom had they now that the protecting gods were shattered in their very +shrines, when the altars ran red with the blood of their ministering priests, +when the oracles were dumb or answered only in the accents of despair? +</p> + +<p> +Then one by one princes and generals arose and gave counsel according to their +lights. At length all had spoken, and Cuitlahua said, looking towards me: +</p> + +<p> +“We have a new counsellor among us, who is skilled in the warfare and +customs of the white men, who till an hour ago was himself a white man. Has he +no word of comfort for us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Speak, my brother?” said Guatemoc. +</p> + +<p> +Then I spoke. “Most noble Cuitlahua, and you lords and princes. You +honour me by asking my counsel, and it is this in few words and brief. You +waste your strength by hurling your armies continually against stone walls and +the weapons of the Teules. So you shall not prevail against them. Your devices +must be changed if you would win victory. The Spaniards are like other men; +they are no gods as the ignorant imagine, and the creatures on which they ride +are not demons but beasts of burden, such as are used for many purposes in the +land where I was born. The Spaniards are men I say, and do not men hunger and +thirst? Cannot men be worn out by want of sleep, and be killed in many ways? +Are not these Teules already weary to the death? This then is my word of +comfort to you. Cease to attack the Spaniards and invest their camp so closely +that no food can reach them and their allies the Tlascalans. If this is done, +within ten days from now, either they will surrender or they will strive to +break their way back to the coast. But to do this, first they must win out of +the city, and if dykes are cut through the causeways, that will be no easy +matter. Then when they strive to escape cumbered with the gold they covet and +came here to seek, then I say will be the hour to attack them and to destroy +them utterly.” +</p> + +<p> +I ceased, and a murmur of applause went round the council. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems that we came to a wise judgment when we determined to spare +this man’s life,” said Cuitlahua, “for all that he tells us +is true, and I would that we had followed this policy from the first. Now, +lords, I give my voice for acting as our brother points the way. What say +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“We say with you that our brother’s words are good,” answered +Guatemoc presently, “and now let us follow them to the end.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, after some further talk, the council broke up and I sought my chamber +well nigh blind with weariness and crushed by the weight of all that I had +suffered on that eventful day. The dawn was flaring in the eastern sky, and by +its glimmer I found my path down the empty corridors, till at length I came to +the curtains of my sleeping place. I drew them and passed through. There, far +up the room, the faint light gleaming on her snowy dress, her raven hair and +ornaments of gold, stood Otomie my bride. +</p> + +<p> +I went towards her, and as I came she glided to meet me with outstretched arms. +Presently they were about my neck and her kiss was on my brow. +</p> + +<p> +“Now all is done, my love and lord,” she whispered, “and come +good or ill, or both, we are one till death, for such vows as ours cannot be +broken.” +</p> + +<p> +“All is done indeed, Otomie, and our oaths are lifelong, though other +oaths have been broken that they might be sworn,” I answered. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Thus then I, Thomas Wingfield, was wed to Otomie, princess of the Otomie, +Montezuma’s daughter. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV<br /> +THE NIGHT OF FEAR</h2> + +<p> +Long before I awoke that day the commands of the council had been carried out, +and the bridges in the great causeways were broken down wherever dykes crossed +the raised roads that ran through the waters of the lake. That afternoon also I +went dressed as an Indian warrior with Guatemoc and the other generals, to a +parley which was held with Cortes, who took his stand on the same tower of the +palace that Montezuma had stood on when the arrow of Guatemoc struck him down. +There is little to be said of this parley, and I remember it chiefly because it +was then for the first time since I had left the Tobascans that I saw Marina +close, and heard her sweet and gentle voice. For now as ever she was by the +side of Cortes, translating his proposals of peace to the Aztecs. Among those +proposals was one which showed me that de Garcia had not been idle. It asked +that the false white man who had been rescued from the altars of the gods upon +the <i>teocalli</i> should be given in exchange for certain Aztec prisoners, in +order that he might be hung according to his merits as a spy and deserter, a +traitor to the emperor of Spain. I wondered as I heard, if Marina knew when she +spoke the words, that “the false white man” was none other than the +friend of her Tobascan days. +</p> + +<p> +“You see that you are fortunate in having found place among us Aztecs, +Teule,” said Guatemoc with a laugh, “for your own people would +greet you with a rope.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he answered Cortes, saying nothing of me, but bidding him and all the +Spaniards prepare for death: +</p> + +<p> +“Many of us have perished,” he said; “you also must perish, +Teules. You shall perish of hunger and thirst, you shall perish on the altars +of the gods. There is no escape for you Teules; the bridges are broken.” +</p> + +<p> +And all the multitude took up the words and thundered out, “There is no +escape for you Teules; the bridges are broken!” +</p> + +<p> +Then the shooting of arrows began, and I sought the palace to tell Otomie my +wife what I had gathered of the state of her father Montezuma, who the +Spaniards said still lay dying, and of her two sisters who were hostages in +their quarters. Also I told her how my surrender had been sought, and she +kissed me, and said smiling, that though my life was now burdened with her, +still it was better so than that I should fall into the hands of the Spaniards. +</p> + +<p> +Two days later came the news that Montezuma was dead, and shortly after it his +body, which the Spaniards handed over to the Aztecs for burial, attired in the +gorgeous robes of royalty. They laid it in the hall of the palace, whence it +was hurried secretly and at night to Chapoltepec, and there hidden away with +small ceremony, for it was feared that the people might rend it limb from limb +in their rage. With Otomie weeping at my side, I looked for the last time on +the face of that most unhappy king, whose reign so glorious in its beginning +had ended thus. And while I looked I wondered what suffering could have +equalled his, as fallen from his estate and hated by the subjects whom he had +betrayed, he lay dying, a prisoner in the power of the foreign wolves who were +tearing out his country’s heart. It is little wonder indeed that +Montezuma rent the bandages from his wounds and would not suffer them to tend +his hurts. For the real hurt was in his soul; there the iron had entered +deeply, and no leech could cure it except one called Death. And yet the fault +was not all his, the devils whom he worshipped as gods were revenged upon him, +for they had filled him with the superstitions of their wicked faith, and +because of these the gods and their high priest must sink into a common ruin. +Were it not for these unsubstantial terrors that haunted him, the Spaniards had +never won a foothold in Tenoctitlan, and the Aztecs would have remained free +for many a year to come. But Providence willed it otherwise, and this dead and +disgraced monarch was but its instrument. +</p> + +<p> +Such were the thoughts that passed through my mind as I gazed upon the body of +the great Montezuma. But Otomie, ceasing from her tears, kissed his clay and +cried aloud: +</p> + +<p> +“O my father, it is well that you are dead, for none who loved you could +desire to see you live on in shame and servitude. May the gods you worshipped +give me strength to avenge you, or if they be no gods, then may I find it in +myself. I swear this, my father, that while a man is left to me I will not +cease from seeking to avenge you.” +</p> + +<p> +Then taking my hand, without another word she turned and passed thence. As will +be seen, she kept her oath. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +On that day and on the morrow there was fighting with the Spaniards, who +sallied out to fill up the gaps in the dykes of the causeway, a task in which +they succeeded, though with some loss. But it availed them nothing, for so soon +as their backs were turned we opened the dykes again. It was on these days that +for the first time I had experience of war, and armed with my bow made after +the English pattern, I did good service. As it chanced, the very first arrow +that I drew was on my hated foe de Garcia, but here my common fortune pursued +me, for being out of practice, or over-anxious, I aimed too high, though the +mark was an easy one, and the shaft pierced the iron of his casque, causing him +to reel in his saddle, but doing him no further hurt. Still this marksmanship, +poor as it was, gained me great renown among the Aztecs, who were but feeble +archers, for they had never before seen an arrow pierce through the Spanish +mail. Nor would mine have done so had I not collected the iron barbs off the +crossbow bolts of the Spaniards, and fitted them to my own shafts. I seldom +found the mail that would withstand arrows made thus, when the range was short +and the aim good. +</p> + +<p> +After the first day’s fight I was appointed general over a body of three +thousand archers, and was given a banner to be borne before me and a gorgeous +captain’s dress to wear. But what pleased me better was a chain shirt +which came from the body of a Spanish cavalier. For many years I always wore +this shirt beneath my cotton mail, and it saved my life more than once, for +even bullets would not pierce the two of them. +</p> + +<p> +I had taken over the command of my archers but forty-eight hours, a scant time +in which to teach them discipline whereof they had little, though they were +brave enough, when the occasion came to use them in good earnest, and with it +the night of disaster that is still known among the Spaniards as the <i>noche +triste</i>. On the afternoon before that night a council was held in the palace +at which I spoke, saying, I was certain that the Teules thought of retreat from +the city, and in the dark, for otherwise they would not have been so eager to +fill up the canals in the causeway. To this Cuitlahua, who now that Montezuma +was dead would be emperor, though he was not yet chosen and crowned, answered +that it might well be that the Teules meditated flight, but that they could +never attempt it in the darkness, since in so doing they must become entangled +in the streets and dykes. +</p> + +<p> +I replied that though it was not the Aztec habit to march and fight at night, +such things were common enough among white men as they had seen already, and +that because the Spaniards knew it was not their habit, they would be the more +likely to attempt escape under cover of the darkness, when they thought their +enemies asleep. Therefore I counselled that sentries should be set at all the +entrances to every causeway. To this Cuitlahua assented, and assigned the +causeway of Tlacopan to Guatemoc and myself, making us the guardians of its +safety. That night Guatemoc and I, with some soldiers, went out towards +midnight to visit the guard that we had placed upon the causeway. It was very +dark and a fine rain fell, so that a man could see no further before his eyes +than he can at evening through a Norfolk roke in autumn. We found and relieved +the guard, which reported that all was quiet, and we were returning towards the +great square when of a sudden I heard a dull sound as of thousands of men +tramping. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“It is the Teules who escape,” whispered Guatemoc. +</p> + +<p> +Quickly we ran to where the street from the great square opens on to the +causeway, and there even through the darkness and rain we caught the gleam of +armour. Then I cried aloud in a great voice, “To arms! To arms! The +Teules escape by the causeway of Tlacopan.” +</p> + +<p> +Instantly my words were caught up by the sentries and passed from post to post +till the city rang with them. They were cried in every street and canal, they +echoed from the roofs of houses, and among the summits of a hundred temples. +The city awoke with a murmur, from the lake came the sound of water beaten by +ten thousand oars, as though myriads of wild-fowl had sprung suddenly from +their reedy beds. Here, there, and everywhere torches flashed out like falling +stars, wild notes were blown on horns and shells, and above all arose the +booming of the snakeskin drum which the priests upon the <i>teocalli</i> beat +furiously. +</p> + +<p> +Presently the murmur grew to a roar, and from this direction and from that, +armed men poured towards the causeway of Tlacopan. Some came on foot, but the +most of them were in canoes which covered the waters of the lake further than +the ear could hear. Now the Spaniards to the number of fifteen hundred or so, +accompanied by some six or eight thousand Tlascalans, were emerging on the +causeway in a long thin line. Guatemoc and I rushed before them, collecting men +as we went, till we came to the first canal, where canoes were already +gathering by scores. The head of the Spanish column reached the canal and the +fight began, which so far as the Aztecs were concerned was a fray without plan +or order, for in that darkness and confusion the captains could not see their +men or the men hear their captains. But they were there in countless numbers +and had only one desire in their breasts, to kill the Teules. A cannon roared, +sending a storm of bullets through us, and by its flash we saw that the +Spaniards carried a timber bridge with them, which they were placing across the +canal. Then we fell on them, every man fighting for himself. Guatemoc and I +were swept over that bridge by the first rush of the enemy, as leaves are swept +in a gale, and though both of us won through safely we saw each other no more +that night. With us and after us came the long array of Spaniards and +Tlascalans, and from every side the Aztecs poured upon them, clinging to their +struggling line as ants cling to a wounded worm. +</p> + +<p> +How can I tell all that came to pass that night? I cannot, for I saw but little +of it. All I know is that for two hours I was fighting like a madman. The foe +crossed the first canal, but when all were over the bridge was sunk so deep in +the mud that it could not be stirred, and three furlongs on ran a second canal +deeper and wider than the first. Over this they could not cross till it was +bridged with the dead. It seemed as though all hell had broken loose upon that +narrow ridge of ground. The sound of cannons and of arquebusses, the shrieks of +agony and fear, the shouts of the Spanish soldiers, the war-cries of the +Aztecs, the screams of wounded horses, the wail of women, the hiss of hurtling +darts and arrows, and the dull noise of falling blows went up to heaven in one +hideous hurly-burly. Like a frightened mob of cattle the long Spanish array +swayed this way and that, bellowing as it swayed. Many rolled down the sides of +the causeway to be slaughtered in the water of the lake, or borne away to +sacrifice in the canoes, many were drowned in the canals, and yet more were +trampled to death in the mud. Hundreds of the Aztecs perished also, for the +most part beneath the weapons of their own friends, who struck and shot not +knowing on whom the blow should fall or in whose breast the arrow would find +its home. +</p> + +<p> +For my part I fought on with a little band of men who had gathered about me, +till at last the dawn broke and showed an awful sight. The most of those who +were left alive of the Spaniards and their allies had crossed the second canal +upon a bridge made of the dead bodies of their fellows mixed up with a wreck of +baggage, cannon, and packages of treasure. Now the fight was raging beyond it. +A mob of Spaniards and Tlascalans were still crossing the second breach, and on +these I fell with such men as were with me. I plunged right into the heart of +them, and suddenly before me I saw the face of de Garcia. With a shout I rushed +at him. He heard my voice and knew me. With an oath he struck at my head. The +heavy sword came down upon my helmet of painted wood, shearing away one side of +it and felling me, but ere I fell I smote him on the breast with the club I +carried, tumbling him to the earth. Now half stunned and blinded I crept +towards him through the press. All that I could see was a gleam of armour in +the mud. I threw myself upon it, gripping at the wearer’s throat, and +together we rolled down the side of the causeway into the shallow water at the +edge of the lake. I was uppermost, and with a fierce joy I dashed the blood +from my eyes that I might see to kill my enemy caught at last. His body was in +the lake but his head lay upon the sloping bank, and my plan was to hold him +beneath the water till he was drowned, for I had lost my club. +</p> + +<p> +“At length, de Garcia!” I cried in Spanish as I shifted my grip. +</p> + +<p> +“For the love of God let me go!” gasped a rough voice beneath me. +“Fool, I am no Indian dog.” +</p> + +<p> +Now I peered into the man’s face bewildered. I had seized de Garcia, but +the voice was not his voice, nor was the face his face, but that of a rough +Spanish soldier. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” I asked, slackening my hold. “Where is de +Garcia—he whom you name Sarceda?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sarceda? I don’t know. A minute ago he was on his back on the +causeway. The fellow pulled me down and rolled behind me. Let me be I say. I am +not Sarceda, and if I were, is this a time to settle private quarrels? I am +your comrade, Bernal Diaz. Holy Mother! who are you? An Aztec who speaks +Castilian?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am no Aztec,” I answered. “I am an Englishman and I fight +with the Aztecs that I may slay him whom you name Sarceda. But with you I have +no quarrel, Bernal Diaz. Begone and escape if you can. No, I will keep the +sword with your leave.” +</p> + +<p> +“Englishman, Spaniard, Aztec, or devil,” grunted the man as he drew +himself from his bed of ooze, “you are a good fellow, and I promise you +that if I live through this, and it should ever come about that I get +<i>you</i> by the throat, I will remember the turn you did me. Farewell;” +and without more ado he rushed up the bank and plunged into a knot of his +flying countrymen, leaving his good sword in my hand. I strove to follow him +that I might find my enemy, who once more had escaped me by craft, but my +strength failed me, for de Garcia’s sword had bitten deep and I bled +much. So I must sit where I was till a canoe came and bore me back to Otomie to +be nursed, and ten days went by before I could walk again. +</p> + +<p> +This was my share in the victory of the <i>noche triste</i>. Alas! it was a +barren triumph, though more than five hundred of the Spaniards were slain and +thousands of their allies. For there was no warlike skill or discipline among +the Aztecs, and instead of following the Spaniards till not one of them +remained alive, they stayed to plunder the dead and drag away the living to +sacrifice. Also this day of revenge was a sad one to Otomie, seeing that two of +her brothers, Montezuma’s sons whom the Spaniards held in hostage, +perished with them in the fray. +</p> + +<p> +As for de Garcia I could not learn what had become of him, nor whether he was +dead or living. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV<br /> +THE BURYING OF MONTEZUMA’S TREASURE</h2> + +<p> +Cuitlahua was crowned Emperor of the Aztecs in succession to his brother +Montezuma, while I lay sick with the wound given me by the sword of de Garcia, +and also with that which I had received on the altar of sacrifice. This hurt +had found no time to heal, and in the fierce fighting on the Night of Fear it +burst open and bled much. Indeed it gave me trouble for years, and to this hour +I feel it in the autumn season. Otomie, who nursed me tenderly, and so strange +is the heart of woman, even seemed to be consoled in her sorrow at the loss of +her father and nearest kin, because I had escaped the slaughter and won fame, +told me of the ceremony of the crowning, which was splendid enough. Indeed the +Aztecs were almost mad with rejoicing because the Teules had gone at last. They +forgot, or seemed to forget, the loss of thousands of their bravest warriors +and of the flower of their rank, and as yet, at any rate, they did not look +forward to the future. From house to house and street to street ran troops of +young men and maidens garlanded with flowers, crying, “The Teules are +gone, rejoice with us; the Teules are fled!” and woe to them who were not +merry, ay, even though their houses were desolate with death. Also the statues +of the gods were set up again on the great pyramid and their temples rebuilt, +the holy crucifix that the Spaniards had placed there being served as the idols +Huitzel and Tezcat had been served, and tumbled down the sides of the +<i>teocalli</i>, and that after sacrifice of some Spanish prisoners had been +offered in its presence. It was Guatemoc himself who told me of this sacrilege, +but not with any exultation, for I had taught him something of our faith, and +though he was too sturdy a heathen to change his creed, in secret he believed +that the God of the Christians was a true and mighty God. Moreover, though he +was obliged to countenance them, because of the power of the priests, like +Otomie, Guatemoc never loved the horrid rites of human sacrifice. +</p> + +<p> +Now when I heard this tale my anger overcame my reason, and I spoke fiercely, +saying: +</p> + +<p> +“I am sworn to your cause, Guatemoc, my brother, and I am married to your +blood, but I tell you that from this hour it is an accursed cause; because of +your bloodstained idols and your priests, it is accursed. That God whom you +have desecrated, and those who serve Him shall come back in power, and He shall +sit where your idols sat and none shall stir Him for ever.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus I spoke, and my words were true, though I do not know what put them into +my heart, since I spoke at random in my wrath. For to-day Christ’s Church +stands upon the site of the place of sacrifice in Mexico, a sign and a token of +His triumph over devils, and there it shall stand while the world endures. +</p> + +<p> +“You speak rashly, my brother,” Guatemoc answered, proudly enough, +though I saw him quail at the evil omen of my words. “I say you speak +rashly, and were you overheard there are those, notwithstanding the rank we +have given you, the honour which you have won in war and council, and that you +have passed the stone of sacrifice, who might force you to look again upon the +faces of the beings you blaspheme. What worse thing has been done to your +Christian God than has been done again and again to our gods by your white +kindred? But let us talk no more of this matter, and I pray you, my brother, do +not utter such ill-omened words to me again, lest it should strain our love. Do +you then believe that the Teules will return?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, Guatemoc, so surely as to-morrow’s sun shall rise. When you +held Cortes in your hand you let him go, and since then he has won a victory at +Otompan. Is he a man, think you, to sheathe the sword that he has once drawn, +and go down into darkness and dishonour? Before a year is past the Spaniards +will be back at the gates of Tenoctitlan.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are no comforter to-night, my brother,” said Guatemoc, +“and yet I fear that your words are true. Well, if we must fight, let us +strive to win. Now, at least, there is no Montezuma to take the viper to his +breast and nurse it till it stings him.” Then he rose and went in +silence, and I saw that his heart was heavy. +</p> + +<p> +On the morrow of this talk I could leave my bed, and within a week I was almost +well. Now it was that Guatemoc came to me again, saying that he had been bidden +by Cuitlahua the emperor, to command me to accompany him, Guatemoc, on a +service of trust and secrecy. And indeed the nature of the service showed how +great a confidence the leaders of the Aztecs now placed in me, for it was none +other than the hiding away of the treasure that had been recaptured from the +Spaniards on the Night of Fear, and with it much more from the secret stores of +the empire. +</p> + +<p> +At the fall of darkness we started, some of the great lords, Guatemoc and I, +and coming to the water’s edge, we found ten large canoes, each laden +with something that was hidden by cotton cloths. Into these canoes we entered +secretly, thinking that none saw us, three to a canoe, for there were thirty of +us in all, and led by Guatemoc, we paddled for two hours or more across the +Lake Tezcuco, till we reached the further shore at a spot where this prince had +a fair estate. Here we landed, and the cloths were withdrawn from the cargoes +of the canoes, which were great jars and sacks of gold and jewels, besides many +other precious objects, among them a likeness of the head of Montezuma, +fashioned in solid gold, which was so heavy that it was as much as Guatemoc and +I could do to lift it between us. As for the jars, of which, if my memory +serves me, there were seventeen, six men must carry each of them by the help of +paddles lashed on either side, and then the task was not light. All this +priceless stuff we bore in several journeys to the crest of a rise some six +hundred paces distant from the water, setting it down by the mouth of a shaft +behind the shelter of a mound of earth. When everything was brought up from the +boats, Guatemoc touched me and another man, a great Aztec noble, born of a +Tlascalan mother, on the shoulder, asking us if we were willing to descend with +him into the hole, and there to dispose of the treasure. +</p> + +<p> +“Gladly,” I answered, for I was curious to see the place, but the +noble hesitated awhile, though in the end he came with us, to his ill-fortune. +</p> + +<p> +Then Guatemoc took torches in his hand, and was lowered into the shaft by a +rope. Next came my turn, and down I went, hanging to the cord like a spider to +its thread, and the hole was very deep. At length I found myself standing by +the side of Guatemoc at the foot of the shaft, round which, as I saw by the +light of the torch he carried, an edging of dried bricks was built up to the +height of a man above our heads. Resting on this edging and against the wall of +the shaft, was a massive block of stone sculptured with the picture writing of +the Aztecs. I glanced at the writing, which I could now read well, and saw that +it recorded the burying of the treasure in the first year of Cuitlahua, Emperor +of Mexico, and also a most fearful curse on him who should dare to steal it. +Beyond us and at right angles to the shaft ran another passage, ten paces in +length and high enough for a man to walk in, which led to a chamber hollowed in +the earth, as large as that wherein I write to-day at Ditchingham. By the mouth +of this chamber were placed piles of <i>adobe</i> bricks and mortar, much as +the blocks of hewn stone had been placed in that underground vault at Seville +where Isabella de Siguenza was bricked up living. +</p> + +<p> +“Who dug this place?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Those who knew not what they dug,” answered Guatemoc. “But +see, here is our companion. Now, my brother, I charge you be surprised at +nothing which comes to pass, and be assured I have good reason for anything +that I may do.” +</p> + +<p> +Before I could speak again the Aztec noble was at our side. Then those above +began to lower the jars and sacks of treasure, and as they reached us one by +one, Guatemoc loosed the ropes and checked them, while the Aztec and I rolled +them down the passage into the chamber, as here in England men roll a cask of +ale. For two hours and more we worked, till at length all were down and the +tale was complete. The last parcel to be lowered was a sack of jewels that +burst open as it came, and descended upon us in a glittering rain of gems. As +it chanced, a great necklace of emeralds of surpassing size and beauty fell +over my head and hung upon my shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep it, brother,” laughed Guatemoc, “in memory of this +night,” and nothing loth, I hid the bauble in my breast. That necklace I +have yet, and it was a stone of it—the smallest save one—that I +gave to our gracious Queen Elizabeth. Otomie wore it for many years, and for +this reason it shall be buried with me, though its value is priceless, so say +those who are skilled in gems. But priceless or no, it is doomed to lie in the +mould of Ditchingham churchyard, and may that same curse which is graved upon +the stone that hides the treasure of the Aztecs fall upon him who steals it +from my bones. +</p> + +<p> +Now, leaving the chamber, we three entered the tunnel and began the work of +building the <i>adobe</i> wall. When it was of a height of between two and +three feet, Guatemoc paused from his labour and bade me hold a torch aloft. I +obeyed wondering what he wished to see. Then he drew back some three paces into +the tunnel and spoke to the Aztec noble, our companion, by name. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the fate of discovered traitors, friend?” he said in a +voice that, quiet though it was, sounded very terrible; and, as he spoke, he +loosed from his side the war club set with spikes of glass that hung there by a +thong. +</p> + +<p> +Now the Aztec turned grey beneath his dusky skin and trembled in his fear. +</p> + +<p> +“What mean you, lord?” he gasped. +</p> + +<p> +“You know well what I mean,” answered Guatemoc in the same terrible +voice, and lifted the club. +</p> + +<p> +Then the doomed man fell upon his knees crying for mercy, and his wailing +sounded so awful in that deep and lonely place that in my horror I went near to +letting the torch fall. +</p> + +<p> +“To a foe I can give mercy—to a traitor, none,” answered +Guatemoc, and whirling the club aloft, he rushed upon the noble and killed him +with a blow. Then, seizing the body in his strong embrace, he cast it into the +chamber with the treasure, and there it lay still and dreadful among the gems +and gold, the arms, as it chanced, being wound about two of the great jars as +though the dead man would clasp them to his heart. +</p> + +<p> +Now I looked at Guatemoc who had slain him, wondering if my hour was at hand +also, for I knew well that when princes bury their wealth they hold that few +should share the secret. +</p> + +<p> +“Fear not, my brother,” said Guatemoc. “Listen: this man was +a thief, a dastard, and a traitor. As we know now, he strove twice to betray us +to the Teules. More, it was his plan to show this nest of wealth to them, +should they return again, and to share the spoil. All this we learned from a +woman whom he thought his love, but who was in truth a spy set to worm herself +into the secrets of his wicked heart. Now let him take his fill of gold; look +how he grips it even in death, a white man could not hug the stuff more closely +to his breast. Ah! Teule, would that the soil of Anahuac bore naught but corn +for bread and flint and copper for the points of spears and arrows, then had +her sons been free for ever. Curses on yonder dross, for it is the bait that +sets these sea sharks tearing at our throats. Curses on it, I say; may it never +glitter more in the sunshine, may it be lost for ever!” And he fell +fiercely to the work of building up the wall. +</p> + +<p> +Soon it was almost done; but before we set the last bricks, which were shaped +in squares like the clay lump that we use for the building of farmeries and +hinds’ houses in Norfolk, I thrust a torch through the opening and looked +for the last time at the treasure chamber that was also a dead-house. There lay +the glittering gems; there, stood upon a jar, gleamed the golden head of +Montezuma, of which the emerald eyes seemed to glare at me, and there, his back +resting against this same jar, and his arms encircling two others to the right +and left, was the dead man. But he was no longer dead, or so it seemed to me; +at the least his eyes that were shut had opened, and they stared at me like the +emerald eyes of the golden statue above him, only more fearfully. +</p> + +<p> +Very hastily I withdrew the torch, and we finished in silence. When it was done +we withdrew to the end of the passage and looked up the shaft, and I for one +was glad to see the stars shining in heaven above me. Then we made a double +loop in the rope, and at a signal were hauled up till we hung over the ledge +where the black mass of marble rested, the tombstone of Montezuma’s +treasure, and of him who sleeps among it. +</p> + +<p> +This stone, that was nicely balanced, we pushed with our hands and feet till +presently it fell forward with a heavy sound, and catching on the ridge of +brick which had been prepared to receive it, shut the treasure shaft in such a +fashion that those who would enter it again must take powder with them. +</p> + +<p> +Then we were dragged up, and came to the surface of the earth in safety. +</p> + +<p> +Now one asked of the Aztec noble who had gone down with us and returned no +more. +</p> + +<p> +“He has chosen to stay and watch the treasure, like a good and loyal man, +till such time as his king needs it,” answered Guatemoc grimly, and the +listeners nodded, understanding all. +</p> + +<p> +Then they fell to and filled up the narrow shaft with the earth that lay ready, +working without cease, and the dawn broke before the task was finished. When at +length the hole was full, one of our companions took seeds from a bag and +scattered them on the naked earth, also he set two young trees that he had +brought with him in the soil of the shaft, though why he did this I do not +know, unless it was to mark the spot. All being done we gathered up the ropes +and tools, and embarking in the canoes, came back to Mexico in the morning, +leaving the canoes at a landing-place outside the city, and finding our way to +our homes by ones and twos, as we thought unnoticed of any. +</p> + +<p> +Thus it was that I helped in the burying of Montezuma’s treasure, for the +sake of which I was destined to suffer torture in days to come. Whether any +will help to unbury it I do not know, but till I left the land of Anahuac the +secret had been kept, and I think that then, except myself, all those were dead +who laboured with me at this task. It chanced that I passed the spot as I came +down to Mexico for the last time, and knew it again by the two trees that were +growing tall and strong, and as I went by with Spaniards at my side, I swore in +my heart that they should never finger the gold by my help. It is for this +reason that even now I do not write of the exact bearings of the place where it +lies buried with the bones of the traitor, though I know them well enough, +seeing that in days to come what I set down here might fall into the hands of +one of their nation. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +And now, before I go on to speak of the siege of Mexico, I must tell of one +more matter, namely of how I and Otomie my wife went up among the people of the +Otomie, and won a great number of them back to their allegiance to the Aztec +crown. It must be known, if my tale has not made this clear already, that the +Aztec power was not of one people, but built up of several, and that +surrounding it were many other tribes, some of whom were in alliance with it or +subject to it, and some of whom were its deadly enemies. Such for instance were +the Tlascalans, a small but warlike people living between Mexico and the coast, +by whose help Cortes overcame Montezuma and Guatemoc. Beyond the Tlascalans and +to the west, the great Otomie race lived or lives among its mountains. They are +a braver nation than the Aztecs, speaking another language, of a different +blood, and made up of many clans. Sometimes they were subject to the great +Aztec empire, sometimes in alliance, and sometimes at open war with it and in +close friendship with the Tlascalans. It was to draw the tie closer between the +Aztecs and the Otomies, who were to the inhabitants of Anahuac much what the +Scottish clans are to the people of England, that Montezuma took to wife the +daughter and sole legitimate issue of their great chief or king. This lady died +in childbirth, and her child was Otomie my wife, hereditary princess of the +Otomie. But though her rank was so great among her mother’s people, as +yet Otomie had visited them but twice, and then as a child. Still, she was well +skilled in their language and customs, having been brought up by nurses and +tutors of the tribes, from which she drew a great revenue every year and over +whom she exercised many rights of royalty that were rendered to her far more +freely than they had been to Montezuma her father. +</p> + +<p> +Now as has been said, some of these Otomie clans had joined the Tlascalans, and +as their allies had taken part in the war on the side of the Spaniards, +therefore it was decided at a solemn council that Otomie and I her husband +should go on an embassy to the chief town of the nation, that was known as the +City of Pines, and strive to win it back to the Aztec standard. +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, heralds having been sent before us, we started upon our journey, +not knowing how we should be received at the end of it. For eight days we +travelled in great pomp and with an ever-increasing escort, for when the tribes +of the Otomie learned that their princess was come to visit them in person, +bringing with her her husband, a man of the Teules who had espoused the Aztec +cause, they flocked in vast numbers to swell her retinue, so that it came to +pass that before we reached the City of Pines we were accompanied by an army of +at least ten thousand mountaineers, great men and wild, who made a savage music +as we marched. But with them and with their chiefs as yet we held no converse +except by way of formal greeting, though every morning when we started on our +journey, Otomie in a litter and I on a horse that had been captured from the +Spaniards, they set up shouts of salutation and made the mountains ring. Ever +as we went the land like its people grew wilder and more beautiful, for now we +were passing through forests clad with oak and pine and with many a lovely +plant and fern. Sometimes we crossed great and sparkling rivers and sometimes +we wended through gorges and passes of the mountains, but every hour we mounted +higher, till at length the climate became like that of England, only far more +bright. At last on the eighth day we passed through a gorge riven in the red +rock, which was so narrow in places that three horsemen could scarcely have +ridden there abreast. This gorge, that is five miles long, is the high road to +the City of Pines, to which there was no other access except by secret paths +across the mountains, and on either side of it are sheer and towering cliffs +that rise to heights of between one and two thousand feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Here is a place where a hundred men might hold an army at bay,” I +said to Otomie, little knowing that it would be my task to do so in a day to +come. +</p> + +<p> +Presently the gorge took a turn and I reined up amazed, for before me was the +City of Pines in all its beauty. The city lay in a wheelshaped plain that may +measure twelve miles across, and all around this plain are mountains clad to +their summits with forests of oak and cedar trees. At the back of the city and +in the centre of the ring of mountains is one, however, that is not green with +foliage but black with lava, and above the lava white with snow, over which +again hangs a pillar of smoke by day and a pillar of fire by night. This was +the volcan Xaca, or the Queen, and though it is not so lofty as its sisters +Orizaba, Popo, and Ixtac, to my mind it is the loveliest of them all, both +because of its perfect shape, and of the colours, purple and blue, of the fires +that it sends forth at night or when its heart is troubled. The Otomies +worshipped this mountain as a god, offering human sacrifice to it, which was +not wonderful, for once the lava pouring from its bowels cut a path through the +City of Pines. Also they think it holy and haunted, so that none dare set foot +upon its loftier snows. Nevertheless I was destined to climb them—I and +one other. +</p> + +<p> +Now in the lap of this ring of mountains and watched over by the mighty Xaca, +clad in its robe of snow, its cap of smoke, and its crown of fire, lies, or +rather lay the City of Pines, for now it is a ruin, or so I left it. As to the +city itself, it was not so large as some others that I have seen in Anahuac, +having only a population of some five and thirty thousand souls, since the +Otomie, being a race of mountaineers, did not desire to dwell in cities. But if +it was not great, it was the most beautiful of Indian towns, being laid out in +straight streets that met at the square in its centre. All along these streets +were houses each standing in a garden, and for the most part built of blocks of +lava and roofed with a cement of white lime. In the midst of the square stood +the <i>teocalli</i> or pyramid of worship, crowned with temples that were +garnished with ropes of skulls, while beyond the pyramid and facing it, was the +palace, the home of Otomie’s forefathers, a long, low, and very ancient +building having many courts, and sculptured everywhere with snakes and grinning +gods. Both the palace and the pyramid were cased with a fine white stone that +shone like silver in the sunlight, and contrasted strangely with the dark-hued +houses that were built of lava. +</p> + +<p> +Such was the City of Pines when I saw it first. When I saw it last it was but a +smoking ruin, and now doubtless it is the home of bats and jackals; now it is +“a court for owls,” now “the line of confusion is stretched +out upon it and the stones of emptiness fill its streets.