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diff --git a/1848-0.txt b/1848-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..26ceef0 --- /dev/null +++ b/1848-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14779 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Montezuma’s Daughter, by H. Rider Haggard + +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 +www.gutenberg.org. 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. + +Title: Montezuma’s Daughter + +Author: H. Rider Haggard + +Release Date: August, 1999 [eBook #1848] +[Most recently updated: December 14, 2020] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Donald Lainson, Anonymous Volunteers and David Widger + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONTEZUMA’S DAUGHTER *** + +[Illustration] + + + + +Montezuma’s Daughter + +by H. Rider Haggard + + +Contents + + I. WHY THOMAS WINGFIELD TELLS HIS TALE + II. OF THE PARENTAGE OF THOMAS WINGFIELD + III. THE COMING OF THE SPANIARD + IV. THOMAS TELLS HIS LOVE + V. THOMAS SWEARS AN OATH + VI. GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEART + VII. ANDRES DE FONSECA + VIII. THE SECOND MEETING + IX. THOMAS BECOMES RICH + X. THE PASSING OF ISABELLA DE SIGUENZA + XI. THE LOSS OF THE CARAK + XII. THOMAS COMES TO SHORE + XIII. THE STONE OF SACRIFICE + XIV. THE SAVING OF GUATEMOC + XV. THE COURT OF MONTEZUMA + XVI. THOMAS BECOMES A GOD + XVII. THE ARISING OF PAPANTZIN + XVIII. THE NAMING OF THE BRIDES + XIX. THE FOUR GODDESSES + XX. OTOMIE’S COUNSEL + XXI. THE KISS OF LOVE + XXII. THE TRIUMPH OF THE CROSS + XXIII. THOMAS IS MARRIED + XXIV. THE NIGHT OF FEAR + XXV. THE BURYING OF MONTEZUMA’S TREASURE + XXVI. THE CROWNING OF GUATEMOC + XXVII. THE FALL OF TENOCTITLAN + XXVIII. THOMAS IS DOOMED + XXIX. DE GARCIA SPEAKS HIS MIND + XXX. THE ESCAPE + XXXI. OTOMIE PLEADS WITH HER PEOPLE + XXXII. THE END OF GUATEMOC + XXXIII. ISABELLA DE SIGUENZA IS AVENGED + XXXIV. THE SIEGE OF THE CITY OF PINES + XXXV. THE LAST SACRIFICE OF THE WOMEN OF THE OTOMIE + XXXVI. THE SURRENDER + XXXVII. VENGEANCE + XXXVIII. OTOMIE’S FAREWELL + XXXIX. THOMAS COMES BACK FROM THE DEAD + XL. AMEN + + + + +DEDICATION + +My dear Jebb, + +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. + +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,[1] 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. + +I am, my dear Jebb, +Always sincerely yours, +H. RIDER HAGGARD. + +DITCHINGHAM, NORFOLK, _October_ 5, 1892. +To J. Gladwyn Jebb, Esq. + + + + +NOTE + + +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. + +H. R. H. + +_March_ 22, 1893. + + [1] The volcano Izticcihuatl in Mexico. + + + + +NOTE + + +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. + + + + +Montezuma’s Daughter + + + + +CHAPTER I +WHY THOMAS WINGFIELD TELLS HIS TALE + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +“What is it, wife?” I asked astonished. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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, _that_ 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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And now to my task. + + + + +CHAPTER II +OF THE PARENTAGE OF THOMAS WINGFIELD + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +At this news my mother turned pale beneath her olive skin, and muttered +in Spanish: + +“Holy Mother! grant that it be not he.” + +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. + +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. + +“You have risen early, mother,” I said. + +“I have never lain down, Thomas,” she answered. + +“Why not? What do you fear?” + +“I fear the past and the future, my son. Would that your father were +back.” + +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. + +Springing from his horse he embraced her, saying, “Be of good cheer, +sweet, it cannot be he. This man has another name.” + +“But did you see him?” she asked. + +“No, he was out at his ship for the night, and I hurried home to tell +you, knowing your fears.” + +“It were surer if you had seen him, husband. He may well have taken +another name.” + +“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.” + +“Thanks be to Jesu then!” she said, and they began talking in a low +voice. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“It is a man,” she answered, “but one to be dealt with otherwise than +by blows, Thomas, should you ever chance to meet him.” + +“May be, mother, but might is the best argument at the last, for the +most cunning have a life to lose.” + +“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.’” + +“And remember the other proverb, mother: ‘Strike before thou art +stricken,’” I answered, and went. + +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. + +I never saw her again till she was dead. + + + + +CHAPTER III +THE COMING OF THE SPANIARD + + +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. + +But it was not fated that I should go to London. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“It may be strange, sir,” I answered, “but I am in haste. Be pleased to +ask your question and let me go.” + +“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!” + +Here I made as though I would pass on, but he spoke again. + +“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?” + +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, + +“Will you be so gracious as to tell me your name, young Sir?” + +“What is my name to you?” I answered roughly, for I disliked this man. +“You have not told me yours.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Then you must drag me thither,” he groaned, and shut his eyes as +though with faintness, and doubtless he was somewhat faint. + +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. + +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. + +“Now, here you stay,” I said, “till I am ready to fetch you;” and I +turned to go. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER IV +THOMAS TELLS HIS LOVE + + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“I have no breath to speak yet,” I answered. “Come back to the +hawthorns and I will tell you.” + +“No, I must be wending homewards. I have been among the trees for more +than an hour, and there is little bloom upon them.” + +“I could not come before, Lily. I was kept, and in a strange manner. +Also I saw bloom as I ran.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“But you are wounded, Thomas,” she broke in; “see, the blood runs fast +from your arm. Is the thrust deep?” + +“I have not looked to see. I have had no time to look.” + +“Take off your coat, Thomas, that I may dress the wound. Nay, I will +have it so.” + +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. + +“Why did you do that, Thomas?” she said, in a low voice. + +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.” + +“Are you so sure of that, Thomas?” she said, again. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Can you doubt it, Thomas?” she said. + +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. + +“It seems then that you do love me who love you so well.” + +“If you doubted it before, can you doubt it _now?_” 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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Is this so, daughter?” he asked. + +“It is so, my father,” she answered boldly. + +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.” + +“That is my desire, and I will do it, sir,” I answered. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +“Are you mad?” she cried. “And do you think to win me by slaying my +father? Throw down that sword, Thomas.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Farewell, Thomas,” she said weeping. “Forget me not and I will never +forget my oath to you.” + +Then taking Lily by the arm her father led her away. + +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. + +“Where is the man who was tied here, Billy?” I asked. + +“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.” + +“You set him on his horse, fool? How long was that ago?” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +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? + +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? + +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? + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER V +THOMAS SWEARS AN OATH + + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“What evil thing has happened?” + +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: + +“Where is this Spaniard? Have you killed him?” + +“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.” + +“Ay, and then?” + +“And then I let him go, knowing nothing of the deed he had already +wrought upon our mother. Afterwards I will tell you all.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Without another word my father and brother wheeled their horses round +and departed at full gallop into the gloom of the gathering night. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“It is so,” said my father. “Thomas, your mother’s blood is on your +hands.” + +I listened and could bear this goading injustice no longer. + +“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!” + +Thus I swore in my rage and anguish, holding up my hand to heaven that +I called upon to witness the oath. + +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.” + +“Yes, it is right that he should go,” said Geoffrey. + +“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.” + +“The girl is to him who can win her,” he said. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“‘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.’ + +“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. + +“Then the others broke into shouts of: + +“‘If you want any man from among us, come aboard and take him, you +torturing devils,’ and the like. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“‘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.’ + +“Then we sailed away for England, and the boats fell astern. + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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. + +“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.” + +Little did I know how long that journey would be! + + + + +CHAPTER VI +GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEART + + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +Squire Bozard thought a while, then said: + +“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.” + +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. + +“Oh! Thomas,” she whispered, when I had greeted her, “is this true that +you sail oversea to seek the Spaniard?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Who can say, my sweet? My father went over seas and came back safe, +having passed through many perils.” + +“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?” + +“I swear to you, Lily—” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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: + +“It is time to go, sweetheart. My father beckons me from the lattice. +All is finished.” + +“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. + +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. + +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: + +Heart to heart, +Though far apart. + + +A fitting motto for us indeed, and one that has its meaning to this +hour. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER VII +ANDRES DE FONSECA + + +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. + +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. + +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 _patios_ 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 _patio_. 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. + +“A thousand thanks, young sir,” he said in a full and gentle voice. +“You are courteous for a foreigner.” + +“How do you know me to be a foreigner, señor?” I asked, surprised out +of my caution. + +“If I had not guessed it before, I should know it now,” he answered, +smiling gravely. “Your Castilian tells its own tale.” + +I bowed, and was about to pass on, when he addressed me again. + +“What is your hurry, young sir? Step in and take a cup of wine with me; +it is good.” + +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. + +“The day is hot, señor, and I accept.” + +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 _patio_ 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. + +“Bring wine,” said my host. + +The wine was brought, white wine of Oporto such as I had never tasted +before. + +“Your health, señor?” And my host stopped, his glass in his hand, and +looked at me inquiringly. + +“Diego d’Aila,” I answered. + +“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.” + +“That is my name, to take or to leave, señor?”