Roger the Bold: A Tale of the Conquest of Mexico

"Impossible," was the short answer. "He deserves all and more than we possess, that I acknowledge freely. But I cannot disclose its whereabouts till the disc comes to my hand. Would that I had never made the error of sending it away. But the mistake was made, and nothing but the return of the disc can set the matter right. With that before me I can read the secret, and hand this reward to the cacique. If it does not come, he must fly, rich in the memory of the gallantry he has shown."

It was useless to argue further, and the king, who, like his predecessors, was completely in the hands of the priesthood, was compelled to be satisfied with the assurance he had received. If the disc was discovered, then this Roger de Luce, for whom he had conceived a great affection, would receive reward, would have his pick of gold and gems which, to a Mexican, were of little or no value, but which to these white men were better than life itself, else why should the Spaniards fight so fiercely for their possession, sacrificing thereby so many thousands of innocent people, and bringing misery into so many homes?

But it was no time for soliloquizing, for down in the streets below the turmoil of the battle rose even louder. Flushed with their success the enemy were pushing forward, and were now within a little way of the rendezvous, where the two forces were to meet. They could hear one another's cannon, and even their comrades' shouts. They were spurred to even greater efforts, and forgetting the caution which their leader had impressed upon them they raced on, forgetful of the chasms left gaping behind, of the thousands of Mexicans concealed beneath the streets and in the side canals, forgetful of all save the mad desire to conquer, to end the siege, to reach this market square, than which there was none so fine in the whole of Spain, or even in Europe, and reach the goal before their comrades. It was a race, and a costly one it proved.

"The time has come. The cage door should be shut," said the king of Mexico, solemnly. "There is Roger the cacique. I see him plainly, and he waves to me. I will sound the signal which will set the dogs loose on them, and will drive them from the city."

He raised a huge horn to his lips and took in a deep breath. Then he sounded a long, deep, mournful note, which penetrated to every corner. Once more he sent it floating across the city. Then he threw the horn down, and raced to the streets below; for this king was a gallant young fellow, kind and gentle when not roused, but a plucky fighter, possessed of unusual courage.

What a change there was! The sound of the horn had roused the Mexicans to a frenzy, for it was a well-known signal, and signified some special danger threatening their king, and the people of this city, one and all, would gladly have died on his behalf. But on this particular day it meant more. It meant that a well-thought-out plan was to be accomplished. That this retreat, so carefully managed, was, after all, but a part of the plan, and that now that its purpose was accomplished, and the enemy lured into the city, the time had come to turn upon them. Never before had the Spaniards heard such demoniacal shouts, such whistling, and such terrible calls. The air was filled with them, while from every side swarmed Mexicans, who rushed in upon the swords, eager to die, eager to give their lives if only they could strike one blow for king and city. But their rush was organized. A leader sprang before each party. Every street had its force and its commander, while in the very centre the gigantic figure of the white cacique of Roger the Bold led the lines of fighters, hurled himself with resistless valour into the ranks of the enemy, and bore them back alone. No wonder that the Mexicans went mad, that the Spaniards quailed, and rushed back towards their camp, and that the fatal gap, which had not been filled by one of the parties, proved a death-trap to the men. Even Cortes was well-nigh taken, while huge numbers of allies and Spaniards were killed. Indeed, quite sixty of the invaders fell captive or died – a serious loss to Cortes.

Never before had the enemy received such treatment. They had seen fighting in other parts, and had met the natives of Cuba. But that was child's play to these Mexican fights, where men swarmed out in their thousands, and with the help of their English allies fell upon them. Even their arms had improved during the siege. Numbers carried the crossbow, while spearmen in serried ranks bore down upon the horsemen and the soldiers armed with sword and buckler. And if that were not enough to cause defeat, the canoes which the commanders of the brigantines imagined that they had driven from the lake appeared from a thousand hiding-places, and advancing along the sides of the causeways, galled the retreating armies with their shafts, and dragged men into the water with their long poles and hooks. Could the tale of that eventful day be told, it would include a hundred and more dread single combats fought in the water, would describe how Spaniards, loaded with their armour, fell gasping with their exertions down the slope of the causeway, hooked from their feet by the poles, and then were seized by a dozen frenzied individuals, who threw themselves in a body upon each one, bearing him to the bed of the lake, and holding the unhappy wretch there till he was drowned. But there was worse to follow. The enemy had hardly reached their camp, and crept behind their defences there, when the bulk of the population returned to the city, and there commenced a scene of unparalleled ferocity. They dragged their captives to the huge tower dedicated to the god of war, and drove them to the summit with kicks and buffets. Then they decked them in feathers, and by main force caused them to dance before the idol, and in the sight of their miserable comrades in the camps below. After that came the gruesome sacrifice – a sacrifice which no efforts of Roger could put a stop to.