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Passing from the mouth of the gorge we travelled some miles across the plain, +every foot of which was cultivated with corn, <i>maguey</i> or aloe, and other +crops, till we came to one of the four gates of the city. Entering it we found +the flat roofs on either side of the wide street crowded with hundreds of women +and children who threw flowers on us as we passed, and cried, “Welcome, +princess! Welcome, Otomie, princess of the Otomie!” And when at length we +reached the great square, it seemed as though all the men in Anahuac were +gathered there, and they too took up the cry of “Welcome, Otomie, +princess of the Otomie!” till the earth shook with the sound. Me also +they saluted as I passed, by touching the earth with their right hands and then +holding the hand above the head, but I think that the horse I rode caused them +more wonder than I did, for the most of them had never seen a horse and looked +on it as a monster or a demon. So we went on through the shouting mass, +followed and preceded by thousands of warriors, many of them decked in +glittering feather mail and bearing broidered banners, till we had passed the +pyramid, where I saw the priests at their cruel work above us, and were come to +the palace gates. And here in a strange chamber sculptured with grinning demons +we found rest for a while. +</p> + +<p> +On the morrow in the great hall of the palace was held a council of the chiefs +and head men of the Otomie clans, to the number of a hundred or more. When all +were gathered, dressed as an Aztec noble of the first rank, I came out with +Otomie, who wore royal robes and looked most beautiful in them, and the council +rose to greet us. Otomie bade them be seated and addressed them thus: +</p> + +<p> +“Hear me, you chiefs and captains of my mother’s race, who am your +princess by right of blood, the last of your ancient rulers, and who am +moreover the daughter of Montezuma, Emperor of Anahuac, now dead to us but +living evermore in the Mansions of the Sun. First I present to you this my +husband, the lord Teule, to whom I was given in marriage when he held the +spirit of the god Tezcat, and whom, when he had passed the altar of the god, +being chosen by heaven to aid us in our war, I wedded anew after the fashion of +the earth, and by the will of my royal brethren. Know, chiefs and captains, +that this lord, my husband, is not of our Indian blood, nor is he altogether of +the blood of the Teules with whom we are at war, but rather of that of the true +children of Quetzal, the dwellers in a far off northern sea who are foes to the +Teules. And as they are foes, so this my lord is their foe, and as doubtless +you have heard, of all the deeds of arms that were wrought upon the night of +the slaying of the Teules, none were greater than his, and it was he who first +discovered their retreat. +</p> + +<p> +“Chiefs and captains of the great and ancient people of the Otomie, I +your princess have been sent to you by Cuitlahua, my king and yours, together +with my lord, to plead with you on a certain matter. Our king has heard, and I +also have heard with shame, that many of the warriors of our blood have joined +the Tlascalans, who were ever foes to the Aztecs, in their unholy alliance with +the Teules. Now for a while the white men are beaten back, but they have +touched the gold they covet, and they will return again like bees to a +half-drained flower. They will return, yet of themselves they can do nothing +against the glory of Tenoctitlan. But how shall it go if with them come +thousands and tens of thousands of the Indian peoples? I know well that now in +this time of trouble, when kingdoms crumble, when the air is full of portents, +and the very gods seem impotent, there are many who would seize the moment and +turn it to their profit. There are many men and tribes who remember ancient +wars and wrongs, and who cry, ‘Now is the hour of vengeance, now we will +think on the widows that the Aztec spears have made, on the tribute which they +have wrung from our poverty to swell their wealth, and on the captives who have +decked the altars of their sacrifice!’ +</p> + +<p> +“Is it not so? Ay, it is so, and I cannot wonder at it. Yet I ask you to +remember this, that the yoke you would help to set upon the neck of the queen +of cities will fit your neck also. O foolish men, do you think that you shall +be spared when by your aid Tenoctitlan is a ruin and the Aztecs are no more a +people? I say to you never. The sticks that the Teules use to beat out the life +of Tenoctitlan shall by them be broken one by one and cast into the fire to +burn. If the Aztecs fall, then early or late every tribe within this wide land +shall fall. They shall be slain, their cities shall be stamped flat, their +wealth shall be wrung from them, and their children shall eat the bread of +slavery and drink the water of affliction. Choose, ye people of the Otomie. +Will you stand by the men of your own customs and country, though they have +been your foes at times, or will you throw in your lot with the stranger? +Choose, ye people of the Otomie, and know this, that on your choice and that of +the other men of Anahuac, depends the fate of Anahuac. I am your princess, and +you should obey me, but to-day I issue no command. I say choose between the +alliance of the Aztec and the yoke of the Teule, and may the god above the +gods, the almighty, the invisible god, direct your choice.” +</p> + +<p> +Otomie ceased and a murmur of applause went round the hall. Alas, I can do no +justice to the fire of her words, any more than I can describe the dignity and +loveliness of her person as it seemed in that hour. But they went to the hearts +of the rude chieftains who listened. Many of them despised the Aztecs as a +womanish people of the plains and the lakes, a people of commerce. Many had +blood feuds against them dating back for generations. But still they knew that +their princess spoke truth, and that the triumph of the Teule in Tenoctitlan +would mean his triumph over every city throughout the land. So then and there +they chose, though in after days, in the stress of defeat and trouble, many +went back upon their choice as is the fashion of men. +</p> + +<p> +“Otomie,” cried their spokesman, after they had taken counsel +together, “we have chosen. Princess, your words have conquered us. We +throw in our lot with the Aztecs and will fight to the last for freedom from +the Teule.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now I see that you are indeed my people, and I am indeed your +ruler,” answered Otomie. “So the great lords who are gone, my +forefathers, your chieftains, would have spoken in a like case. May you never +regret this choice, my brethren, Men of the Otomie.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +And so it came to pass that when we left the City of Pines we took from it to +Cuitlahua the emperor, a promise of an army of twenty thousand men vowed to +serve him to the death in his war against the Spaniard. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI<br /> +THE CROWNING OF GUATEMOC</h2> + +<p> +Our business with the people of the Otomie being ended for a while, we returned +to the city of Tenoctitlan, which we reached safely, having been absent a month +and a day. It was but a little time, and yet long enough for fresh sorrows to +have fallen on that most unhappy town. For now the Almighty had added to the +burdens which were laid upon her. She had tasted of death by the sword of the +white man, now death was with her in another shape. For the Spaniard had +brought the foul sicknesses of Europe with him, and small-pox raged throughout +the land. Day by day thousands perished of it, for these ignorant people +treated the plague by pouring cold water upon the bodies of those smitten, +driving the fever inwards to the vitals, so that within two days the most of +them died.<a href="#fn-7" name="fnref-7" id="fnref-7"><sup>[7]</sup></a> It was +pitiful to see them maddened with suffering, as they wandered to and fro about +the streets, spreading the distemper far and wide. They were dying in the +houses, they lay dead by companies in the market places awaiting burial, for +the sickness took its toll of every family, the very priests were smitten by it +at the altar as they sacrificed children to appease the anger of the gods. But +the worst is still to tell; Cuitlahua, the emperor, was struck down by the +illness, and when we reached the city he lay dying. Still, he desired to see +us, and sent commands that we should be brought to his bedside. In vain did I +pray Otomie not to obey; she, who was without fear, laughed at me, saying, +“What, my husband, shall I shrink from that which you must face? Come, +let us go and make report of our mission. If the sickness takes me and I die, +it will be because my hour has come.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-7" id="fn-7"></a> <a href="#fnref-7">[7]</a> +This treatment is followed among the Indians of Mexico to this day, but if the +writer may believe what he heard in that country, the patient is frequently +cured by it. +</p> + +<p> +So we went and were ushered into a chamber where Cuitlahua lay covered by a +sheet, as though he were already dead, and with incense burning round him in +golden censers. When we entered he was in a stupor, but presently he awoke, and +it was announced to him that we waited. +</p> + +<p> +“Welcome, niece,” he said, speaking through the sheet and in a +thick voice; “you find me in an evil case, for my days are numbered, the +pestilence of the Teules slays those whom their swords spared. Soon another +monarch must take my throne, as I took your father’s, and I do not +altogether grieve, for on him will rest the glory and the burden of the last +fight of the Aztecs. Your report, niece; let me hear it swiftly. What say the +clans of the Otomie, your vassals?” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord,” Otomie answered, speaking humbly and with bowed head, +“may this distemper leave you, and may you live to reign over us for many +years! My lord, my husband Teule and I have won back the most part of the +people of the Otomie to our cause and standard. An army of twenty thousand +mountain men waits upon your word, and when those are spent there are more to +follow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well done, daughter of Montezuma, and you, white man,” gasped the +dying king. “The gods were wise when they refused you both upon the stone +of sacrifice, and I was foolish when I would have slain you, Teule. To you and +all I say be of a steadfast heart, and if you must die, then die with honour. +The fray draws on, but I shall not share it, and who knows its end?” +</p> + +<p> +Now he lay silent for a while, then of a sudden, as though an inspiration had +seized him, he cast the sheet from his face and sat upon his couch, no pleasant +sight to see, for the pestilence had done its worst with him. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas!” he wailed, “and alas! I see the streets of +Tenoctitlan red with blood and fire, I see her dead piled up in heaps, and the +horses of the Teules trample them. I see the Spirit of my people, and her voice +is sighing and her neck is heavy with chains. The children are visited because +of the evil of the fathers. Ye are doomed, people of Anahuac, whom I would have +nurtured as an eagle nurtures her young. Hell yawns for you and Earth refuses +you because of your sins, and the remnant that remains shall be slaves from +generation to generation, till the vengeance is accomplished!” +</p> + +<p> +Having cried thus with a great voice, Cuitlahua fell back upon the cushions, +and before the frightened leech who tended him could lift his head, he had +passed beyond the troubles of this earth. But the words which he had spoken +remained fixed in the hearts of those who heard them, though they were told to +none except to Guatemoc. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Thus then in my presence and in that of Otomie died Cuitlahua, emperor of the +Aztecs, when he had reigned but fifteen weeks. Once more the nation mourned its +king, the chief of many a thousand of its children whom the pestilence swept +with him to the “Mansions of the Sun,” or perchance to the +“darkness behind the Stars.” +</p> + +<p> +But the mourning was not for long, for in the urgency of the times it was +necessary that a new emperor should be crowned to take command of the armies +and rule the nation. Therefore on the morrow of the burial of Cuitlahua the +council of the four electors was convened, and with them lesser nobles and +princes to the number of three hundred, and I among them in the right of my +rank as general, and as husband of the princess Otomie. There was no great need +of deliberation, indeed, for though the names of several were mentioned, the +princes knew that there was but one man who by birth, by courage, and nobility +of mind, was fitted to cope with the troubles of the nation. That man was +Guatemoc, my friend and blood brother, the nephew of the two last emperors and +the husband of my wife’s sister, Montezuma’s daughter, Tecuichpo. +All knew it, I say, except, strangely enough, Guatemoc himself, for as we +passed into the council he named two other princes, saying that without doubt +the choice lay between them. +</p> + +<p> +It was a splendid and a solemn sight, that gathering of the four great lords, +the electors, dressed in their magnificent robes, and of the lesser council of +confirmation of three hundred lords and princes, who sat without the circle but +in hearing of all that passed. Very solemn also was the prayer of the high +priest, who, clad in his robes of sable, seemed like a blot of ink dropped on a +glitter of gold. Thus he prayed: +</p> + +<p> +“O god, thou who art everywhere and seest all, knowest that Cuitlahua our +king is gathered to thee. Thou hast set him beneath thy footstool and there he +rests in his rest. He has travelled that road which we must travel every one, +he has reached the royal inhabitations of our dead, the home of everlasting +shadows. There where none shall trouble him he is sunk in sleep. His brief +labours are accomplished, and soiled with sin and sorrow, he has gone to thee. +Thou gavest him joys to taste but not to drink; the glory of empire passed +before his eyes like the madness of a dream. With tears and with prayers to +thee he took up his load, with happiness he laid it down. Where his forefathers +went, thither he has followed, nor can he return to us. Our fire is an ash and +our lamp is darkness. Those who wore his purple before him bequeathed to him +the intolerable weight of rule, and he in his turn bequeaths it to another. +Truly, he should give thee praise, thou king of kings, master of the stars, +that standest alone, who hast lifted from his shoulders so great a burden, and +from his brow this crown of woes, paying him peace for war and rest for labour. +</p> + +<p> +“O god our hope, choose now a servant to succeed him, a man after thine +own heart, who shall not fear nor falter, who shall toil and not be weary, who +shall lead thy people as a mother leads her children. Lord of lords, give grace +to Guatemoc thy creature, who is our choice. Seal him to thy service, and as +thy priest let him sit upon thy earthly throne for his life days. Let thy foes +become his footstool, let him exalt thy glory, proclaim thy worship, and +protect thy kingdom. Thus have I prayed to thee in the name of the nation. O +god, thy will be done!” +</p> + +<p> +When the high priest had made an end of his prayer, the first of the four great +electors rose, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Guatemoc, in the name of god and with the voice of the people of +Anahuac, we summon you to the throne of Anahuac. Long may you live and justly +may you rule, and may the glory be yours of beating back into the sea those +foes who would destroy us. Hail to you, Guatemoc, Emperor of the Aztecs and of +their vassal tribes.” And all the three hundred of the council of +confirmation repeated in a voice of thunder, “Hail to you, Guatemoc, +Emperor!” +</p> + +<p> +Now the prince himself stood forward and spoke: +</p> + +<p> +“You lords of election, and you, princes, generals, nobles and captains +of the council of confirmation, hear me. May the gods be my witness that when I +entered this place I had no thought or knowledge that I was destined to so high +an honour as that which you would thrust upon me. And may the gods be my +witness again that were my life my own, and not a trust in the hands of this +people, I would say to you, ‘Seek on and find one worthier to fill the +throne.’ But my life is not my own. Anahuac calls her son and I obey the +call. War to the death threatens her, and shall I hang back while my arm has +strength to smite and my brain has power to plan? Not so. Now and henceforth I +vow myself to the service of my country and to war against the Teules. I will +make no peace with them, I will take no rest till they are driven back whence +they came, or till I am dead beneath their swords. None can say what the gods +have in store for us, it may be victory or it may be destruction, but be it +triumph or death, let us swear a great oath together, my people and my +brethren. Let us swear to fight the Teules and the traitors who abet them, for +our cities, our hearths and our altars; till the cities are a smoking ruin, +till the hearths are cumbered with their dead, and the altars run red with the +blood of their worshippers. So, if we are destined to conquer, our triumph +shall be made sure, and if we are doomed to fail, at least there will be a +story to be told of us. Do you swear, my people and my brethren?” +</p> + +<p> +“We swear,” they answered with a shout. +</p> + +<p> +“It is well,” said Guatemoc. “And now may everlasting shame +overtake him who breaks this oath.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Thus then was Guatemoc, the last and greatest of the Aztec emperors, elected to +the throne of his forefathers. It was happy for him that he could not foresee +that dreadful day when he, the noblest of men, must meet a felon’s doom +at the hand of these very Teules. Yet so it came about, for the destiny that +lay upon the land smote all alike, indeed the greater the man the more certain +was his fate. +</p> + +<p> +When all was done I hurried to the palace to tell Otomie what had come to pass, +and found her in our sleeping chamber lying on her bed. +</p> + +<p> +“What ails you, Otomie?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! my husband,” she answered, “the pestilence has +stricken me. Come not near, I pray you, come not near. Let me be nursed by the +women. You shall not risk your life for me, beloved.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peace,” I said and came to her. It was too true, I who am a +physician knew the symptoms well. Indeed had it not been for my skill, Otomie +would have died. For three long weeks I fought with death at her bedside, and +in the end I conquered. The fever left her, and thanks to my treatment, there +was no single scar upon her lovely face. During eight days her mind wandered +without ceasing, and it was then I learned how deep and perfect was her love +for me. For all this while she did nothing but rave of me, and the secret +terror of her heart was disclosed—that I should cease to care for her, +that her beauty and love might pall upon me so that I should leave her, that +“the flower maid,” for so she named Lily, who dwelt across the sea +should draw me back to her by magic; this was the burden of her madness. At +length her senses returned and she spoke, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“How long have I lain ill, husband?” +</p> + +<p> +I told her and she said, “And have you nursed me all this while, and +through so foul a sickness?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Otomie, I have tended you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What have I done that you should be so good to me?” she murmured. +Then some dreadful thought seemed to strike her, for she moaned as though in +pain, and said, “A mirror! Swift, bring me a mirror!” +</p> + +<p> +I gave her one, and rising on her arm, eagerly she scanned her face in the dim +light of the shadowed room, then let the plate of burnished gold fall, and sank +back with a faint and happy cry: +</p> + +<p> +“I feared,” she said, “I feared that I had become hideous as +those are whom the pestilence has smitten, and that you would cease to love me, +than which it had been better to die.” +</p> + +<p> +“For shame,” I said. “Do you then think that love can be +frightened away by some few scars?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Otomie answered, “that is the love of a man; not such +love as mine, husband. Had I been thus—ah! I shudder to think of +it—within a year you would have hated me. Perhaps it had not been so with +another, the fair maid of far away, but me you would have hated. Nay, I know +it, though I know this also, that I should not have lived to feel your hate. +Oh! I am thankful, thankful.” +</p> + +<p> +Then I left her for a while, marvelling at the great love which she had given +me, and wondering also if there was any truth in her words, and if the heart of +man could be so ungrateful and so vile. Supposing that Otomie was now as many +were who walked the streets of Tenoctitlan that day, a mass of dreadful scars, +hairless, and with blind and whitened eyeballs, should I then have shrunk from +her? I do not know, and I thank heaven that no such trial was put upon my +constancy. But I am sure of this; had I become a leper even, Otomie would not +have shrunk from me. +</p> + +<p> +So Otomie recovered from her great sickness, and shortly afterwards the +pestilence passed away from Tenoctitlan. And now I had many other things to +think of, for the choosing of Guatemoc—my friend and blood +brother—as emperor meant much advancement to me, who was made a general +of the highest class, and a principal adviser in his councils. Nor did I spare +myself in his service, but laboured by day and night in the work of preparing +the city for siege, and in the marshalling of the troops, and more especially +of that army of Otomies, who came, as they had promised, to the number of +twenty thousand. The work was hard indeed, for these Indian tribes lacked +discipline and powers of unity, without which their thousands were of little +avail in a war with white men. Also there were great jealousies between their +leaders which must be overcome, and I was myself an object of jealousy. +Moreover, many tribes took this occasion of the trouble of the Aztecs to throw +off their allegiance or vassalage, and even if they did not join the Spaniards, +to remain neutral watching for the event of the war. Still we laboured on, +dividing the armies into regiments after the fashion of Europe, and stationing +each in its own quarter drilling them to the better use of arms, provisioning +the city for a siege, and weeding out as many useless mouths as we might; and +there was but one man in Tenoctitlan who toiled at these tasks more heavily +than I, and that was Guatemoc the emperor, who did not rest day or night. I +tried even to make powder with sulphur which was brought from the throat of the +volcan Popo, but, having no knowledge of that art, I failed. Indeed, it would +have availed us little had I succeeded, for having neither arquebusses nor +cannons, and no skill to cast them, we could only have used it in mining roads +and gateways, and, perhaps, in grenades to be thrown with the hand. +</p> + +<p> +And so the months went on, till at length spies came in with the tidings that +the Spaniards were advancing in numbers, and with them countless hosts of +allies. +</p> + +<p> +Now I would have sent Otomie to seek safety among her own people, but she +laughed me to scorn, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Where you are, there I will be, husband. What, shall it be suffered that +you face death, perhaps to find him, when I am not at your side to die with +you? If that is the fashion of white women, I leave it to them, beloved, and +here with you I stay.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII<br /> +THE FALL OF TENOCTITLAN</h2> + +<p> +Now shortly after Christmas, having marched from the coast with a great array +of Spaniards, for many had joined his banner from over sea, and tens of +thousands of native allies, Cortes took up his head quarters at Tezcuco in the +valley of Mexico. This town is situated near the borders of the lake, at a +distance of several leagues from Tenoctitlan, and being on the edge of the +territory of the Tlascalans his allies, it was most suitable to Cortes as a +base of action. And then began one of the most terrible wars that the world has +seen. For eight months it raged, and when it ceased at length, Tenoctitlan, and +with it many other beautiful and populous towns, were blackened ruins, the most +of the Aztecs were dead by sword and famine, and their nation was crushed for +ever. Of all the details of this war I do not purpose to write, for were I to +do so, there would be no end to this book, and I have my own tale to tell. +These, therefore, I leave to the maker of histories. Let it be enough to say +that the plan of Cortes was to destroy all her vassal and allied cities and +peoples before he grappled with Mexico, queen of the valley, and this he set +himself to do with a skill, a valour, and a straightness of purpose, such as +have scarcely been shown by a general since the days of Caesar. +</p> + +<p> +Iztapalapan was the first to fall, and here ten thousand men, women, and +children were put to the sword or burned alive. Then came the turn of the +others; one by one Cortes reduced the cities till the whole girdle of them was +in his hand, and Tenoctitlan alone remained untouched. Many indeed surrendered, +for the nations of Anahuac being of various blood were but as a bundle of reeds +and not as a tree. Thus when the power of Spain cut the band of empire that +bound them together, they fell this way and that, having no unity. So it came +about that as the power of Guatemoc weakened that of Cortes increased, for he +garnered these loosened reeds into his basket. And, indeed, now that the people +saw that Mexico had met her match, many an ancient hate and smouldering rivalry +broke into flame, and they fell upon her and tore her, like half-tamed wolves +upon their master when his scourge is broken. It was this that brought about +the fall of Anahuac. Had she remained true to herself, had she forgotten her +feuds and jealousies and stood against the Spaniards as one man, then +Tenoctitlan would never have fallen, and Cortes with every Teule in his company +had been stretched upon the stone of sacrifice. +</p> + +<p> +Did I not say when I took up my pen to write this book that every wrong +revenges itself at last upon the man or the people that wrought it? So it was +now. Mexico was destroyed because of the abomination of the worship of her +gods. These feuds between the allied peoples had their root in the horrible +rites of human sacrifice. At some time in the past, from all these cities +captives have been dragged to the altars of the gods of Mexico, there to be +slaughtered and devoured by the cannibal worshippers. Now these outrages were +remembered, now when the arm of the queen of the valley was withered, the +children of those whom she had slain rose up to slay her and to drag +<i>her</i> children to their altars. +</p> + +<p> +By the month of May, strive as we would, and never was a more gallant fight +made, all our allies were crushed or had deserted us, and the siege of the city +began. It began by land and by water, for with incredible resource Cortes +caused thirteen brigantines of war to be constructed in Tlascala, and conveyed +in pieces for twenty leagues across the mountains to his camp, whence they were +floated into the lake through a canal, which was hollowed out by the labour of +ten thousand Indians, who worked at it without cease for two months. The +bearers of these brigantines were escorted by an army of twenty thousand +Tlascalans, and if I could have had my way that army should have been attacked +in the mountain passes. So thought Guatemoc also, but there were few troops to +spare, for the most of our force had been despatched to threaten a city named +Chalco, that, though its people were of the Aztec blood, had not been ashamed +to desert the Aztec cause. Still I offered to lead the twenty thousand Otomies +whom I commanded against the Tlascalan convoy, and the matter was debated hotly +at a council of war. But the most of the council were against the risking of an +engagement with the Spaniards and their allies so far from the city, and thus +the opportunity went by to return no more. It was an evil fortune like the +rest, for in the end these brigantines brought about the fall of Tenoctitlan by +cutting off the supply of food, which was carried in canoes across the lake. +Alas! the bravest can do nothing against the power of famine. Hunger is a very +great man, as the Indians say. +</p> + +<p> +Now the Aztecs fighting alone were face to face with their foes and the last +struggle began. First the Spaniards cut the aqueduct which supplied the city +with water from the springs at the royal house of Chapoltepec, whither I was +taken on being brought to Mexico. Henceforth till the end of the siege, the +only water that we found to drink was the brackish and muddy fluid furnished by +the lake and wells sunk in the soil. Although it might be drunk after boiling +to free it of the salt, it was unwholesome and filthy to the taste, breeding +various painful sicknesses and fevers. It was on this day of the cutting of the +aqueduct that Otomie bore me a son, our first-born. Already the hardships of +the siege were so great and nourishing food so scarce, that had she been less +strong, or had I possessed less skill in medicine, I think that she would have +died. Still she recovered to my great thankfulness and joy, and though I am no +clerk I baptized the boy into the Christian Church with my own hand, naming him +Thomas after me. +</p> + +<p> +Now day by day and week by week the fighting went on with varying success, +sometimes in the suburbs of the city, sometimes on the lake, and sometimes in +the very streets. Time on time the Spaniards were driven back with loss, time +on time they advanced again from their different camps. Once we captured sixty +of them and more than a thousand of their allies. All these were sacrificed on +the altar of Huitzel, and given over to be devoured by the Aztecs according to +the beastlike custom which in Anahuac enjoined the eating of the bodies of +those who were offered to the gods, not because the Indians love such meat but +for a secret religious reason. +</p> + +<p> +In vain did I pray Guatemoc to forego this horror. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this a time for gentleness?” he answered fiercely. “I +cannot save them from the altar, and I would not if I could. Let the dogs die +according to the custom of the land, and to you, Teule my brother, I say +presume not too far.” +</p> + +<p> +Alas! the heart of Guatemoc grew ever fiercer as the struggle wore on, and +indeed it was little to be wondered at. +</p> + +<p> +This was the dreadful plan of Cortes: to destroy the city piecemeal as he +advanced towards its heart, and it was carried out without mercy. So soon as +the Spaniards got footing in a quarter, thousands of the Tlascalans were set to +work to fire the houses and burn all in them alive. Before the siege was done +Tenoctitlan, queen of the valley, was but a heap of blackened ruins. Cortes +might have cried over Mexico with Isaiah the prophet: “Thy pomp is +brought down to the grave, and the noise of thy viols: the worm is spread under +thee and the worms cover thee. How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son +of the morning! how art thou cut down to the ground which didst weaken the +nations!” +</p> + +<p> +In all these fights I took my part, though it does not become me to boast my +prowess. Still the Spaniards knew me well and they had good reason. Whenever +they saw me they would greet me with revilings, calling me “traitor and +renegade,” and “Guatemoc’s white dog,” and moreover, +Cortes set a price upon my head, for he knew through his spies that some of +Guatemoc’s most successful attacks and stratagems had been of my +devising. But I took no heed even when their insults pierced me like arrows, +for though many of the Aztecs were my friends and I hated the Spaniards, it was +a shameful thing that a Christian man should be warring on the side of +cannibals who made human sacrifice. I took no heed, since always I was seeking +for my foe de Garcia. He was there I knew, for I saw him many times, but I +could never come at him. Indeed, if I watched for him he also watched for me, +but with another purpose, to avoid me. For now as of old de Garcia feared me, +now as of old he believed that I should bring his death upon him. +</p> + +<p> +It was the custom of warriors in the opposing armies to send challenges to +single combat, one to another, and many such duels were fought in the sight of +all, safe conduct being given to the combatants and their seconds. Upon a day, +despairing of meeting him face to face in battle, I sent a challenge to de +Garcia by a herald, under his false name of Sarceda. In an hour the herald +returned with this message written on paper in Spanish: +</p> + +<p> +“Christian men do not fight duels with renegade heathen dogs, white +worshippers of devils and eaters of human flesh. There is but one weapon which +such cannot defile, a rope, and it waits for you, Thomas Wingfield.” +</p> + +<p> +I tore the writing to pieces and stamped upon it in my rage, for now, to all +his other crimes against me, de Garcia had added the blackest insult. But wrath +availed me nothing, for I could never come near him, though once, with ten of +my Otomies, I charged into the heart of the Spanish column after him. +</p> + +<p> +From that rush I alone escaped alive, the ten Otomies were sacrificed to my +hate. +</p> + +<p> +How shall I paint the horrors that day by day were heaped upon the doomed city? +Soon all the food was gone, and men, ay, and worse still, tender women and +children, must eat such meat as swine would have turned from, striving to keep +life in them for a little longer. Grass, the bark of trees, slugs and insects, +washed down with brackish water from the lake, these were their best food, +these and the flesh of captives offered in sacrifice. Now they began to die by +hundreds and by thousands, they died so fast that none could bury them. Where +they perished, there they lay, till at length their bodies bred a plague, a +black and horrible fever that swept off thousands more, who in turn became the +root of pestilence. For one who was killed by the Spaniards and their allies, +two were swept off by hunger and plague. Think then what was the number of dead +when not less than seventy thousand perished beneath the sword and by fire +alone. Indeed, it is said that forty thousand died in this manner in a single +day, the day before the last of the siege. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +One night I came back to the lodging where Otomie dwelt with her royal sister +Tecuichpo, the wife of Guatemoc, for now all the palaces had been burnt down. I +was starving, for I had scarcely tasted food for forty hours, but all that my +wife could set before me were three little meal cakes, or <i>tortillas</i>, +mixed with bark. She kissed me and bade me eat them, but I discovered that she +herself had touched no food that day, so I would not till she shared them. Then +I noted that she could scarcely swallow the bitter morsels, and also that she +strove to hide tears which ran down her face. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, wife?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +Then Otomie broke out into a great and bitter crying and said: +</p> + +<p> +“This, my beloved: for two days the milk has been dry in my +breast—hunger has dried it—and our babe is dead! Look, he lies +dead!” and she drew aside a cloth and showed me the tiny body. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush,” I said, “he is spared much. Can we then desire that a +child should live to see such days as we have seen, and after all, to die at +last?” +</p> + +<p> +“He was our son, our first-born,” she cried again. “Oh! why +must we suffer thus?” +</p> + +<p> +“We must suffer, Otomie, because we are born to it. Just so much +happiness is given to us as shall save us from madness and no more. Ask me not +why, for I cannot answer you! There is no answer in my faith or in any +other.” +</p> + +<p> +And then, looking on that dead babe, I wept also. Every hour in those terrible +months it was my lot to see a thousand sights more awful, and yet this sight of +a dead infant moved me the most of all of them. The child was mine, my +firstborn, its mother wept beside me, and its stiff and tiny fingers seemed to +drag at my heart strings. Seek not the cause, for the Almighty Who gave the +heart its infinite power of pain alone can answer, and to our ears He is dumb. +</p> + +<p> +Then I took a mattock and dug a hole outside the house till I came to water, +which in Tenoctitlan is found at a depth of two feet or so. And, having +muttered a prayer over him, there in the water I laid the body of our child, +burying it out of sight. At the least he was not left for the <i>zapilotes</i>, +as the Aztecs call the vultures, like the rest of them. +</p> + +<p> +After that we wept ourselves to sleep in each other’s arms, Otomie +murmuring from time to time, “Oh! my husband, I would that we were asleep +and forgotten, we and the babe together.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rest now,” I answered, “for death is very near to us.” +</p> + +<p> +The morrow came, and with it a deadlier fray than any that had gone before, and +after it more morrows and more deaths, but still we lived on, for Guatemoc gave +us of his food. Then Cortes sent his heralds demanding our surrender, and now +three-fourths of the city was a ruin, and three-fourths of its defenders were +dead. The dead were heaped in the houses like bees stifled in a hive, and in +the streets they lay so thick that we walked upon them. +</p> + +<p> +The council was summoned—fierce men, haggard with hunger and with war, +and they considered the offer of Cortes. +</p> + +<p> +“What is your word, Guatemoc?” said their spokesman at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I Montezuma, that you ask me? I swore to defend this city to the +last,” he answered hoarsely, “and, for my part, I will defend it. +Better that we should all die, than that we should fall living into the hands +of the Teules.” +</p> + +<p> +“So say we,” they replied, and the war went on. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +At length there came a day when the Spaniards made a new attack and gained +another portion of the city. There the people were huddled together like sheep +in a pen. We strove to defend them, but our arms were weak with famine. They +fired into us with their pieces, mowing us down like corn before the sickle. +Then the Tlascalans were loosed upon us, like fierce hounds upon a defenceless +buck, and on this day it is said that there died forty thousand people, for +none were spared. On the morrow, it was the last day of the siege, came a fresh +embassy from Cortes, asking that Guatemoc should meet him. The answer was the +same, for nothing could conquer that noble spirit. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell him,” said Guatemoc, “that I will die where I am, but +that I will hold no parley with him. We are helpless, let Cortes work his +pleasure on us.” +</p> + +<p> +By now all the city was destroyed, and we who remained alive within its bounds +were gathered on the causeways and behind the ruins of walls; men, women, and +children together. +</p> + +<p> +Here they attacked us again. The great drum on the <i>teocalli</i> beat for the +last time, and for the last time the wild scream of the Aztec warriors went up +to heaven. We fought our best; I killed four men that day with my arrows which +Otomie, who was at my side, handed me as I shot. But the most of us had not the +strength of a child, and what could we do? They came among us like seamen among +a flock of seals, and slaughtered us by hundreds. They drove us into the canals +and trod us to death there, till bridges were made of our bodies. How we +escaped I do not know. +</p> + +<p> +At length a party of us, among whom was Guatemoc with his wife Tecuichpo, were +driven to the shores of the lake where lay canoes, and into these we entered, +scarcely knowing what we did, but thinking that we might escape, for now all +the city was taken. The brigantines saw us and sailed after us with a favouring +wind—the wind always favoured the foe in that war—and row as we +would, one of them came up with us and began to fire into us. Then Guatemoc +stood up and spoke, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“I am Guatemoc. Bring me to Malinche. But spare those of my people who +remain alive.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” I said to Otomie at my side, “my hour has come, for +the Spaniards will surely hang me, and it is in my mind, wife, that I should do +well to kill myself, so that I may be saved from a death of shame.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, husband,” she answered sadly, “as I said in bygone +days, while you live there is hope, but the dead come back no more. Fortune may +favour us yet; still, if you think otherwise, I am ready to die.” +</p> + +<p> +“That I will not suffer, Otomie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you must hold your hand, husband, for now as always, where you go, +I follow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Listen,” I whispered; “do not let it be known that you are +my wife; pass yourself as one of the ladies of Tecuichpo, the queen, your +sister. If we are separated, and if by any chance I escape, I will try to make +my way to the City of Pines. There, among your own people, we may find +refuge.” +</p> + +<p> +“So be it, beloved,” she answered, smiling sadly. “But I do +not know how the Otomie will receive me, who have led twenty thousand of their +bravest men to a dreadful death.” +</p> + +<p> +Now we were on the deck of the brigantine and must stop talking, and thence, +after the Spaniards had quarrelled over us a while, we were taken ashore and +led to the top of a house which still stood, where Cortes had made ready +hurriedly to receive his royal prisoner. Surrounded by his escort, the Spanish +general stood, cap in hand, and by his side was Marina, grown more lovely than +before, whom I now met for the first time since we had parted in Tobasco. +</p> + +<p> +Our eyes met and she started, thereby showing that she knew me again, though it +must have been hard for Marina to recognise her friend Teule in the +blood-stained, starving, and tattered wretch who could scarcely find strength +to climb the azotea. But at that time no words passed between us, for all eyes +were bent on the meeting between Cortes and Guatemoc, between the conqueror and +the conquered. +</p> + +<p> +Still proud and defiant, though he seemed but a living skeleton, Guatemoc +walked straight to where the Spaniard stood, and spoke, Marina translating his +words. +</p> + +<p> +“I am Guatemoc, the emperor, Malinche,” he said. “What a man +might do to defend his people, I have done. Look on the fruits of my +labour,” and he pointed to the blackened ruins of Tenoctitlan that +stretched on every side far as the eye could reach. “Now I have come to +this pass, for the gods themselves have been against me. Deal with me as you +will, but it will be best that you kill me now,” and he touched the +dagger of Cortes with his hand, “and thus rid me swiftly of the misery of +life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fear not, Guatemoc,” answered Cortes. “You have fought like +a brave man, and such I honour. With me you are safe, for we Spaniards love a +gallant foe. See, here is food,” and he pointed to a table spread with +such viands as we had not seen for many a week; “eat, you and your +companions together, for you must need it. Afterwards we will talk.” +</p> + +<p> +So we ate, and heartily, I for my part thinking that it would be well to die +upon a full stomach, having faced death so long upon an empty one, and while we +devoured the meat the Spaniards stood on one side scanning us, not without +pity. Presently, Tecuichpo was brought before Cortes, and with her Otomie and +some six other ladies. He greeted her graciously, and they also were given to +eat. Now, one of the Spaniards who had been watching me whispered something +into the ear of Cortes, and I saw his face darken. +</p> + +<p> +“Say,” he said to me in Castilian, “are you that renegade, +that traitor who has aided these Aztecs against us?