—And I looked at him in +turn. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Then I must seek a livelihood elsewhere, or otherwise.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +I bowed, and did my best to hold back my satisfaction at his words from +showing in my face. + +“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.” + +“I am much flattered,” I said, “but might I ask what all these +compliments may mean? To be brief, what is your offer?” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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,[2] 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. + + [2] About sixty-three pounds sterling. + + +“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.” + +“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. + +“Truly, you lack experience,” the old man answered with a laugh. “Do +you then suppose that I should choose one who was _not_ 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?” + +“How do you know?” I began—then ceased. + +“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.” + +“You are very clever, señor.” + +“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?” + +“I incline to do so.” + +“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, _you die_. 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?” + +“I understand. For my own sake I will respect your confidence.” + +“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?” + +“I accept.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +But I would none of it, who thought of my English Lily by day and +night. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII +THE SECOND MEETING + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _patio;_ 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. + +“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.” + +“You took them!” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _sombrero_ 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. + +“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. + +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 + +‘’Neath fairer skies +Shine other eyes,’ + + +and I—” and again he spoke so low that I could not catch his words. + +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! + +“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. + +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. + +I took three paces and stood before him, drawing my sword as I came. + +“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?” + +“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. + +“Mother of God! It is the English boy who—” and he stopped. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“You will meet me now,” I answered. “Draw or I strike!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Have you patience to listen to a story?” I said, “for I would seek +your help.” + +“Ah!” he answered, “it is the old case, the physician cannot heal +himself. Speak on, nephew.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“I do not know,” I answered, “but I thought that first I would search +for myself.” + +“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.” + +I did as he bade me, bringing the heavy parchment volumes, each bound +in vellum and written in cipher. + +“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.” + +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. + +“De Garcia—Juan. Height, appearance, family, false names, and so on. +This is it—history. Now listen.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“What!” I exclaimed, “is the girl who came to seek your help two nights +since the same that de Garcia deserted?” + +“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.” + +That night Fonseca sent for me again. + +“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.” + +“Can she be rescued?” + +“Impossible. Had she followed my counsel she would never have been +taken.” + +“Can she be communicated with?” + +“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!” + +“Amen!” I answered. + + + + +CHAPTER IX +THOMAS BECOMES RICH + + +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. + +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. + +That evening Fonseca sent for me. I found him very weak, but cheerful +and full of talk. + +“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?” + +I shook my head. + +“I will tell you. I have been making my will—there is something to +leave; not so very much, but still something.” + +“Do not talk of wills,” I said; “I trust that you may live for many +years.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +“You have left it to _me!_” I said astonished. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“I asked to see Don Andres de Fonseca,” she said in a low quick voice. +“You are not he, señor.” + +“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.” + +“You are young—very young,” she murmured confusedly, “and the matter is +terrible and urgent. How can I trust you?” + +“It is for you to judge, señora.” + +She thought a while, then drew off her cloak, displaying the robes of a +nun. + +“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.” + +“I give you my word,” I answered; “if that is not enough, let us end +this talk.” + +“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.” + +“I am not the tool of murderers,” I answered. “For what purpose do you +wish the poison?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Is this woman named Isabella de Siguenza?” I asked. + +“That name was hers in the world,” she answered, “though how you know +it I cannot guess.” + +“We know many things in this house, mother. Say now, can this Isabella +be saved by money or by interest?” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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.’” + +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. + +“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.” + +I made no answer, but looked round the dim and dewy garden. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“I am no babbler, father, so the caution is not needed. One word more. +This visit should be well feed, the medicine is costly.” + +“Fear not, physician,” the monk answered with a note of scorn in his +voice; “name your sum, it shall be paid to you.” + +“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.” + +“What!” he said, starting, “surely you are not that wicked man? If so, +you are bold indeed to risk the sharing of her fate.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“‘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.” + +“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.” + +“I will do it,” murmured the abbess; “having absolution I will be bold, +and do it for love and mercy’s sake!” + +“Your heart is too soft, sister. Justice _is_ mercy,” said the monk +with a sigh. “Alas for the frailty of the flesh that wars against the +spirit!” + +Then I clothed myself in the ghastly looking dress, and they took lamps +and motioned to me to follow them. + + + + +CHAPTER X +THE PASSING OF ISABELLA DE SIGUENZA + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.“[3] 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: + +“Draw near to this sinner, brother, and speak with her before it is too +late.” + + [3] 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! + + +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. + +So I drew near with a beating heart, and bending over her I spoke in +her ear. + +“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?” + +“How have you learnt his true name?” she answered. “Not even torture +would have wrung it from me as you know.” + +“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.” + +“At the least I saved him, that is my comfort now.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“It may still be that I shall, and if it should so chance, say have you +any message for this man?” + +“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.” + +“Is that all?” + +“Yes. No, it is not all. Tell him that I passed away loving and +forgiving.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Then farewell, and God be with you, unhappy woman.” + +“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. + +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: + +“Erring sister, have you aught to say before you are silent for ever?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +The fanatic heard and a fury took him. + +“Then go unshriven down to hell, you—” and he named her by ill names +and struck her in the face with the ivory crucifix. + +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. + +“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.” + +Then they hurried her into the place prepared for her and she spoke +again: + +“Give me to drink, for we thirst, my babe and I!” + +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. + +“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!” + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +This then was the end of Isabella de Siguenza who was murdered by +priests because she had dared to break their rule. + +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. + +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. + +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 _carak_ bound for the Canary Islands, which _carak_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +But all this is out of place, for many a year passed away before I +heard of these doings. + + + + +CHAPTER XI +THE LOSS OF THE CARAK + + +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. + +As it chanced, a large Spanish _carak_ 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. + +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. + +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 _carak_ 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 _carak_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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 _Juan de Garcia!_ But if I knew +him he also knew me. + +“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.” + +“It is false,” I answered; “I am no spy, and I am come to these seas +for one purpose only—to find you.” + +“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?” + +“I do not deny it. I—” + +“Your pardon. How comes it then that, as your companion the priest +tells me, you sailed in _Las Cinque Llagas_ under the name of +_d’Aila?_” + +“For my own reasons, Juan de Garcia.” + +“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.” + +“You lie,” I answered; whereon one of De Garcia’s companions struck me +across the mouth. + +“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.” + +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. + +“This Englishman would grace a yardarm very well,” he said. + +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. + +“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.” + +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: + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XII +THOMAS COMES TO SHORE + + +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. + +“Señora,” I whispered, “for the love of God listen to me. It is I, +d’Aila, who am chained down here among the slaves.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Where is the priest?” I asked. + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“This one is alive also and does not seem so sick,” said a man as he +struck the fetters from me. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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!” + +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. + +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 +_sombrero_, for the night was very hot. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“Isabella de Siguenza, whom you cheated with a false marriage and +abandoned,” I said. + +He started from his chair and stood over me. + +“What of her?” he whispered fiercely. + +“Only this, the monks walled her up alive with her babe.” + +“Walled her up alive! Mother of God! how do you know that?” + +“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.” + +He covered his face with his hands for a moment, then dropping them +sank back into the chair and called to the black sailors. + +“Away with this slave. Why are you so slow?” + +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. + +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: + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _carak_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _mosquitoes_. 