"They are clean out of hand, these Mexicans," he said with a groan to Philip, as they sat in their quarters below. "I can do nothing with them now, for they are mad. Their superstition is stronger than any belief that they have in me, and these priests control them. It is hateful to think that the wretched prisoners are being sacrificed."

"It makes the blood run cold," agreed Philip, with a shudder. "The death is a cruel one, and you should know something of the agonies endured by these unhappy prisoners. But let it be a warning to Cortes. He came here of his own free will. He and his men have attacked people who were disposed to be friendly, and this is their reward. They came hoping for gold and treasure, and with the wish to stop these human sacrifices. What have they accomplished? Their gold caused the death of numbers in that first retreat, and now, through their persistence, more victims are offered up, while thousands are dying deaths which are far worse and far more miserable than is that suffered on the altar. Pah! Though I hate sacrifice, and know that these enemies long to stop it, I know also that they are hypocrites, that they would sacrifice you and me and all of us this very day if we were captured. We should swing at the end of the causeway."

There was a grunt of assent from Peter Tamworth, while Roger was bound to agree. After all, he thought, what were the lives of the few who had been sacrificed since the coming of Cortes, compared with the lives, the happiness of the thousands perishing in Mexico.

"The fight will wane," he said, "but the net will not be opened; it will close in more tightly, until the end comes. Cortes will never give way."

Nor did our hero prove wrong in this surmise, for for many days the siege languished. Fighting still continued, but it was half-hearted. Meanwhile the huge success attained by the Mexicans brought numbers of vacillating adherents to their side, while thousands of the native allies left the army gathered under the banner of Castile. It was a turn in the fortunes of Fernando Cortes, and many another leader would have given way. But this redoubtable general was a diplomatist and a sagacious tactician as well. He rallied the natives to his banner again, and then once more pushed on with the attack. When seventy-four days had passed Fernando Cortes was in possession of more than seven-eighths of the city. In the remaining portion were gathered the survivors of the gallant defence.

Tall and gaunt, looking more like a slim ghost than the Roger of this story, our hero waited for the end, determined to see the siege to its bitter point. For days he had eaten nothing but a few herbs gathered from odd crevices by the faithful Tamba, while a fish sometimes added to his repast. Ten of his comrades were dead. The remainder were skeletons, too weak almost to walk, only able to fight when pressed by dire necessity. All were parched with thirst. As for the people of the unfortunate city, they had died literally in their tens of thousands. The streets were filled by their unburied bodies; they lay in the courtyards, in the temple squares, and in their houses, piled thickly together. Those who survived walked listlessly here and there, or squatted on the ground, too weak to move. They waited for the very last – for the coming of the Spaniards and of their allies.

"Nothing can save them," said Roger, huskily. "These native allies slaughter the poor people like sheep, and they are so weak that they make no resistance. It is terrible! Would that the priests would allow the king to surrender. But they will not do that. We shall fight to the bitter end, and then there are canoes to take us away. Remember and warn all our comrades. When the horn sounds they are to rush to the stage at the back of the palace, and there embark. We have the Spanish guns there, and just sufficient ammunition for one discharge; perhaps we shall succeed in getting off. Now let us go to our positions. This, surely, must be the last day of all."

An hour later the Spaniards swarmed into the city, and a desperate encounter commenced, the native allies bursting into the houses and killing those who were helpless. Others who still had strength and determination to fight retreated to the palace, showing a firm face to the enemy. But even they at length became demoralized, and soon the scene was one of confusion. Natives hunted for Mexicans on every side. Friends and enemies were mixed together, when Roger and his party, all separated by now, made the best of their way towards the landing-stage. Suddenly our hero gave expression to a startled cry.

"Alvarez!" he exclaimed in a whisper. "The traitor, and by himself! He is seeking for some one and – ah, there is the priest! The artful rogue has made him captive."

He crouched in the hollow existing between two of the buildings, and stared out at the intruders. And thanks to his quickness he escaped observation, the Spaniard passing some yards away, while following him were five of the native allies, in whose charge walked the chief priest, his red robe in tatters. They passed in through the palace gate, and were lost to view.

"Gone in search of treasure," thought Roger. "Shall I follow, or make for the stage?"

He hesitated, fearing that if he were to delay the canoes might leave without him. He listened to the distant shouts and to the cries of the combatants, for on every side small parties of famished Mexicans were offering a last resistance to the enemy. Then he sprang to his feet and ran after the Spaniard.

"No," he thought; "I have come so far, and have put up with so much, that I will not sacrifice all at the last for fear of being left behind. I will follow, and perhaps I may be successful. I wish that Phil or Peter, or even Tamba, were here to give me their help."