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am no renegade and no traitor, general,” I answered boldly, for +the food and wine had put new life into me. “I am an Englishman, and I +have fought with the Aztecs because I have good cause to hate you +Spaniards.” +</p> + +<p> +“You shall soon have better, traitor,” he said furiously. +“Here, lead this man away and hang him on the mast of yonder ship.” +</p> + +<p> +Now I saw that it was finished, and made ready to go to my death, when Marina +spoke into the ear of Cortes. All she said I could not catch, but I heard the +words “hidden gold.” He listened, then hesitated, and spoke aloud: +“Do not hang this man to-day. Let him be safely guarded. Tomorrow I will +inquire into his case.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap28"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII<br /> +THOMAS IS DOOMED</h2> + +<p> +At the words of Cortes two Spaniards came forward, and seizing me one by either +arm, they led me across the roof of the house towards the stairway. Otomie had +heard also, and though she did not understand the words, she read the face of +Cortes, and knew well that I was being taken to imprisonment or death. As I +passed her, she started forward, a terror shining in her eyes. Fearing that she +was about to throw herself upon my breast, and thus to reveal herself as my +wife, and bring my fate upon her, I glanced at her warningly, then making +pretence to stumble, as though with fear and exhaustion, I fell at her feet. +The soldiers who led me laughed brutally, and one of them kicked me with his +heavy boot. But Otomie stooped down and held her hand to me to help me rise, +and as I did so, we spoke low and swiftly. +</p> + +<p> +“Farewell, wife,” I said; “whatever happens, keep +silent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Farewell,” she answered; “if you must die, await me in the +gates of death, for I will join you there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, live on. Time shall bring comfort.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are my life, beloved. With you time ends for me.” Now I was on +my feet again, and I think that none noted our whispered words, for all were +listening to Cortes, who rated the man that had kicked me. +</p> + +<p> +“I bade you guard this traitor, not to kick him,” he said angrily +in Castilian. “Will you put us to open shame before these savages? Do so +once more, and you shall pay for it smartly. Learn a lesson in gentleness from +that woman; she is starving, yet she leaves her food to help your prisoner to +his feet. Now take him away to the camp, and see that he comes to no harm, for +he can tell me much.” +</p> + +<p> +Then the soldiers led me away, grumbling as they went, and the last thing that +I saw was the despairing face of Otomie my wife, as she gazed after me, faint +with the secret agony of our parting. But when I came to the head of the +stairway, Guatemoc, who stood near, took my hand and shook it. +</p> + +<p> +“Farewell, my brother,” he said with a heavy smile; “the game +we played together is finished, and now it is time for us to rest. I thank you +for your valour and your aid.” +</p> + +<p> +“Farewell, Guatemoc,” I answered. “You are fallen, but let +this comfort you, in your fall you have found immortal fame.” +</p> + +<p> +“On, on!” growled the soldiers, and I went, little thinking how +Guatemoc and I should meet again. +</p> + +<p> +They took me to a canoe, and we were paddled across the lake by Tlascalans, +till at length we came to the Spanish camp. All the journey through, my guards, +though they laid no hand on me, fearing the anger of Cortes, mocked and taunted +me, asking me how I liked the ways of the heathen, and whether I ate the flesh +of the sacrifices raw or cooked; and many another such brutal jest they made at +my expense. For a while I bore it, for I had learned to be patient from the +Indians, but at last I answered them in few words and bitter. +</p> + +<p> +“Peace, cowards,” I said; “remember that I am helpless, and +that were I before you strong and armed, either I should not live to listen to +such words, or you would not live to repeat them.” +</p> + +<p> +Then they were silent, and I also was silent. +</p> + +<p> +When we reached their camp I was led through it, followed by a throng of fierce +Tlascalans and others, who would have torn me limb from limb had they not +feared to do so. I saw some Spaniards also, but the most of these were so drunk +with <i>mescal</i>, and with joy at the tidings that Tenoctitlan had fallen, +and their labours were ended at last, that they took no heed of me. Never did I +see such madness as possessed them, for these poor fools believed that +henceforth they should eat their very bread off plates of gold. It was for gold +that they had followed Cortes; for gold they had braved the altar of sacrifice +and fought in a hundred fights, and now, as they thought, they had won it. +</p> + +<p> +The room of the stone house where they prisoned me had a window secured by bars +of wood, and through these bars I could see and hear the revellings of the +soldiers during the time of my confinement. All day long, when they were not on +duty, and most of the night also, they gambled and drank, staking tens of pesos +on a single throw, which the loser must pay out of his share of the countless +treasures of the Aztecs. Little did they care if they won or lost, they were so +sure of plunder, but played on till drink overpowered them, and they rolled +senseless beneath the tables, or till they sprang up and danced wildly to and +fro, catching at the sunbeams and screaming “Gold! gold! gold!” +</p> + +<p> +Listening at this window also I gathered some of the tidings of the camp. I +learned that Cortes had come back, bringing Guatemoc and several of the princes +with him, together with many of the noble Aztec ladies. Indeed I saw and heard +the soldiers gambling for these women when they were weary of their play for +money, a description of each of them being written on a piece of paper. One of +these ladies answered well to Otomie, my wife, and she was put up to auction by +the brute who won her in the gamble, and sold to a common soldier for a hundred +pesos. For these men never doubted but that the women and the gold would be +handed over to them. +</p> + +<p> +Thus things went for several days, during which I sat and slept in my prison +untroubled by any, except the native woman who waited on me and brought me food +in plenty. During those days I ate as I have never eaten before or since, and I +slept much, for my sorrows could not rid my body of its appetites and +commanding need for food and rest. Indeed I verily believe that at the end of a +week, I had increased in weight by a full half; also my weariness was conquered +at length, and I was strong again. +</p> + +<p> +But when I was neither sleeping nor eating I watched at my window, hoping, +though in vain, to catch some sight of Otomie or of Guatemoc. If I might not +see my friends, however, at least I saw my foe, for one evening de Garcia came +and stared at my prison. He could not see me, but I saw him, and the devilish +smile that flickered on his face as he went away like a wolf, made me shiver +with a presage of woes to come. For ten minutes or more he stood gazing at my +window hungrily, as a cat gazes at a caged bird, and I felt that he was waiting +for the door to be opened, and <i>knew</i> that it would soon be opened. +</p> + +<p> +This happened on the eve of the day upon which I was put to torture. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, as time went on, I noticed that a change came over the temper of the +camp. The soldiers ceased to gamble for untold wealth, they even ceased from +drinking to excess and from their riotous joy, but took to hanging together in +knots discussing fiercely I could not learn of what. On the day when de Garcia +came to look at my prison there was a great gathering in the square opposite my +prison, to which I saw Cortes ride up on a white horse and richly dressed. The +meeting was too far away for me to overhear what passed, but I noted that +several officers addressed Cortes angrily, and that their speeches were loudly +cheered by the soldiers. At length the great captain answered them at some +length, and they broke up in silence. Next morning after I had breakfasted, +four soldiers came into my prison and ordered me to accompany them. +</p> + +<p> +“Whither?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“To the captain, traitor,” their leader answered. +</p> + +<p> +“It has come at last,” I thought to myself, but I said only: +</p> + +<p> +“It is well. Any change from this hole is one for the better.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” he replied; “and it is your last shift.” +</p> + +<p> +Then I knew that the man believed that I was going to my death. In five minutes +I was standing before Cortes in his private house. At his side was Marina and +around him were several of his companions in arms. The great man looked at me +for a while, then spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Your name is Wingfield; you are of mixed blood, half English and half +Spanish. You were cast away in the Tobasco River and taken to Tenoctitlan. +There you were doomed to personate the Aztec god Tezcat, and were rescued by us +when we captured the great <i>teocalli</i>. Subsequently you joined the Aztecs +and took part in the attack and slaughter of the <i>noche triste</i>. You were +afterwards the friend and counsellor of Guatemoc, and assisted him in his +defence of Tenoctitlan. Is this true, prisoner?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is all true, general,” I answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Good. You are now our prisoner, and had you a thousand lives, you have +forfeited them all because of your treachery to your race and blood. Into the +circumstances that led you to commit this horrible treason I cannot enter; the +fact remains. You have slain many of the Spaniards and their allies; that is, +being in a state of treason you have murdered them. Wingfield, your life is +forfeit and I condemn you to die by hanging as a traitor and an +apostate.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then there is nothing more to be said,” I answered quietly, though +a cold fear froze my blood. +</p> + +<p> +“There is something,” answered Cortes. “Though your crimes +have been so many, I am ready to give you your life and freedom upon a +condition. I am ready to do more, to find you a passage to Europe on the first +occasion, where you may perchance escape the echoes of your infamy if God is +good to you. The condition is this. We have reason to believe that you are +acquainted with the hiding place of the gold of Montezuma, which was unlawfully +stolen from us on the night of the <i>noche triste</i>. Nay, we know that this +is so, for you were seen to go with the canoes that were laden with it. Choose +now, apostate, between a shameful death and the revealing to us of the secret +of this treasure.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment I wavered. On the one hand was the loss of honour with life and +liberty and the hope of home, on the other a dreadful end. Then I remembered my +oath and Otomie, and what she would think of me living or dead, if I did this +thing, and I wavered no more. +</p> + +<p> +“I know nothing of the treasure, general,” I answered coldly. +“Send me to my death.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean that you will say nothing of it, traitor. Think again. If you +have sworn any oaths they are broken by God. The empire of the Aztecs is at an +end, their king is my prisoner, their great city is a ruin. The true God has +triumphed over these devils by my hand. Their wealth is my lawful spoil, and I +must have it to pay my gallant comrades who cannot grow rich on desolation. +Think again.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know nothing of this treasure, general.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet memory sometimes wakens, traitor. I have said that you shall die if +yours should fail you, and so you shall to be sure. But death is not always +swift. There are means, doubtless you who have lived in Spain have heard of +them,” and he arched his brows and glared at me meaningly, “by +which a man may die and yet live for many weeks. Now, loth as I am to do it, it +seems that if your memory still sleeps, I must find some such means to rouse +it—before you die.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am in your power, general,” I answered. “You call me +traitor again and again. I am no traitor. I am a subject of the King of +England, not of the King of Spain. I came hither following a villain who has +wrought me and mine bitter wrong, one of your company named de Garcia or +Sarceda. To find him and for other reasons I joined the Aztecs. They are +conquered and I am your prisoner. At the least deal with me as a brave man +deals with a fallen enemy. I know nothing of the treasure; kill me and make an +end.” +</p> + +<p> +“As a man I might wish to do this, Wingfield, but I am more than a man, I +am the hand of the Church here in Anahuac. You have partaken with the +worshippers of idols, you have seen your fellow Christians sacrificed and +devoured by your brute comrades. For this alone you deserve to be tortured +eternally, and doubtless that will be so after we have done with you. As for +the hidalgo Don Sarceda, I know him only as a brave companion in arms, and +certainly I shall not listen to tales told against him by a wandering apostate. +It is, however, unlucky for you,” and here a gleam of light shot across +the face of Cortes, “that there should be any old feud between you, +seeing that it is to his charge that I am about to confide you. Now for the +last time I say choose. Will you reveal the hiding place of the treasure and go +free, or will you be handed over to the care of Don Sarceda till such time as +he shall find means to make you speak?” +</p> + +<p> +Now a great faintness seized me, for I knew that I was condemned to be +tortured, and that de Garcia was to be the torturer. What mercy had I to expect +from his cruel heart when I, his deadliest foe, lay in his power to wreak his +vengeance on? But still my will and my honour prevailed against my terrors, and +I answered: +</p> + +<p> +“I have told you, general, that I know nothing of this treasure. Do your +worst, and may God forgive you for your cruelty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dare not to speak that holy Name, apostate and worshipper of idols, +eater of human flesh. Let Sarceda be summoned.” +</p> + +<p> +A messenger went out, and for a while there was silence. I caught +Marina’s glance and saw pity in her gentle eyes. But she could not help +me here, for Cortes was mad because no gold had been found, and the clamour of +the soldiers for reward had worn him out and brought him to this shameful +remedy, he who was not cruel by nature. Still she strove to plead for me with +him, whispering earnestly in his ear. For a while Cortes listened, then he +pushed her from him roughly. +</p> + +<p> +“Peace, Marina,” he said. “What, shall I spare this English +dog some pangs, when my command, and perchance my very life, hangs upon the +finding of the gold? Nay, he knows well where it lies hid; you said it yourself +when I would have hung him for a traitor, and certainly he was one of those +whom the spy saw go out with it upon the lake. Our friend was with them also, +but he came back no more; doubtless they murdered him. What is this man to you +that you should plead for him? Cease to trouble me, Marina, am I not troubled +enough already?” and Cortes put his hands to his face and remained lost +in thought. As for Marina, she looked at me sadly and sighed as though to say, +“I have done my best,” and I thanked her with my eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Presently there was a sound of footsteps and I looked up to see de Garcia +standing before me. Time and hardship had touched him lightly, and the lines of +silver in his curling hair and peaked beard did but add dignity to his noble +presence. Indeed, when I looked at him in his dark Spanish beauty, his rich +garments decked with chains of gold, as he bowed before Cortes hat in hand, I +was fain to confess that I had never seen a more gallant cavalier, or one whose +aspect gave the lie so wholly to the black heart within. But knowing him for +what he was, my very blood quivered with hate at the sight of him, and when I +thought of my own impotence and of the errand on which he had come, I ground my +teeth and cursed the day that I was born. As for de Garcia, he greeted me with +a little cruel smile, then spoke to Cortes. +</p> + +<p> +“Your pleasure, general?” +</p> + +<p> +“Greeting to you, comrade,” answered Cortes. “You know this +renegade?” +</p> + +<p> +“But too well, general. Three times he has striven to murder me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you have escaped and it is your hour now, Sarceda. He says that he +has a quarrel with you; what is it?” +</p> + +<p> +De Garcia hesitated, stroking his peaked beard, then answered: “I am loth +to tell it because it is a tale of error for which I have often sorrowed and +done penance. Yet I will speak for fear you should think worse of me than I +deserve. This man has some cause to mislike me, since to be frank, when I was +younger than I am to-day and given to the follies of youth, it chanced that in +England I met his mother, a beautiful Spanish lady who by ill fortune was +wedded to an Englishman, this man’s father and a clown of clowns, who +maltreated her. I will be short; the lady learned to love me and I worsted her +husband in a duel. Hence this traitor’s hate of me.” +</p> + +<p> +I heard and thought that my heart must burst with fury. To all his wickedness +and offences against me, de Garcia now had added slander of my dead +mother’s honour. +</p> + +<p> +“You lie, murderer,” I gasped, tearing at the ropes that bound me. +</p> + +<p> +“I must ask you to protect me from such insult, general,” de Garcia +answered coldly. “Were the prisoner worthy of my sword, I would ask +further that his bonds should be loosed for a little space, but my honour would +be tarnished for ever were I to fight with such as he.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dare to speak thus once more to a gentleman of Spain,” said Cortes +coldly, “and, you heathen dog, your tongue shall be dragged from you with +red-hot pincers. For you, Sarceda, I thank you for your confidence. If you have +no worse crime than a love affair upon your soul, I think that our good +chaplain Olmedo will frank you through the purgatorial fires. But we waste +words and time. This man has the secret of the treasure of Guatemoc and of +Montezuma. If Guatemoc and his nobles will not tell it, he at least may be +forced to speak, for the torments that an Indian can endure without a groan +will soon bring truth bubbling from the lips of this white heathen. Take him, +Sarceda, and hearken, let him be your especial care. First let him suffer with +the others, and afterwards, should he prove obdurate, alone. The method I leave +to you. Should he confess, summon me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me, general, but this is no task for an hidalgo of Spain. I have +been more wont to pierce my enemies with the sword than to tear them with +pincers,” said de Garcia, but as he spoke I saw a gleam of triumph shine +in his black eyes, and heard the ring of triumph through the mock anger of his +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I know it, comrade. But this must be done; though I hate it, it must be +done, there is no other way. The gold is necessary to me—by the Mother of +God! the knaves say that I have stolen it!—and I doubt these stubborn +Indian dogs will ever speak, however great their agony. This man knows and I +give him over to you because you are acquainted with his wickedness, and that +knowledge will steel your heart against all pity. Spare not, comrade; remember +that he must be forced to speak.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is your command, Cortes, and I will obey it, though I love the task +little; with one proviso, however, that you give me your warrant in +writing.” +</p> + +<p> +“It shall be made out at once,” answered the general. “And +now away with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where to?” +</p> + +<p> +“To the prison that he has left. All is ready and there he will find his +comrades.” +</p> + +<p> +Then a guard was summoned and I was dragged back to my own place, de Garcia +saying as I went that he would be with me presently. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap29"></a>CHAPTER XXIX<br /> +DE GARCIA SPEAKS HIS MIND</h2> + +<p> +At first I was not taken into the chamber that I had left, but placed in a +little room opening out of it where the guard slept. Here I waited a while, +bound hand and foot and watched by two soldiers with drawn swords. As I waited, +torn by rage and fear, I heard the noise of hammering through the wall, +followed by a sound of groans. At length the suspense came to an end; a door +was opened, and two fierce Tlascalan Indians came through it and seized me by +the hair and ears, dragging me thus into my own chamber. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor devil!” I heard one of the Spanish soldiers say as I went. +“Apostate or no, I am sorry for him; this is bloody work.” +</p> + +<p> +Then the door closed and I was in the place of torment. The room was darkened, +for a cloth had been hung in front of the window bars, but its gloom was +relieved by certain fires that burned in braziers. It was by the light of these +fires chiefly that I saw the sight. On the floor of the chamber were placed +three solid chairs, one of them empty. The other two were filled by none other +than Guatemoc, Emperor of the Aztecs, and by his friend and mine the +<i>cacique</i> of Tacuba. They were bound in the chairs, the burning braziers +were placed at their feet, behind them stood a clerk with paper and an inkhorn, +and around them Indians were busy at some dreadful task, directed to it by two +Spanish soldiers. Near the third chair stood another Spaniard who as yet took +no part in the play; it was de Garcia. As I looked, an Indian lifted one of the +braziers and seizing the naked foot of the Tacuban prince, thrust it down upon +the glowing coals. For a while there was silence, then the Tacuban broke into +groans. Guatemoc turned his head towards him and spoke, and as he spoke I saw +that his foot also was resting in the flames of a brazier. “Why do you +complain, friend,” he said, in a steady voice, “when I keep +silence? Am I then taking my pleasure in a bed? Follow me now as always, +friend, and be silent beneath your sufferings.” +</p> + +<p> +The clerk wrote down his words, for I heard the quill scratching on the paper, +and as he wrote, Guatemoc turned his head and saw me. His face was grey with +pain, still he spoke as a hundred times I had heard him speak at council, +slowly and clearly. “Alas! are you also here, my friend Teule?” he +said; “I hoped that they had spared you. See how these Spaniards keep +faith. Malinche swore to treat me with all honour; behold how he honours me, +with hot coals for my feet and pincers for my flesh. They think that we have +buried treasure, Teule, and would wring its secret from us. You know that it is +a lie. If we had treasure would we not give it gladly to our conquerors, the +god-born sons of Quetzal? You know that there is nothing left except the ruins +of our cities and the bones of our dead.” +</p> + +<p> +Here he ceased suddenly, for the demon who tormented him struck him across the +mouth saying, “Silence, dog.” +</p> + +<p> +But I understood, and I swore in my heart that I would die ere I revealed my +brother’s secret. This was the last triumph that Guatemoc could win, to +keep his gold from the grasp of the greedy Spaniard, and that victory at least +he should not lose through me. So I swore, and very soon my oath must be put to +the test, for at a motion from de Garcia the Tlascalans seized me and bound me +to the third chair. +</p> + +<p> +Then he spoke into my ear in Castilian: “Strange are the ways of +Providence, Cousin Wingfield. You have hunted me across the world, and several +times we have met, always to your sorrow. I thought I had you in the slave +ship, I thought that the sharks had you in the water, but somehow you escaped +me whom you came to hunt. When I knew it I grieved, but now I grieve no more, +for I see that you were reserved for this moment. Cousin Wingfield, it shall go +hard if you escape me this time, and yet I think that we shall spend some days +together before we part. Now I will be courteous with you. You may have a +choice of evils. How shall we begin? The resources at my command are not all +that we could wish, alas! the Holy Office is not yet here with its unholy +armoury, but still I have done my best. These fellows do not understand their +art: hot coals are their only inspiration. I, you see, have several,” and +he pointed to various instruments of torture. “Which will you +select?” +</p> + +<p> +I made no answer, for I had determined that I would speak no word and utter no +cry, do what they might with me. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me think, let me think,” went on de Garcia, smoothing his +beard. “Ah, I have it. Here, slaves.” +</p> + +<p> +Now I will not renew my own agonies, or awake the horror of any who may chance +to read what I have written by describing what befell me after this. Suffice it +to say that for two hours and more this devil, helped in his task by the +Tlascalans, worked his wicked will upon me. One by one torments were +administered to me with a skill and ingenuity that cannot often have been +surpassed, and when at times I fainted I was recovered by cold water being +dashed upon me and spirits poured down my throat. And yet, I say it with some +pride, during those two dreadful hours I uttered no groan however great my +sufferings, and spoke no word good or bad. +</p> + +<p> +Nor was it only bodily pain that I must bear, for all this while my enemy +mocked me with bitter words, which tormented my soul as his instruments and hot +coals tormented my body. At length he paused exhausted, and cursed me for an +obstinate pig of an Englishman, and at that moment Cortes entered the shambles +and with him Marina. +</p> + +<p> +“How goes it?” he said lightly, though his face turned pale at the +sight of horror. +</p> + +<p> +“The <i>cacique</i> of Tacuba has confessed that gold is buried in his +garden, the other two have said nothing, general,” the clerk answered, +glancing down his paper. +</p> + +<p> +“Brave men, indeed!” I heard Cortes mutter to himself; then said +aloud, “Let the <i>cacique</i> be carried to-morrow to the garden of +which he speaks, that he may point out the gold. As for the other two, cease +tormenting them for this day. Perhaps they may find another mind before +to-morrow. I trust so, for their own sakes I trust so!” +</p> + +<p> +Then he drew to the corner of the room and consulted with Sarceda and the other +torturers, leaving Marina face to face with Guatemoc and with me. For a while +she stared at the prince as though in horror, then a strange light came into +her beautiful eyes, and she spoke to him in a low voice, saying in the Aztec +tongue: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you remember how once you rejected me down yonder in Tobasco, +Guatemoc, and what I told you then?—that I should grow great in spite of +you? You see it has all come true and more than true, and you are brought to +this. Are you not sorry, Guatemoc? I am sorry, though were I as some women are, +perchance I might rejoice to see you thus.” +</p> + +<p> +“Woman,” the prince answered in a thick voice, “you have +betrayed your country and you have brought me to shame and torment. Yes, had it +not been for you, these things had never been. I am sorry, indeed I am +sorry—that I did not kill you. For the rest, may your name be shameful +for ever in the ears of honest men and your soul be everlastingly accursed, and +may you yourself, even before you die, know the bitterness of dishonour and +betrayal! Your words were fulfilled, and so shall mine be also.” +</p> + +<p> +She heard and turned away trembling, and for a while was silent. Then her +glance fell upon me and she began to weep. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! poor man,” she said; “alas! my friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“Weep not over me, Marina,” I answered, speaking in Aztec, +“for our tears are of no worth, but help me if you may.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah that I could!” she sobbed, and turning fled from the place, +followed presently by Cortes. +</p> + +<p> +Now the Spaniards came in again and removed Guatemoc and the <i>cacique</i> of +Tacuba, carrying them in their arms, for they could not walk, and indeed the +<i>cacique</i> was in a swoon. +</p> + +<p> +“Farewell, Teule,” said Guatemoc as he passed me; “you are +indeed a true son of Quetzal and a gallant man. May the gods reward you in +times to come for all that you have suffered for me and mine, since I +cannot.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he was borne out and these were the last words that I ever heard him +utter. +</p> + +<p> +Now I was left alone with the Tlascalans and de Garcia, who mocked me as +before. +</p> + +<p> +“A little tired, eh, friend Wingfield?” he said sneering. +“Well, the play is rough till you get used to it. A night’s sleep +will refresh you, and to-morrow you will be a new man. Perhaps you believe that +I have done my worst. Fool, this is but a beginning. Also you think doubtless +that your obstinacy angers me? Wrong again, my friend, I only pray that you may +keep your lips sealed to the last. Gladly would I give my share of this hidden +gold in payment for two more such days with you. I have still much to pay you +back, and look you, I have found a way to do it. There are more ways of hurting +a man than through his own flesh—for instance, when I wished to be +revenged upon your father, I struck him through her whom he loved. Now I have +touched you and you wonder what I mean. Well, I will tell you. Perhaps you may +know an Aztec lady of royal blood who is named Otomie?” +</p> + +<p> +“Otomie, what of her?” I cried, speaking for the first time, since +fear for her stirred me more than all the torments I had borne. +</p> + +<p> +“A triumph indeed; I have found a way to make you speak at last; why, +then, to-morrow you will be full of words. Only this, Cousin Wingfield; Otomie, +Montezuma’s daughter, a very lovely woman by the way, is your wife +according to the Indian customs. Well, I know all the story and—she is in +my power. I will prove it to you, for she shall be brought here presently and +then you can console each other. For listen, dog, to-morrow she will sit where +you are sitting, and before your eyes she shall be dealt with as you have been +dealt with. Ah! then you will talk fast enough, but perhaps it will be too +late.” +</p> + +<p> +And now for the first time I broke down and prayed for mercy even of my foe. +</p> + +<p> +“Spare her,” I groaned; “do what you will with me, but spare +her! Surely you must have a heart, even you, for you are human. You can never +do this thing, and Cortes would not suffer it.” +</p> + +<p> +“As for Cortes,” he answered, “he will know nothing of +it—till it is done. I have my warrant that charges me to use every means +in my power to force the truth from you. Torture has failed; this alone is +left. And for the rest, you must read me ill. You know what it is to hate, for +you hate me; multiply your hate by ten and you may find the sum of mine for +you. I hate you for your blood, I hate you because you have your mother’s +eyes, but much more do I hate you for yourself, for did you not beat me, a +gentleman of Spain, with a stick as though I were a hound? Shall I then shrink +from such a deed when I can satisfy my hate by it? Also perhaps, though you are +a brave man, at this moment you know what it is to fear, and are tasting of its +agony. Now I will be open with you; Thomas Wingfield, I fear you. When first I +saw you I feared you as I had reason to do, and that is why I tried to kill +you, and as time has gone by I have feared you more and more, so much indeed, +that at times I cannot rest because of a nameless terror that dogs me and which +has to do with you. Because of you I fled from Spain, because of you I have +played the coward in more frays than one. The luck has always been mine in this +duel between us, and yet I tell you that even as you are, I fear you still. If +I dared I would kill you at once, only then you would haunt me as your mother +haunts me, and also I must answer for it to Cortes. Fear, Cousin Wingfield, is +the father of cruelty, and mine makes me cruel to you. Living or dead, I know +that you will triumph over me at the last, but it is my turn now, and while you +breathe, or while one breathes who is dear to you, I will spend my life to +bring you and them to shame and misery and death, as I brought your mother, my +cousin, though she forced me to it to save myself. Why not? There is no +forgiveness for me, I cannot undo the past. You came to take vengeance on me, +and soon or late by you, or through you, it will be glutted, but till then I +triumph, ay, even when I must sink to this butcher’s work to do +it,” and suddenly he turned and left the place. +</p> + +<p> +Then weakness and suffering overcame me and I swooned away. When I awoke it was +to find that my bonds had been loosed and that I lay on some sort of bed, while +a woman bent over me, tending me with murmured words of pity and love. The +night had fallen, but there was light in the chamber, and by it I saw that the +woman was none other than Otomie, no longer starved and wretched, but almost as +lovely as before the days of siege and hunger. +</p> + +<p> +“Otomie! you here!” I gasped through my wounded lips, for with my +senses came the memory of de Garcia’s threats. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, beloved, it is I,” she murmured; “they have suffered +that I nurse you, devils though they are. Oh! that I must see you thus and yet +be helpless to avenge you,” and she burst into weeping. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush,” I said, “hush. Have we food?” +</p> + +<p> +“In plenty. A woman brought it from Marina.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give me to eat, Otomie.” +</p> + +<p> +Now for a while she fed me and the deadly sickness passed from me, though my +poor flesh burned with a hundred agonies. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, Otomie: have you seen de Garcia?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, husband. Two days since I was separated from my sister Tecuichpo and +the other ladies, but I have been well treated and have seen no Spaniard except +the soldiers who led me here, telling me that you were sick. Alas! I knew not +from what cause,” and again she began to weep. +</p> + +<p> +“Still some have seen you and it is reported that you are my wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is likely enough,” she answered, “for it was known +throughout the Aztec hosts, and such secrets cannot be kept. But why have they +treated you thus? Because you fought against them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Are we alone?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“The guard is without, but there are none else in the chamber.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then bend down your head and I will tell you,” and I told her all. +</p> + +<p> +When I had done so she sprang up with flashing eyes and her hand pressed upon +her breast, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! if I loved you before, now I love you more if that is possible, who +could suffer thus horribly and yet be faithful to the fallen and your oath. +Blessed be the day when first I looked upon your face, O my husband, most true +of men. But they who could do this—what of them? Still it is done with +and I will nurse you back to health. Surely it is done with, or they had not +suffered me to come to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! Otomie, I must tell all—it is <i>not</i> done with,” +and with faltering voice I went on with the tale, yes, and since I must, I told +her for what purpose she had been brought here. She listened without a word, +though her lips turned pale. +</p> + +<p> +“Truly,” she said when I had done, “these Teules far surpass +the <i>pabas</i> of our people, for if the priests torture and sacrifice, it is +to the gods and not for gold and secret hate. Now, husband, what is your +counsel? Surely you have some counsel.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have none that I dare offer, wife,” I groaned. +</p> + +<p> +“You are timid as a girl who will not utter the love she burns to +tell,” Otomie answered with a proud and bitter laugh. “Well, I will +speak it for you. It is in your mind that we must die to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is,” I said; “death now, or shame and agony to-morrow and +then death at last, that is our choice. Since God will not protect us, we must +protect ourselves if we can find the means.” +</p> + +<p> +“God! there is no God. At times I have doubted the gods of my people and +turned to yours; now I renounce and reject Him. If there were a God of mercy +such as you cling to, could He suffer that such things be? You are my god, +husband, to you and for you I pray, and you alone. Let us have done now with +pleading to those who are not, or who, if they live, are deaf to our cries and +blind to our misery, and befriend ourselves. Yonder lies rope, that window has +bars, very soon we can be beyond the sun and the cruelty of Teules, or sound +asleep. But there is time yet; let us talk a while, they will scarcely begin +their torments before the dawn, and ere dawn we shall be far.” +</p> + +<p> +So we talked as well as my sufferings would allow. We talked of how we first +had met, of how Otomie had been vowed to me as the wife of Tezcat, Soul of the +World, of that day when we had lain side by side upon the stone of sacrifice, +of our true marriage thereafter, of the siege of Tenoctitlan and the death of +our first-born. Thus we talked till midnight was two hours gone. Then there +came a silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Husband,” said Otomie at last in a hushed and solemn voice, +“you are worn with suffering, and I am weary. It is time to do that which +must be done. Sad is our fate, but at least rest is before us. I thank you, +husband, for your gentleness, I thank you more for your faithfulness to my +house and people. Shall I make ready for our last journey?” +</p> + +<p> +“Make ready!” I answered. +</p> + +<p> +Then she rose and soon was busy with the ropes. At length all was prepared and +the moment of death was at hand. +</p> + +<p> +“You must aid me, Otomie,” I said; “I cannot walk by +myself.” +</p> + +<p> +She came and lifted me with her strong and tender arms, till I stood upon a +stool beneath the window bars. There she placed the rope about my throat, then +taking her stand by me she fitted the second rope upon her own. Now we kissed +in solemn silence, for there was nothing more to say. Yet Otomie said +something, asking: +</p> + +<p> +“Of whom do you think in this moment, husband? Of me and of my dead +child, or of that lady who lives far across the sea? Nay, I will not ask. I +have been happy in my love, it is enough. Now love and life must end together, +and it is well for me, but for you I grieve. Say, shall I thrust away the +stool?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Otomie, since there is no hope but death. I cannot break my faith +with Guatemoc, nor can I live to see you shamed and tortured.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then kiss me first and for the last time.” +</p> + +<p> +We kissed again and then, as she was in the very act of pushing the stool from +beneath us, the door opened and shut, and a veiled woman stood before us, +bearing a torch in one hand and a bundle in the other. She looked, and seeing +us and our dreadful purpose, ran to us. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you?” she cried, and I knew the voice for that of Marina. +“Are you then mad, Teule?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is this who knows you so well, husband, and will not even suffer +that we die in peace?” asked Otomie. +</p> + +<p> +“I am Marina,” answered the veiled woman, “and I come to save +you if I can.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap30"></a>CHAPTER XXX<br /> +THE ESCAPE</h2> + +<p> +Now Otomie put the rope off her neck, and descending from the stool, stood +before Marina. +</p> + +<p> +“You are Marina,” she said coldly and proudly, “and you come +to save us, you who have brought ruin on the land that bore you, and have given +thousands of her children to death, and shame, and torment. Now, if I had my +way, I would have none of your salvation, nay, I would rather save myself as I +was about to do.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus Otomie spoke, and never had she looked more royal than in this moment, +when she risked her last chance of life that she might pour out her scorn upon +one whom she deemed a traitress, no, one who was a traitress, for had it not +been for Marina’s wit and aid, Cortes would never have conquered Anahuac. +I trembled as I heard her angry words, for, all I suffered notwithstanding, +life still seemed sweet to me, who, ten seconds ago, had stood upon the verge +of death. Surely Marina would depart and leave us to our doom. But it was not +so. Indeed, she shrank and trembled before Otomie’s contempt. They were a +strange contrast in their different loveliness as they stood face to face in +the torture den, and it was strange also to see the spirit of the lady of royal +blood, threatened as she was with a shameful death, or still more shameful +life, triumph over the Indian girl whom to-day fortune had set as far above her +as the stars. +</p> + +<p> +“Say, royal lady,” asked Marina in her gentle voice, “for +what cause did you, if tales are true, lie by the side of yonder white man upon +the stone of sacrifice?