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 _garrapatas_ 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. + +But enough of these damnable insects! + + + + +CHAPTER XIII +THE STONE OF SACRIFICE + + +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. + +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. + +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 _chocolate_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +On the morrow I was to learn. + +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 _cacique_ 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. + +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 _cacique_, 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 _cacique_, 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. + +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 _pabas_ as the Indians name them, and dragged from the +room, all the household following us except Marina and the _cacique_. +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_itztli_, struck open the poor wretch’s breast at a single blow, and +made the ancient offering to the sun. + +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 _teocalli_, 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. + +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 _paba_ 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. + +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. + +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! + +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 +_teocalli_, 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 _cacique_, standing at my +side, grave, courteous, and smiling. As he had smiled when he handed me +to the _pabas_, 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 +_cacique_ 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! + +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 _cacique_, 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 _cacique_ +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. + +“Nay,” answered Marina, “there is this to be said. Quetzal, the god to +whom this Teule is to be offered, was a white man,[4] 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.” + + [4] 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! _Vide_ Sagas of _Eric the Red_ and of + _Thorfinn Karlsefne_.—AUTHOR. + + +Now when the _cacique_ heard this he saw that Marina spoke truth, and +hurrying up the _teocalli_, 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 _cacique_ 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 _paba_ 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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV +THE SAVING OF GUATEMOC + + +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 _cacique_ of +Tobasco. + +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? + +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. + +So I abode for four months and more in the house of the _cacique_ 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. + +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. + +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 _cacique’s_ 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 _panache_ +of the plumes of birds instead of the royal symbol. + +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: + +“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. + +I took it, answering with the help of Marina, who was watching this +great lord with eager eyes. + +“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.” + +“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 _cacique_ who +trembled, such in those days was the terror of Montezuma’s name. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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 _cacique_, 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. + +“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.” + +“Speak on, maiden,” he answered. + +“I would ask this, that if it pleases you, you will buy me of the +_cacique_ my master, or command him to give me up to you, and take me +with you to Tenoctitlan.” + +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.” + +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: + +“I asked you to take me with you, prince; I did not ask to be your wife +or love.” + +“But perchance you meant it,” he said dryly. + +“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.” + +Again Guatemoc laughed, then of a sudden grew stern. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +On the day of our departure a great sacrifice of slaves was held upon +the _teocalli_ 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 _paba_ 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: + +“Seize that man!” + +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 +_pabas_. 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: + +“Lay him on the stone and sacrifice him to the god Quetzal.” + +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. + +“Why must I be offered up, O prince?” he cried, “I who have been a +faithful servant to the gods and to the Emperor.” + +“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.” + +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. + +When it was done Guatemoc turned to me and said, “So perish all your +enemies, my friend Teule.” + +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 _cacique_, and also to Marina, who +wept at my going. The _cacique_ I never saw again, but Marina I did +see. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +“I will try,” I answered, “though the shot is long.” + +So we drew beneath the cover of a _ceiba_ 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. + +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 _ceiba_ 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. + +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. + +“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.” + +Thus he spoke to me; but to the others he said nothing, casting no +reproaches at them. + +Then I fainted away. + + + + +CHAPTER XV +THE COURT OF MONTEZUMA + + +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. + +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 _sierra_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _teocallis_ 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. + +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 _teocallis_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +Now as she spoke I felt rather than saw that this lady was searching me +with her eyes. + +“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.” + +“What was the accident?” she asked. + +“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. + +She listened and I saw that her eyes sparkled at the tale. When it was +done she spoke again, and this time to me. + +“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. + +“Who is that great lady?” I asked of Guatemoc. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +“Hail, prince,” he said. “The royal Montezuma desires to speak with +you, and with the Teule, your companion.” + +“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. + +Here we stood a while, with folded hands and downcast eyes, till a +signal was made to us to advance. + +“Your report, nephew,” said Montezuma in a low voice of command. + +“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. + +“Why did you delay so long upon the road, nephew?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“That is so, O king, yet I am not of their people, and I came to the +shore floating on a barrel.” + +“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?” + +“I do not know, O king. I am of a white race, and our forefather was +named Adam.” + +“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.” + +Now when I heard the name of the priests I trembled in all my bones and +cried, clasping my hands in supplication: + +“Slay me if you will, O king, but I beseech you deliver me not again +into the hands of the priests.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +When the feast was done and we had drunk of the cocoa or _chocolate_, +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: + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.[5] + +“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.” + + [5] 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. —AUTHOR. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI +THOMAS BECOMES A GOD + + +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. + +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 +_caciques_ 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. + +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: + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“We adore you, O Tezcat!” chimed in the priests. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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 _teocalli_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“What does all this mean, prince?” I said. “Am I befooled, or am I +indeed a god?” + +“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?” + +“The gods like good company, prince,” I said. + +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. + +“Your seat is yonder, O Tezcat,” she said, blushing beneath her olive +skin as she spoke. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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.” + +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: + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“And who will choose them?” I asked. + +“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 _teocalli_ 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.’” + +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: + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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 _teocalli_ as with the glare of day. It +vanished, but where it had been another light now burned, for the +temple of Quetzal was afire. + +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! + +Now some of his counsellors approached him to console him, but he +thrust them aside, saying: + +“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.” + +At that moment another messenger came from the palace, having grief +written on his face. + +“Speak,” said Montezuma. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +Now, I turned to the princess Otomie, who had stood by my side +throughout, overcome with wonder and trembling. + +“Did I not say that this country was accursed, princess of the Otomie?” + +“You said it, Teule,” she answered, “and it is accursed.” + +Then we went into the palace, and even in this hour of fear, after me +came the minstrels as before. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII +THE ARISING OF PAPANTZIN + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“For what wager?” asked Montezuma. + +“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.” + +“A small stake,” said Montezuma; “cocks are many and kingdoms few.” + +“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.” + +“Let us play and see,” said Montezuma, and they went down to the place +that is called _tlachco_, 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. + +“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: + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Teule,” he said at length, “tell me of your countrymen, and why they +have come to these shores. See that you speak truth.” + +“They are no countrymen of mine, O Montezuma,” I answered, “though my +mother was one of them.” + +“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?” + +“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: + +“Why do they come here to Anahuac?