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I love him, Marina.” +</p> + +<p> +“And for this same cause have I, Marina, laid my honour upon a different +altar, for this same cause I have striven against the children of my people, +because I love another such as he. It is for love of Cortes that I have aided +Cortes, therefore despise me not, but let your love plead for mine, seeing +that, to us women, love is all. I have sinned, I know, but doubtless in its +season my sin shall find a fitting punishment.” +</p> + +<p> +“It had need be sharp,” answered Otomie. “My love has harmed +none, see before you but one grain of the countless harvest of your own. In +yonder chair Guatemoc your king was this day tortured by your master Cortes, +who swore to treat him with all honour. By his side sat Teule, my husband and +your friend; him Cortes gave over to his private enemy, de Garcia, whom you +name Sarceda. See how he has left him. Nay, do not shudder, gentle lady; look +now at his wounds! Consider to what a pass we are driven when you find us about +to die thus like dogs, he, my husband, that he may not live to see me handled +as he has been, and I with him, because a princess of the Otomie and of +Montezuma’s blood cannot submit to such a shame while death has one door +through which to creep. It is but a single grain of your harvest, outcast and +traitress, the harvest of misery and death that is stored yonder in the ruins +of Tenoctitlan. Had I my will, I tell you that I had sooner die a score of +times than take help from a hand so stained with the blood of my people and of +yours—I—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! cease, lady, cease,” groaned Marina, covering her eyes with +her hand, as though the sight of Otomie were dreadful to her. “What is +done is done; do not add to my remorse. What did you say, that you, the lady +Otomie, were brought here to be tortured?” +</p> + +<p> +“Even so, and before my husband’s eyes. Why should +Montezuma’s daughter and the princess of the Otomie escape the fate of +the emperor of the Aztecs? If her womanhood does not protect her, has she +anything to hope of her lost rank?” +</p> + +<p> +“Cortes knows nothing of this, I swear it,” said Marina. “To +the rest he has been driven by the clamour of the soldiers, who taunt him with +stealing treasure that he has never found. But of this last wickedness he is +innocent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then let him ask his tool Sarceda of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“As for Sarceda, I promise you, princess, that if I can I will avenge +this threat upon him. But time is short, I am come here with the knowledge of +Cortes, to see if I can win the secret of the treasure from Teule, your +husband, and for my friendship’s sake I am about to betray my trust and +help him and you to fly. Do you refuse my aid?” +</p> + +<p> +Otomie said nothing, but I spoke for the first time. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Marina, I have no love for this thief’s fate if I can escape +it, but how is it to be done?” +</p> + +<p> +“The chance is poor enough, Teule, but I bethought me that once out of +this prison you might slip away disguised. Few will be stirring at dawn, and of +them the most will not be keen to notice men or things. See, I have brought you +the dress of a Spanish soldier; your skin is dark, and in the half light you +might pass as one; and for the princess your wife, I have brought another +dress, indeed I am ashamed to offer it, but it is the only one that will not be +noted at this hour; also, Teule, I bring you a sword, that which was taken from +you, though I think that once it had another owner.” +</p> + +<p> +Now while she spoke Marina undid her bundle, and there in it were the dresses +and the sword, the same that I had taken from the Spaniard Diaz in the massacre +of the <i>noche triste</i>. First she drew out the woman’s robe and +handed it to Otomie, and I saw that it was such a robe as among the Indians is +worn by the women who follow camps, a robe with red and yellow in it. Otomie +saw it also and drew back. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely, girl, you have brought a garment of your own in error,” +she said quietly, but in such a fashion as showed more of the savage heart that +is native to her race than she often suffered to be seen; “at the least I +cannot wear such robes.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems that I must bear too much,” answered Marina, growing +wroth at last, and striving to keep back the tears that started to her eyes. +“I will away and leave you;” and she began to roll up her bundle. +</p> + +<p> +“Forgive her, Marina,” I said hastily, for the desire to escape +grew on me every minute; “sorrow has set an edge upon her tongue.” +Then turning to Otomie I added, “I pray you be more gentle, wife, for my +sake if not for your own. Marina is our only hope.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would that she had left us to die in peace, husband. Well, so be it, for +your sake I will put on these garments of a drab. But how shall we escape out +of this place and the camp? Will the door be opened to us, and the guards +removed, and if we pass them, can you walk, husband?” +</p> + +<p> +“The doors will not be opened, lady,” said Marina, “for those +wait without, who will see that they are locked when I have passed them. But +there will be nothing to fear from the guard, trust to me for it. See, the bars +of this window are but of wood, that sword will soon sever them, and if you are +seen you must play the part of a drunken soldier being guided to his quarters +by a woman. For the rest I know nothing, save that I run great risk for your +sakes, since if it is discovered that I have aided you, then I shall find it +hard to soften the rage of Cortes, who, the war being won,” and she +sighed, “does not need me now so much as once he did.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can make shift to hop on my right foot,” I said, “and for +the rest we must trust to fortune. It can give us no worse gifts than those we +have already.” +</p> + +<p> +“So be it, Teule, and now farewell, for I dare stay no longer. I can do +nothing more. May your good star shine on you and lead you hence in safety; and +Teule, if we never meet again, I pray you think of me kindly, for there are +many in the world who will do otherwise in the days to come.” +</p> + +<p> +“Farewell, Marina,” I said, and she was gone. +</p> + +<p> +We heard the doors close behind her, and the distant voices of those who bore +her litter, then all was silence. Otomie listened at the window for a while, +but the guards seemed to be gone, where or why I do not know to this hour, and +the only sound was that of distant revelry from the camp. +</p> + +<p> +“And now to the work,” I said to Otomie. +</p> + +<p> +“As you wish, husband, but I fear it will be profitless. I do not trust +that woman. Faithless in all, without doubt she betrays us. Still at the worst +you have the sword, and can use it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It matters little,” I answered. “Our plight cannot be worse +than it is now; life has no greater evils than torment and death, and they are +with us already.” +</p> + +<p> +Then I sat upon the stool, and my arms being left sound and strong, I hacked +with the sharp sword at the wooden bars of the window, severing them one by one +till there was a space big enough for us to creep through. This being done and +no one having appeared to disturb us, Otomie clad me in the clothes of a +Spanish soldier which Marina had brought, for I could not dress myself. What I +suffered in the donning of those garments, and more especially in the pulling +of the long boot on to my burnt foot, can never be told, but more than once I +stopped, pondering whether it would not be better to die rather than to endure +such agonies. At last it was done, and Otomie must put on the red and yellow +robe, a garb of shame such as many honest Indian women would die sooner than be +seen in, and I think that as she did this, her agony was greater than mine, +though of another sort, for to her proud heart, that dress was a very shirt of +Nessus. Presently she was clad, and minced before me with savage mockery, +saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Prithee, soldier, do I look my part?” +</p> + +<p> +“A peace to such fooling,” I answered; “our lives are at +stake, what does it matter how we disguise ourselves?” +</p> + +<p> +“It matters much, husband, but how can you understand, who are a man and +a foreigner? Now I will clamber through the window, and you must follow me if +you can, if not I will return to you and we will end this masquerade.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she passed through the hole swiftly, for Otomie was agile and strong as an +ocelot, and mounting the stool I made shift to follow her as well as my hurts +would allow. In the end I was able to throw myself upon the sill of the window, +and there I was stretched out like a dead cat till she drew me across it, and I +fell with her to the ground on the further side, and lay groaning. She lifted +me to my feet, or rather to my foot, for I could use but one of them, and we +stared round us. No one was to be seen, and the sound of revelry had died away, +for the crest of Popo was already red with the sunlight and the dawn grew in +the valley. +</p> + +<p> +“Where to?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +Now Otomie had been allowed to walk in the camp with her sister, the wife of +Guatemoc, and other Aztec ladies, and she had this gift in common with most +Indians, that where she had once passed there she could pass again, even in the +darkest night. +</p> + +<p> +“To the south gate,” she whispered; “perhaps it is unguarded +now that the war is done, at the least I know the road thither.” +</p> + +<p> +So we started, I leaning on her shoulder and hopping on my right foot, and thus +very painfully we traversed some three hundred yards meeting nobody. But now +our good luck failed us, for passing round the corner of some buildings, we +came face to face with three soldiers returning to their huts from a midnight +revel, and with them some native servants. +</p> + +<p> +“Whom have we here?” said the first of these. “Your name, +comrade?” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night, brother, good-night,” I answered in Spanish, speaking +with the thick voice of drunkenness. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, you mean,” he said, for the dawn was breaking. +“Your name. I don’t know your face, though it seems that you have +been in the wars,” and he laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“You mustn’t ask a comrade his name,” I said solemnly and +swinging to and fro. “The captain might send for me and he’s a +temperate man. Your arm, girl; it is time to go to sleep, the sun sets.” +</p> + +<p> +They laughed, but one of them addressed Otomie, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Leave the sot, my pretty, and come and walk with us,” and he +caught her by the arm. But she turned on him with so fierce a look that he let +her go again astonished, and we staggered on till the corner of another house +hid us from their view. Here I sank to the ground overcome with pain, for while +the soldiers were in sight, I was obliged to use my wounded foot lest they +should suspect. But Otomie pulled me up, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! beloved, we must pass on or perish.” +</p> + +<p> +I rose groaning, and by what efforts I reached the south gate I cannot +describe, though I thought that I must die before I came there. At last it was +before us, and as chance would have it, the Spanish guard were asleep in the +guardhouse. Three Tlascalans only were crouched over a little fire, their +<i>zerapes</i> or blankets about their heads, for the dawn was chilly. +</p> + +<p> +“Open the gates, dogs!” I said in a proud voice. +</p> + +<p> +Seeing a Spanish soldier one of them rose to obey, then paused and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Why, and by whose orders?” +</p> + +<p> +I could not see the man’s face because of the blanket, but his voice +sounded familiar to me and I grew afraid. Still I must speak. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?—because I am drunk and wish to lie without till I grow sober. +By whose orders? By mine, I am an officer of the day, and if you disobey +I’ll have you flogged till you never ask another question.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I call the Teules within?” said the man sulkily to his +companion. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he answered; “the lord Sarceda is weary and gave orders +that he should not be awakened without good cause. Keep them in or let them +through as you will, but do not wake him.” +</p> + +<p> +I trembled in every limb; de Garcia was in the guardhouse! What if he awoke, +what if he came out and saw me? More—now I guessed whose voice it was +that I knew again; it was that of one of those Tlascalans who had aided in +tormenting me. What if he should see my face? He could scarcely fail to know +that on which he had left his mark so recently. I was dumb with fear and could +say nothing, and had it not been for the wit of Otomie, there my story would +have ended. But now she played her part and played it well, plying the man with +the coarse raillery of the camp, till at length she put him in a good humour, +and he opened the gate, bidding her begone and me with her. Already we had +passed the gate when a sudden faintness seized me, and I stumbled and fell, +rolling over on to my back as I touched the earth. +</p> + +<p> +“Up, friend, up!” said Otomie, with a harsh laugh. “If you +must sleep, wait till you find some friendly bush,” and she dragged at me +to lift me. The Tlascalan, still laughing, came forward to help her, and +between them I gained my feet again, but as I rose, my cap, which fitted me but +ill, fell off. He picked it up and gave it to me and our eyes met, my face +being somewhat in the shadow. Next instant I was hobbling on, but looking back, +I saw the Tlascalan staring after us with a puzzled air, like that of a man who +is not sure of the witness of his senses. +</p> + +<p> +“He knows me,” I said to Otomie, “and presently when he has +found his wits, he will follow us.” +</p> + +<p> +“On, on!” answered Otomie; “round yonder corner are aloe +bushes where we may hide.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am spent, I can no more;” and again I began to fall. +</p> + +<p> +Then Otomie caught me as I fell, and of a sudden she put out her strength, and +lifting me from the ground, as a mother lifts her child, staggered forward +holding me to her breast. For fifty paces or more she carried me thus, love and +despair giving her strength, till at last we reached the edge of the aloe +plants and there we sank together to the earth. I cast my eyes back over the +path which we had travelled. Round the corner came the Tlascalan, a spiked club +in his hand, seeking us to solve his doubts. +</p> + +<p> +“It is finished,” I gasped; “the man comes.” +</p> + +<p> +For answer Otomie drew my sword from its scabbard and hid it in the grass. +“Now feign sleep,” she said; “it is our last chance.” +</p> + +<p> +I cast my arm over my face and pretended to be asleep. Presently I heard the +sound of a man passing through the bushes, and the Tlascalan stood over me. +</p> + +<p> +“What would you?” asked Otomie. “Can you not see that he +sleeps? Let him sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must look on his face first, woman,” he answered, dragging aside +my arm. “By the gods, I thought so! This is that Teule whom we dealt with +yesterday and who escapes.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are mad,” she said laughing. “He has escaped from +nowhere, save from a brawl and a drinking bout.” +</p> + +<p> +“You lie, woman, or if you do not lie, you know nothing. This man has the +secret of Montezuma’s treasure, and is worth a king’s +ransom,” and he lifted his club. +</p> + +<p> +“And yet you wish to slay him! Well, I know nothing of him. Take him back +whence he came. He is but a drunken sot and I shall be well rid of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well said. It would be foolish to kill him, but by bearing him alive to +the lord Sarceda, I shall win honour and reward. Come, help me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Help yourself,” she answered sullenly. “But first search his +pouch; there may be some trifle there which we can divide.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well said, again,” he answered, and kneeling down he bent over me +and began to fumble at the fastenings of the pouch. +</p> + +<p> +Otomie was behind him. I saw her face change and a terrible light came into her +eyes, such a light as shines in the eyes of the priest at sacrifice. Quick as +thought she drew the sword from the grass and smote with all her strength upon +the man’s bent neck. Down he fell, making no sound, and she also fell +beside him. In a moment she was on her feet again, staring at him +wildly—the naked sword in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Up,” she said, “before others come to seek him. Nay, you +must.” +</p> + +<p> +Now, again we were struggling forward through the bushes, my mind filled with a +great wonder that grew slowly to a whirling nothingness. For a while it seemed +to me as though I were lost in an evil dream and walking on red hot irons in my +dream. Then came a vision of armed men with lifted spears, and of Otomie +running towards them with outstretched arms. +</p> + +<p> +I knew no more. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap31"></a>CHAPTER XXXI<br /> +OTOMIE PLEADS WITH HER PEOPLE</h2> + +<p> +When I awoke it was to find myself in a cave, where the light shone very dimly. +Otomie leant over me, and not far away a man was cooking a pot over a fire made +of dry aloe leaves. +</p> + +<p> +“Where am I and what has happened?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“You are safe, beloved,” she answered, “at least for awhile. +When you have eaten I will tell you more.” +</p> + +<p> +She brought me broth and food and I ate eagerly, and when I was satisfied she +spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“You remember how the Tlascalan followed us and how—I was rid of +him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I remember, Otomie, though how you found strength to kill him I do not +understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Love and despair gave it to me, and I pray that I may never have such +another need. Do not speak of it, husband, for this is more horrible to me than +all that has been before. One thing comforts me, however; I did not kill him, +the sword twisted in my hand and I believe that he was but stunned. Then we +fled a little way, and looking back I saw that two other Tlascalans, companions +of the senseless man, were following us and him. Presently, they came up to +where he lay and stared at him. Then they started on our tracks, running hard, +and very soon they must have caught us, for now you could scarcely stir, your +mind was gone, and I had no more strength to carry you. Still we stumbled on +till presently, when the pursuers were within fifty paces of us, I saw armed +men, eight of them, rushing at us from the bushes. They were of my own people, +the Otomies, soldiers that had served under you, who watched the Spanish camp, +and seeing a Spaniard alone they came to slay him. They very nearly did so +indeed, for at first I was so breathless that I could scarcely speak, but at +last in few words I made shift to declare my name and rank, and your sad +plight. By now the two Tlascalans were upon us, and I called to the men of the +Otomie to protect us, and falling on the Tlascalans before they knew that +enemies were there, they killed one of them and took the other prisoner. Then +they made a litter, and placing you on it, bore you without rest twenty leagues +into the mountains, till they reached this secret hiding place, and here you +have lain three days and nights. The Teules have searched for you far and wide, +but they have searched in vain. Only yesterday two of them with ten Tlascalans, +passed within a hundred paces of this cave and I had much ado to prevent our +people from attacking them. Now they are gone whence they came, and I think +that we are safe for a time. Soon you will be better and we can go +hence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where can we go to, Otomie? We are birds without a nest.” +</p> + +<p> +“We must seek shelter in the City of Pines, or fly across the water; +there is no other choice, husband.” +</p> + +<p> +“We cannot try the sea, Otomie, for all the ships that come here are +Spanish, and I do not know how they will greet us in the City of Pines now that +our cause is lost, and with it so many thousands of their warriors.” +</p> + +<p> +“We must take the risk, husband. There are still true hearts in Anahuac, +who will stand by us in our sorrow and their own. At the least we have escaped +from greater dangers. Now let me dress your wounds and rest awhile.” +</p> + +<p> +So for three more days I lay in the cave of the mountains and Otomie tended me, +and at the end of that time my state was such that I could travel in a litter, +though for some weeks I was unable to set foot to the ground. On the fourth day +we started by night, and I was carried on men’s shoulders till at length +we passed up the gorge that leads to the City of Pines. Here we were stopped by +sentries to whom Otomie told our tale, bidding some of them go forward and +repeat it to the captains of the city. We followed the messengers slowly, for +my bearers were weary, and came to the gates of the beautiful town just as the +red rays of sunset struck upon the snowy pinnacle of Xaca that towers behind +it, turning her cap of smoke to a sullen red, like that of molten iron. +</p> + +<p> +The news of our coming had spread about, and here and there knots of people +were gathered to watch us pass. For the most part they stood silent, but now +and again some woman whose husband or son had perished in the siege, would hiss +a curse at us. +</p> + +<p> +Alas! how different was our state this day to what it had been when not a year +before we entered the City of Pines for the first time. Then we were escorted +by an army ten thousand strong, then musicians had sung before us and our path +was strewn with flowers. And now! Now we came two fugitives from the vengeance +of the Teules, I borne in a litter by four tired soldiers, while Otomie, the +princess of this people, still clad in her wanton’s robe, at which the +women mocked, for she had been able to come by no other, tramped at my side, +since there were none to carry her, and the inhabitants of the place cursed us +as the authors of their woes. Nor did we know if they would stop at words. +</p> + +<p> +At length we crossed the square beneath the shadow of the <i>teocalli</i>, and +reached the ancient and sculptured palace as the light failed, and the smoke on +Xaca, the holy hill, began to glow with the fire in its heart. Here small +preparation had been made to receive us, and that night we supped by the light +of a torch upon <i>tortillas</i> or meal cakes and water, like the humblest in +the land. Then we crept to our rest, and as I lay awake because of the pain of +my hurts, I heard Otomie, who thought that I slept, break into low sobbing at +my side. Her proud spirit was humbled at last, and she, whom I had never known +to weep except once, when our firstborn died in the siege, wept bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you sorrow thus, Otomie?” I asked at length. +</p> + +<p> +“I did not know that you were awake, husband,” she sobbed in +answer, “or I would have checked my grief. Husband, I sorrow over all +that has befallen us and my people—also, though these are but little +things, because you are brought low and treated as a man of no estate, and of +the cold comfort that we find here.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have cause, wife,” I answered. “Say, what will these +Otomies do with us—kill us, or give us up to the Teules?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know; to-morrow we shall learn, but for my part I will not be +surrendered living.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I, wife. Death is better than the tender mercies of Cortes and his +minister, de Garcia. Is there any hope?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, there is hope, beloved. Now the Otomie are cast down and they +remember that we led the flower of their land to death. But they are brave and +generous at heart, and if I can touch them there, all may yet be well. +Weariness, pain and memory make us weak, who should be full of courage, having +escaped so many ills. Sleep, my husband, and leave me to think. All shall yet +go well, for even misfortune has an end.” +</p> + +<p> +So I slept, and woke in the morning somewhat refreshed and with a happier mind, +for who is there that is not bolder when the light shines on him and he is +renewed by rest? +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +When I opened my eyes the sun was already high, but Otomie had risen with the +dawn and she had not been idle during those three hours. For one thing she had +contrived to obtain food and fresh raiment more befitting to our rank than the +rags in which we were clothed. Also she had brought together certain men of +condition who were friendly and loyal to her in misfortune, and these she sent +about the city, letting it be known that she would address the people at +mid-day from the steps of the palace, for as Otomie knew well, the heartstrings +of a crowd are touched more easily than those of cold and ancient counsellors. +</p> + +<p> +“Will they come to listen?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Have no fear,” she answered. “The desire to look upon us who +have survived the siege, and to know the truth of what has happened, will bring +them. Moreover, some will be there seeking vengeance on us.” +</p> + +<p> +Otomie was right, for as the morning drew on towards mid-day, I saw the +dwellers in the City of Pines gathering in thousands, till the space between +the steps of the palace and the face of the pyramid was black with them. Now +Otomie combed her curling hair and placed flowers in it, and set a gleaming +feather cloak about her shoulders, so that it hung down over her white robes, +and on her breast that splendid necklace of emeralds which Guatemoc had given +to me in the treasure chamber, and which she had preserved safely through all +our evil fortune, and a golden girdle about her waist. In her hand also she +took a little sceptre of ebony tipped with gold, that was in the palace, with +other ornaments and emblems of rank, and thus attired, though she was worn with +travel and suffering, and grief had dimmed her beauty for a while, she seemed +the queenliest woman that my eyes have seen. Next she caused me to be laid upon +my rude litter, and when the hour of noon was come, she commanded those +soldiers who had borne me across the mountains to carry me by her side. Thus we +issued from the wide doorway of the palace and took our stand upon the platform +at the head of the steps. As we came a great cry rose from the thousands of the +people, a fierce cry like that of wild beasts howling for their prey. Higher +and higher it rose, a sound to strike terror into the bravest heart, and by +degrees I caught its purport. +</p> + +<p> +“Kill them!” said the cry. “Give the liars to the +Teules.” +</p> + +<p> +Otomie stepped forward to the edge of the platform, and lifting the ebony +sceptre she stood silent, the sunlight beating on her lovely face and form. But +the multitude screamed a thousand taunts and threats at us, and still the +tumult grew. Once they rushed towards her as though to tear her to pieces, but +fell back at the last stair, as a wave falls from a rock, and once a spear was +thrown that passed between her neck and shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +Now the soldiers who had carried me, making certain that our death was at hand, +and having no wish to share it, set my litter down upon the stones and slipped +back into the palace, but all this while Otomie never so much as moved, no, not +even when the spear hissed past her. She stood before them stately and +scornful, a very queen among women, and little by little the majesty of her +presence and the greatness of her courage hushed them to silence. When there +was quiet at length, she spoke in a clear voice that carried far. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I among my own people of the Otomie?” she asked bitterly, +“or have we lost our path and wandered perchance among some savage +Tlascalan tribe? Listen, people of the Otomie. I have but one voice and none +can reason with a multitude. Choose you a tongue to speak for you, and let him +set out the desire of your hearts.” +</p> + +<p> +Now the tumult began again, for some shouted one name and some another, but in +the end a priest and noble named Maxtla stepped forward, a man of great power +among the Otomie, who, above all had favoured an alliance with the Spaniards +and opposed the sending of an army to aid Guatemoc in the defence of +Tenoctitlan. Nor did he come alone, for with him were four chiefs, whom by +their dress I knew to be Tlascalans and envoys from Cortes. Then my heart sank, +for it was not difficult to guess the object of their coming. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak on, Maxtla,” said Otomie, “for we must hear what there +is for us to answer, and you, people of the Otomie, I pray you keep silence, +that you may judge between us when there is an end of talking.” +</p> + +<p> +Now a great silence fell upon the multitude, who pressed together like sheep in +a pen, and strained their ears to catch the words of Maxtla. +</p> + +<p> +“My speech with you, princess, and the Teule your outlawed husband, shall +be short and sharp,” he began roughly. “A while hence you came +hither to seek an army to aid Cuitlahua, Emperor of the Aztecs, in his struggle +with the Teules, the sons of Quetzal. That army was given you, against the +wishes of many of us, for you won over the council by the honey of your words, +and we who urged caution, or even an alliance with the white men, the children +of god, were overruled. You went hence, and twenty thousand men, the flower of +our people, followed you to Tenoctitlan. Where are they now? I will tell you. +Some two hundred of them have crept back home, the rest fly to and fro through +the air in the gizzards of the <i>zaphilotes</i>, or crouch on the earth in the +bellies of jackals. Death has them all, and you led them to their deaths. Is it +then much that we should seek the lives of you two in payment for those of +twenty thousand of our sons, our husbands, and our fathers? But we do not even +ask this. Here beside me stand ambassadors from Malinche, the captain of the +Teules, who reached our city but an hour ago. This is the demand that they +bring from Malinche, and in his own words: +</p> + +<p> +“‘Deliver back to me Otomie, the daughter of Montezuma, and the +renegade her paramour, who is known as Teule, and who has fled from the justice +due to his crimes, and it shall be well with you, people of the Otomie. Hide +them or refuse to deliver them, and the fate of the City of Pines shall be as +the fate of Tenoctitlan, queen of the valley. Choose then between my love and +my wrath, people of the Otomie. If you obey, the past shall be forgiven and my +yoke will be light upon you; if you refuse, your city shall be stamped flat and +your very name wiped out of the records of the world.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Say, messengers of Malinche, are not these the words of Malinche?” +</p> + +<p> +“They are his very words, Maxtla,” said the spokesman of the +embassy. +</p> + +<p> +Now again there was a tumult among the people, and voices cried, “Give +them up, give them to Malinche as a peace offering.” Otomie stood forward +to speak and it died away, for all desired to hear her words. Then she spoke: +</p> + +<p> +“It seems, people of the Otomie, that I am on my trial before my own +vassals, and my husband with me. Well, I will plead our cause as well as a +woman may, and having the power, you shall judge between us and Maxtla and his +allies, Malinche and the Tlascalans. What is our offence? It is that we came +hither by the command of Cuitlahua to seek your aid in his war with the Teules. +What did I tell you then? I told you that if the people of Anahuac would not +stand together against the white men, they must be broken one by one like the +sticks of an unbound faggot, and cast into the flames. Did I speak lies? Nay, I +spoke truth, for through the treason of her tribes, and chiefly through the +treason of the Tlascalans, Anahuac is fallen, and Tenoctitlan is a ruin sown +with dead like a field with corn.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is true,” cried a voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, people of the Otomie, it is true, but I say that had all the +warriors of the nations of Anahuac played the part that your sons played, the +tale had run otherwise. They are dead, and because of their death you would +deliver us to our foes and yours, but I for one do not mourn them, though among +their number are many of my kin. Nay, be not wroth, but listen. It is better +that they should lie dead in honour, having earned for themselves a wreath of +fame, and an immortal dwelling in the Houses of the Sun, than that they should +live to be slaves, which it seems is your desire, people of the Otomie. There +is no false word in what I said to you. Now the sticks that Malinche has used +to beat out the brains of Guatemoc shall be broken and burnt to cook the pot of +the Teules. Already these false children are his slaves. Have you not heard his +command, that the tribes his allies shall labour in the quarries and the +streets till the glorious city which he has burned rises afresh upon the face +of the waters? Will you not hasten to take your share in the work, people of +the Otomie, the work that knows no rest and no reward except the lash of the +overseer and the curse of the Teule? Surely you will hasten, people of the +mountains! Your hands are shaped to the spade and the trowel, not to the bow +and the spear, and it will be sweeter to toil to do the will and swell the +wealth of Malinche in the sun of the valley or the shadow of the mine, than to +bide here free upon your hills where as yet no foe has set his foot!” +</p> + +<p> +Again she paused, and a murmur of doubt and unrest went through the thousands +who listened. Maxtla stepped forward and would have spoken, but the people +shouted him down, crying: “Otomie, Otomie! Let us hear the words of +Otomie.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you, my people,” she said, “for I have still much to +tell you. Our crime is then, that we drew an army after us to fight against the +Teules. And how did we draw this army? Did I command you to muster your array? +Nay, I set out my case and I said ‘Now choose.’ You chose, and of +your own free will you despatched those glorious companies that now are dead. +My crime is therefore that you chose wrongly as you say, but as I still hold, +most rightly, and because of this crime I and my husband are to be given as a +peace offering to the Teules. Listen: let me tell you something of those wars +in which we have fought before you give us to the Teules and our mouths are +silent for ever. Where shall I begin? I know not. Stay, I bore a +child—had he lived he would have been your prince to-day. That child I +saw starve to death before my eyes, inch by inch and day by day I saw him +starve. But it is nothing; who am I that I should complain because I have lost +my son, when so many of your sons are dead and their blood is required at my +hands? Listen again:” and she went on to tell in burning words of the +horrors of the siege, of the cruelties of the Spaniards, and of the bravery of +the men of the Otomie whom I had commanded. For a full hour she spoke thus, +while all that vast audience hung upon her words. Also she told of the part +that I played in the struggle, and of the deeds which I had done, and now and +again some soldier in the crowd who served under me, and who had escaped the +famine and the massacre, cried out: +</p> + +<p> +“It is true; we saw it with our eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so,” she said, “at last it was finished, at last +Tenoctitlan was a ruin and my cousin and my king, the glorious Guatemoc, lay a +prisoner in the hands of Malinche, and with him my husband Teule, my sister, I +myself, and many another. Malinche swore that he would treat Guatemoc and his +following with all honour. Do you know how he treated him? Within a few days +Guatemoc our king was seated in the chair of torment, while slaves burned him +with hot irons to cause him to declare the hiding place of the treasure of +Montezuma! Ay, you may well cry ‘Shame upon him,’ you shall cry it +yet more loudly before I have done, for know that Guatemoc did not suffer +alone, one lies there who suffered with him and spoke no word, and I also, your +princess, was doomed to torment. We escaped when death was at our door, for I +told my husband that the people of the Otomie had true hearts, and would +shelter us in our sorrow, and for his sake I, Otomie, disguised myself in the +robe of a wanton and fled with him hither. Could I have known what I should +live to see and hear, could I have dreamed that you would receive us thus, I +had died a hundred deaths before I came to stand and plead for pity at your +hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! my people, my people, I beseech of you, make no terms with the false +Teule, but remain bold and free. Your necks are not fitted to the yoke of the +slave, your sons and daughters are of too high a blood to serve the foreigner +in his needs and pleasures. Defy Malinche. Some of our race are dead, but many +thousands remain. Here in your mountain nest you can beat back every Teule in +Anahuac, as in bygone years the false Tlascalans beat back the Aztecs. Then the +Tlascalans were free, now they are a race of serfs. Say, will you share their +serfdom? My people, my people, think not that I plead for myself, or even for +the husband who is more dear to me than aught save honour. Do you indeed dream +that we will suffer you to hand us living to these dogs of Tlascalans, whom +Malinche insults you by sending as his messengers? Look,” and she walked +to where the spear that had been hurled at her lay upon the pavement and lifted +it, “here is a means of death that some friend has sent us, and if you +will not listen to my pleading you shall see it used before your eyes. Then, if +you will, you may send our bodies to Malinche as a peace offering. But for your +own sakes I plead with you. Defy Malinche, and if you must die at last, die as +free men and not as the slaves of the Teule. Behold now his tender mercies, and +see the lot that shall be yours if you take another counsel, the counsel of +Maxtla;” and coming to the litter on which I lay, swiftly Otomie rent my +robes from me leaving me almost naked to the waist, and unwound the bandages +from my wounded limb, then lifted me up so that I rested upon my sound foot. +</p> + +<p> +“Look!” she cried in a piercing voice, and pointing to the scars +and unhealed wounds upon my face and leg; “look on the work of the Teule +and the Tlascalan, see how the foe is dealt with who surrenders to them. Yield +if you will, desert us if you will, but I say that then your own bodies shall +be marked in a like fashion, till not an ounce of gold is left that can +minister to the greed of the Teule, or a man or a maiden who can labour to +satisfy his indolence.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she ceased, and letting me sink gently to the ground, for I could not +stand alone, she stood over me, the spear in her hand, as though waiting to +plunge it to my heart should the people still demand our surrender to the +messengers of Cortes. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +For one instant there was silence, then of a sudden the clamour and the tumult +broke out again ten times more furiously than at first. But it was no longer +aimed at us. Otomie had conquered. Her noble words, her beauty, the tale of our +sorrows and the sight of my torments, had done their work, and the heart of the +people was filled with fury against the Teules who had destroyed their army, +and the Tlascalans that had aided them. Never did the wit and eloquence of a +woman cause a swifter change. They screamed and tore their robes and shook +their weapons in the air. Maxtla strove to speak, but they pulled him down and +presently he was flying for his life. Then they turned upon the Tlascalan +envoys and beat them with sticks, crying: +</p> + +<p> +“This is our answer to Malinche. Run, you dogs, and take it!” till +they were driven from the town. +</p> + +<p> +Now at length the turmoil ceased, and some of the great chiefs came forward +and, kissing the hand of Otomie, said: +</p> + +<p> +“Princess, we your children will guard you to the death, for you have put +another heart into us. You are right; it is better to die free than to live as +slaves.” +</p> + +<p> +“See, my husband,” said Otomie, “I was not mistaken when I +told you that my people were loyal and true. But now we must make ready for +war, for they have gone too far to turn back, and when this tidings comes to +the ears of Malinche he will be like a puma robbed of her young. Now, let us +rest, I am very weary.” +</p> + +<p> +“Otomie,” I answered, “there has lived no greater woman than +you upon this earth.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot tell, husband,” she said, smiling; “if I have won +your praise and safety, it is enough for me.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap32"></a>CHAPTER XXXII<br /> +THE END OF GUATEMOC</h2> + +<p> +Now for a while we dwelt in quiet at the City of Pines, and by slow degrees and +with much suffering I recovered from the wounds that the cruel hand of de +Garcia had inflicted upon me. But we knew that this peace could not last, and +the people of the Otomie knew it also, for had they not scourged the envoys of +Malinche out of the gates of their city? Many of them were now sorry that this +had been done, but it was done, and they must reap as they had sown. +</p> + +<p> +So they made ready for war, and Otomie was the president of their councils, in +which I shared. At length came news that a force of fifty Spaniards with five +thousand Tlascalan allies were advancing on the city to destroy us. Then I took +command of the tribesmen of the Otomie—there were ten thousand or more of +them, all well-armed after their own fashion—and advanced out of the city +till I was two-thirds of the way down the gorge which leads to it. But I did +not bring all my army down this gorge, since there was no room for them to +fight there, and I had another plan. I sent some seven thousand men round the +mountains, of which the secret paths were well known to them, bidding them +climb to the crest of the precipices that bordered either side of the gorge, +and there, at certain places where the cliff is sheer and more than one +thousand feet in height, to make a great provision of stones. +</p> + +<p> +The rest of my army, excepting five hundred whom I kept with me, I armed with +bows and throwing spears, and stationed them in ambush in convenient places +where the sides of the cliff were broken, and in such fashion that rocks from +above could not be rolled on them. Then I sent trusty men as spies to warn me +of the approach of the Spaniards, and others whose mission it was to offer +themselves to them as guides. +</p> + +<p> +Now I thought my plan good, and everything looked well, and yet it missed +failure but by a very little. For Maxtla, our enemy and the friend of the +Spaniards, was in my camp—indeed, I had brought him with me that I might +watch him—and he had not been idle. +</p> + +<p> +For when the Spaniards were half a day’s march from the mouth of the +defile, one of those men whom I had told off to watch their advance, came to me +and made it known that Maxtla had bribed him to go to the leader of the +Spaniards and disclose to him the plan of the ambuscade. This man had taken the +bribe and started on his errand of treachery, but his heart failed him and, +returning, he told me all. Then I caused Maxtla to be seized, and before +nightfall he had paid the price of his wickedness. +</p> + +<p> +On the morning after his death the Spanish array entered the pass. Half-way +down it I met them with my five hundred men and engaged them, but suffered them +to drive us back with some loss. As they followed they grew bolder and we fled +faster, till at length we flew down the defile followed by the Spanish horse. +Now, some three furlongs from its mouth that leads to the City of Pines, this +pass turns and narrows, and here the cliffs are so sheer and high that a +twilight reigns at the foot of them. +</p> + +<p> +Down the narrow way we ran in seeming rout, and after us came the Spaniards +shouting on their saints and flushed with victory. But scarcely had we turned +the corner when they sang another song, for those who were watching a thousand +feet above us gave the signal, and down from on high came a rain of stones and +boulders that darkened the air and crashed among them, crushing many of them. +On they struggled, seeing a wider way in front where the cliffs sloped, and +perhaps half of them won through. But here the archers were waiting, and now, +in the place of stones, arrows were hailed upon them, till at length, utterly +bewildered and unable to strike a blow in their own defence, they turned to fly +towards the open country. This finished the fight, for now we assailed their +flank, and once more the rocks thundered on them from above, and the end of it +was that those who remained of the Spaniards and their Indian allies were +driven in utter rout back to the plain beyond the Pass of Pines. +</p> + +<p> +After this battle the Spaniards troubled us no more for many years except by +threats, and my name grew great among the people of the Otomie. +</p> + +<p> +One Spaniard I rescued from death and afterwards I gave him his liberty. From +him I inquired of the doings of de Garcia or Sarceda, and learned that he was +still in the service of Cortes, but that Marina had been true to her word, and +had brought disgrace upon him because he had threatened to put Otomie to the +torture. Moreover Cortes was angry with him because of our escape, the burden +of which Marina had laid upon his shoulders, hinting that he had taken a bribe +to suffer us to pass the gate. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Of the fourteen years of my life which followed the defeat of the Spaniards I +can speak briefly, for compared to the time that had gone before they were +years of quiet. In them children were born to me and Otomie, three sons, and +these children were my great joy, for I loved them dearly and they loved me. +Indeed, except for the strain of their mother’s blood, they were English +boys and not Indian, for I christened them all, and taught them our English +tongue and faith, and their mien and eyes were more English than Indian, though +their skins were dark. But I had no luck with these dear children of mine, any +more than I have had with that which Lily bore me. Two of them died—one +from a fever that all my skill would not avail to cure, and another by a fall +from a lofty cedar tree, which he climbed searching for a kite’s nest. +Thus of the three of them—since I do not speak now of that infant, my +firstborn, who perished in the siege—there remained to me only the eldest +and best beloved of whom I must tell hereafter. +</p> + +<p> +For the rest, jointly with Otomie I was named <i>cacique</i> of the City of +Pines at a great council that was held after I had destroyed the Spaniards and +their allies, and as such we had wide though not absolute power. By the +exercise of this power, in the end I succeeded in abolishing the horrible rites +of human sacrifice, though, because of this, a large number of the outlying +tribes fell away from our rule, and the enmity of the priests was excited +against me. The last sacrifice, except one only, the most terrible of them all, +of which I will tell afterwards, that was ever celebrated on the +<i>teocalli</i> in front of the palace, took place after the defeat of the +Spaniards in the pass. +</p> + +<p> +When I had dwelt three years in the City of Pines and two sons had been born to +me there, secret messengers arrived that were sent by the friends of Guatemoc, +who had survived the torture and was still a prisoner in the hands of Cortes. +From these messengers we learned that Cortes was about to start upon an +expedition to the Gulf of Honduras, across the country that is now known as +Yucatan, taking Guatemoc and other Aztec nobles with him for he feared to leave +them behind. We heard also that there was much murmuring among the conquered +tribes of Anahuac because of the cruelties and extortions of the Spaniards, and +many thought that the hour had come when a rising against them might be carried +to a successful issue. +</p> + +<p> +This was the prayer of those who sent the envoys, that I should raise a force +of Otomies and travel with it across the country to Yucatan, and there with +others who would be gathered, wait a favourable opportunity to throw myself +upon the Spaniards when they were entangled in the forests and swamps, putting +them to the sword and releasing Guatemoc. Such was the first purpose of the +plot, though it had many others of which it is useless to speak, seeing that +they came to nothing. +</p> + +<p> +When the message had been delivered I shook my head sadly, for I could see no +hope in such a scheme, but the chief of the messengers rose and led me aside, +saying that he had a word for my ear. +</p> + +<p> +“Guatemoc sends these words,” he said; “I hear that you, my +brother, are free and safe with my cousin Otomie in the mountains of the +Otomie. I, alas! linger in the prisons of the Teules like a crippled eagle in a +cage. My brother, if it is in your power to help me, do so I conjure you by the +memory of our ancient friendship, and of all that we have suffered together. +Then a time may still come when I shall rule again in Anahuac, and you shall +sit at my side.” +</p> + +<p> +I heard and my heart was stirred, for then, as to this hour, I loved Guatemoc +as a brother. +</p> + +<p> +“Go back,” I said, “and find means to tell Guatemoc that if I +can save him I will, though I have small hopes that way. Still, let him look +for me in the forests of Yucatan.” +</p> + +<p> +Now when Otomie heard of this promise of mine she was vexed, for she said that +it was foolish and would only end in my losing my life. Still, having given it +she held with me that it must be carried out, and the end of it was that I +raised five hundred men, and with them set out upon my long and toilsome march, +which I timed so as to meet Cortes in the passes of Yucatan. At the last moment +Otomie wished to accompany me, but I forbade it, pointing out that she could +leave neither her children nor her people, and we parted with bitter grief for +the first time. +</p> + +<p> +Of all the hardships that I underwent I will not write. For two and a half +months we struggled on across mountains and rivers and through swamps and +forests, till at last we reached a mighty deserted city, that is called +Palenque by the Indians of those parts, which has been uninhabited for many +generations. This city is the most marvellous place that I have seen in all my +travels, though much of it is hidden in bush, for wherever the traveller +wanders there he finds vast palaces of marble, carven within and without, and +sculptured <i>teocallis</i> and the huge images of grinning gods. Often have I +wondered what nation was strong enough to build such a capital, and who were +the kings that dwelt in it. But these are secrets belonging to the past, and +they cannot be answered till some learned man has found the key to the stone +symbols and writings with which the walls of the buildings are covered over. +</p> + +<p> +In this city I hid with my men, though it was no easy task to persuade them to +take up their habitation among so many ghosts of the departed, not to speak of +the noisome fevers and the wild beasts and snakes that haunted it, for I had +information that the Spaniards would pass through the swamp that lies between +the ruins and the river, and there I hoped to ambush them. But on the eighth +day of my hiding I learned from spies that Cortes had crossed the great river +higher up, and was cutting his way through the forest, for of swamps he had +passed more than enough. So I hurried also to the river intending to cross it. +But all that day and all that night it rained as it can rain nowhere else in +the world that I have seen, till at last we waded on our road knee deep in +water, and when we came to the ford of the river it was to find a wide roaring +flood, that no man could pass in anything less frail than a Yarmouth herring +boat. So there on the bank we must stay in misery, suffering many ills from +fever, lack of food, and plenitude of water, till at length the stream ran +down. +</p> + +<p> +Three days and nights we waited there, and on the fourth morning I made shift +to cross, losing four men by drowning in the passage. Once over, I hid my force +in the bush and reeds, and crept forward with six men only, to see if I could +discover anything of the whereabouts of the Spaniards. Within an hour I struck +the trail that they had cut through the forest, and followed it cautiously. +Presently we came to a spot where the forest was thin, and here Cortes had +camped, for there was heat left in the ashes of his fires, and among them lay +the body of an Indian who had died from sickness. Not fifty yards from this +camp stood a huge <i>ceiba</i>, a tree that has a habit of growth not unlike +that of our English oak, though it is soft wooded and white barked, and will +increase more in bulk in twenty years than any oak may in a hundred. Indeed I +never yet saw an oak tree so large as this <i>ceiba</i> of which I write, +either in girth or in its spread of top, unless it be the Kirby oak or the tree +that is called the “King of Scoto” which grows at Broome, that is +the next parish to this of Ditchingham in Norfolk. On this <i>ceiba</i> tree +many <i>zaphilotes</i> or vultures were perched, and as we crept towards it I +saw what it was they came to seek, for from the lowest branches of the +<i>ceiba</i> three corpses swung in the breeze. “Here are the +Spaniard’s footprints,” I said. “Let us look at them,” +and we passed beneath the shadow of the tree. +</p> + +<p> +As I came, a <i>zaphilote</i> alighted on the head of the body that hung +nearest to me, and its weight, or the wafting of the fowl’s wing, caused +the dead man to turn round so that he came face to face with me. I looked, +started back, then looked again and sank to the earth groaning. For here was he +whom I had come to seek and save, my friend, my brother, Guatemoc the last +emperor of Anahuac. Here he hung in the dim and desolate forest, dead by the +death of a thief, while the vulture shrieked upon his head. I sat bewildered +and horror-stricken, and as I sat I remembered the proud sign of Aztec royalty, +a bird of prey clasping an adder in its claw. There before me was the last of +the stock, and behold! a bird of prey gripped his hair in its talons, a fitting +emblem indeed of the fall of Anahuac and the kings of Anahuac. +</p> + +<p> +I sprang to my feet with an oath, and lifting the bow I held I sent an arrow +through the vulture and it fell to the earth fluttering and screaming. Then I +bade those with me to cut down the corpses of Guatemoc and of the prince of +Tacuba and another noble who hung with him, and hollow a deep grave beneath the +tree. There I laid them, and there I left them to sleep for ever in its +melancholy shadow, and thus for the last time I saw Guatemoc my brother, whom I +came from far to save and found made ready for burial by the Spaniard. +</p> + +<p> +Then I turned my face homewards, for now Anahuac had no king to rescue, but it +chanced that before I went I caught a Tlascalan who could speak Spanish, and +who had deserted from the army of Cortes because of the hardships that he +suffered in their toilsome march. This man was present at the murder of +Guatemoc and his companions, and heard the Emperor’s last words. It seems +that some knave had betrayed to Cortes that an attempt would be made to rescue +the prince, and that thereon Cortes commanded that he should be hung. It seems +also that Guatemoc met his death as he had met the misfortunes of his life, +proudly and without fear. These were his last words: “I did ill, +Malinche, when I held my hand from taking my own life before I surrendered +myself to you. Then my heart told me that all your promises were false, and it +has not lied to me. I welcome my death, for I have lived to know shame and +defeat and torture, and to see my people the slaves of the Teule, but still I +say that God will reward you for this deed.” +</p> + +<p> +Then they murdered him in the midst of a great silence. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +And so farewell to Guatemoc, the most brave, the best and the noblest Indian +that ever breathed, and may the shadow of his tormentings and shameful end lie +deep upon the fame of Cortes for so long as the names of both of them are +remembered among men! +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +For two more months I journeyed homeward and at length I reached the City of +Pines, well though wearied, and having lost only forty men by various +misadventures of travel, to find Otomie in good health, and overjoyed to know +me safe whom she thought never to see again. But when I told her what was the +end of her cousin Guatemoc she grieved bitterly, both for his sake and because +the last hope of the Aztec was gone, and she would not be comforted for many +days. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap33"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII<br /> +ISABELLA DE SIGUENZA IS AVENGED</h2> + +<p> +For many years after the death of Guatemoc I lived with Otomie at peace in the +City of Pines. Our country was poor and rugged, and though we defied the +Spaniards and paid them no tribute, now that Cortes had gone back to Spain, +they had no heart to attempt our conquest. Save some few tribes that lived in +difficult places like ourselves, all Anahuac was in their power, and there was +little to gain except hard blows in the bringing of a remnant of the people of +the Otomie beneath their yoke, so they let us be till a more convenient season. +I say of a remnant of the Otomie, for as time went on many clans submitted to +the Spaniards, till at length we ruled over the City of Pines alone and some +leagues of territory about it. Indeed it was only love for Otomie and respect +for the shadow of her ancient race and name, together with some reverence for +me as one of the unconquerable white men, and for my skill as a general, that +kept our following together. +</p> + +<p> +And now it may be asked was I happy in those years? I had much to make me +happy—no man could have been blessed with a wife more beautiful and +loving, nor one who had exampled her affection by more signal deeds of +sacrifice. This woman of her own free will had lain by my side on the stone of +slaughter; overriding the instincts of her sex she had not shrunk from dipping +her hands in blood to secure my safety, her wit had rescued me in many a +trouble, her love had consoled me in many a sorrow: surely therefore if +gratitude can conquer the heart of man, mine should have been at her feet for +ever and a day, and so indeed it was, and in a sense is still. But can +gratitude, can love itself, or any passion that rules our souls, make a man +forget the house where he was born? Could I, an Indian chief struggling with a +fallen people against an inevitable destiny, forget my youth and all its hopes +and fears, could I forget the valley of the Waveney and that Flower who dwelt +therein, and forsworn though I might be, could I forget the oath that I once +had sworn? Chance had been against me, circumstances overpowered me, and I +think that there are few who, could they read this story, would not find in it +excuse for all that I had done. Certainly there are very few who, standing +where I stood, surrounded as I was by doubts, difficulties, and dangers, would +not have acted as I did. +</p> + +<p> +And yet memory would rise up against me, and time upon time I would lie awake +at night, even by the side of Otomie, and remember and repent, if a man may +repent of that over which he has no control. For I was a stranger in a strange +land, and though my home was there and my children were about me, the longing +for my other home was yet with me, and I could not put away the memory of that +Lily whom I had lost. Her ring was still upon my hand, but nothing else of her +remained to me. I did not know if she were married or single, living or dead. +The gulf between us widened with the widening years, but still the thought of +her went with me like my shadow; it shone across the stormy love of Otomie, I +remembered it even in my children’s kiss. And worst of all I despised +myself for these regrets. Nay, if the worst can have a worse, there was one +here, for though she never spoke of it, I feared that Otomie had read my mind. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Heart to heart,<br /> +Though far apart, +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +so ran the writing upon Lily’s betrothal ring, and so it was with me. Far +apart we were indeed, so far that no bridge that I might imagine could join +that distance, and yet I could not say that we had ceased from being +“heart to heart.” Her heart might throb no more, but mine beat +still toward it. Across the land, across the sea, across the gulf of +death—if she were dead—still in secret must I desire the love that +I had forsworn. +</p> + +<p> +And so the years rolled on, bringing little of change with them, till I grew +sure that here in this far place I should live and die. But that was not to be +my fate. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +If any should read this, the story of my early life, he will remember that the +tale of the death of a certain Isabella de Siguenza is pieced into its motley. +He will remember how this Isabella, in the last moments of her life, called +down a curse upon that holy father who added outrage and insult to her torment, +praying that he might also die by the hands of fanatics and in a worse fashion. +If my memory does not play me false, I have said that this indeed came to pass, +and very strangely. For after the conquest of Anahuac by Cortes, among others +this same fiery priest came from Spain to turn the Indians to the love of God +by torment and by sword. Indeed, of all of those who entered on this mission of +peace, he was the most zealous. The Indian <i>pabas</i> wrought cruelties +enough when, tearing out the victim’s heart, they offered it like incense +to Huitzel or to Quetzal, but they at least dismissed his soul to the Mansions +of the Sun. With the Christian priests the thumb-screw and the stake took the +place of the stone of sacrifice, but the soul which they delivered from its +earthly bondage they consigned to the House of Hell. +</p> + +<p> +Of these priests a certain Father Pedro was the boldest and the most cruel. To +and fro he passed, marking his path with the corpses of idolaters, until he +earned the name of the “Christian Devil.” At length he ventured too +far in his holy fervour, and was seized by a clan of the Otomie that had broken +from our rule upon this very question of human sacrifice, but which was not yet +subjugated by the Spaniards. One day, it was when we had ruled for some +fourteen years in the City of Pines, it came to my knowledge that the +<i>pabas</i> of this clan had captured a Christian priest, and designed to +offer him to the god Tezcat. +</p> + +<p> +Attended by a small guard only, I passed rapidly across the mountains, +purposing to visit the <i>cacique</i> of this clan with whom, although he had +cast off his allegiance to us, I still kept up a show of friendship, and if I +could, to persuade him to release the priest. But swiftly as I travelled the +vengeance of the <i>pabas</i> had been more swift, and I arrived at the village +only to find the “Christian Devil” in the act of being led to +sacrifice before the image of a hideous idol that was set upon a stake and +surrounded with piles of skulls. Naked to the waist, his hands bound behind +him, his grizzled locks hanging about his breast, his keen eyes fixed upon the +faces of his heathen foes in menace rather than in supplication, his thin lips +muttering prayers, Father Pedro passed on to the place of his doom, now and +again shaking his head fiercely to free himself from the torment of the insects +which buzzed about it. +</p> + +<p> +I looked upon him and wondered. I looked again and knew. Suddenly there rose +before my mind a vision of that gloomy vault in Seville, of a woman, young and +lovely, draped in cerements, and of a thin-faced black-robed friar who smote +her upon the lips with his ivory crucifix and cursed her for a blaspheming +heretic. There before me was the man. Isabella de Siguenza had prayed that a +fate like to her own fate should befall him, and it was upon him now. Nor +indeed, remembering all that had been, was I minded to avert it, even if it had +been in my power to do so. I stood by and let the victim pass, but as he passed +I spoke to him in Spanish, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Remember that which it may well be you have forgotten, holy father, +remember now the dying prayer of Isabella de Siguenza whom many years ago you +did to death in Seville.” +</p> + +<p> +The man heard me; he turned livid beneath his bronzed skin and staggered until +I thought that he would have fallen. He stared upon me, with terror in his eye, +to see as he believed a common sight enough, that of an Indian chief rejoicing +at the death of one of his oppressors. +</p> + +<p> +“What devil are you,” he said hoarsely, “sent from hell to +torment me at the last?” +</p> + +<p> +“Remember the dying prayer of Isabella de Siguenza, whom you struck and +cursed,” I answered mocking. “Seek not to know whence I am, but +remember this only, now and for ever.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment he stood still, heedless of the urgings of his tormentors. Then +his courage came to him again, and he cried with a great voice: “Get thee +behind me, Satan, what have I to fear from thee? I remember that dead sinner +well—may her soul have peace—and her curse has fallen upon me. I +rejoice that it should be so, for on the further side of yonder stone the gates +of heaven open to my sight. Get thee behind me, Satan, what have I to fear from +thee?” +</p> + +<p> +Crying thus he staggered forward saying, “O God, into Thy hand I commend +my spirit!” May his soul have peace also, for if he was cruel, at least +he was brave, and did not shrink beneath those torments which he had inflicted +on many others. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Now this was a little matter, but its results were large. Had I saved Father +Pedro from the hands of the <i>pabas</i> of the Otomie, it is likely enough +that I should not to-day be writing this history here in the valley of the +Waveney. I do not know if I could have saved him, I only know that I did not +try, and that because of his death great sorrows came upon me. Whether I was +right or wrong, who can say? Those who judge my story may think that in this as +in other matters I was wrong; had they seen Isabella de Siguenza die within her +living tomb, certainly they would hold that I was right. But for good or ill, +matters came about as I have written. +</p> + +<p> +And it came about also, that the new viceroy sent from Spain was stirred to +anger at the murder of the friar by the rebellious and heathen people of the +Otomie, and set himself to take vengeance on the tribe that wrought the deed. +</p> + +<p> +Soon tidings reached me that a great force of Tlascalan and other Indians were +being collected to put an end to us, root and branch, and that with them +marched more than a hundred Spaniards, the expedition being under the command +of none other than the Captain Bernal Diaz, that same soldier whom I had spared +in the slaughter of the <i>noche triste</i>, and whose sword to this day hung +at my side. +</p> + +<p> +Now we must needs prepare our defence, for our only hope lay in boldness. Once +before the Spaniards had attacked us with thousands of their allies, and of +their number but few had lived to look again on the camp of Cortes. What had +been done could be done a second time—so said Otomie in the pride of her +unconquerable heart. But alas! in fourteen years things had changed much with +us. Fourteen years ago we held sway over a great district of mountains, whose +rude clans would send up their warriors in hundreds at our call. Now these +clans had broken from our yoke, which was acknowledged by the people of the +City of Pines alone and those of some adjacent villages. When the Spaniards +came down on me the first time, I was able to muster an army of ten thousand +soldiers to oppose them, now with much toil I could collect no more than +between two and three thousand men, and of these some slipped away as the hour +of danger drew nigh. +</p> + +<p> +Still I must put a bold face on my necessities, and make what play I might with +such forces as lay at my command, although in my heart I feared much for the +issue. But of my fears I said nothing to Otomie, and if she felt any she, on +her part, buried them in her breast. In truth I do believe her faith in me was +so great, that she thought my single wit enough to over-match all the armies of +the Spaniards. +</p> + +<p> +Now at length the enemy drew near, and I set my battle as I had done fourteen +years before, advancing down the pass by which alone they could approach us +with a small portion of my force, and stationing the remainder in two equal +companies upon either brow of the beetling cliffs that overhung the road, +having command to overwhelm the Spaniards with rocks, hurled upon them from +above, so soon as I should give the signal by flying before them down the pass. +Other measures I took also, for seeing that do what I would it well might +happen that we should be driven back upon the city, I caused its walls and +gates to be set in order, and garrisoned them. As a last resource too, I stored +the lofty summit of the <i>teocalli</i>, which now that sacrifices were no +longer offered there was used as an arsenal for the material of war, with water +and provisions, and fortified its sides by walls studded with volcanic glass +and by other devices, till it seemed well nigh impossible that any should be +able to force them while a score of men still lived to offer a defence. +</p> + +<p> +It was on one night in the early summer, having bid farewell to Otomie and +taking my son with me, for he was now of an age when, according to the Indian +customs, lads are brought face to face with the dangers of battle, that I +despatched the appointed companies to their stations on the brow of the +precipice, and sallied into the darksome mouth of the pass with the few hundred +men who were left to me. I knew by my spies that the Spaniards who were +encamped on the further side would attempt its passage an hour before the +daylight, trusting to finding me asleep. And sure enough, on the following +morning, so early that the first rays of the sun had not yet stained the lofty +snows of the volcan Xaca that towered behind us, a distant murmuring which +echoed through the silence of the night told me that the enemy had begun his +march. I moved down the pass to meet him easily enough; there was no stone in +it that was not known to me and my men. But with the Spaniards it was +otherwise, for many of them were mounted, and moreover they dragged with them +two carronades. Time upon time these heavy guns remained fast in the +boulder-strewn roadway, for in the darkness the slaves who drew them could find +no places for the wheels to run on, till in the end the captains of the army, +unwilling to risk a fight at so great a disadvantage, ordered them to halt +until the day broke. +</p> + +<p> +At length the dawn came, and the light fell dimly down the depths of the vast +gulf, revealing the long ranks of the Spaniards clad in their bright armour, +and the yet more brilliant thousands of their native allies, gorgeous in their +painted helms and their glittering coats of feathers. They saw us also, and +mocking at our poor array, their column twisted forward like some huge snake in +the crack of a rock, till they came to within a hundred paces of us. Then the +Spaniards raised their battle cry of Saint Peter, and lance at rest, they +charged us with their horse. We met them with a rain of arrows that checked +them a little, but not for long. Soon they were among us, driving us back at +the point of their lances, and slaying many, for our Indian weapons could work +little harm to men and horses clad in armour. Therefore we must fly, and +indeed, flight was my plan, for by it I hoped to lead the foe to that part of +the defile where the road was narrow and the cliffs sheer, and they might be +crushed by the stones which should hail on them from above. All went well; we +fled, the Spaniards followed flushed with victory, till they were fairly in the +trap. Now a single boulder came rushing from on high, and falling on a horse, +killed him, then rebounding, carried dismay and wounds to those behind. Another +followed, and yet another, and I grew glad at heart, for it seemed to me that +the danger was over, and that for the second time my strategy had succeeded. +</p> + +<p> +But suddenly from above there came a sound other than that of the rushing +rocks, the sound of men joining in battle, that grew and grew till the air was +full of its tumult, then something whirled down from on high. I looked; it was +no stone, but a man, one of my own men. Indeed he was but as the first +rain-drop of a shower. +</p> + +<p> +Alas! I saw the truth; I had been outwitted. The Spaniards, old in war, could +not be caught twice by such a trick; they advanced down the pass with the +carronades indeed because they must, but first they sent great bodies of men to +climb the mountain under shelter of the night, by secret paths which had been +discovered to them, and there on its summit to deal with those who would stay +their passage by hurling rocks upon them. And in truth they dealt with them but +too well, for my men of the Otomie, lying on the verge of the cliff among the +scrub of aloes and other prickly plants that grew there, watching the advance +of the foe beneath, and never for one moment dreaming that foes might be upon +their flank, were utterly surprised. Scarcely had they time to seize their +weapons, which were laid at their sides that they might have the greater +freedom in the rolling of heavy masses of rock, when the enemy, who outnumbered +them by far, were upon them with a yell. Then came a fight, short but decisive. +</p> + +<p> +Too late I saw it all, and cursed the folly that had not provided against such +chances, for, indeed, I never thought it possible that the forces of the +Spaniards could find the secret trails upon the further side of the mountain, +forgetting that treason makes most things possible. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap34"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV<br /> +THE SIEGE OF THE CITY OF PINES</h2> + +<p> +The battle was already lost. From a thousand feet above us swelled the shouts +of victory. The battle was lost, and yet I must fight on. As swiftly as I could +I withdrew those who were left to me to a certain angle in the path, where a +score of desperate men might, for a while, hold back the advance of an army. +Here I called for some to stand at my side, and many answered to my call. Out +of them I chose fifty men or more, bidding the rest run hard for the City of +Pines, there to warn those who were left in garrison that the hour of danger +was upon them, and, should I fall, to conjure Otomie my wife to make the best +resistance in her power, till, if it were possible, she could wring from the +Spaniards a promise of safety for herself, her child, and her people. Meanwhile +I would hold the pass so that time might be given to shut the gates and man the +walls. With the main body of those who were left to me I sent back my son, +though he prayed hard to be allowed to stay with me. But, seeing nothing before +me except death, I refused him. +</p> + +<p> +Presently all were gone, and fearing a snare the Spaniards came slowly and +cautiously round the angle of the rock, and seeing so few men mustered to meet +them halted, for now they were certain that we had set a trap for them, since +they did not think it possible that such a little band would venture to oppose +their array. Here the ground lay so that only a few of them could come against +us at one time, nor could they bring their heavy pieces to bear on us, and even +their arquebusses helped them but little. Also the roughness of the road forced +them to dismount from their horses, so that if they would attack at all, it +must be on foot. This in the end they chose to do. Many fell upon either side, +though I myself received no wound, but in the end they drove us back. Inch by +inch they drove us back, or rather those who were left of us, at the point of +their long lances, till at length they forced us into the mouth of the pass, +that is some five furlongs distant from what was once the wall of the City of +Pines. +</p> + +<p> +To fight further was of no avail, here we must choose between death and flight, +and as may be guessed, for wives’ and children’s sake if not for +our own, we chose to fly. Across the plain we fled like deer, and after us came +the Spaniards and their allies like hounds. Happily the ground was rough with +stones so that their horses could not gallop freely, and thus it happened that +some of us, perhaps twenty, gained the gates in safety. Of my army not more +than five hundred in all lived to enter them again, and perchance there were as +many left within the city. +</p> + +<p> +The heavy gates swung to, and scarcely were they barred with the massive beams +of oak, when the foremost of the Spaniards rode up to them. My bow was still in +my hand and there was one arrow left in my quiver. I set it on the string, and +drawing the bow with my full strength, I loosed the shaft through the bars of +the gate at a young and gallant looking cavalier who rode the first of all. It +struck him truly between the joint of his helm and neck piece, and stretching +his arms out wide he fell backward over the crupper of his horse, to move no +more. Then they withdrew, but presently one of their number came forward +bearing a flag of truce. He was a knightly looking man, clad in rich armour, +and watching him, it seemed to me that there was something in his bearing, and +in the careless grace with which he sat his horse, that was familiar to me. +Reining up in front of the gates he raised his visor and began to speak. +</p> + +<p> +I knew him at once; before me was de Garcia, my ancient enemy, of whom I had +neither heard nor seen anything for hard upon twelve years. Time had touched +him indeed, which was scarcely to be wondered at, for now he was a man of sixty +or more. His peaked chestnut-coloured beard was streaked with grey, his cheeks +were hollow, and at that distance his lips seemed like two thin red lines, but +the eyes were as they had always been, bright and piercing, and the same cold +smile played about his mouth. Without a doubt it was de Garcia, who now, as at +every crisis of my life, appeared to shape my fortunes to some evil end, and I +felt as I looked upon him that the last and greatest struggle between us was at +hand, and that before many days were sped, the ancient and accumulated hate of +one or of both of us would be buried for ever in the silence of death. How ill +had fate dealt with me, now as always. But a few minutes before, when I set +that arrow on the string, I had wavered for a moment, doubting whether to loose +it at the young cavalier who lay dead, or at the knight who rode next to him; +and see! I had slain one with whom I had no quarrel and left my enemy unharmed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ho there!” cried de Garcia in Spanish. “I desire to speak +with the leader of the rebel Otomie on behalf of the Captain Bernal Diaz, who +commands this army.” +</p> + +<p> +Now I mounted on the wall by means of a ladder which was at hand, and answered, +“Speak on, I am the man you seek.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know Spanish well, friend,” said de Garcia, starting and +looking at me keenly beneath his bent brows. “Say now, where did you +learn it? And what is your name and lineage?” +</p> + +<p> +“I learned it, Juan de Garcia, from a certain Donna Luisa, whom you knew +in your days of youth. And my name is Thomas Wingfield.” +</p> + +<p> +Now de Garcia reeled in his saddle and swore a great oath. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother of God!” he said, “years ago I was told that you had +taken up your abode among some savage tribe, but since then I have been far, to +Spain and back indeed, and I deemed that you were dead, Thomas Wingfield. My +luck is good in truth, for it has been one of the great sorrows of my life that +you have so often escaped me, renegade. Be sure that this time there shall be +no escape.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know well that there will be no escape for one or other of us, Juan de +Garcia,” I answered. “Now we play the last round of the game, but +do not boast, for God alone knows to whom the victory shall be given. You have +prospered long, but a day may be at hand when your prosperity shall cease with +your breath. To your errand, Juan de Garcia.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment he sat silent, pulling at his pointed beard, and watching him I +thought that I could see the shadow of a half-forgotten fear creep into his +eyes. If so, it was soon gone, for lifting his head, he spoke boldly and +clearly. +</p> + +<p> +“This is my message to you, Thomas Wingfield, and to such of the Otomie +dogs with whom you herd as we have left alive to-day. The Captain Bernal Diaz +offers you terms on behalf of his Excellency the viceroy.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are his terms?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Merciful enough to such pestilent rebels and heathens,” he +answered sneering. “Surrender your city without condition, and the +viceroy, in his clemency, will accept the surrender. Nevertheless, lest you +should say afterwards that faith has been broken with you, be it known to you, +that you shall not go unpunished for your many crimes. This is the punishment +that shall be inflicted on you. All those who had part or parcel in the +devilish murder of that holy saint Father Pedro, shall be burned at the stake, +and the eyes of all those who beheld it shall be put out. Such of the leaders +of the Otomie as the judges may select shall be hanged publicly, among them +yourself, Cousin Wingfield, and more particularly the woman Otomie, daughter of +Montezuma the late king. For the rest, the dwellers in the City of Pines must +surrender their wealth into the treasury of the viceroy, and they themselves, +men, women and children, shall be led from the city and be distributed +according to the viceroy’s pleasure upon the estates of such of the +Spanish settlers as he may select, there to learn the useful arts of husbandry +and mining. These are the conditions of surrender, and I am commanded to say +that an hour is given you in which to decide whether you accept or reject +them.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if we reject them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then the Captain Bernal Diaz has orders to sack and destroy this city, +and having given it over for twelve hours to the mercy of the Tlascalans and +other faithful Indian allies, to collect those who may be left living within +it, and bring them to the city of Mexico, there to be sold as slaves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” I said; “you shall have your answer in an +hour.” Now, leaving the gate guarded, I hurried to the palace, sending +messengers as I went to summon such of the council of the city as remained +alive. At the door of the palace I met Otomie, who greeted me fondly, for after +hearing of our disaster she had hardly looked to see me again. +</p> + +<p> +“Come with me to the Hall of Assembly,” I said; “there I will +speak to you.” +</p> + +<p> +We went to the hall, where the members of the council were already gathering. +So soon as the most of them were assembled, there were but eight in all, I +repeated to them the words of de Garcia without comment. Then Otomie spoke, as +being the first in rank she had a right to do. Twice before I had heard her +address the people of the Otomie upon these questions of defence against the +Spaniards. The first time, it may be remembered, was when we came as envoys +from Cuitlahua, Montezuma her father’s successor, to pray the aid of the +children of the mountain against Cortes and the Teules. The second time was +when, some fourteen years ago, we had returned to the City of Pines as +fugitives after the fall of Tenoctitlan, and the populace, moved to fury by the +destruction of nearly twenty thousand of their soldiers, would have delivered +us as a peace offering into the hands of the Spaniards. +</p> + +<p> +On each of these occasions Otomie had triumphed by her eloquence, by the +greatness of her name and the majesty of her presence. Now things were far +otherwise, and even had she not scorned to use them, such arts would have +availed us nothing in this extremity. Now her great name was but a shadow, one +of many waning shadows cast by an empire whose glory had gone for ever; now she +used no passionate appeal to the pride and traditions of a doomed race, now she +was no longer young and the first splendour of her womanhood had departed from +her. And yet, as with her son and mine at her side, she rose to address those +seven councillors, who, haggard with fear and hopeless in the grasp of fate, +crouched in silence before her, their faces buried in their hands, I thought +that Otomie had never seemed more beautiful, and that her words, simple as they +were, had never been more eloquent. +</p> + +<p> +“Friends,” she said, “you know the disaster that has +overtaken us. My husband has given you the message of the Teules. Our case is +desperate. We have but a thousand men at most to defend this city, the home of +our forefathers, and we alone of all the peoples of Anahuac still dare to stand +in arms against the white men. Years ago I said to you, Choose between death +with honour and life with shame! To-day again I say to you, Choose! For me and +mine there is no choice left, since whatever you decide, death must be our +portion. But with you it is otherwise. Will you die fighting, or will you and +your children serve your remaining years as slaves?” +</p> + +<p> +For a while the seven consulted together, then their spokesman answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Otomie, and you, Teule, we have followed your counsels for many years +and they have brought us but little luck. We do not blame you, for the gods of +Anahuac have deserted us as we have deserted them, and the gods alone stand +between men and their evil destiny. Whatever misfortunes we may have borne, you +have shared in them, and so it is now at the end. Nor will we go back upon our +words in this the last hour of the people of the Otomie. We have chosen; we +have lived free with you, and still free, we will die with you. For like you we +hold that it is better for us and ours to perish as free men than to drag out +our days beneath the yoke of the Teule.