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“It is easy, O Montezuma,” I answered. “I can speak their tongue; send +me to discover for you.” + +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. + +Montezuma looked at me a while and answered: + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +But the wonders of that night were not yet done with. + +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. + +“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.” + +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: + +“These gates opened four days since for Papantzin, my sister; how long, +I wonder, will pass before they open for me?” + +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. + +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. + +“Are you there, Montezuma, my brother?” she said in the voice of +Papantzin; “surely I feel your presence though I cannot see you.” + +Now Montezuma stepped from the shadow and stood face to face with the +dead. + +“Who are you?” he said, “who wear the shape of one dead and are dressed +in the garments of the dead?” + +“I am Papantzin,” she answered, “and I am risen out of death to bring +you a message, Montezuma, my brother.” + +“What message do you bring me?” he asked hoarsely. + +“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.” + +“Have you no word of comfort for me, Papantzin, my sister?” he asked. + +“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.” + +Then she turned and passed away into the shadow of the trees; I heard +her graveclothes sweep upon the grass. + +Now a fury seized Montezuma and he raved aloud, saying: + +“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.” + +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. + +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 _teocallis_. The hour of the demon gods was upon them +indeed, but now they reaped their last red harvest, and it was rich. + +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.[6] + + [6] For the history of the resurrection of Papantzin, see note to + _Jourdanet’s_ translation of _Sahagun_, page 870.—AUTHOR. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII +THE NAMING OF THE BRIDES + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +I desired to forget, but alas! I could not. The fumes of the _mescal_ +and the _pulque_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Beware how you speak, prince,” I answered mocking him, “for there are +those who did they hear, might cause _you_ to rue _your_ 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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“I pray you be seated,” she said confusedly; “it is not fitting that +you should stand before me.” + +“Why not, princess?” I answered. “If I had no respect for rank, surely +beauty must claim it.” + +“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.” + +“Speak on, princess of the Otomie.” + +“They are”—and she named three ladies whom I knew to be among the +loveliest in the land. + +“I thought that there were four,” I said with a bitter laugh. “Am I to +be defrauded of the fourth?” + +“There is a fourth,” she answered, and was silent. + +“Give me her name,” I cried. “What other slut has been found to marry a +felon doomed to sacrifice?” + +“One has been found, O Tezcat, who has borne other titles than this you +give her.” + +Now I looked at her questioningly, and she spoke again in a low voice. + +“I, Otomie, princess of the Otomie, Montezuma’s daughter, am the fourth +and the first.” + +“You!” I said, sinking back upon my cushions. “_You!_” + +“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.” + +Now I rose from my seat and took her hand, saying: + +“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?” + +“Read it with your heart,” she whispered low, and I felt her hand +tremble in my own. + +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. + +“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.” + +She bent her head but did not speak, and I saw that there was fear in +her eyes. + +“I will read you the words, Otomie,” and I translated into the Aztec +tongue the quaint couplet: + +Heart to heart, +Though far apart. + + +Then at last she spoke. “What does the writing mean?” she said. “I can +only read in pictures, Teule.” + +“It means, Otomie, that in the far land whence I come, there is a woman +who loves me, and who is my love.” + +“Is she your wife then?” + +“She is not my wife, Otomie, but she is vowed to me in marriage.” + +“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!” + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX +THE FOUR GODDESSES + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _not_ dead. But neither dead nor living was he among +those men who entered Mexico that day. + +That night I saw Guatemoc and asked him how things went. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“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!” + +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. + +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: + +“Are ye there, ye chosen of heaven?” + +And a woman’s voice, I thought it was that of Otomie, answered: + +“We are here.” + +“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.” + +The voice paused, then spoke again: + +“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.” + +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. + +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: + +“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.” + +Then she who had spoken would draw back again out of earshot, and the +next would take her place. + +Last of all came Otomie. She knelt and said the words, then added in a +low voice, + +“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. + +“As you will, Otomie,” I answered briefly. + +“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 _pabas_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +I asked him if he intended to take part in the feast, as the splendour +of his apparel brought me to believe. + +“Yes,” he answered, “but why do you ask?” + +“Because, were I you, Guatemoc, I would not go. Say now, will the +dancers be armed?” + +“No, it is not usual.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“You are wise, Guatemoc,” I said. “I am sure that you are wise.” + +Afterwards Otomie, Guatemoc, and I went into the garden of the palace +and sat upon the crest of a small pyramid, a _teocalli_ 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. + +“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. + +Then I turned to Guatemoc and said, “It seems that you did well not to +join in yonder revel.” + +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?” + +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. + +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 _teocalli_, and +sacrificed there to the gods in the sight of their comrades. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XX +OTOMIE’S COUNSEL + + +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 _atabals_ and drums. + +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 _maqua_, 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 _escaupils_, or coats of quilted cotton, but the +most of them were naked except for a cloth about the loins. On the flat +_azoteas_, or roofs of houses also, and even on the top of the +_teocalli_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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: + +_“Woman! Traitor!”_ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Is Montezuma dead?” I asked. + +“I neither know nor care,” he answered with a savage laugh, then added: + +“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.” + +Then Otomie ceased weeping and answered: + +“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.” + +“It may be so,” said Guatemoc, “but at least I shall not die betraying +my trust;” and he went. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“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 _she_ have lain by your side on +the bed of sacrifice as, had things gone otherwise between us, Teule, +it was my hope to do?” + +“No,” I answered, “it is not the custom of our women to kill themselves +because their husbands chance to die.” + +“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. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Little indeed,” I said, “and yet I know a road. If I kill myself, they +cannot kill me.” + +“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.” + +“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_ 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. + +“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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI +THE KISS OF LOVE + + +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. + +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 _mescal_ in golden cups. Of the _mescal_ 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: + +“Adore the immortal god, ye people,” and all those gathered there +prostrated themselves shouting: + +“We adore the god.” + +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: + +“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.” + +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 _teocalli_, 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. + +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!” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Farewell, Guatemoc,” I answered “heaven prosper you, for you are a +true man.” + +Then we passed on. + +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 _teocalli_ 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. + +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. + +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, _the Spaniards were attacking the teocalli_. +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. + +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. + +“Why are you not gone, Otomie?” I said. “Now it is too late. The +Spaniards surround the _teocalli_ and you will be killed or taken +prisoner.” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXII +THE TRIUMPH OF THE CROSS + + +“Otomie,” I said presently, “when will they kill us?” + +“When the point of light lies within the ring that is painted over your +heart,” she answered. + +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 _teocalli_ 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. + +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: + +“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.” + +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!” + +Then I heard another sound. It was the voice of Otomie crying for help. + +“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!” + +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. + +“Smite, priest of Tezcat,” screamed the voice of the astronomer; “smite +home for the glory of your gods!” + +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. + +Then as in a dream I heard the wail of the astronomer singing the dirge +of the gods of Anahuac. + +“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!” + +Thus he wailed, then came the sound of sword blows and I knew that this +prophet was dead also. + +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. + +I sat up staring round me wildly, and a voice spoke above me in +Castilian, not to me indeed but to some comrade. + +“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.” + +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 _his_ 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. + +I gazed at him, wondering if I dreamed, then my lips spoke, without my +will as it were: + +“_De Garcia!_” + +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. + +“Mother of God!” he gasped, “it is that knave Thomas Wingfield, _and I +have saved his life!_” + +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: + +“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.” + +“He is no Indian, he is an English spy,” cried de Garcia, and once more +struggled to get at me. + +“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: + +“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.” + +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. + +“Whither shall we go?” I said at length. “Were it not better to trust +to the mercy of the Spaniards?” + +“To the mercy of that man-devil with the sword?” she answered. “Peace, +Teule, and follow me.” + +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. + +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 _teocalli_. 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. + +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! + +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. + +“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.” + +“To the mercy of that man with the sword? Say, Teule, who is he?” + +“He is that Spaniard of whom I have spoken to you, Otomie; he is my +mortal enemy whom I have followed across the seas.” + +“And now you would put yourself into his power. Truly, you are foolish, +Teule.” + +“It is better to fall into the hands of Christian men than into those +of your priests,” I answered. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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: + +“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. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII +THOMAS IS MARRIED + + +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 _teocalli_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“What is to be my fate?” I asked. “To be dragged back to the stone of +sacrifice?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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: + +“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?” + +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.” + +“What then shall be done with him?” said the prince again. + +“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?” + +Now several of the council nodded their heads, but others sat silent, +making no sign. + +“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?” + +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.” + +“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?” + +“I will answer with my life,” answered Guatemoc. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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?” + +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. + +Presently she came, looking very weary, but proud in mien and royally +attired, and bowed before the council. + +“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?” + +“I am willing,” Otomie answered quietly, “if he is willing.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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. + +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.” + +“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: + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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: + +“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.” + +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. + +“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 +_teocalli_ 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. + +But Otomie never quailed; she stood before him pale and quiet, with +folded hands and downcast eyes, and answered: + +“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.” + +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: + +“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!” + +I heard and my head swam, and a mist gathered before my eyes. Once +again I was saved from instant death. + +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: + +“Let him be baptized with the blood of the princess Otomie my niece, +for she is bail for him.” + +“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.” + +“This Teule has good friends,” said Cuitlahua; “you honour him +overmuch. But so be it.” + +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: + +“No need for that, priest. Blood runs here that was shed by the Teules. +None can be fitter for this purpose.” + +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: + +“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: + +“‘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.’ + +“Do you swear these things, one and all?” + +“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! + +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.” + +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.” + +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 _teocalli_, 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? + +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: + +“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?” + +“Speak, my brother?” said Guatemoc. + +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.” + +I ceased, and a murmur of applause went round the council. + +“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?” + +“We say with you that our brother’s words are good,” answered Guatemoc +presently, “and now let us follow them to the end.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“All is done indeed, Otomie, and our oaths are lifelong, though other +oaths have been broken that they might be sworn,” I answered. + +Thus then I, Thomas Wingfield, was wed to Otomie, princess of the +Otomie, Montezuma’s daughter. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV +THE NIGHT OF FEAR + + +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 _teocalli_ 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. + +“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.” + +Then he answered Cortes, saying nothing of me, but bidding him and all +the Spaniards prepare for death: + +“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.” + +And all the multitude took up the words and thundered out, “There is no +escape for you Teules; the bridges are broken!” + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“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.” + +Then taking my hand, without another word she turned and passed thence. +As will be seen, she kept her oath. + +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. + +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. + +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 _noche triste_. 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. + +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. + +“Listen,” I said. + +“It is the Teules who escape,” whispered Guatemoc. + +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.” + +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 _teocalli_ beat furiously. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“At length, de Garcia!” I cried in Spanish as I shifted my grip. + +“For the love of God let me go!” gasped a rough voice beneath me. +“Fool, I am no Indian dog.” + +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. + +“Who are you?” I asked, slackening my hold. “Where is de Garcia—he whom +you name Sarceda?” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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 +_you_ 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. + +This was my share in the victory of the _noche triste_. 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. + +As for de Garcia I could not learn what had become of him, nor whether +he was dead or living. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV +THE BURYING OF MONTEZUMA’S TREASURE + + +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 _teocalli_, 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. + +Now when I heard this tale my anger overcame my reason, and I spoke +fiercely, saying: + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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 _adobe_ 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. + +“Who dug this place?” I asked. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +Now, leaving the chamber, we three entered the tunnel and began the +work of building the _adobe_ 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. + +“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. + +Now the Aztec turned grey beneath his dusky skin and trembled in his +fear. + +“What mean you, lord?” he gasped. + +“You know well what I mean,” answered Guatemoc in the same terrible +voice, and lifted the club. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Then we were dragged up, and came to the surface of the earth in +safety. + +Now one asked of the Aztec noble who had gone down with us and returned +no more. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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 _teocalli_ 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. + +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.” + +Passing from the mouth of the gorge we travelled some miles across the +plain, every foot of which was cultivated with corn, _maguey_ 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. + +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: + +“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. + +“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!’ + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI +THE CROWNING OF GUATEMOC + + +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.[7] 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.” + + [7] 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. + + +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. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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: + +“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. + +“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!” + +When the high priest had made an end of his prayer, the first of the +four great electors rose, saying: + +“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!” + +Now the prince himself stood forward and spoke: + +“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?” + +“We swear,” they answered with a shout. + +“It is well,” said Guatemoc. “And now may everlasting shame overtake +him who breaks this oath.” + +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. + +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. + +“What ails you, Otomie?” I asked. + +“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.” + +“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: + +“How long have I lain ill, husband?” + +I told her and she said, “And have you nursed me all this while, and +through so foul a sickness?” + +“Yes, Otomie, I have tended you.” + +“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!” + +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: + +“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.” + +“For shame,” I said. “Do you then think that love can be frightened +away by some few scars?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Now I would have sent Otomie to seek safety among her own people, but +she laughed me to scorn, and said: + +“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.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII +THE FALL OF TENOCTITLAN + + +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. + +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. + +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 _her_ children to their +altars. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +In vain did I pray Guatemoc to forego this horror. + +“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.” + +Alas! the heart of Guatemoc grew ever fiercer as the struggle wore on, +and indeed it was little to be wondered at. + +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!” + +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. + +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: + +“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.” + +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. + +From that rush I alone escaped alive, the ten Otomies were sacrificed +to my hate. + +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. + +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 _tortillas_, 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. + +“What is it, wife?” I asked. + +Then Otomie broke out into a great and bitter crying and said: + +“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. + +“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?” + +“He was our son, our first-born,” she cried again. “Oh! why must we +suffer thus?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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 _zapilotes_, as the Aztecs call the vultures, like the rest of +them. + +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.” + +“Rest now,” I answered, “for death is very near to us.” + +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. + +The council was summoned—fierce men, haggard with hunger and with war, +and they considered the offer of Cortes. + +“What is your word, Guatemoc?” said their spokesman at last. + +“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.” + +“So say we,” they replied, and the war went on. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +Here they attacked us again. The great drum on the _teocalli_ 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. + +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: + +“I am Guatemoc. Bring me to Malinche. But spare those of my people who +remain alive.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“That I will not suffer, Otomie.” + +“Then you must hold your hand, husband, for now as always, where you +go, I follow.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Say,” he said to me in Castilian, “are you that renegade, that traitor +who has aided these Aztecs against us?” + +“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.” + +“You shall soon have better, traitor,” he said furiously. “Here, lead +this man away and hang him on the mast of yonder ship.” + +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.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII +THOMAS IS DOOMED + + +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. + +“Farewell, wife,” I said; “whatever happens, keep silent.” + +“Farewell,” she answered; “if you must die, await me in the gates of +death, for I will join you there.” + +“Nay, live on. Time shall bring comfort.