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is well,” said Otomie; “now nothing remains for us except +to seek a death so glorious that it shall be sung of in after days. Husband, +you have heard the answer of the council. Let the Spaniards hear it +also.” +</p> + +<p> +So I went back to the wall, a white flag in my hand, and presently an envoy +advanced from the Spanish camp to speak with me—not de Garcia, but +another. I told him in few words that those who remained alive of the people of +the Otomie would die beneath the ruins of their city like the children of +Tenoctitlan before them, but that while they had a spear to throw and an arm to +throw it, they would never yield to the tender mercies of the Spaniard. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The envoy returned to the camp, and within an hour the attack began. Bringing +up their pieces of ordnance, the Spaniards set them within little more than an +hundred paces of the gates, and began to batter us with iron shot at their +leisure, for our spears and arrows could scarcely harm them at such a distance. +Still we were not idle, for seeing that the wooden gates must soon be down, we +demolished houses on either side of them and filled up the roadway with stones +and rubbish. At the rear of the heap thus formed I caused a great trench to be +dug, which could not be passed by horsemen and ordnance till it was filled in +again. All along the main street leading to the great square of the +<i>teocalli</i> I threw up other barricades, protected in the front and rear by +dykes cut through the roadway, and in case the Spaniards should try to turn our +flank and force a passage through the narrow and tortuous lanes to the right +and left, I also barricaded the four entrances to the great square or market +place. +</p> + +<p> +Till nightfall the Spaniards bombarded the shattered remains of the gates and +the earthworks behind them, doing no great damage beyond the killing of about a +score of people by cannon shot and arquebuss balls. But they attempted no +assault that day. At length the darkness fell and their fire ceased, but not so +our labours. Most of the men must guard the gates and the weak spots in the +walls, and therefore the building of the barricades was left chiefly to the +women, working under my command and that of my captains. Otomie herself took a +share in the toil, an example that was followed by every lady and indeed by +every woman in the city, and there were many of them, for the women outnumbered +the men among the Otomie, and moreover not a few of them had been made widows +on that same day. +</p> + +<p> +It was a strange sight to see them in the glare of hundreds of torches split +from the resin pine that gave its name to the city, as all night long they +moved to and fro in lines, each of them staggering beneath the weight of a +basket of earth or a heavy stone, or dug with wooden spades at the hard soil, +or laboured at the pulling down of houses. They never complained, but worked on +sullenly and despairingly; no groan or tear broke from them, no, not even from +those whose husbands and sons had been hurled that morning from the precipices +of the pass. They knew that resistance would be useless and that their doom was +at hand, but no cry arose among them of surrender to the Spaniards. Those of +them who spoke of the matter at all said with Otomie, that it was better to die +free than to live as slaves, but the most did not speak; the old and the young, +mother, wife, widow, and maid, they laboured in silence and the children +laboured at their sides. +</p> + +<p> +Looking at them it came into my mind that these silent patient women were +inspired by some common and desperate purpose, that all knew of, but which none +of them chose to tell. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you work so hard for your masters the Teules?” cried a man in +bitter mockery, as a file of them toiled past beneath their loads of stone. +</p> + +<p> +“Fool!” answered their leader, a young and lovely lady of rank; +“do the dead labour?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said this ill jester, “but such as you are too fair +for the Teules to kill, and your years of slavery will be many. Say, how shall +you escape them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fool!” answered the lady again, “does fire die from lack of +fuel only, and must every man live till age takes him? We shall escape them +thus,” and casting down the torch she carried, she trod it into the earth +with her sandal, and went on with her load. Then I was sure that they had some +purpose, though I did not guess how desperate it was, and Otomie would tell me +nothing of this woman’s secret. +</p> + +<p> +“Otomie,” I said to her that night, when we met by chance, “I +have ill news for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“It must be bad indeed, husband, to be so named in such an hour,” +she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“De Garcia is among our foes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I knew it, husband.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you know it?” +</p> + +<p> +“By the hate written in your eyes,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems that his hour of triumph is at hand,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, beloved, not <i>his</i> but <i>yours</i>. You shall triumph over de +Garcia, but victory will cost you dear. I know it in my heart; ask me not how +or why. See, the Queen puts on her crown,” and she pointed to the volcan +Xaca, whose snows grew rosy with the dawn, “and you must go to the gate, +for the Spaniards will soon be stirring.” +</p> + +<p> +As Otomie spoke I heard a trumpet blare without the walls. Hurrying to the +gates by the first light of day, I could see that the Spaniards were mustering +their forces for attack. They did not come at once, however, but delayed till +the sun was well up. Then they began to pour a furious fire upon our defences, +that reduced the shattered beams of the gates to powder, and even shook down +the crest of the earthwork beyond them. Suddenly the firing ceased and again a +trumpet called. Now they charged us in column, a thousand or more Tlascalans +leading the van, followed by the Spanish force. In two minutes I, who awaited +them beyond it together with some three hundred warriors of the Otomie, saw +their heads appear over the crest of the earthwork, and the fight began. Thrice +we drove them back with our spears and arrows, but at the fourth charge the +wave of men swept over our defence, and poured into the dry ditch beyond. +</p> + +<p> +Now we were forced to fly to the next earthwork, for we could not hope to fight +so many in the open street, whither, so soon as a passage had been made for +their horse and ordnance, the enemy followed us. Here the fight was renewed, +and this barricade being very strong, we held it for hard upon two hours with +much loss to ourselves and to the Spanish force. Again we retreated and again +we were assailed, and so the struggle went on throughout the live-long day. +Every hour our numbers grew fewer and our arms fainter, but still we fought on +desperately. At the two last barricades, hundreds of the women of the Otomie +fought by the sides of their husbands and their brothers. +</p> + +<p> +The last earthwork was captured by the Spaniards just as the sun sank, and +under the shadow of approaching darkness those of us that remained alive fled +to the refuge which we had prepared upon the <i>teocalli</i>, nor was there any +further fighting during that night. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap35"></a>CHAPTER XXXV<br /> +THE LAST SACRIFICE OF THE WOMEN OF THE OTOMIE</h2> + +<p> +Here in the courtyard of the <i>teocalli</i>, by the light of burning houses, +for as they advanced the Spaniards fired the town, we mustered our array to +find that there were left to us in all some four hundred fighting men, together +with a crowd of nearly two thousand women and many children. Now although this +<i>teocalli</i> was not quite so lofty as that of the great temple of Mexico, +its sides were steeper and everywhere faced with dressed stone, and the open +space upon its summit was almost as great, measuring indeed more than a hundred +paces every way. This area was paved with blocks of marble, and in its centre +stood the temple of the war-god, where his statue still sat, although no +worship had been offered to him for many years; the stone of sacrifice, the +altar of fire, and the storehouses of the priests. Moreover in front of the +temple, and between it and the stone of sacrifice, was a deep cemented hole the +size of a large room, which once had been used as a place for the safe keeping +of grain in times of famine. This pit I had caused to be filled with water +borne with great toil to the top of the pyramid, and in the temple itself I +stored a great quantity of food, so that we had no cause to fear present death +from thirst or famine. +</p> + +<p> +But now we were face to face with a new trouble. Large as was the summit of the +pyramid, it would not give shelter to a half of our numbers, and if we desired +to defend it some of the multitude herded round its base must seek refuge +elsewhere. Calling the leaders of the people together, I put the matter before +them in few words, leaving them to decide what must be done. They in turn +consulted among themselves, and at length gave me this answer: that it was +agreed that all the wounded and aged there, together with most of the children, +and with them any others who wished to go, should leave the <i>teocalli</i> +that night, to find their way out of the city if they could, or if not, to +trust to the mercy of the Spaniards. +</p> + +<p> +I said that it was well, for death was on every side, and it mattered little +which way men turned to meet it. So they were sorted out, fifteen hundred or +more of them, and at midnight the gates of the courtyard were thrown open, and +they left. Oh! it was dreadful to see the farewells that took place in that +hour. Here a daughter clung to the neck of her aged father, here husbands and +wives bade each other a last farewell, here mothers kissed their little +children, and on every side rose up the sounds of bitter agony, the agony of +those who parted for ever. I buried my face in my hands, wondering as I had +often wondered before, how a God whose name is Mercy can bear to look upon +sights that break the hearts of sinful men to witness. +</p> + +<p> +Presently I raised my eyes and spoke to Otomie, who was at my side, asking her +if she would not send our son away with the others, passing him off as the +child of common people. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, husband,” she answered, “it is better for him to die +with us, than to live as a slave of the Spaniards.” +</p> + +<p> +At length it was over and the gates had shut behind the last of them. Soon we +heard the distant challenge of the Spanish sentries as they perceived them, and +the sounds of some shots followed by cries. +</p> + +<p> +“Doubtless the Tlascalans are massacring them,” I said. But it was +not so. When a few had been killed the leaders of the Spaniards found that they +waged war upon an unarmed mob, made up for the most part of aged people, women +and children, and their commander, Bernal Diaz, a merciful man if a rough one, +ordered that the onslaught should cease. Indeed he did more, for when all the +able-bodied men, together with such children as were sufficiently strong to +bear the fatigues of travel, had been sorted out to be sold as slaves, he +suffered the rest of that melancholy company to depart whither they would. And +so they went, though what became of them I do not know. +</p> + +<p> +That night we spent in the courtyard of the <i>teocalli</i>, but before it was +light I caused the women and children who remained with us, perhaps some six +hundred in all, for very few of the former who were unmarried, or who being +married were still young and comely, had chosen to desert our refuge, to ascend +the pyramid, guessing that the Spaniards would attack us at dawn. I stayed, +however, with the three hundred fighting men that were left to me, a hundred or +more having thrown themselves upon the mercy of the Spaniards, with the +refugees, to await the Spanish onset under shelter of the walls of the +courtyard. At dawn it began, and by midday, do what we could to stay it, the +wall was stormed, and leaving nearly a hundred dead and wounded behind me, I +was driven to the winding way that led to the summit of the pyramid. Here they +assaulted us again, but the road was steep and narrow, and their numbers gave +them no great advantage on it, so that the end of it was that we beat them back +with loss, and there was no more fighting that day. +</p> + +<p> +The night which followed we spent upon the summit of the pyramid, and for my +part I was so weary that after I had eaten I never slept more soundly. Next +morning the struggle began anew; and this time with better success to the +Spaniards. Inch by inch under cover of the heavy fire from their arquebusses +and pieces, they forced us upward and backward. All day long the fight +continued upon the narrow road that wound from stage to stage of the pyramid. +At length, as the sun sank, a company of our foes, their advance guard, with +shouts of victory, emerged upon the flat summit, and rushed towards the temple +in its centre. All this while the women had been watching, but now one of them +sprang up, crying with a loud voice: +</p> + +<p> +“Seize them; they are but few.” +</p> + +<p> +Then with a fearful scream of rage, the mob of women cast themselves upon the +weary Spaniards and Tlascalans, bearing them down by the weight of their +numbers. Many of them were slain indeed, but in the end the women conquered, +ay, and made their victims captive, fastening them with cords to the rings of +copper that were let into the stones of the pavement, to which in former days +those doomed to sacrifice had been secured, when their numbers were so great +that the priests feared lest they should escape. I and the soldiers with me +watched this sight wondering, then I cried out: +</p> + +<p> +“What! men of the Otomie, shall it be said that our women outdid us in +courage?” and without further ado, followed by a hundred or more of my +companions, I rushed desperately down the steep and narrow path. +</p> + +<p> +At the first corner we met the main array of Spaniards and their allies, coming +up slowly, for now they were sure of victory, and so great was the shock of our +encounter that many of them were hurled over the edge of the path, to roll down +the steep sides of the pyramid. Seeing the fate of their comrades, those behind +them halted, then began to retreat. Presently the weight of our rush struck +them also, and they in turn pushed upon those below, till at length panic +seized them, and with a great crying the long line of men that wound round and +round the pyramid from its base almost to its summit, sought their safety in +flight. But some of them found none, for the rush of those above pressing with +ever increasing force upon their friends below, drove many to their death, +since here on the pyramid there was nothing to cling to, and if once a man lost +his foothold on the path, his fall was broken only when his body reached the +court beneath. Thus in fifteen short minutes all that the Spaniards had won +this day was lost again, for except the prisoners at its summit, none of them +remained alive upon the <i>teocalli</i>; indeed so great a terror took them, +that bearing with them their dead and wounded, they retreated under cover of +the night to their camp without the walls of the courtyard. +</p> + +<p> +Now, weary but triumphant, we wended back towards the crest of the pyramid, but +as I turned the corner of the second angle that was perhaps nearly one hundred +feet above the level of the ground, a thought struck me and I set those with me +at a task. Loosening the blocks of stone that formed the edge of the roadway, +we rolled them down the sides of the pyramid, and so laboured on removing layer +upon layer of stones and of the earth beneath, till where the path had been, +was nothing but a yawning gap thirty feet or more in width. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” I said, surveying our handiwork by the light of the rising +moon, “that Spaniard who would win our nest must find wings to fly +with.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, Teule,” answered one at my side, “but say what wings +shall <i>we</i> find?” +</p> + +<p> +“The wings of Death,” I said grimly, and went on my upward way. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It was near midnight when I reached the temple, for the labour of levelling the +road took many hours and food had been sent to us from above. As I drew nigh I +was amazed to hear the sound of solemn chanting, and still more was I amazed +when I saw that the doors of the temple of Huitzel were open, and that the +sacred fire which had not shone there for many years once more flared fiercely +upon his altar. I stood still listening. Did my ears trick me, or did I hear +the dreadful song of sacrifice? Nay, again its wild refrain rang out upon the +silence: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +To Thee we sacrifice!<br /> +Save us, O Huitzel,<br /> +Huitzel, lord god! +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +I rushed forward, and turning the angle of the temple I found myself face to +face with the past, for there as in bygone years were the <i>pabas</i> clad in +their black robes, their long hair hanging about their shoulders, the dreadful +knife of glass fixed in their girdles; there to the right of the stone of +sacrifice were those destined to the god, and there being led towards it was +the first victim, a Tlascalan prisoner, his limbs held by men clad in the dress +of priests. Near him, arrayed in the scarlet robe of sacrifice, stood one of my +own captains, who I remembered had once served as a priest of Tezcat before +idolatry was forbidden in the City of Pines, and around were a wide circle of +women that watched, and from whose lips swelled the awful chant. +</p> + +<p> +Now I understood it all. In their last despair, maddened by the loss of +fathers, husbands, and children, by their cruel fate, and standing face to face +with certain death, the fire of the old faith had burnt up in their savage +hearts. There was the temple, there were the stone and implements of sacrifice, +and there to their hands were the victims taken in war. They would glut a last +revenge, they would sacrifice to their fathers’ gods as their fathers had +done before them, and the victims should be taken from their own victorious +foes. Ay, they must die, but at the least they would seek the Mansions of the +Sun made holy by the blood of the accursed Teule. +</p> + +<p> +I have said that it was the women who sang this chant and glared so fiercely +upon the victims, but I have not yet told all the horror of what I saw, for in +the fore-front of their circle, clad in white robes, the necklet of great +emeralds, Guatemoc’s gift, flashing upon her breast, the plumes of royal +green set in her hair, giving the time of the death chant with a little wand, +stood Montezuma’s daughter, Otomie my wife. Never had I seen her look so +beautiful or so dreadful. It was not Otomie whom I saw, for where was the +tender smile and where the gentle eyes? Here before me was a living Vengeance +wearing the shape of woman. In an instant I guessed the truth, though I did not +know it all. Otomie, who although she was not of it, had ever favoured the +Christian faith, Otomie, who for years had never spoken of these dreadful rites +except with anger, whose every act was love and whose every word was kindness, +was still in her soul an idolater and a savage. She had hidden this side of her +heart from me well through all these years, perchance she herself had scarcely +known its secret, for but twice had I seen anything of the buried fierceness of +her blood. The first time was when Marina had brought her a certain robe in +which she might escape from the camp of Cortes, and she had spoken to Marina of +that robe; and the second when on this same day she had played her part to the +Tlascalan, and had struck him down with her own hand as he bent over me. +</p> + +<p> +All this and much more passed through my mind in that brief moment, while +Otomie marked the time of the death chant, and the <i>pabas</i> dragged the +Tlascalan to his doom. +</p> + +<p> +The next I was at her side. +</p> + +<p> +“What passes here?” I asked sternly. +</p> + +<p> +Otomie looked on me with a cold wonder, and empty eyes as though she did not +know me. +</p> + +<p> +“Go back, white man,” she answered; “it is not lawful for +strangers to mingle in our rites.” +</p> + +<p> +I stood bewildered, not knowing what to do, while the flame burned and the +chant went up before the effigy of Huitzel, of the demon Huitzel awakened after +many years of sleep. +</p> + +<p> +Again and yet again the solemn chant arose, Otomie beating time with her little +rod of ebony, and again and yet again the cry of triumph rose to the silent +stars. +</p> + +<p> +Now I awoke from my dream, for as an evil dream it seemed to me, and drawing my +sword I rushed towards the priest at the altar to cut him down. But though the +men stood still the women were too quick for me. Before I could lift the sword, +before I could even speak a word, they had sprung upon me like the jaguars of +their own forests, and like jaguars they hissed and growled into my ear: +</p> + +<p> +“Get you gone, Teule,” they said, “lest we stretch you on the +stone with your brethren.” And still hissing they pushed me thence. +</p> + +<p> +I drew back and thought for a while in the shadow of the temple. My eye fell +upon the long line of victims awaiting their turn of sacrifice. There were +thirty and one of them still alive, and of these five were Spaniards. I noted +that the Spaniards were chained the last of all the line. It seemed that the +murderers would keep them till the end of the feast, indeed I discovered that +they were to be offered up at the rising of the sun. How could I save them, I +wondered. My power was gone. The women could not be moved from their work of +vengeance; they were mad with their sufferings. As well might a man try to +snatch her prey from a puma robbed of her whelps, as to turn them from their +purpose. With the men it was otherwise, however. Some of them mingled in the +orgie indeed, but more stood aloof watching with a fearful joy the spectacle in +which they did not share. Near me was a man, a noble of the Otomie, of +something more than my own age. He had always been my friend, and after me he +commanded the warriors of the tribe. I went to him and said, “Friend, for +the sake of the honour of your people, help me to end this.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot, Teule,” he answered, “and beware how you meddle in +the play, for none will stand by you. Now the women have power, and you see +they use it. They are about to die, but before they die they will do as their +fathers did, for their strait is sore, and though they have been put aside, the +old customs are not forgotten.” +</p> + +<p> +“At the least can we not save these Teules?” I answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Why should you wish to save the Teules? Will they save us some few days +hence, when <i>we</i> are in their power?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps not,” I said, “but if we must die, let us die clean +from this shame.” +</p> + +<p> +“What then do you wish me to do, Teule?” +</p> + +<p> +“This: I would have you find some three or four men who are not fallen +into this madness, and with them aid me to loose the Teules, for we cannot save +the others. If this may be done, surely we can lower them with ropes from that +point where the road is broken away, down to the path beneath, and thus they +may escape to their own people.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will try,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders, “not from +any tenderness towards the accursed Teules, whom I could well bear to see +stretched upon the stone, but because it is your wish, and for the sake of the +friendship between us.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he went, and presently I saw several men place themselves, as though by +chance, between the spot where the last of the line of Indian prisoners, and +the first of the Spaniards were made fast, in such a fashion as to hide them +from the sight of the maddened women, engrossed as they were in their orgies. +</p> + +<p> +Now I crept up to the Spaniards. They were squatted upon the ground, bound by +their hands and feet to the copper rings in the pavement. There they sat +silently awaiting the dreadful doom, their faces grey with terror, and their +eyes starting from their sockets. +</p> + +<p> +“Hist!” I whispered in Spanish into the ear of the first, an old +man whom I knew as one who had taken part in the wars of Cortes. “Would +you be saved?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked up quickly, and said in a hoarse voice: +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you that talk of saving us? Who can save us from these she +devils?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am Teule, a man of white blood and a Christian, and alas that I must +say it, the captain of this savage people. With the aid of some few men who are +faithful to me, I purpose to cut your bonds, and afterwards you shall see. +Know, Spaniard, that I do this at great risk, for if we are caught, it is a +chance but that I myself shall have to suffer those things from which I hope to +rescue you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be assured, Teule,” answered the Spaniard, “that if we +should get safe away, we shall not forget this service. Save our lives now, and +the time may come when we shall pay you back with yours. But even if we are +loosed, how can we cross the open space in this moonlight and escape the eyes +of those furies?” +</p> + +<p> +“We must trust to chance for that,” I answered, and as I spoke, +fortune helped us strangely, for by now the Spaniards in their camp below had +perceived what was going forward on the crest of the <i>teocalli</i>. A yell of +horror rose from them and instantly they opened fire upon us with their pieces +and arquebusses, though, because of the shape of the pyramid and of their +position beneath it, the storm of shot swept over us, doing us little or no +hurt. Also a great company of them poured across the courtyard, hoping to storm +the temple, for they did not know that the road had been broken away. +</p> + +<p> +Now, though the rites of sacrifice never ceased, what with the roar of cannon, +the shouts of rage and terror from the Spaniards, the hiss of musket balls, and +the crackling of flames from houses which they had fired to give them more +light, and the sound of chanting, the turmoil and confusion grew so great as to +render the carrying out of my purpose easier than I had hoped. By this time my +friend, the captain of the Otomie, was at my side, and with him several men +whom he could trust. Stooping down, with a few swift blows of a knife I cut the +ropes which bound the Spaniards. Then we gathered ourselves into a knot, twelve +of us or more, and in the centre of the knot we set the five Spaniards. This +done, I drew my sword and cried: +</p> + +<p> +“The Teules storm the temple!” which was true, for already their +long line was rushing up the winding path. “The Teules storm the temple, +I go to stop them,” and straightway we sped across the open space. +</p> + +<p> +None saw us, or if they saw us, none hindered us, for all the company were +intent upon the consummation of a fresh sacrifice; moreover, the tumult was +such, as I afterwards discovered, that we were scarcely noticed. Two minutes +passed, and our feet were set upon the winding way, and now I breathed again, +for we were beyond the sight of the women. On we rushed swiftly as the cramped +limbs of the Spaniards would carry them, till presently we reached that angle +in the path where the breach began. The attacking Spaniards had already come to +the further side of the gap, for though we could not see them, we could hear +their cries of rage and despair as they halted helplessly and understood that +their comrades were beyond their aid. +</p> + +<p> +“Now we are sped,” said the Spaniard with whom I had spoken; +“the road is gone, and it must be certain death to try the side of the +pyramid.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so,” I answered; “some fifty feet below the path still +runs, and one by one we will lower you to it with this rope.” +</p> + +<p> +Then we set to work. Making the cord fast beneath the arms of a soldier we let +him down gently, till he came to the path, and was received there by his +comrades as a man returned from the dead. The last to be lowered was that +Spaniard with whom I had spoken. +</p> + +<p> +“Farewell,” he said, “and may the blessing of God be on you +for this act of mercy, renegade though you are. Say, now, will you not come +with me? I set my life and honour in pledge for your safety. You tell me that +you are still a Christian man. Is that a place for Christians?” and he +pointed upwards. +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed,” I answered, “but still I cannot come, for my +wife and son are there, and I must return to die with them if need be. If you +bear me any gratitude, strive in return to save their lives, since for my own I +care but little.” +</p> + +<p> +“That I will,” he said, and then we let him down among his friends, +whom he reached in safety. +</p> + +<p> +Now we returned to the temple, giving it out that the Spaniards were in +retreat, having failed to cross the breach in the roadway. Here before the +temple the orgie still went on. But two Indians remained alive; and the priests +of sacrifice grew weary. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are the Teules?” cried a voice. “Swift! strip them for +the altar.” +</p> + +<p> +But the Teules were gone, nor, search where they would, could they find them. +</p> + +<p> +“Their God has taken them beneath His wing,” I said, speaking from +the shadow and in a feigned voice. “Huitzel cannot prevail before the God +of the Teules.” +</p> + +<p> +Then I slipped aside, so that none knew that it was I who had spoken, but the +cry was caught up and echoed far and wide. +</p> + +<p> +“The God of the Christians has hidden them beneath His wing. Let us make +merry with those whom He rejects,” said the cry, and the last of the +captives were dragged away. +</p> + +<p> +Now I thought that all was finished, but this was not so. I have spoken of the +secret purpose which I read in the sullen eyes of the Indian women as they +laboured at the barricades, and I was about to see its execution. Madness still +burned in the hearts of these women; they had accomplished their sacrifice, but +their festival was still to come. They drew themselves away to the further side +of the pyramid, and, heedless of the shots which now and again pierced the +breast of one of them—for here they were exposed to the Spanish +fire—remained a while in preparation. With them went the priests of +sacrifice, but now, as before, the rest of the men stood in sullen groups, +watching what befell, but lifting no hand or voice to hinder its hellishness. +</p> + +<p> +One woman did not go with them, and that woman was Otomie my wife. +</p> + +<p> +She stood by the stone of sacrifice, a piteous sight to see, for her frenzy or +rather her madness had outworn itself, and she was as she had ever been. There +stood Otomie, gazing with wide and horror-stricken eyes now at the tokens of +this unholy rite and now at her own hands—as though she thought to see +them red, and shuddered at the thought. I drew near to her and touched her on +the shoulder. She turned swiftly, gasping, +</p> + +<p> +“Husband! husband!” +</p> + +<p> +“It is I,” I answered, “but call me husband no more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! what have I done?” she wailed, and fell senseless in my arms. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +And here I will add what at the time I knew nothing of, for it was told me in +after years by the Rector of this parish, a very learned man, though one of +narrow mind. Had I known it indeed, I should have spoken more kindly to Otomie +my wife even in that hour, and thought more gently of her wickedness. It seems, +so said my friend the Rector, that from the most ancient times, those women who +have bent the knee to demon gods, such as were the gods of Anahuac, are subject +at any time to become possessed by them, even after they have abandoned their +worship, and to be driven in their frenzy to the working of the greatest +crimes. Thus, among other instances, he told me that a Greek poet named +Theocritus sets out in one of his idyls how a woman called Agave, being engaged +in a secret religious orgie in honour of a demon named Dionysus, perceived her +own son Pentheus watching the celebration of the mysteries, and thereon +becoming possessed by the demon she fell on him and murdered him, being aided +by the other women. For this the poet, who was also a worshipper of Dionysus, +gave her great honour and not reproach, seeing that she did the deed at the +behest of this god, “a deed not to be blamed.” +</p> + +<p> +Now I write of this for a reason, though it has nothing to do with me, for it +seems that as Dionysus possessed Agave, driving her to unnatural murder, so did +Huitzel possess Otomie, and indeed she said as much to me afterwards. For I am +sure that if the devils whom the Greeks worshipped had such power, a still +greater strength was given to those of Anahuac, who among all fiends were the +first. If this be so, as I believe, it was not Otomie that I saw at the rites +of sacrifice, but rather the demon Huitzel whom she had once worshipped, and +who had power, therefore, to enter into her body for awhile in place of her own +spirit. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap36"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI<br /> +THE SURRENDER</h2> + +<p> +Taking Otomie in my arms, I bore her to one of the storehouses attached to the +temple. Here many children had been placed for safety, among them my own son. +</p> + +<p> +“What ails our mother, father?” said the boy. “And why did +she shut me in here with these children when it seems that there is fighting +without?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your mother has fainted,” I answered, “and doubtless she +placed you here to keep you safe. Now do you tend her till I return.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will do so,” answered the boy, “but surely it would be +better that I, who am almost a man, should be without, fighting the Spaniards +at your side rather than within, nursing sick women.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do as I bid you, son,” I said, “and I charge you not to +leave this place until I come for you again.” +</p> + +<p> +Now I passed out of the storehouse, shutting the door behind me. A minute later +I wished that I had stayed where I was, since on the platform my eyes were +greeted by a sight more dreadful than any that had gone before. For there, +advancing towards us, were the women divided into four great companies, some of +them bearing infants in their arms. They came singing and leaping, many of them +naked to the middle. Nor was this all, for in front of them ran the +<i>pabas</i> and such of the women themselves as were persons in authority. +These leaders, male and female, ran and leaped and sang, calling upon the names +of their demon-gods, and celebrating the wickednesses of their forefathers, +while after them poured the howling troops of women. +</p> + +<p> +To and fro they rushed, now making obeisance to the statue of Huitzel, now +prostrating themselves before his hideous sister, the goddess of Death, who sat +beside him adorned with her carven necklace of men’s skulls and hands, +now bowing around the stone of sacrifice, and now thrusting their bare arms +into the flames of the holy fire. For an hour or more they celebrated this +ghastly carnival, of which even I, versed as I was in the Indian customs, could +not fully understand the meaning, and then, as though some single impulse had +possessed them, they withdrew to the centre of the open space, and, forming +themselves into a double circle, within which stood the <i>pabas</i>, of a +sudden they burst into a chant so wild and shrill that as I listened my blood +curdled in my veins. +</p> + +<p> +Even now the burden of that chant with the vision of those who sang it +sometimes haunts my sleep at night, but I will not write it here. Let him who +reads imagine all that is most cruel in the heart of man, and every terror of +the evillest dream, adding to these some horror-ridden tale of murder, ghosts, +and inhuman vengeance; then, if he can, let him shape the whole in words and, +as in a glass darkly, perchance he may mirror the spirit of that last ancient +song of the women of the Otomie, with its sobs, its cries of triumph, and its +death wailings. +</p> + +<p> +Ever as they sang, step by step they drew backwards, and with them went the +leaders of each company, their eyes fixed upon the statues of their gods. Now +they were but a segment of a circle, for they did not advance towards the +temple; backward and outward they went with a slow and solemn tramp. There was +but one line of them now, for those in the second ring filled the gaps in the +first as it widened; still they drew on till at length they stood on the sheer +edge of the platform. Then the priests and the women leaders took their place +among them and for a moment there was silence, until at a signal one and all +they bent them backwards. Standing thus, their long hair waving on the wind, +the light of burning houses flaring upon their breasts and in their maddened +eyes, they burst into the cry of: +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Save us, Huitzel! receive us, lord god, our home!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Thrice they cried it, each time more shrilly than before, then suddenly they +were <i>gone</i>, the women of the Otomie were no more! +</p> + +<p> +With their own self-slaughter they had consummated the last celebration of the +rites of sacrifice that ever shall be held in the City of Pines. The devil gods +were dead and their worshippers with them. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +A low murmur ran round the lips of the men who watched, then one cried, and his +voice rang strangely in the sudden silence: “May our wives, the women of +the Otomie, rest softly in the Houses of the Sun, for of a surety they teach us +how to die.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” I answered, “but not thus. Let women do self-murder, +our foes have swords for the hearts of men.” +</p> + +<p> +I turned to go, and before me stood Otomie. +</p> + +<p> +“What has befallen?” she said. “Where are my sisters? Oh! +surely I have dreamed an evil dream. I dreamed that the gods of my forefathers +were strong once more, and that once more they drank the blood of men.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your ill dream has a worse awakening, Otomie,” I answered. +“The gods of hell are still strong indeed in this accursed land, and they +have taken your sisters into their keeping.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it so?” she said softly, “yet in my dream it seemed to me +that this was their last strength ere they sink into death unending. Look +yonder!” and she pointed toward the snowy crest of the volcan Xaca. +</p> + +<p> +I looked, but whether I saw the sight of which I am about to tell or whether it +was but an imagining born of the horrors of that most hideous night, in truth I +cannot say. At the least I seemed to see this, and afterwards there were some +among the Spaniards who swore that they had witnessed it also. +</p> + +<p> +On Xaca’s lofty summit, now as always stood a pillar of fiery smoke, and +while I gazed, to my vision the smoke and the fire separated themselves. Out of +the fire was fashioned a cross of flame, that shone like lightning and +stretched for many a rod across the heavens, its base resting on the mountain +top. At its foot rolled the clouds of smoke, and now these too took forms vast +and terrifying, such forms indeed as those that sat in stone within the temple +behind me, but magnified a hundredfold. +</p> + +<p> +“See,” said Otomie again, “the cross of your God shines above +the shapes of mine, the lost gods whom to-night I worshipped though not of my +own will.” Then she turned and went. +</p> + +<p> +For some few moments I stood very much afraid, gazing upon the vision on +Xaca’s snow, then suddenly the rays of the rising sun smote it and it was +gone. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Now for three days more we held out against the Spaniards, for they could not +come at us and their shot swept over our heads harmlessly. During these days I +had no talk with Otomie, for we shrank from one another. Hour by hour she would +sit in the storehouse of the temple a very picture of desolation. Twice I tried +to speak with her, my heart being moved to pity by the dumb torment in her +eyes, but she turned her head from me and made no answer. +</p> + +<p> +Soon it came to the knowledge of the Spaniards that we had enough food and +water upon the <i>teocalli</i> to enable us to live there for a month or more, +and seeing that there was no hope of capturing the place by force of arms, they +called a parley with us. +</p> + +<p> +I went down to the breach in the roadway and spoke with their envoy, who stood +upon the path below. At first the terms offered were that we should surrender +at discretion. To this I answered that sooner than do so we would die where we +were. Their reply was that if we would give over all who had any part in the +human sacrifice, the rest of us might go free. To this I said that the +sacrifice had been carried out by women and some few men, and that all of these +were dead by their own hands. They asked if Otomie was also dead. I told them +no, but that I would never surrender unless they swore that neither she nor her +son should be harmed, but rather that together with myself they should be given +a safe-conduct to go whither we willed. This was refused, but in the end I won +the day, and a parchment was thrown up to me on the point of a lance. This +parchment, which was signed by the Captain Bernal Diaz, set out that in +consideration of the part that I and some men of the Otomie had played in +rescuing the Spanish captives from death by sacrifice, a pardon was granted to +me, my wife and child, and all upon the <i>teocalli</i>, with liberty to go +whither-soever we would unharmed, our lands and wealth being however declared +forfeit to the viceroy. +</p> + +<p> +With these terms I was well content, indeed I had never hoped to win any that +would leave us our lives and liberty. +</p> + +<p> +And yet for my part death had been almost as welcome, for now Otomie had built +a wall between us that I could never climb, and I was bound to her, to a woman +who, willingly or no, had stained her hands with sacrifice. Well, my son was +left to me and with him I must be satisfied; at the least he knew nothing of +his mother’s shame. Oh! I thought to myself as I climbed the +<i>teocalli</i>, oh! that I could but escape far from this accursed land and +bear him with me to the English shores, ay, and Otomie also, for there she +might forget that once she had been a savage. Alas! it could scarcely be! +</p> + +<p> +Coming to the temple, I and those with me told the good tidings to our +companions, who received it silently. Men of a white race would have rejoiced +thus to escape, for when death is near all other loss seems as nothing. But +with these Indian people it is not so, since when fortune frowns upon them they +do not cling to life. These men of the Otomie had lost their country, their +wives, their wealth, their brethren, and their homes; therefore life, with +freedom to wander whither they would, seemed no great thing to them. So they +met the boon that I had won from the mercy of our foes, as had matters gone +otherwise they would have met the bane, in sullen silence. +</p> + +<p> +I came to Otomie, and to her also I told the news. +</p> + +<p> +“I had hoped to die here where I am,” she answered. “But so +be it; death is always to be found.” +</p> + +<p> +Only my son rejoiced, because he knew that God had saved us all from death by +sword or hunger. +</p> + +<p> +“Father,” he said, “the Spaniards have given us life, but +they take our country and drive us out of it. Where then shall we go?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know, my son,” I answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Father,” the lad said again, “let us leave this land of +Anahuac where there is nothing but Spaniards and sorrow. Let us find a ship and +sail across the seas to England, our own country.” +</p> + +<p> +The boy spoke my very thought and my heart leapt at his words, though I had no +plan to bring the matter about. I pondered a moment, looking at Otomie. +</p> + +<p> +“The thought is good, Teule,” she said, answering my unspoken +question; “for you and for our son there is no better, but for myself I +will answer in the proverb of my people, ‘The earth that bears us lies +lightest on our bones.’” +</p> + +<p> +Then she turned, making ready to quit the storehouse of the temple where we had +been lodged during the siege, and no more was said about the matter. +</p> + +<p> +Before the sun set a weary throng of men, with some few women and children, +were marching across the courtyard that surrounded the pyramid, for a bridge of +timbers taken from the temple had been made over the breach in the roadway that +wound about its side. +</p> + +<p> +At the gates the Spaniards were waiting to receive us. Some of them cursed us, +some mocked, but those of the nobler sort said nothing, for they pitied our +plight and respected us for the courage we had shown in the last struggle. +Their Indian allies were there also, and these grinned like unfed pumas, +snarling and whimpering for our lives, till their masters kicked them to +silence. The last act of the fall of Anahuac was as the first had been, dog +still ate dog, leaving the goodly spoil to the lion who watched. +</p> + +<p> +At the gates we were sorted out; the men of small condition, together with the +children, were taken from the ruined city by an escort and turned loose upon +the mountains, while those of note were brought to the Spanish camp, to be +questioned there before they were set free. I, with my wife and son, was led to +the palace, our old home, there to learn the will of the Captain Diaz. +</p> + +<p> +It is but a little way to go, and yet there was something to be seen in the +path. For as we walked I looked up, and before me, standing with folded arms +and apart from all men, was de Garcia. I had scarcely thought of him for some +days, so full had my mind been of other matters, but at the sight of his evil +face I remembered that while this man lived, sorrow and danger must be my +bedfellows. +</p> + +<p> +He watched us pass, taking note of all, then he called to me who walked last: +</p> + +<p> +“Farewell, Cousin Wingfield. You have lived through this bout also and +won a free pardon, you, your woman and your brat together. If the old war-horse +who is set over us as a captain had listened to me you should have been burned +at the stake, every one of you, but so it is. Farewell for a while, friend. I +am away to Mexico to report these matters to the viceroy, who may have a word +to say.” +</p> + +<p> +I made no answer, but asked of our conductor, that same Spaniard whom I had +saved from the sacrifice, what the señor meant by his words. +</p> + +<p> +“This, Teule; that there has been a quarrel between our comrade Sarceda +and our captain. The former would have granted you no terms, or failing this +would have decoyed you from your stronghold with false promises, and then have +put you to the sword as infidels with whom no oath is binding. But the captain +would not have it so, for he said that faith must be kept even with the +heathen, and we whom you had saved cried shame on him. And so words ran high, +and in the end the Señor Sarceda, who is third in command among us, declared +that he would be no party to this peacemaking, but would be gone to Mexico with +his servants, there to report to the viceroy. Then the Captain Diaz bade him +begone to hell if he wished and report to the devil, saying that he had always +believed that he had escaped thence by mistake, and they parted in wrath who, +since the day of <i>noche triste</i>, never loved each other much; the end of +it being that Sarceda rides for Mexico within an hour, to make what mischief he +can at the viceroy’s court, and I think that you are well rid of +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Father,” said my son to me, “who is that Spaniard who looks +so cruelly upon us?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is he of whom I have told you, son, de Garcia, who has been the +curse of our race for two generations, who betrayed your grandfather to the +Holy Office, and murdered your grandmother, who put me to torture, and whose +ill deeds are not done with yet. Beware of him, son, now and ever, I beseech +you.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Now we were come to the palace, almost the only house that was left standing in +the City of Pines. Here an apartment was given to us at the end of the long +building, and presently a command was brought to us that I and my wife should +wait upon the Spanish captain Diaz. +</p> + +<p> +So we went, though Otomie desired to stay behind, leaving our son alone in the +chamber where food had been brought to him. I remember that I kissed him before +I left, though I do not know what moved me to do so, unless it was because I +thought that he might be asleep when I returned. The Captain Diaz had his +quarters at the other end of the palace, some two hundred paces away. Presently +we stood before him. He was a rough-looking, thick-set man well on in years, +with bright eyes and an ugly honest face, like the face of a peasant who has +toiled a lifetime in all weathers, only the fields that Diaz tilled were fields +of war, and his harvest had been the lives of men. Just then he was joking with +some common soldiers in a strain scarcely suited to nice ears, but so soon as +he saw us he ceased and came forward. I saluted him after the Indian fashion by +touching the earth with my hand, for what was I but an Indian captive? +</p> + +<p> +“Your sword,” he said briefly, as he scanned me with his quick +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +I unbuckled it from my side and handed it to him, saying in Spanish: +</p> + +<p> +“Take it, Captain, for you have conquered, also it does but come back to +its owner.” For this was the same sword that I had captured from one +Bernal Diaz in the fray of the <i>noche triste</i>. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at it, then swore a great oath and said: +</p> + +<p> +“I thought that it could be no other man. And so we meet again thus after +so many years. Well, you gave me my life once, and I am glad that I have lived +to pay the debt. Had I not been sure that it was you, you had not won such easy +terms, friend. How are you named? Nay, I know what the Indians call you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am named Wingfield.” +</p> + +<p> +“Friend Wingfield then. For I tell you that I would have sat beneath +yonder devil’s house,” and he nodded towards the <i>teocalli</i>, +“till you starved upon its top. Nay, friend Wingfield, take back the +sword. I suited myself with another many years ago, and you have used this one +gallantly; never have I seen Indians make a better fight. And so that is +Otomie, Montezuma’s daughter and your wife, still handsome and royal, I +see. Lord! Lord! it is many years ago, and yet it seems but yesterday that I +saw her father die, a Christian-hearted man, though no Christian, and one whom +we dealt ill with. May God forgive us all! Well, Madam, none can say that +<i>you</i> have a Christian heart. If a certain tale that I have heard of what +passed yonder, some three nights since, is true. But we will speak no more of +it, for the savage blood will show, and you are pardoned for your +husband’s sake who saved my comrades from the sacrifice.” +</p> + +<p> +To all this Otomie listened, standing still like a statue, but she never +answered a word. Indeed she had spoken very rarely since that dreadful night of +her unspeakable shame. +</p> + +<p> +“And now, friend Wingfield,” went on the Captain Diaz, “what +is your purpose? You are free to go where you will, whither then will you +go?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know,” I answered. “Years ago, when the Aztec +emperor gave me my life and this princess my wife in marriage, I swore to be +faithful to him and his cause, and to fight for them till Popo ceased to vomit +smoke, till there was no king in Tenoctitlan, and the people of Anahuac were no +more a people.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you are quit of your oath, friend, for all these things have come +about, and there has been no smoke on Popo for these two years. Now, if you +will be advised by me, you will turn Christian again and enter the service of +Spain. But come, let us to supper, we can talk of these matters +afterwards.” +</p> + +<p> +So we sat down to eat by the light of torches in the banqueting hall with +Bernal Diaz and some other of the Spaniards. Otomie would have left us, and +though the captain bade her stay she ate nothing, and presently slipped away +from the chamber. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap37"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII<br /> +VENGEANCE</h2> + +<p> +During that meal Bernal Diaz spoke of our first meeting on the causeway, and of +how I had gone near to killing him in error, thinking that he was Sarceda, and +then he asked me what was my quarrel with Sarceda. +</p> + +<p> +In as few words as possible I told him the story of my life, of all the evil +that de Garcia or Sarceda had worked upon me and mine, and of how it was +through him that I was in this land that day. He listened amazed. +</p> + +<p> +“Holy Mother!” he said at length, “I always knew him for a +villain, but that, if you do not lie, friend Wingfield, he could be such a man +as this, I did not know. Now by my word, had I heard this tale an hour ago, +Sarceda should not have left this camp till he had answered it or cleared +himself by combat with you. But I fear it is too late; he was to leave for +Mexico at the rising of the moon, to stir up mischief against me because I +granted you terms—not that I fear him there, where his repute is +small.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not lie indeed,” I answered. “Much of this tale I can +prove if need be, and I tell you that I would give half the life that is left +to me to stand face to face in open fight with him again. Ever he has escaped +me, and the score between us is long.” +</p> + +<p> +Now as I spoke thus it seemed to me that a cold and dreadful air played upon my +hands and brow and a warning sense of present evil crept into my soul, +overcoming me so that I could not stir or speak for a while. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us go and see if he has gone,” said Diaz presently, and +summoning a guard, he was about to leave the chamber. It was at this moment +that I chanced to look up and see a woman standing in the doorway. Her hand +rested on the doorpost; her head, from which the long hair streamed, was thrown +back, and on her face was a look of such anguish that at first, so much was she +changed, I did not know her for Otomie. When I knew her, I knew all; one thing +only could conjure up the terror and agony that shone in her deep eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“What has chanced to our son?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Dead, dead!</i>” she answered in a whisper that seemed to +pierce my marrow. +</p> + +<p> +I said nothing, for my heart told me what had happened, but Diaz asked, +“Dead—why, what has killed him?” +</p> + +<p> +“De Garcia! I saw him go,” replied Otomie; then she tossed her arms +high, and without another sound fell backwards to the earth. +</p> + +<p> +In that moment I think that my heart broke—at least I know that nothing +has had the power to move me greatly since, though this memory moves me day by +day and hour by hour, till I die and go to seek my son. +</p> + +<p> +“Say, Bernal Diaz,” I cried, with a hoarse laugh, “did I lie +to you concerning this comrade of yours?” +</p> + +<p> +Then, springing over Otomie’s body I left the chamber, followed by Bernal +Diaz and the others. +</p> + +<p> +Without the door I turned to the left towards the camp. I had not gone a +hundred paces when, in the moonlight, I saw a small troop of horsemen riding +towards us. It was de Garcia and his servants, and they headed towards the +mountain pass on their road to Mexico. I was not too late. +</p> + +<p> +“Halt!” cried Bernal Diaz. +</p> + +<p> +“Who commands me to halt?” said the voice of de Garcia. +</p> + +<p> +“I, your captain,” roared Diaz. “Halt, you devil, you +murderer, or you shall be cut down.” +</p> + +<p> +I saw him start and turn pale. +</p> + +<p> +“These are strange manners, señor,” he said. “Of your grace I +ask—” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment de Garcia caught sight of me for the first time, for I had +broken from the hold of Diaz who clutched my arm, and was moving towards him. I +said nothing, but there was something in my face which told him that I knew +all, and warned him of his doom. He looked past me, but the narrow road was +blocked with men. I drew near, but he did not wait for me. Once he put his hand +on the hilt of the sword, then suddenly he wheeled his horse round and fled +down the street of Xaca. +</p> + +<p> +De Garcia fled, and I followed after him, running fast and low like a hound. At +first he gained on me, but soon the road grew rough, and he could not gallop +over it. We were clear of the town now, or rather of its ruins, and travelling +along a little path which the Indians used to bring down snow from Xaca in the +hot weather. Perhaps there are some five miles of this path before the snow +line is reached, beyond which no Indian dared to set his foot, for the ground +above was holy. Along this path he went, and I was content to see it, for I +knew well that the traveller cannot leave it, since on either side lie +water-courses and cliffs. Mile after mile de Garcia followed it, looking now to +the left, now to the right, and now ahead at the great dome of snow crowned +with fire that towered above him. But he never looked behind him; he knew what +was there—death in the shape of a man! +</p> + +<p> +I came on doggedly, saving my strength. I was sure that I must catch him at +last, it did not matter when. +</p> + +<p> +At length he reached the snow-line where the path ended, and for the first time +he looked back. There I was some two hundred paces behind him. I, his death, +was behind him, and in front of him shone the snow. For a moment he hesitated, +and I heard the heavy breathing of his horse in the great stillness. Then he +turned and faced the slope, driving his spurs into the brute’s sides. The +snow was hard, for here the frost bit sharply, and for a while, though it was +so steep, the horse travelled over it better than he had done along the +pathway. Now, as before, there was only one road that he could take, for we +passed up the crest of a ridge, a pleat as it were in the garment of the +mountain, and on either side were steeps of snow on which neither horse nor man +might keep his footing. For two hours or more we followed that ridge, and as we +went through the silence of the haunted volcan, and the loneliness of its +eternal snows, it seemed to me that my spirit entered into the spirit of my +quarry, and that with its eyes I saw all that was passing in his heart. To a +man so wronged the dream was pleasant even if it were not true, for I read +there such agony, such black despair, such haunting memories, such terror of +advancing death and of what lay beyond it, that no revenge of man’s could +surpass their torment. And it was true—I knew that it was true; he +suffered all this and more, for if he had no conscience, at least he had fear +and imagination to quicken and multiply the fear. +</p> + +<p> +Now the snow grew steeper, and the horse was almost spent, for he could +scarcely breathe at so great a height. In vain did de Garcia drive his spurs +into its sides, the gallant beast could do no more. Suddenly it fell down. +Surely, I thought, he will await me now. But even I had not fathomed the depth +of his terrors, for de Garcia disengaged himself from the fallen horse, looked +towards me, then fled forward on his feet, casting away his armour as he went +that he might travel more lightly. +</p> + +<p> +By this time we had passed the snow and were come to the edge of the ice cap +that is made by the melting of the snow with the heat of the inner fires, or +perhaps by that of the sun in hot seasons, I know not, and its freezing in the +winter months or in the cold of the nights. At least there is such a cap on +Xaca, measuring nearly a mile in depth, which lies between the snow and the +black rim of the crater. Up this ice climbed de Garcia, and the task is not of +the easiest, even for one of untroubled mind, for a man must step from crack to +crack or needle to needle of rough ice, that stand upon the smooth surface like +the bristles on a hog’s back, and woe to him if one break or if he slip, +for then, as he falls, very shortly the flesh will be filed from his bones by +the thousands of sword-like points over which he must pass in his descent +towards the snow. Indeed, many times I feared greatly lest this should chance +to de Garcia, for I did not desire to lose my vengeance thus. Therefore twice +when I saw him in danger I shouted to him, telling him where to put his feet, +for now I was within twenty paces of him, and, strange to say, he obeyed me +without question, forgetting everything in his terror of instant death. But for +myself I had no fear, for I knew that I should not fall, though the place was +one which I had surely shrunk from climbing at any other time. +</p> + +<p> +All this while we had been travelling towards Xaca’s fiery crest by the +bright moonlight, but now the dawn broke suddenly on the mountain top, and the +flame died away in the heart of the pillar of smoke. It was wonderful to see +the red glory that shone upon the ice-cap, and on us two men who crept like +flies across it, while the mountain’s breast and the world below were +plunged in the shadows of night. +</p> + +<p> +“Now we have a better light to climb by, comrade!” I called to de +Garcia, and my voice rang strangely among the ice cliffs, where never a +man’s voice had echoed before. +</p> + +<p> +As I spoke the mountain rumbled and bellowed beneath us, shaking like a +wind-tossed tree, as though in wrath at the desecration of its sacred +solitudes. With the rumbling came a shower of grey ashes that rained down on +us, and for a little while hid de Garcia from my sight. I heard him call out in +fear, and was afraid lest he had fallen; but presently the ashes cleared away, +and I saw him standing safely on the lava rim that surrounds the crater. +</p> + +<p> +Now, I thought, he will surely make a stand, for could he have found courage it +had been easy for him to kill me with his sword, which he still wore, as I +climbed from the ice to the hot lava. It seemed that he thought of it, for he +turned and glared at me like a devil, then went on again, leaving me wondering +where he believed that he would find refuge. Some three hundred paces from the +edge of the ice, the smoke and steam of the crater rose into the air, and +between the two was lava so hot that in places it was difficult to walk upon +it. Across this bed, that trembled as I passed over it, went de Garcia somewhat +slowly, for now he was weary, and I followed him at my ease, getting my breath +again. +</p> + +<p> +Presently I saw that he had come to the edge of the crater, for he leaned +forward and looked over, and I thought that he was about to destroy himself by +plunging into it. But if such thoughts had been in his mind, he forgot them +when he had seen what sort of nest this was to sleep in, for turning, he came +back towards me, sword up, and we met within a dozen paces of the edge. I say +met, but in truth we did not meet, for he stopped again, well out of reach of +my sword. I sat down upon a block of lava and looked at him; it seemed to me +that I could not feast my eyes enough upon his face. And what a face it was; +that of a more than murderer about to meet his reward! Would that I could paint +to show it, for no words can tell the fearfulness of those red and sunken eyes, +those grinning teeth and quivering lips. I think that when the enemy of mankind +has cast his last die and won his last soul, he too will look thus as he passes +into doom. +</p> + +<p> +“At length, de Garcia!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you not kill me and make an end?” he asked hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is the hurry, cousin? For hard on twenty years I have sought you, +shall we then part so soon? Let us talk a while. Before we part to meet no +more, perhaps of your courtesy you will answer me a question, for I am curious. +Why have you wrought these evils on me and mine? Surely you must have some +reason for what seems to be an empty and foolish wickedness.” +</p> + +<p> +I spoke to him thus calmly and coldly, feeling no passion, feeling nothing. For +in that strange hour I was no longer Thomas Wingfield, I was no longer human, I +was a force, an instrument; I could think of my dead son without sorrow, he did +not seem dead to me, for I partook of the nature that he had put on in this +change of death. I could even think of de Garcia without hate, as though he +also were nothing but a tool in some other hand. Moreover, I <i>knew</i> that +he was mine, body and mind, and that he must answer and truly, so surely as he +must die when I chose to kill him. He tried to shut his lips, but they opened +of themselves and word by word the truth was dragged from his black heart as +though he stood already before the judgment seat. +</p> + +<p> +“I loved your mother, my cousin,” he said, speaking slowly and +painfully; “from a child I loved her only in the world, as I love her to +this hour, but she hated me because I was wicked and feared me because I was +cruel. Then she saw your father and loved him, and brought about his escape +from the Holy Office, whither I had delivered him to be tortured and burnt, and +fled with him to England. I was jealous and would have been revenged if I +might, but there was no way. I led an evil life, and when nearly twenty years +had gone by, chance took me to England on a trading journey. By chance I +learned that your father and mother lived near Yarmouth, and I determined to +see her, though at that time I had no thought of killing her. Fortune favoured +me, and we met in the woodland, and I saw that she was still beautiful and knew +that I loved her more than ever before. I gave her choice to fly with me or to +die, and after a while she died. But as she shrank up the wooded hillside +before my sword, of a sudden she stood still and said: +</p> + +<p> +“‘Listen before you smite, Juan. I have a death vision. As I have +fled from you, so shall you fly before one of my blood in a place of fire and +rock and snow, and as you drive me to the gates of heaven, so he shall drive +you into the mouth of hell.’” +</p> + +<p> +“In such a place as this, cousin,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“In such a place as this,” he whispered, glancing round. +</p> + +<p> +“Continue.” +</p> + +<p> +Again he strove to be silent, but again my will mastered him and he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“It was too late to spare her if I wished to escape myself, so I killed +her and fled. But terror entered my heart, terror which has never left it to +this hour, for always before my eyes was the vision of him of your +mother’s blood, before whom I should fly as she fled before me, who shall +drive me into the mouth of hell.” +</p> + +<p> +“That must be yonder, cousin,” I said, pointing with the sword +toward the pit of the crater. +</p> + +<p> +“It is yonder; I have looked.” +</p> + +<p> +“But only for the body, cousin, not for the spirit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Only for the body, not for the spirit,” he repeated after me. +</p> + +<p> +“Continue,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Afterwards on that same day I met you, Thomas Wingfield. Already your +dead mother’s prophecy had taken hold of me, and seeing one of her blood +I strove to kill him lest he should kill me.” +</p> + +<p> +“As he will do presently, cousin.” +</p> + +<p> +“As he will do presently,” he repeated like a talking bird. +</p> + +<p> +“You know what happened and how I escaped. I fled to Spain and strove to +forget. But I could not. One night I saw a face in the streets of Seville that +reminded me of your face. I did not think that it could be you, yet so strong +was my fear that I determined to fly to the far Indies. You met me on the night +of my flight when I was bidding farewell to a lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“One Isabella de Siguenza, cousin. <i>I</i> bade farewell to her +afterwards and delivered her dying words to you. Now she waits to welcome you +again, she and her child.” +</p> + +<p> +He shuddered and went on. “In the ocean we met again. You rose out of the +sea. I did not dare to kill you at once, I thought that you must die in the +slave-hold and that none could bear witness against me and hold me guilty of +your blood. You did not die, even the sea could not destroy you. But I thought +that you were dead. I came to Anahuac in the train of Cortes and again we met; +that time you nearly killed me. Afterwards I had my revenge and I tortured you +well; I meant to murder you on the morrow, though first I would torture you, +for terror can be very cruel, but you escaped me. Long years passed, I wandered +hither and thither, to Spain, back to Mexico, and elsewhere, but wherever I +went my fear, the ghosts of the dead, and my dreams went with me, and I was +never fortunate. Only the other day I joined the company of Diaz as an +adventurer. Not till we reached the City of Pines did I learn that you were the +captain of the Otomie; it was said that you were long dead. You know the +rest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you murder my son, cousin?” +</p> + +<p> +“Was he not of your mother’s blood, of the blood that should bring +my doom upon me, and did I owe you no reward for all the terrors of these many +years? Moreover he is foolish who strives to slay the father and spares the +son. He is dead and I am glad that I killed him, though he haunts me now with +the others.” +</p> + +<p> +“And shall haunt you eternally. Now let us make an end. You have your +sword, use it if you can. It will be easier to die fighting.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot,” he groaned; “my doom is upon me.” +</p> + +<p> +“As you will,” and I came at him, sword up. +</p> + +<p> +He ran from before me, moving backwards and keeping his eyes fixed upon mine, +as I have seen a rat do when a snake is about to swallow it. Now we were upon +the edge of the crater, and looking over I saw an awful sight. For there, some +thirty feet beneath us, the red-hot lava glowing sullenly beneath a shifting +pall of smoke, rolled and spouted like a thing alive. Jets of steam flew +upwards from it with a screaming sound, lines of noxious vapours, +many-coloured, crept and twisted on its surface, and a hot and horrid stench +poisoned the heated air. Here indeed was such a gate as I could wish for de +Garcia to pass through to his own abode. +</p> + +<p> +I looked, pointed with my sword, and laughed; he looked and shrieked aloud, for +now all his manhood had left him, so great was his terror of what lay beyond +the end. Yes, this proud and haughty Spaniard screamed and wept and prayed for +mercy; he who had done so many villanies beyond forgiveness, prayed for mercy +that he might find time to repent. I stood and watched him, and so dreadful was +his aspect that horror struck me even through the calm of my frozen heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, it is time to finish,” I said, and again I lifted my sword, +only to let it fall, for suddenly his brain gave way and de Garcia went mad +before my eyes! +</p> + +<p> +Of all that followed I will not write. With his madness courage came back to +him, and he began to fight, but not with <i>me</i>. +</p> + +<p> +He seemed to perceive me no more, but nevertheless he fought, and desperately, +thrusting at the empty air. It was terrible to see him thus doing battle with +his invisible foes, and to hear his screams and curses, as inch by inch they +drove him back to the edge of the crater. Here he stood a while, like one who +makes a last stand against overpowering strength, thrusting and striking +furiously. Twice he nearly fell, as though beneath a mortal wound, but +recovering himself, fought on with Nothingness. Then, with a sharp cry, +suddenly he threw his arms wide, as a man does who is pierced through the +heart; his sword dropped from his hand, and he fell backwards into the pit. +</p> + +<p> +I turned away my eyes, for I wished to see no more; but often I have wondered +Who or What it was that dealt de Garcia his death wound. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap38"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII<br /> +OTOMIE’S FAREWELL</h2> + +<p> +Thus then did I accomplish the vengeance that I had sworn to my father I would +wreak upon de Garcia, or rather, thus did I witness its accomplishment, for in +the end he died, terribly enough, not by my hand but by those of his own fears. +Since then I have sorrowed for this, for, when the frozen and unnatural calm +passed from my mind, I hated him as bitterly as ever, and grieved that I let +him die otherwise than by my hand, and to this hour such is my mind towards +him. Doubtless, many may think it wicked, since we are taught to forgive our +enemies, but here I leave the forgiveness to God, for how can I pardon one who +betrayed my father to the priests, who murdered my mother and my son, who +chained me in the slave-ship and for many hours tortured me with his own hand? +Rather, year by year, do I hate him more. I write of this at some length, since +the matter has been a trouble to me. I never could say that I was in charity +with all men living and dead, and because of this, some years since, a worthy +and learned rector of this parish took upon himself to refuse me the rites of +the church. Then I went to the bishop and laid the story before him, and it +puzzled him somewhat. +</p> + +<p> +But he was a man of large mind, and in the end he rebuked the rector and +commanded him to minister to me, for he thought with me that the Almighty could +not ask of an erring man, that he should forgive one who had wrought such evils +on him and his, even though that enemy were dead and gone to judgment in +another place. +</p> + +<p> +But enough of this question of conscience. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +When de Garcia was gone into the pit, I turned my steps homewards, or rather +towards the ruined city which I could see beneath me, for I had no home left. +Now I must descend the ice cap, and this I found less easy than climbing it had +been, for, my vengeance being accomplished, I became as other men are, and a +sad and weary one at that, so sad indeed that I should not have sorrowed +greatly if I had made a false step upon the ice. +</p> + +<p> +But I made none, and at length I came to the snow where the travelling was +easy. My oath was fulfilled and my vengeance was accomplished, but as I went I +reckoned up the cost. I had lost my betrothed, the love of my youth; for twenty +years I had lived a savage chief among savages and made acquaintance with every +hardship, wedded to a woman who, although she loved me dearly, and did not lack +nobility of mind, as she had shown the other day, was still at heart a savage +or, at the least, a thrall of demon gods. The tribe that I ruled was conquered, +the beautiful city where I dwelt was a ruin, I was homeless and a beggar, and +my fortune would be great if in the issue I escaped death or slavery. All this +I could have borne, for I had borne the like before, but the cruel end of my +last surviving son, the one true joy of my desolate life, I could not bear. The +love of those children had become the passion of my middle age, and as I loved +them so they had loved me. I had trained them from babyhood till their hearts +were English and not Aztec, as were their speech and faith, and thus they were +not only my dear children, but companions of my own race, the only ones I had. +And now by accident, by sickness, and by the sword, they were dead the three of +them, and I was desolate. +</p> + +<p> +Ah! we think much of the sorrows of our youth, and should a sweetheart give us +the go by we fill the world with moans and swear that it holds no comfort for +us. But when we bend our heads before the shrouded shape of some lost child, +then it is that for the first time we learn how terrible grief can be. Time, +they tell us, will bring consolation, but it is false, for such sorrows time +has no salves—I say it who am old—as they are so they shall be. +There is no hope but faith, there is no comfort save in the truth that love +which might have withered on the earth grows fastest in the tomb, to flower +gloriously in heaven; that no love indeed can be perfect till God sanctifies +and completes it with His seal of death. +</p> + +<p> +I threw myself down there upon the desolate snows of Xaca, that none had trod +before, and wept such tears as a man may weep but once in his life days. +</p> + +<p> +“O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for thee, +O Absalom, my son, my son!” I cried with the ancient king—I whose +grief was greater than his, for had I not lost three sons within as many years? +Then remembering that as this king had gone to join his son long centuries ago, +so I must one day go to join mine, and taking such comfort from the thought as +may be found in it, I rose and crept back to the ruined City of Pines. +</p> + +<p> +It was near sunset when I came thither, for the road was long and I grew weak. +By the palace I met the Captain Diaz and some of his company, and they lifted +their bonnets to me as I went by, for they had respect for my sorrows. Only +Diaz spoke, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Is the murderer dead?” +</p> + +<p> +I nodded and went on. I went on to our chamber, for there I thought that I +should find Otomie. +</p> + +<p> +She sat in it alone, cold and beautiful as though she had been fashioned in +marble. +</p> + +<p> +“I have buried him with the bones of his brethren and his +forefathers,” she said, answering the question that my eyes asked. +“It seemed best that you should see him no more, lest your heart should +break.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is well,” I answered; “but my heart is broken +already.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is the murderer dead?” she said presently in the very words of +Diaz. +</p> + +<p> +“He is dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” +</p> + +<p> +I told her in few words. +</p> + +<p> +“You should have slain him yourself; our son’s blood is not +avenged.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should have slain him, but in that hour I did not seek vengeance, I +watched it fall from heaven, and was content. Perchance it is best so. The +seeking of vengeance has brought all my sorrows upon me; vengeance belongs to +God and not to man, as I have learned too late.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not think so,” said Otomie, and the look upon her face was +that look which I had seen when she smote the Tlascalan, when she taunted +Marina, and when she danced upon the pyramid, the leader of the sacrifice. +“Had I been in your place, I would have killed him by inches. When I had +done with him, then the devils might begin, not before. But it is of no +account; everything is done with, all are dead, and my heart with them. Now +eat, for you are weary.” +</p> + +<p> +So I ate, and afterwards I cast myself upon the bed and slept. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +In the darkness I heard the voice of Otomie that said, “Awake, I would +speak with you,” and there was that about her voice which stirred me from +my heavy sleep. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak on,” I said. “Where are you, Otomie?” +</p> + +<p> +“Seated at your side. I cannot rest, so I am seated here. Listen. Many, +many years ago we met, when you were brought by Guatemoc from Tobasco. Ah! well +do I remember my first sight of you, the Teule, in the court of my father +Montezuma, at Chapoltepec. I loved you then as I have loved you ever since. At +least <i>I</i> have never gone astray after strange gods,” and she +laughed bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you talk of these things, Otomie?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Because it is my fancy to do so. Cannot you spare me one hour from your +sleep, who have spared you so many? You remember how you scorned me—oh! I +thought I should have died of shame when, after I had caused myself to be given +to you as wife, the wife of Tezcat, you told me of the maid across the seas, +that Lily maid whose token is still set upon your finger. But I lived through +it and I loved you the better for your honesty, and then you know the rest. I +won you because I was brave and lay at your side upon the stone of sacrifice, +where you kissed me and told me that you loved me. But you never loved me, not +truly, all the while you were thinking of the Lily maid. I knew it then, as I +know it now, though I tried to deceive myself. I was beautiful in those days +and this is something with a man. I was faithful and that is more, and once or +twice you thought that you loved me. Now I wish that those Teules had come an +hour later, and we had died together there upon the stone, that is I wish it +for my own sake, not for yours. Then we escaped and the great struggle came. I +told you then that I understood it all. You had kissed me on the stone of +sacrifice, but in that moment you were as one dead; when you came back to life, +it was otherwise. But fortune took the game out of your hands and you married +me, and swore an oath to me, and this oath you have kept faithfully. You +married me but you did not know whom you married; you thought me beautiful, and +sweet, and true, and all these things I was, but you did not understand that I +was far apart from you, that I was still a savage as my forefathers had been. +You thought that I had learned your ways, perchance even you thought that I +reverenced your God, as for your sake I have striven to do, but all the while I +have followed the ways of my own people and I could not quite forget my own +gods, or at the least they would not suffer me, their servant, to escape them. +For years and years I put them from me, but at last they were avenged and my +heart mastered me, or rather they mastered me, for I knew nothing of what I did +some few nights since, when I celebrated the sacrifice to Huitzel and you saw +me at the ancient rites. +</p> + +<p> +“All these years you had been true to me and I had borne you children +whom you loved; but you loved them for their own sake, not for mine, indeed, at +heart you hated the Indian blood that was mixed in their veins with yours. Me +also you loved in a certain fashion and this half love of yours drove me well +nigh mad; such as it was, it died when you saw me distraught and celebrating +the rites of my forefathers on the <i>teocalli</i> yonder, and you knew me for +what I am, a savage. And now the children who linked us together are +dead—one by one they died in this way and in that, for the curse which +follows my blood descended upon them—and your love for me is dead with +them. I alone remain alive, a monument of past days, and I die also. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, be silent; listen to me, for my time is short. When you bade me +call you ‘husband’ no longer, then I knew that it was finished. I +obey you, I put you from me, you are no more my husband, and soon I shall cease +to be your wife; still, Teule, I pray you listen to me. Now it seems to you in +your sorrow, that your days are done and that there is no happiness left for +you. This is not so. You are still but a man in the beginning of middle age, +and you are yet strong. You will escape from this ruined land, and when you +shake the dust of it off your feet its curse shall fall from you; you will +return to your own place, and there you will find one who has awaited your +coming for many years. There the savage woman whom you mated with, the princess +of a fallen house, will become but a fantastic memory to you, and all these +strange eventful years will be as a midnight dream. Only your love for the dead +children will always remain, these you must always love by day and by night, +and the desire of them, that desire for the dead than which there is nothing +more terrible, shall follow you to your grave, and I am glad that it should be +so, for I was their mother and some thought of me must go with them. This alone +the Lily maid has left to me, and there only I shall prevail against her, for, +Teule, no child of hers shall live to rob your heart of the memory of those I +gave you. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I have watched you by day and by night: I have seen the longing in +your eyes for a face which you have lost and for the land of your youth. Be +happy, you shall gain both, for the struggle is ended and the Lily maid has +been too strong for me. I grow weak and I have little more to say. We part, and +perhaps for ever, for what is there between us save the souls of those dead +sons of ours? Since you desire me no more, that I may make our severance +perfect, now in the hour of my death I renounce your gods and I seek my own, +though I think that I love yours and hate those of my people. Is there any +communion between them? We part, and perchance for ever, yet I pray of you to +think of me kindly, for I have loved you and I love you; I was the mother of +your children, whom being Christian, you will meet again. I love you now and +for always. I am glad to have lived because you kissed me on the stone of +sacrifice, and afterwards I bore you sons. They are yours and not mine; it +seems to me now that I only cared for them because they were yours, and they +loved you and not me. Take them—take their spirits as you have taken +everything. You swore that death alone should sever us, and you have kept your +oath in the letter and in the thought. But now I go to the Houses of the Sun to +seek my own people, and to you, Teule, with whom I have lived many years and +seen much sorrow, but whom I will no longer call husband, since you forbade me +so to do, I say, make no mock of me to the Lily maid. Speak of me to her as +little as you may—be happy and—farewell!