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Farewell, Guatemoc,” I answered. “You are fallen, but let this comfort +you, in your fall you have found immortal fame.” + +“On, on!” growled the soldiers, and I went, little thinking how +Guatemoc and I should meet again. + +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. + +“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.” + +Then they were silent, and I also was silent. + +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 _mescal_, 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. + +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!” + +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. + +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. + +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 _knew_ that it would soon be opened. + +This happened on the eve of the day upon which I was put to torture. + +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. + +“Whither?” I asked. + +“To the captain, traitor,” their leader answered. + +“It has come at last,” I thought to myself, but I said only: + +“It is well. Any change from this hole is one for the better.” + +“Certainly,” he replied; “and it is your last shift.” + +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. + +“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 _teocalli_. +Subsequently you joined the Aztecs and took part in the attack and +slaughter of the _noche triste_. You were afterwards the friend and +counsellor of Guatemoc, and assisted him in his defence of Tenoctitlan. +Is this true, prisoner?” + +“It is all true, general,” I answered. + +“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.” + +“Then there is nothing more to be said,” I answered quietly, though a +cold fear froze my blood. + +“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 _noche triste_. +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.” + +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. + +“I know nothing of the treasure, general,” I answered coldly. “Send me +to my death.” + +“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.” + +“I know nothing of this treasure, general.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +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: + +“I have told you, general, that I know nothing of this treasure. Do +your worst, and may God forgive you for your cruelty.” + +“Dare not to speak that holy Name, apostate and worshipper of idols, +eater of human flesh. Let Sarceda be summoned.” + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +“Your pleasure, general?” + +“Greeting to you, comrade,” answered Cortes. “You know this renegade?” + +“But too well, general. Three times he has striven to murder me.” + +“Well, you have escaped and it is your hour now, Sarceda. He says that +he has a quarrel with you; what is it?” + +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.” + +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. + +“You lie, murderer,” I gasped, tearing at the ropes that bound me. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“It shall be made out at once,” answered the general. “And now away +with him.” + +“Where to?” + +“To the prison that he has left. All is ready and there he will find +his comrades.” + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX +DE GARCIA SPEAKS HIS MIND + + +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. + +“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.” + +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 _cacique_ 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.” + +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.” + +Here he ceased suddenly, for the demon who tormented him struck him +across the mouth saying, “Silence, dog.” + +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. + +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?” + +I made no answer, for I had determined that I would speak no word and +utter no cry, do what they might with me. + +“Let me think, let me think,” went on de Garcia, smoothing his beard. +“Ah, I have it. Here, slaves.” + +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. + +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. + +“How goes it?” he said lightly, though his face turned pale at the +sight of horror. + +“The _cacique_ 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. + +“Brave men, indeed!” I heard Cortes mutter to himself; then said aloud, +“Let the _cacique_ 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!” + +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: + +“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.” + +“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.” + +She heard and turned away trembling, and for a while was silent. Then +her glance fell upon me and she began to weep. + +“Alas! poor man,” she said; “alas! my friend.” + +“Weep not over me, Marina,” I answered, speaking in Aztec, “for our +tears are of no worth, but help me if you may.” + +“Ah that I could!” she sobbed, and turning fled from the place, +followed presently by Cortes. + +Now the Spaniards came in again and removed Guatemoc and the _cacique_ +of Tacuba, carrying them in their arms, for they could not walk, and +indeed the _cacique_ was in a swoon. + +“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.” + +Then he was borne out and these were the last words that I ever heard +him utter. + +Now I was left alone with the Tlascalans and de Garcia, who mocked me +as before. + +“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?” + +“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. + +“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.” + +And now for the first time I broke down and prayed for mercy even of my +foe. + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +“Otomie! you here!” I gasped through my wounded lips, for with my +senses came the memory of de Garcia’s threats. + +“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. + +“Hush,” I said, “hush. Have we food?” + +“In plenty. A woman brought it from Marina.” + +“Give me to eat, Otomie.” + +Now for a while she fed me and the deadly sickness passed from me, +though my poor flesh burned with a hundred agonies. + +“Listen, Otomie: have you seen de Garcia?” + +“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. + +“Still some have seen you and it is reported that you are my wife.” + +“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?” + +“Are we alone?” I asked. + +“The guard is without, but there are none else in the chamber.” + +“Then bend down your head and I will tell you,” and I told her all. + +When I had done so she sprang up with flashing eyes and her hand +pressed upon her breast, and said: + +“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?” + +“Alas! Otomie, I must tell all—it is _not_ 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. + +“Truly,” she said when I had done, “these Teules far surpass the +_pabas_ 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.” + +“I have none that I dare offer, wife,” I groaned. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“Make ready!” I answered. + +Then she rose and soon was busy with the ropes. At length all was +prepared and the moment of death was at hand. + +“You must aid me, Otomie,” I said; “I cannot walk by myself.” + +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: + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Then kiss me first and for the last time.” + +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. + +“What do you?” she cried, and I knew the voice for that of Marina. “Are +you then mad, Teule?” + +“Who is this who knows you so well, husband, and will not even suffer +that we die in peace?” asked Otomie. + +“I am Marina,” answered the veiled woman, “and I come to save you if I +can.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXX +THE ESCAPE + + +Now Otomie put the rope off her neck, and descending from the stool, +stood before Marina. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“Because I love him, Marina.” + +“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.” + +“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—” + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Then let him ask his tool Sarceda of it.” + +“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?” + +Otomie said nothing, but I spoke for the first time. + +“Nay, Marina, I have no love for this thief’s fate if I can escape it, +but how is it to be done?” + +“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.” + +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 _noche triste_. 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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Farewell, Marina,” I said, and she was gone. + +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. + +“And now to the work,” I said to Otomie. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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: + +“Prithee, soldier, do I look my part?” + +“A peace to such fooling,” I answered; “our lives are at stake, what +does it matter how we disguise ourselves?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Where to?” I said. + +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. + +“To the south gate,” she whispered; “perhaps it is unguarded now that +the war is done, at the least I know the road thither.” + +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. + +“Whom have we here?” said the first of these. “Your name, comrade?” + +“Good-night, brother, good-night,” I answered in Spanish, speaking with +the thick voice of drunkenness. + +“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. + +“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.” + +They laughed, but one of them addressed Otomie, saying: + +“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: + +“Alas! beloved, we must pass on or perish.” + +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 _zerapes_ or blankets about their heads, for the +dawn was chilly. + +“Open the gates, dogs!” I said in a proud voice. + +Seeing a Spanish soldier one of them rose to obey, then paused and +said: + +“Why, and by whose orders?” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Shall I call the Teules within?” said the man sulkily to his +companion. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“He knows me,” I said to Otomie, “and presently when he has found his +wits, he will follow us.” + +“On, on!” answered Otomie; “round yonder corner are aloe bushes where +we may hide.” + +“I am spent, I can no more;” and again I began to fall. + +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. + +“It is finished,” I gasped; “the man comes.” + +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.” + +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. + +“What would you?” asked Otomie. “Can you not see that he sleeps? Let +him sleep.” + +“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.” + +“You are mad,” she said laughing. “He has escaped from nowhere, save +from a brawl and a drinking bout.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Help yourself,” she answered sullenly. “But first search his pouch; +there may be some trifle there which we can divide.” + +“Well said, again,” he answered, and kneeling down he bent over me and +began to fumble at the fastenings of the pouch. + +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. + +“Up,” she said, “before others come to seek him. Nay, you must.” + +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. + +I knew no more. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI +OTOMIE PLEADS WITH HER PEOPLE + + +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. + +“Where am I and what has happened?” I asked. + +“You are safe, beloved,” she answered, “at least for awhile. When you +have eaten I will tell you more.” + +She brought me broth and food and I ate eagerly, and when I was +satisfied she spoke. + +“You remember how the Tlascalan followed us and how—I was rid of him?” + +“I remember, Otomie, though how you found strength to kill him I do not +understand.” + +“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.” + +“Where can we go to, Otomie? We are birds without a nest.” + +“We must seek shelter in the City of Pines, or fly across the water; +there is no other choice, husband.