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Now as she spoke ever more faintly, and I listened bewildered, the light of +dawn grew slowly in the chamber. It gathered on the white shape of Otomie +seated in a chair hard by the bed, and I saw that her arms hung down and that +her head was resting on the back of the chair. Now I sprang up and peered into +her face. It was white and cold, and I could feel no breath upon her lips. I +seized her hand, that also was cold. I spoke into her ear, I kissed her brow, +but she did not move nor answer. The light grew quickly, and now I saw all. +Otomie was dead, and by her own act. +</p> + +<p> +This was the manner of her death. She had drunk of a poison of which the +Indians have the secret, a poison that works slowly and without pain, leaving +the mind unclouded to the end. It was while her life was fading from her that +she had spoken to me thus sadly and bitterly. I sat upon the bed and gazed at +her. I did not weep, for my tears were done, and as I have said, whatever I +might feel nothing could break my calm any more. And as I gazed a great +tenderness and sorrow took hold of me, and I loved Otomie better now that she +was dead before me than ever I had done in her life days, and this is saying +much. I remembered her in the glory of her youth as she was in the court of her +royal father, I remembered the look which she had given me when she stepped to +my side upon the stone of sacrifice, and that other look when she defied +Cuitlahua the emperor, who would have slain me. Once more I seemed to hear her +cry of bitter sorrow as she uncovered the body of the dead babe our firstborn, +and to see her sword in hand standing over the Tlascalan. +</p> + +<p> +Many things came back to me in that sad hour of dawn while I watched by the +corpse of Otomie. There was truth in her words, I had never forgotten my first +love and often I desired to see her face. But it was not true to say that I had +no love for Otomie. I loved her well and I was faithful in my oath to her, +indeed, not until she was dead did I know how dear she had grown to me. It is +true that there was a great gulf between us which widened with the years, the +gulf of blood and faith, for I knew well that she could not altogether put away +her old beliefs, and it is true that when I saw her leading the death chant, a +great horror took me and for a while I loathed her. But these things I might +have lived to forgive, for they were part of her blood and nature, moreover, +the last and worst of them was not done by her own will, and when they were set +aside there remained much that I could honour and love in the memory of this +most royal and beautiful woman, who for so many years was my faithful wife. So +I thought in that hour and so I think to this day. She said that we parted for +ever, but I trust and I believe that this is not so. Surely there is +forgiveness for us all, and a place where those who were near and dear to each +other on the earth may once more renew their fellowship. +</p> + +<p> +At last I rose with a sigh to seek help, and as I rose I felt that there was +something set about my neck. It was the collar of great emeralds which Guatemoc +had given to me, and that I had given to Otomie. She had set it there while I +slept, and with it a lock of her long hair. Both shall be buried with me. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +I laid her in the ancient sepulchre amid the bones of her forefathers and by +the bodies of her children, and two days later I rode to Mexico in the train of +Bernal Diaz. At the mouth of the pass I turned and looked back upon the ruins +of the City of Pines, where I had lived so many years and where all I loved +were buried. Long and earnestly I gazed, as in his hour of death a man looks +back upon his past life, till at length Diaz laid his hand upon my shoulder: +</p> + +<p> +“You are a lonely man now, comrade,” he said; “what plans +have you for the future?” +</p> + +<p> +“None,” I answered, “except to die.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never talk so,” he said; “why, you are scarcely forty, and I +who am fifty and more do not speak of dying. Listen; you have friends in your +own country, England?” +</p> + +<p> +“I had.” +</p> + +<p> +“Folk live long in those quiet lands. Go seek them, I will find you a +passage to Spain.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will think of it,” I answered. +</p> + +<p> +In time we came to Mexico, a new and a strange city to me, for Cortes had +rebuilt it, and where the <i>teocalli</i> had stood, up which I was led to +sacrifice, a cathedral was building, whereof the foundations were fitly laid +with the hideous idols of the Aztecs. The place was well enough, but it is not +so beautiful as the Tenoctitlan of Montezuma, nor ever will be. The people too +were changed; then they were warriors and free, now they are slaves. +</p> + +<p> +In Mexico Diaz found me a lodging. None molested me there, for the pardon that +I had received was respected. Also I was a ruined man, no longer to be feared, +the part that I had played in the <i>noche triste</i> and in the defence of the +city was forgotten, and the tale of my sorrows won me pity even from the +Spaniards. I abode in Mexico ten days, wandering sadly about the city and up to +the hill of Chapoltepec, where Montezuma’s pleasure-house had been, and +where I had met Otomie. Nothing was left of its glories except some of the +ancient cedar trees. On the eighth day of my stay an Indian stopped me in the +street, saying that an old friend had charged him to say that she wished to see +me. +</p> + +<p> +I followed the Indian, wondering who the friend might be, for I had no friends, +and he led me to a fine stone house in a new street. Here I was seated in a +darkened chamber and waited there a while, till suddenly a sad and sweet voice +that seemed familiar to me, addressed me in the Aztec tongue, saying, +“Welcome, Teule.” +</p> + +<p> +I looked and there before me, dressed in the Spanish fashion, stood a lady, an +Indian, still beautiful, but very feeble and much worn, as though with sickness +and sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you not know Marina, Teule?” she said again, but before the +words had left her lips I knew her. “Well, I will say this, that I should +scarcely have known <i>you</i>, Teule. Trouble and time have done their work +with both of us.” +</p> + +<p> +I took her hand and kissed it. +</p> + +<p> +“Where then is Cortes?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +Now a great trembling seized her. +</p> + +<p> +“Cortes is in Spain, pleading his suit. He has wed a new wife there, +Teule. Many years ago he put me away, giving me in marriage to Don Juan +Xaramillo, who took me because of my possessions, for Cortes dealt liberally +with me, his discarded mistress.” And she began to weep. +</p> + +<p> +Then by degrees I learned the story, but I will not write it here, for it is +known to the world. When Marina had served his turn and her wit was of no more +service to him, the conqueror discarded her, leaving her to wither of a broken +heart. She told me all the tale of her anguish when she learned the truth, and +of how she had cried to him that thenceforth he would never prosper. Nor indeed +did he do so. +</p> + +<p> +For two hours or more we talked, and when I had heard her story I told her +mine, and she wept for me, since with all her faults Marina’s heart was +ever gentle. +</p> + +<p> +Then we parted never to meet again. Before I went she pressed a gift of money +on me, and I was not ashamed to take it who had none. +</p> + +<p> +This then was the history of Marina, who betrayed her country for her +love’s sake, and this the reward of her treason and her love. But I shall +always hold her memory sacred, for she was a good friend to me, and twice she +saved my life, nor would she desert me, even when Otomie taunted her so +cruelly. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap39"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX<br /> +THOMAS COMES BACK FROM THE DEAD</h2> + +<p> +Now on the morrow of my visit to Marina, the Captain Diaz came to see me and +told me that a friend of his was in command of a <i>carak</i> which was due to +sail from the port of Vera Cruz for Cadiz within ten days, and that this friend +was willing to give me a passage if I wished to leave Mexico. I thought for a +while and said that I would go, and that very night, having bid farewell to the +Captain Diaz, whom may God prosper, for he was a good man among many bad ones, +I set out from the city for the last time in the company of some merchants. A +week’s journey took us safely down the mountains to Vera Cruz, a hot +unhealthy town with an indifferent anchorage, much exposed to the fierce +northerly winds. Here I presented my letters of recommendation to the commander +of the <i>carak</i>, who gave me passage without question, I laying in a stock +of food for the journey. +</p> + +<p> +Three nights later we set sail with a fair wind, and on the following morning +at daybreak all that was left in sight of the land of Anahuac was the snowy +crest of the volcan Orizaba. Presently that vanished into the clouds, and thus +did I bid farewell to the far country where so many things had happened to me, +and which according to my reckoning I had first sighted on this very day +eighteen years before. +</p> + +<p> +Of my journey to Spain I have nothing of note to tell. It was more prosperous +than such voyages often are, and within ten weeks of the date of our lifting +anchor at Vera Cruz, we let it drop in the harbour of Cadiz. Here I sojourned +but two days, for as it chanced there was an English ship in the harbour +trading to London, and in her I took a passage, though I was obliged to sell +the smallest of the emeralds from the necklace to find the means to do so, the +money that Marina gave me being spent. This emerald sold for a great sum, +however, with part of which I purchased clothing suitable to a person of rank, +taking the rest of the gold with me. I grieved to part with the stone indeed, +though it was but a pendant to the pendant of the collar, but necessity knows +no law. The pendant stone itself, a fine gem though flawed, I gave in after +years to her gracious majesty Queen Elizabeth. +</p> + +<p> +On board the English ship they thought me a Spanish adventurer who had made +moneys in the Indies, and I did not undeceive them, since I would be left to my +own company for a while that I might prepare my mind to return to ways of +thought and life that it had long forgotten. Therefore I sat apart like some +proud don, saying little but listening much, and learning all I could of what +had chanced in England since I left it some twenty years before. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +At length our voyage came to an end, and on a certain twelfth of June I found +myself in the mighty city of London that I had never yet visited, and kneeling +down in the chamber of my inn, I thanked God that after enduring so many +dangers and hardships, it had pleased Him to preserve me to set foot again on +English soil. Indeed to this hour I count it nothing short of marvellous that +this frail body of a man should survive all the sorrows and risks of death by +sickness, hunger, battle, murder, drowning, wild beasts, and the cruelty of +men, to which mine had been exposed for many years. +</p> + +<p> +In London I bought a good horse, through the kind offices of the host of my +inn, and on the morrow at daybreak I set out upon the Ipswich road. That very +morning my last adventure befell me, for as I jogged along musing of the beauty +of the English landscape and drinking in the sweet air of June, a cowardly +thief fired a pistol at me from behind a hedge, purposing to plunder me if I +fell. The bullet passed through my hat, grazing the skull, but before I could +do anything the rascal fled, seeing that he had missed his mark, and I went on +my journey, thinking to myself that it would indeed have been strange, if after +passing such great dangers in safety, I had died at last by the hand of a +miserable foot-pad within five miles of London town. +</p> + +<p> +I rode hard all that day and the next, and my horse being stout and swift, by +half-past seven o’clock of the evening I pulled up upon the little hill +whence I had looked my last on Bungay, when I rode thence for Yarmouth with my +father. Below me lay the red roofs of the town; there to the right were the +oaks of Ditchingham and the beautiful tower of St. Mary’s Church, yonder +the stream of Waveney wandered, and before me stretched the meadow lands, +purple and golden with marsh weeds in bloom. All was as it had been, I could +see no change at all, the only change was in myself. I dismounted, and going to +a pool of water near the roadway I looked at the reflection of my own face. I +was changed indeed, scarcely should I have known it for that of the lad who had +ridden up this hill some twenty years ago. Now, alas! the eyes were sunken and +very sorrowful, the features were sharp, and there was more grey than black in +the beard and hair. I should scarcely have known it myself, would any others +know it, I wondered? Would there be any to know it indeed? In twenty years many +die and others pass out of sight; should I find a friend at all among the +living? Since I read the letters which Captain Bell of the +“Adventuress” had brought me before I sailed for Hispaniola, I had +heard no tidings from my home, and what tidings awaited me now? Above all what +of Lily, was she dead or married or gone? +</p> + +<p> +Mounting my horse I pushed on again at a canter, taking the road past Waingford +Mills through the fords and Pirnhow town, leaving Bungay upon my left. In ten +minutes I was at the gate of the bridle path that runs from the Norwich road +for half a mile or more beneath the steep and wooded bank under the shelter of +which stands the Lodge at Ditchingham. By the gate a man loitered in the last +rays of the sun. I looked at him and knew him; it was Billy Minns, that same +fool who had loosed de Garcia when I left him bound that I might run to meet my +sweetheart. He was an old man now and his white hair hung about his withered +face, moreover he was unclean and dressed in rags, but I could have fallen on +his neck and embraced him, so rejoiced was I to look once more on one whom I +had known in youth. +</p> + +<p> +Seeing me come he hobbled on his stick to the gate to open it for me, whining a +prayer for alms. +</p> + +<p> +“Does Mr. Wingfield live here?” I said, pointing up the path, and +my breath came quick as I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Wingfield, sir, Mr. Wingfield, which of them?” he answered. +“The old gentleman he’s been dead nigh upon twenty years. I helped +to dig his grave in the chancel of yonder church I did, we laid him by his +wife—her that was murdered. Then there’s Mr. Geoffrey.” +</p> + +<p> +“What of him?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s dead, too, twelve year gone or more; he drank hisself to dead +he did. And Mr. Thomas, he’s dead, drowned over seas they say, many a +winter back; they’re all dead, all dead! Ah! he was a rare one, Mr. +Thomas was; I mind me well how when I let the furriner go—” and he +rambled off into the tale of how he had set de Garcia on his horse after I had +beaten him, nor could I bring him back from it. +</p> + +<p> +Casting him a piece of money, I set spurs to my weary horse and cantered up the +bridle path, leaving the Mill House on my left, and as I went, the beat of his +hoofs seemed to echo the old man’s words, “All dead, all +dead!” Doubtless Lily was dead also, or if she was not dead, when the +tidings came that I had been drowned at sea, she would have married. Being so +fair and sweet she would surely not have lacked for suitors, nor could it be +believed that she had worn her life away mourning over the lost love of her +youth. +</p> + +<p> +Now the Lodge was before me; it had changed no whit except that the ivy and +creepers on its front had grown higher, to the roof indeed, and I could see +that people lived in the house, for it was well kept, and smoke hung above the +chimneys. The gate was locked, and there were no serving men about, for night +fell fast, and all had ceased from their labour. Leaving the house on the right +I passed round it to the stables that are at the back near the hillside garden, +but here the gate was locked also, and I dismounted not knowing what to do. +Indeed I was so unmanned with fear and doubt that for a while I seemed +bewildered, and leaving the horse to crop the grass where he stood, I wandered +to the foot of the church path and gazed up the hill as though I waited for the +coming of one whom I should meet. +</p> + +<p> +“What if they were all dead, what if SHE were dead and gone?” I +buried my face in my hands and prayed to the Almighty who had protected me +through so many years, to spare me this last bitterness. I was crushed with +sorrow, and I felt that I could bear no more. If Lily were lost to me also, +then I thought that it would be best that I should die, since there was nothing +left for which I cared to live. +</p> + +<p> +Thus I prayed for some while, trembling like a leaf, and when I looked up +again, ere I turned to seek tidings from those that dwelt in the house, whoever +they might be, the twilight had fallen completely, and lo! nightingales sang +both far and near. I listened to their song, and as I listened, some troubled +memory came back to me that at first I could not grasp. Then suddenly there +rose up in my mind a vision of the splendid chamber in Montezuma’s palace +in Tenoctitlan, and of myself sleeping on a golden bed, and dreaming on that +bed. I knew it now, I was the god Tezcat, and on the morrow I must be +sacrificed, and I slept in misery, and as I slept I dreamed. I dreamed that I +stood where I stood this night, that the scent of the English flowers was in my +nostrils as it was this night, and that the sweet song of the nightingales rang +in my ears as at this present hour. I dreamed that as I mused and listened the +moon came up over the green ash and oaks, and lo! there she shone. I dreamed +that I heard a sound of singing on the hill— +</p> + +<p> +But now I awoke from this vision of the past and of a long lost dream, for as I +stood the sweet voice of a woman began to sing yonder on the brow of the slope; +I was not mad, I heard it clearly, and the sound grew ever nearer as the singer +drew down the steep hillside. It was so near now that I could catch the very +words of that sad song which to this day I remember. +</p> + +<p> +Now I could see the woman’s shape in the moonlight; it was tall and +stately and clad in a white robe. Presently she lifted her head to watch the +flitter of a bat and the moonlight lit upon her face. It was the face of Lily +Bozard, my lost love, beautiful as of yore, though grown older and stamped with +the seal of some great sorrow. I saw, and so deeply was I stirred at the sight, +that had it not been for the low paling to which I clung, I must have fallen to +the earth, and a deep groan broke from my lips. +</p> + +<p> +She heard the groan and ceased her song, then catching sight of the figure of a +man, she stopped and turned as though to fly. I stood quite still, and wonder +overcoming her fear, she drew nearer and spoke in the sweet low voice that I +remembered well, saying, “Who wanders here so late? Is it you, +John?” +</p> + +<p> +Now when I heard her speak thus a new fear took me. Doubtless she was married +and “John” was her husband. I had found her but to lose her more +completely. Of a sudden it came into my mind that I would not discover myself +till I knew the truth. I advanced a pace, but not so far as to pass from the +shadow of the shrubs which grow here, and taking my stand in such a fashion +that the moonlight did not strike upon my face, I bowed low in the courtly +Spanish fashion, and disguising my voice spoke as a Spaniard might in broken +English which I will spare to write down. +</p> + +<p> +“Madam,” I said, “have I the honour to speak to one who in +bygone years was named the Señora Lily Bozard?” +</p> + +<p> +“That was my name,” she answered. “What is your errand with +me, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +Now I trembled afresh, but spoke on boldly. +</p> + +<p> +“Before I answer, Madam, forgive me if I ask another question. Is this +still your name?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is still my name, I am no married woman,” she answered, and for +a moment the sky seemed to reel above me and the ground to heave beneath my +feet like the lava crust of Xaca. But as yet I did not reveal myself, for I +wished to learn if she still loved my memory. +</p> + +<p> +“Señora,” I said, “I am a Spaniard who served in the Indian +wars of Cortes, of which perhaps you have heard.” +</p> + +<p> +She bowed her head and I went on. “In those wars I met a man who was +named Teule, but who had another name in former days, so he told me on his +deathbed some two years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“What name?” she asked in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Thomas Wingfield.” +</p> + +<p> +Now Lily moaned aloud, and in her turn caught at the pales to save herself from +falling. +</p> + +<p> +“I deemed him dead these eighteen years,” she gasped; +“drowned in the Indian seas where his vessel foundered.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard say that he was shipwrecked in those seas, señora, but he +escaped death and fell among the Indians, who made a god of him and gave him +the daughter of their king in marriage,” and I paused. +</p> + +<p> +She shivered, then said in a hard voice, “Continue, sir; I listen to +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“My friend Teule took the part of the Indians in the wars, as being the +husband of one of their princesses he must do in honour, and fought bravely for +them for many years. At length the town that he defended was captured, his one +remaining child was murdered, his wife the princess slew herself for sorrow, +and he himself was taken into captivity, where he languished and died.” +</p> + +<p> +“A sad tale, sir,” she said with a little laugh—a mournful +laugh that was half choked by tears. +</p> + +<p> +“A very sad tale, señora, but one which is not finished. While he lay +dying, my friend told me that in his early life he had plighted troth with a +certain English maid, named—” +</p> + +<p> +“I know the name—continue.” +</p> + +<p> +“He told me that though he had been wedded, and loved his wife the +princess, who was a very royal woman, that many times had risked her life for +his, ay, even to lying at his side upon the stone of sacrifice and of her own +free will, yet the memory of this maiden to whom he was once betrothed had +companioned him through life and was strong upon him now at its close. +Therefore he prayed me for our friendship’s sake to seek her out when I +returned to Europe, should she still live, and to give her a message from him, +and to make a prayer to her on his behalf.” +</p> + +<p> +“What message and what prayer?” Lily whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“This: that he loved her at the end of his life as he had loved her at +its beginning; that he humbly prayed her forgiveness because he had broken the +troth which they two swore beneath the beech at Ditchingham.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” she cried, “what do you know of that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only what my friend told me, señora.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your friendship must have been close and your memory must be +good,” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“Which he had done,” I went on, “under strange circumstances, +so strange indeed that he dared to hope that his broken troth might be renewed +in some better world than this. His last prayer was that she should say to me, +his messenger, that she forgave him and still loved him, as to his death he +loved her.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how can such forgiveness or such an avowal advantage a dead +man?” Lily asked, watching me keenly through the shadows. “Have the +dead then eyes to see and ears to hear?” +</p> + +<p> +“How can I know, señora? I do but execute my mission.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how can I know that you are a true messenger. It chanced that I had +sure tidings of the drowning of Thomas Wingfield many years ago, and this tale +of Indians and princesses is wondrous strange, more like those that happen in +romances than in this plain world. Have you no token of your good faith, +sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have such a token, señora, but the light is too faint for you to see +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then follow me to the house, there we will get light. Stay,” and +once more going to the stable gate, she called “John.” +</p> + +<p> +An old man answered her, and I knew the voice for that of one of my +father’s serving men. To him she spoke in low tones, then led the way by +the garden path to the front door of the house, which she opened with a key +from her girdle, motioning to me to pass in before her. I did so, and thinking +little of such matters at the moment, turned by habit into the doorway of the +sitting-room which I knew so well, lifting my feet to avoid stumbling on its +step, and passing into the room found my way through the gloom to the wide +fireplace where I took my stand. Lily watched me enter, then following me, she +lit a taper at the fire which smouldered on the hearth, and placed it upon the +table in the window in such fashion that though I was now obliged to take off +my hat, my face was still in shadow. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, sir, your token if it pleases you.” +</p> + +<p> +Then I drew the posy ring from my finger and gave it to her, and she sat down +by the table and examined it in the light of the candle, and as she sat thus, I +saw how beautiful she was still, and how little time had touched her, except +for the sadness of her face, though now she had seen eight-and-thirty winters. +I saw also that though she kept control of her features as she looked upon the +ring, her breast heaved quickly and her hand shook. +</p> + +<p> +“The token is a true one,” she said at length. “I know the +ring, though it is somewhat worn since last I saw it, it was my mother’s; +and many years ago I gave it as a love gage to a youth to whom I promised +myself in marriage. Doubtless all your tale is true also, sir, and I thank you +for your courtesy in bringing it so far. It is a sad tale, a very sad tale. And +now, sir, as I may not ask you to stay in this house where I live alone, and +there is no inn near, I propose to send serving men to conduct you to my +brother’s dwelling that is something more than a mile away, if +indeed,” she added slowly, “you do not already know the path! There +you will find entertainment, and there the sister of your dead companion, Mary +Bozard, will be glad to learn the story of his strange adventures from your +lips.” +</p> + +<p> +I bowed my head and answered, “First, señora, I would pray your answer to +my friend’s dying prayer and message.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is childish to send answers to the dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Still I pray for them as I was charged to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“How reads the writing within this ring, sir?” +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Heart to heart,<br /> +Though far apart,” +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +I said glibly, and next instant I could have bitten out my tongue. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! you know that also, but doubtless you have carried the ring for many +months and learned the writing. Well, sir, though we were far apart, and though +perchance I cherished the memory of him who wore this ring, and for his sake +remained unwed, it seems that his heart went a straying—to the breast +indeed of some savage woman whom he married, and who bore him children. That +being so, my answer to the prayer of your dead friend is that I forgive him +indeed, but I must needs take back the vows which I swore to him for this life +and for ever, since he has broken them, and as best I may, strive to cast out +the love I bore him since he rejected and dishonoured it,” and standing +up Lily made as though she tore at her breast and threw something from her, and +at the same time she let fall the ring upon the floor. +</p> + +<p> +I heard and my heart stood still. So this was the end of it. Well, she had the +right of me, though now I began to wish that I had been less honest, for +sometimes women can forgive a lie sooner than such frankness. I said nothing, +my tongue was tied, but a great misery and weariness entered into me. Stooping +down I found the ring, and replacing it on my finger, I turned to seek the door +with a last glance at the woman who refused me. Halfway thither I paused for +one second, wondering if I should do well to declare myself, then bethought me +that if she would not abate her anger toward me dead, her pity for me living +would be small. Nay, I was dead to her, and dead I would remain. +</p> + +<p> +Now I was at the door and my foot was on its step, when suddenly a voice, +Lily’s voice, sounded in my ears and it was sweet and kind. +</p> + +<p> +“Thomas,” said the voice, “Thomas, before you go, will you +not take count of the gold and goods and land that you placed in my +keeping?” +</p> + +<p> +Now I turned amazed, and lo! Lily came towards me slowly and with outstretched +arms. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! foolish man,” she whispered low, “did you think to +deceive a woman’s heart thus clumsily? You who talked of the beech in the +Hall garden, you who found your way so well to this dark chamber, and spoke the +writing in the ring with the very voice of one who has been dead so long. +Listen: I forgive that friend of yours his broken troth, for he was honest in +the telling of his fault and it is hard for man to live alone so many years, +and in strange countries come strange adventures; moreover, I will say it, I +still love him as it seems that he loves me, though in truth I grow somewhat +old for love, who have lingered long waiting to find it beyond my grave.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus Lily spoke, sobbing as she spoke, then my arms closed round her and she +said no more. And yet as our lips met I thought of Otomie, remembering her +words, and remembering also that she had died by her own hand on this very day +a year ago. +</p> + +<p> +Let us pray that the dead have no vision of the living! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap40"></a>CHAPTER XL<br /> +AMEN</h2> + +<p> +And now there is little left for me to tell and my tale draws to its end, for +which I am thankful, for I am very old and writing is a weariness to me, so +great a weariness indeed that many a time during the past winter I have been +near to abandoning the task. +</p> + +<p> +For a while Lily and I sat almost silent in this same room where I write +to-day, for our great joy and many another emotion that was mixed with it, +clogged our tongues. Then as though moved by one impulse, we knelt down and +offered our humble thanks to heaven that had preserved us both to this strange +meeting. Scarcely had we risen from our knees when there was a stir without the +house, and presently a buxom dame entered, followed by a gallant gentleman, a +lad, and a maiden. These were my sister Mary, her husband Wilfred Bozard, +Lily’s brother, and their two surviving children, Roger and Joan. When +she guessed that it was I come home again and no other, Lily had sent them +tidings by the servant man John, that one was with her whom she believed they +would be glad to see, and they had hurried hither, not knowing whom they should +find. Nor were they much the wiser at first, for I was much changed and the +light in the room shone dim, but stood perplexed, wondering who this stranger +might be. +</p> + +<p> +“Mary,” I said at length, “Mary, do you not remember me, my +sister?” +</p> + +<p> +Then she cried aloud, and throwing herself into my arms, she wept there a +while, as would any of us were our beloved dead suddenly to appear before our +eyes, alive and well, and her husband clasped me by the hand and swore heartily +in his amazement, as is the fashion of some men when they are moved. But the +children stood staring blankly till I called the girl to me, who now was much +what her mother had been when we parted, and kissing her, told her that I was +that uncle of whom perhaps she had heard as dead many years ago. +</p> + +<p> +Then my horse, that all this while had been forgotten, having been caught and +stabled, we went to supper and it was a strange meal to me, and after meat I +asked for tidings. Now I learned that the fortune which my old master Fonseca +had left to me came home in safety, and that it had prospered exceedingly under +Lily’s care, for she had spent but very little of it for her maintenance, +looking on it always as a trust rather than as her own. When my death seemed +certain my sister Mary had entered on her share of my possessions, however, and +with it had purchased some outlying lands in Earsham and Hedenham, and the wood +and manor of Tyndale Hall in Ditchingham and Broome. These lands I made haste +to say she might keep as a gift from me, since it seemed that I had greater +riches than I could need without them, and this saying of mine pleased her +husband Wilfred Bozard not a little, seeing that it is hard for a man to give +up what he has held for many years. +</p> + +<p> +Then I heard the rest of the story; of my father’s sudden death, of how +the coming of the gold had saved Lily from being forced into marriage with my +brother Geoffrey, who afterwards had taken to evil courses which ended in his +decease at the age of thirty-one; of the end of Squire Bozard, Lily’s +father and my old enemy, from an apoplexy which took him in a sudden fit of +anger. After this it seemed, her brother being married to my sister Mary, Lily +had moved down to the Lodge, having paid off the charges that my brother +Geoffrey had heaped upon his heritage, and bought out my sister’s rights +to it. And here at the Lodge she had lived ever since, a sad and lonely woman, +and yet not altogether an unhappy one, for she gave much of her time to good +works. Indeed she told me that had it not been for the wide lands and moneys +which she must manage as my heiress, she would have betaken herself to a +sisterhood, there to wear her life away in peace, since I being lost to her, +and indeed dead, as she was assured,—for the news of the wreck of the +<i>carak</i> found its way to Ditchingham,—she no longer thought of +marriage, though more than one gentleman of condition had sought her hand. +This, with some minor matters, such as the birth and death of children, and the +story of the great storm and flood that smote Bungay, and indeed the length of +the vale of Waveney in those days, was all the tale that they had to tell who +had grown from youth to middle age in quiet. For of the crowning and end of +kings and of matters politic, such as the downfall of the power of the Pope of +Rome and the sacking of the religious houses which was still in progress, I +make no mention here. +</p> + +<p> +But now they called for mine, and I began it at the beginning, and it was +strange to see their faces as they listened. All night long, till the thrushes +sang down the nightingales, and the dawn shone in the east, I sat at +Lily’s side telling them my story, and then it was not finished. So we +slept in the chambers that had been made ready for us, and on the morrow I took +it up again, showing them the sword that had belonged to Bernal Diaz, the great +necklace of emeralds which Guatemoc had given to me, and certain scars and +wounds in witness of its truth. Never did I see folk so much amazed, and when I +came to speak of the last sacrifice of the women of the Otomie, and of the +horrid end of de Garcia who died fighting with his own shadow, or rather with +the shadows of his own wickedness, they cried aloud with fear, as they wept +when I told of the deaths of Isabella de Siguenza and of Guatemoc, and of the +loss of my sons. +</p> + +<p> +But I did not tell all the story to this company, for some of it was for +Lily’s ear alone, and to her I spoke of my dealings with Otomie as a man +might speak with a man, for I felt that if I kept anything back now there would +never be complete faith between us. Therefore I set out all my doubts and +troublings, nor did I hide that I had learned to love Otomie, and that her +beauty and sweetness had drawn me from the first moment when I saw her in the +court of Montezuma, or that which had passed between us on the stone of +sacrifice. +</p> + +<p> +When I had done Lily thanked me for my honesty and said it seemed that in such +matters men differed from women, seeing that SHE had never felt the need to be +delivered from the temptation of strange loves. Still we were as God and Nature +had made us, and therefore had little right to reproach each other, or even to +set that down as virtue which was but lack of leaning. Moreover, this Otomie, +her sin of heathenism notwithstanding, had been a great-hearted woman and one +who might well dazzle the wandering eyes of man, daring more for her +love’s sake than ever she, Lily, could have dared; and to end with, it +was clear that at last I must choose between wedding her and a speedy death, +and having sworn so great an oath to her I should have been perjured indeed if +I had left her when my dangers were gone by. Therefore she, Lily, was minded to +let all this matter rest, nor should she be jealous if I still thought of this +dead wife of mine with tenderness. +</p> + +<p> +Thus she spoke most sweetly, looking at me the while with her clear and earnest +eyes, that I ever fancied must be such as adorn the shining faces of angels. +Ay, and those same eyes of hers were filled with tears when I told her my +bitter grief over the death of my firstborn and of my other bereavements. For +it was not till some years afterwards, when she had abandoned further hope of +children, that Lily grew jealous of those dead sons of mine and of my ever +present love for them. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Now the tidings of my return and of my strange adventures among the nations of +the Indies were noised abroad far and wide, and people came from miles round, +ay, even from Norwich and Yarmouth, to see me and I was pressed to tell my tale +till I grew weary of it. Also a service of thanksgiving for my safe deliverance +from many dangers by land and sea was held in the church of St. Mary’s +here in Ditchingham, which service was no longer celebrated after the rites of +the Romish faith, for while I had sojourned afar, the saints were fallen like +the Aztec gods; the yoke of Rome had been broken from off the neck of England, +and though all do not think with me, I for one rejoiced at it heartily who had +seen enough of priestcraft and its cruelties. +</p> + +<p> +When that ceremony was over and all people had gone to their homes, I came back +again to the empty church from the Hall, where I abode a while as the guest of +my sister and her husband, till Lily and I were wed. +</p> + +<p> +And there in the quiet light of the June evening I knelt in the chancel upon +the rushes that strewed the grave of my father and my mother, and sent my +spirit up towards them in the place of their eternal rest, and to the God who +guards them. A great calm came upon me as I knelt thus, and I felt how mad had +been that oath of mine that as a lad I had sworn to be avenged upon de Garcia, +and I saw how as a tree from a seed, all my sorrows had grown from it. But even +then I could not do other than hate de Garcia, no, nor can I to this hour, and +after all it was natural that I should desire vengeance on the murderer of my +mother though the wreaking of it had best been left in another Hand. +</p> + +<p> +Without the little chancel door I met Lily, who was lingering there knowing me +to be within, and we spoke together. +</p> + +<p> +“Lily,” I said, “I would ask you something. After all that +has been, will you still take me for your husband, unworthy as I am?” +</p> + +<p> +“I promised so to do many a year ago, Thomas,” she answered, +speaking very low, and blushing like the wild rose that bloomed upon a grave +beside her, “and I have never changed my mind. Indeed for many years I +have looked upon you as my husband, though I thought you dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps it is more than I deserve,” I said. “But if it is to +be, say when it shall be, for youth has left us and we have little time to +lose.” +</p> + +<p> +“When you will, Thomas,” she answered, placing her hand in mine. +</p> + +<p> +Within a week from that evening we were wed. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +And now my tale is done. God who gave me so sad and troublous a youth and early +manhood, has blessed me beyond measure in my middle age and eld. All these +events of which I have written at such length were done with many a day ago: +the hornbeam sapling that I set beneath these windows in the year when we were +married is now a goodly tree of shade and still I live to look on it. Here in +the happy valley of the Waveney, save for my bitter memories and that longing +for the dead which no time can so much as dull, year after year has rolled over +my silvering hairs in perfect health and peace and rest, and year by year have +I rejoiced more deeply in the true love of a wife such as few have known. For +it would seem as though the heart-ache and despair of youth had but sweetened +that most noble nature till it grew well nigh divine. But one sorrow came to +us, the death of our infant child—for it was fated that I should die +childless—and in that sorrow, as I have told, Lily shewed that she was +still a woman. For the rest no shadow lay between us. Hand in hand we passed +down the hill of life, till at length in the fulness of her days my wife was +taken from me. One Christmas night she lay down to sleep at my side, in the +morning she was dead. I grieved indeed and bitterly, but the sorrow was not as +the sorrows of my youth had been, since age and use dull the edge of mortal +griefs and I knew and know that we are no long space apart. Very soon I shall +join Lily where she is, and I do not fear that journey. For the dread of death +has left me at length, as it departs from all who live long enough and strive +to repent them of their sins, and I am well content to leave my safety at the +Gates and my heavenly comfort in the Almighty Hand that saved me from the stone +of sacrifice and has guided me through so many perils upon this troubled earth. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +And now to God my Father, Who holds me, Thomas Wingfield, and all I have loved +and love in His holy keeping, be thanks and glory and praise! Amen. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONTEZUMA’S DAUGHTER ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 1848-h.htm or 1848-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/4/1848/</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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