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +At length we crossed the square beneath the shadow of the _teocalli_, +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 _tortillas_ 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. + +“Why do you sorrow thus, Otomie?” I asked at length. + +“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.” + +“You have cause, wife,” I answered. “Say, what will these Otomies do +with us—kill us, or give us up to the Teules?” + +“I do not know; to-morrow we shall learn, but for my part I will not be +surrendered living.” + +“Nor I, wife. Death is better than the tender mercies of Cortes and his +minister, de Garcia. Is there any hope?” + +“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.” + +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? + +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. + +“Will they come to listen?” I asked. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Kill them!” said the cry. “Give the liars to the Teules.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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 _zaphilotes_, 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: + +“‘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.’ + +“Say, messengers of Malinche, are not these the words of Malinche?” + +“They are his very words, Maxtla,” said the spokesman of the embassy. + +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: + +“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.” + +“It is true,” cried a voice. + +“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!” + +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.” + +“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: + +“It is true; we saw it with our eyes.” + +“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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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: + +“This is our answer to Malinche. Run, you dogs, and take it!” till they +were driven from the town. + +Now at length the turmoil ceased, and some of the great chiefs came +forward and, kissing the hand of Otomie, said: + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Otomie,” I answered, “there has lived no greater woman than you upon +this earth.” + +“I cannot tell, husband,” she said, smiling; “if I have won your praise +and safety, it is enough for me.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII +THE END OF GUATEMOC + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +For the rest, jointly with Otomie I was named _cacique_ 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 _teocalli_ in +front of the palace, took place after the defeat of the Spaniards in +the pass. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +I heard and my heart was stirred, for then, as to this hour, I loved +Guatemoc as a brother. + +“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.” + +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. + +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 _teocallis_ 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. + +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. + +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 _ceiba_, 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 _ceiba_ 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 _ceiba_ tree many _zaphilotes_ 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 _ceiba_ 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. + +As I came, a _zaphilote_ 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. + +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. + +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.” + +Then they murdered him in the midst of a great silence. + +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! + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII +ISABELLA DE SIGUENZA IS AVENGED + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Heart to heart, +Though far apart, + + +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. + +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. + +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 _pabas_ +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. + +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 _pabas_ of this clan had +captured a Christian priest, and designed to offer him to the god +Tezcat. + +Attended by a small guard only, I passed rapidly across the mountains, +purposing to visit the _cacique_ 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 _pabas_ 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. + +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: + +“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.” + +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. + +“What devil are you,” he said hoarsely, “sent from hell to torment me +at the last?” + +“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.” + +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?” + +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. + +Now this was a little matter, but its results were large. Had I saved +Father Pedro from the hands of the _pabas_ 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. + +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. + +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 _noche +triste_, and whose sword to this day hung at my side. + +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. + +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. + +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 _teocalli_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV +THE SIEGE OF THE CITY OF PINES + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +Now de Garcia reeled in his saddle and swore a great oath. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“What are his terms?” I asked. + +“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.” + +“And if we reject them?” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“Come with me to the Hall of Assembly,” I said; “there I will speak to +you.” + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +For a while the seven consulted together, then their spokesman +answered. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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 +_teocalli_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“Fool!” answered their leader, a young and lovely lady of rank; “do the +dead labour?” + +“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?” + +“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. + +“Otomie,” I said to her that night, when we met by chance, “I have ill +news for you.” + +“It must be bad indeed, husband, to be so named in such an hour,” she +answered. + +“De Garcia is among our foes.” + +“I knew it, husband.” + +“How did you know it?” + +“By the hate written in your eyes,” she answered. + +“It seems that his hour of triumph is at hand,” I said. + +“Nay, beloved, not _his_ but _yours_. 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.” + +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. + +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. + +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 _teocalli_, nor +was there any further fighting during that night. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV +THE LAST SACRIFICE OF THE WOMEN OF THE OTOMIE + + +Here in the courtyard of the _teocalli_, 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 _teocalli_ 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. + +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 _teocalli_ that +night, to find their way out of the city if they could, or if not, to +trust to the mercy of the Spaniards. + +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. + +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. + +“Nay, husband,” she answered, “it is better for him to die with us, +than to live as a slave of the Spaniards.” + +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. + +“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. + +That night we spent in the courtyard of the _teocalli_, 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. + +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: + +“Seize them; they are but few.” + +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: + +“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. + +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 _teocalli_; 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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Ay, Teule,” answered one at my side, “but say what wings shall _we_ +find?” + +“The wings of Death,” I said grimly, and went on my upward way. + +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: + +To Thee we sacrifice! +Save us, O Huitzel, +Huitzel, lord god! + + +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 +_pabas_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +All this and much more passed through my mind in that brief moment, +while Otomie marked the time of the death chant, and the _pabas_ +dragged the Tlascalan to his doom. + +The next I was at her side. + +“What passes here?” I asked sternly. + +Otomie looked on me with a cold wonder, and empty eyes as though she +did not know me. + +“Go back, white man,” she answered; “it is not lawful for strangers to +mingle in our rites.” + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“Get you gone, Teule,” they said, “lest we stretch you on the stone +with your brethren.” And still hissing they pushed me thence. + +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.” + +“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.” + +“At the least can we not save these Teules?” I answered. + +“Why should you wish to save the Teules? Will they save us some few +days hence, when _we_ are in their power?” + +“Perhaps not,” I said, “but if we must die, let us die clean from this +shame.” + +“What then do you wish me to do, Teule?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +He looked up quickly, and said in a hoarse voice: + +“Who are you that talk of saving us? Who can save us from these she +devils?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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 _teocalli_. 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. + +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: + +“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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“That I will,” he said, and then we let him down among his friends, +whom he reached in safety. + +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. + +“Where are the Teules?” cried a voice. “Swift! strip them for the +altar.” + +But the Teules were gone, nor, search where they would, could they find +them. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +One woman did not go with them, and that woman was Otomie my wife. + +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, + +“Husband! husband!” + +“It is I,” I answered, “but call me husband no more.” + +“Oh! what have I done?” she wailed, and fell senseless in my arms. + +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.” + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI +THE SURRENDER + + +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. + +“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?” + +“Your mother has fainted,” I answered, “and doubtless she placed you +here to keep you safe. Now do you tend her till I return.” + +“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.” + +“Do as I bid you, son,” I said, “and I charge you not to leave this +place until I come for you again.” + +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 _pabas_ 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. + +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 _pabas_, of a sudden they burst +into a chant so wild and shrill that as I listened my blood curdled in +my veins. + +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. + +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: + +“_Save us, Huitzel! receive us, lord god, our home!_” + +Thrice they cried it, each time more shrilly than before, then suddenly +they were _gone_, the women of the Otomie were no more! + +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. + +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.” + +“Ay,” I answered, “but not thus. Let women do self-murder, our foes +have swords for the hearts of men.” + +I turned to go, and before me stood Otomie. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +Soon it came to the knowledge of the Spaniards that we had enough food +and water upon the _teocalli_ 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. + +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 _teocalli_, with liberty to go whither-soever we would unharmed, +our lands and wealth being however declared forfeit to the viceroy. + +With these terms I was well content, indeed I had never hoped to win +any that would leave us our lives and liberty. + +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 _teocalli_, 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! + +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. + +I came to Otomie, and to her also I told the news. + +“I had hoped to die here where I am,” she answered. “But so be it; +death is always to be found.” + +Only my son rejoiced, because he knew that God had saved us all from +death by sword or hunger. + +“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?” + +“I do not know, my son,” I answered. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.’” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He watched us pass, taking note of all, then he called to me who walked +last: + +“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.” + +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. + +“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 _noche triste_, 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.” + +“Father,” said my son to me, “who is that Spaniard who looks so cruelly +upon us?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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? + +“Your sword,” he said briefly, as he scanned me with his quick eyes. + +I unbuckled it from my side and handed it to him, saying in Spanish: + +“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 _noche triste_. + +He looked at it, then swore a great oath and said: + +“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.” + +“I am named Wingfield.” + +“Friend Wingfield then. For I tell you that I would have sat beneath +yonder devil’s house,” and he nodded towards the _teocalli_, “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 _you_ 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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII +VENGEANCE + + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“What has chanced to our son?” I asked. + +“_Dead, dead!_” she answered in a whisper that seemed to pierce my +marrow. + +I said nothing, for my heart told me what had happened, but Diaz asked, +“Dead—why, what has killed him?” + +“De Garcia! I saw him go,” replied Otomie; then she tossed her arms +high, and without another sound fell backwards to the earth. + +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. + +“Say, Bernal Diaz,” I cried, with a hoarse laugh, “did I lie to you +concerning this comrade of yours?” + +Then, springing over Otomie’s body I left the chamber, followed by +Bernal Diaz and the others. + +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. + +“Halt!” cried Bernal Diaz. + +“Who commands me to halt?” said the voice of de Garcia. + +“I, your captain,” roared Diaz. “Halt, you devil, you murderer, or you +shall be cut down.” + +I saw him start and turn pale. + +“These are strange manners, señor,” he said. “Of your grace I ask—” + +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. + +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! + +I came on doggedly, saving my strength. I was sure that I must catch +him at last, it did not matter when. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“At length, de Garcia!” I said. + +“Why do you not kill me and make an end?” he asked hoarsely. + +“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.” + +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 _knew_ 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. + +“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: + +“‘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.’” + +“In such a place as this, cousin,” I said. + +“In such a place as this,” he whispered, glancing round. + +“Continue.” + +Again he strove to be silent, but again my will mastered him and he +spoke. + +“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.” + +“That must be yonder, cousin,” I said, pointing with the sword toward +the pit of the crater. + +“It is yonder; I have looked.” + +“But only for the body, cousin, not for the spirit.” + +“Only for the body, not for the spirit,” he repeated after me. + +“Continue,” I said. + +“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.” + +“As he will do presently, cousin.” + +“As he will do presently,” he repeated like a talking bird. + +“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.” + +“One Isabella de Siguenza, cousin. _I_ bade farewell to her afterwards +and delivered her dying words to you. Now she waits to welcome you +again, she and her child.” + +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.” + +“Why did you murder my son, cousin?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“I cannot,” he groaned; “my doom is upon me.” + +“As you will,” and I came at him, sword up. + +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. + +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. + +“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! + +Of all that followed I will not write. With his madness courage came +back to him, and he began to fight, but not with _me_. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII +OTOMIE’S FAREWELL + + +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. + +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. + +But enough of this question of conscience. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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: + +“Is the murderer dead?” + +I nodded and went on. I went on to our chamber, for there I thought +that I should find Otomie. + +She sat in it alone, cold and beautiful as though she had been +fashioned in marble. + +“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.” + +“It is well,” I answered; “but my heart is broken already.” + +“Is the murderer dead?” she said presently in the very words of Diaz. + +“He is dead.” + +“How?” + +I told her in few words. + +“You should have slain him yourself; our son’s blood is not avenged.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +So I ate, and afterwards I cast myself upon the bed and slept. + +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. + +“Speak on,” I said. “Where are you, Otomie?” + +“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_ have never gone astray after strange +gods,” and she laughed bitterly. + +“Why do you talk of these things, Otomie?” I asked. + +“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. + +“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 +_teocalli_ 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. + +“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. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“You are a lonely man now, comrade,” he said; “what plans have you for +the future?” + +“None,” I answered, “except to die.” + +“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?” + +“I had.” + +“Folk live long in those quiet lands. Go seek them, I will find you a +passage to Spain.” + +“I will think of it,” I answered. + +In time we came to Mexico, a new and a strange city to me, for Cortes +had rebuilt it, and where the _teocalli_ 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. + +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 _noche triste_ +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. + +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.” + +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. + +“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 _you_, Teule. Trouble and time have done their work +with both of us.” + +I took her hand and kissed it. + +“Where then is Cortes?” I asked. + +Now a great trembling seized her. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX +THOMAS COMES BACK FROM THE DEAD + + +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 _carak_ 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 _carak_, who gave me passage without question, I +laying in a stock of food for the journey. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +Seeing me come he hobbled on his stick to the gate to open it for me, +whining a prayer for alms. + +“Does Mr. Wingfield live here?” I said, pointing up the path, and my +breath came quick as I asked. + +“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.” + +“What of him?” I asked. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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— + +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. + +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. + +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?” + +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. + +“Madam,” I said, “have I the honour to speak to one who in bygone years +was named the Señora Lily Bozard?” + +“That was my name,” she answered. “What is your errand with me, sir?” + +Now I trembled afresh, but spoke on boldly. + +“Before I answer, Madam, forgive me if I ask another question. Is this +still your name?” + +“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. + +“Señora,” I said, “I am a Spaniard who served in the Indian wars of +Cortes, of which perhaps you have heard.” + +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.” + +“What name?” she asked in a low voice. + +“Thomas Wingfield.” + +Now Lily moaned aloud, and in her turn caught at the pales to save +herself from falling. + +“I deemed him dead these eighteen years,” she gasped; “drowned in the +Indian seas where his vessel foundered.” + +“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. + +She shivered, then said in a hard voice, “Continue, sir; I listen to +you.” + +“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.” + +“A sad tale, sir,” she said with a little laugh—a mournful laugh that +was half choked by tears. + +“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—” + +“I know the name—continue.” + +“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.” + +“What message and what prayer?” Lily whispered. + +“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.” + +“Sir,” she cried, “what do you know of that?” + +“Only what my friend told me, señora.” + +“Your friendship must have been close and your memory must be good,” +she murmured. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“How can I know, señora? I do but execute my mission.” + +“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?” + +“I have such a token, señora, but the light is too faint for you to see +it.” + +“Then follow me to the house, there we will get light. Stay,” and once +more going to the stable gate, she called “John.” + +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. + +“Now, sir, your token if it pleases you.” + +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. + +“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.” + +I bowed my head and answered, “First, señora, I would pray your answer +to my friend’s dying prayer and message.” + +“It is childish to send answers to the dead.” + +“Still I pray for them as I was charged to do.” + +“How reads the writing within this ring, sir?” + +“Heart to heart, +Though far apart,” + + +I said glibly, and next instant I could have bitten out my tongue. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +Now I turned amazed, and lo! Lily came towards me slowly and with +outstretched arms. + +“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.” + +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. + +Let us pray that the dead have no vision of the living! + + + + +CHAPTER XL +AMEN + + +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. + +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. + +“Mary,” I said at length, “Mary, do you not remember me, my sister?” + +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. + +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. + +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 _carak_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Without the little chancel door I met Lily, who was lingering there +knowing me to be within, and we spoke together. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“When you will, Thomas,” she answered, placing her hand in mine. + +Within a week from that evening we were wed. + +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. + +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. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONTEZUMA’S DAUGHTER *** + +***** This file should be named 1848-0.txt or 1848-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/4/1848/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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