Darting across the street he passed through the gate and traversed a courtyard. At the exit he paused and suddenly crouched to the ground. Then he crawled forward on hands and knees, and gained some shrubs in the garden. Alvarez was again in sight, and the priest and his captors led the advance.

"This is the garden," Alvarez was saying. "Now, dog with the red robe, you who have slain so many of my comrades, lead the way to the treasure. Here is the disc. Lead swiftly, for I would have none else see me."

He looked round furtively, fearful that his comrades should discover his deceit and wrest the treasure from him. Then he stalked to the side of the priest, tore the disc from the very same leather pouch in which Roger had kept it, and thrust it in front of his face.

"Come," he said, with an oath, looking about him with frightened eyes. "Move! Let your wits work swiftly. This holds the secret. Fernando Cortes knew that, and you also. I have learned that you are the only man who can read that secret. Read, then, and quickly, or I will treat you as you have served those others."

He showed his teeth, while the hand which held the disc shook, so great was his anxiety. As for the priest, he had no alternative. A dagger was in the Spaniard's other hand, while the natives who held him looked as though they would slaughter him with glee. He trembled, for this man who had killed so many wretched victims feared to die himself. He trembled, stretched out his hand for the disc, and then suddenly hesitated. Courage came to him in this terrible position, and he realized that if he showed the whereabouts of the treasure, he would be slaughtered as surely as if he refused. And these Spaniards lived and fought for gold and jewels. If he refused, then they would have gained nothing but their conquest of the city, and besides – "It was promised to the gallant white chief who led us and gave us his counsel," he thought. "It belongs to him, and if he cannot take it away, then it shall lie hidden where it is now. No; I will die now. Let this wretch slay me, and have done."

He was in the very act of flinging the disc to one side when his eye happened to roam across the garden, amongst its trampled bushes and shrubs, once so neat and so brilliant with blooms, and now almost bare of leaves, for the reason that the starving people had plucked and eaten them. He started and raised his head. Then his eye flashed a message, and he stared at the disc once more. For he had seen Roger. The figure of the giant cacique had appeared as he crawled from one bush to another, and this head priest, in his hideous tattered robe of red, who had once so nearly killed Roger, determined to befriend him.

"Let justice be done," he said to himself. "For me there is no life. I feared death a moment ago, though I have nothing to live for. But my lord the noble white man has much before him. He is bold. He has given strength, wisdom, and almost life itself for our cause, and it is but just that we should give him the promised reward. He shall have it. While I can I will read the secret and will show the treasure, leaving him to deal with these rogues. Give me the disc," he said aloud. "The place is near at hand, that I know, but where I cannot say till I have read the picture."

For a little while he stared at the disc, tracing the lines of the causeways with his finger. What he saw there that Roger and others had failed to detect it would be impossible to state, but suddenly he gave a cry, while Alvarez gave vent to an exclamation of pleasure.

"He reads the secret," he said hoarsely, his eyes almost starting from his head, so great was his eagerness. "Come, now, sir priest, hasten, or these other birds of prey will be down upon me. Show me the wealth, for I wish to secure it for myself alone."

One of the natives who acted as guard to the priest rapidly interpreted, Alvarez taking the priest by his robe in his anxiety to hurry him on to the treasure.

"They are getting closer," he cried. "Listen to their shouts. They will be here, if you are not speedy. Where is the hoard?"

His anxiety to be moving was pitiful. He trembled, stared about him as if he were hunted, and stamped with impatience. Then to his huge delight the priest moved.

"I have read the secret," he said. "The disc tells where the treasure is deposited. 'Tis close at hand. Follow, and I will take you to it."

He cast a significant glance at the spot where Roger had last been seen, and smiled grimly in his beard as he noted that the white cacique had come even closer. Then he turned on his heel and swept on through the garden.

"Follow!" he called out. "To the treasure-house."

There was no need for him to bid the Spaniard to follow, for the anxiety of the traitor who had so nearly slain Roger with his treacherous dagger impelled him forward till he outstripped the priest. Then he took him again by the robe and pulled him on, dragged him through the garden, and on to where one of the many sacrificial towers lifted its lofty walls above the buildings. It was surrounded by a low wall of glazed tiles, and its pavements and steps were constructed in a manner which showed that it was of special design.

"The king's tower," said the priest, by way of explanation. "He worships here alone. See the smoke of the fire which burns on the altar. Let the Spaniard mount. I will follow as swiftly as I can. I am weak with fasting."

He stood aside to allow Alvarez to pass him, and then, helped by his guard, slowly ascended the steps which encircled the building. And after them came Roger, his tall, gaunt frame pressed against the wall to keep out of sight, and his sword in his hand. He was breathing hard. Every stair seemed as if it would be too much for him, for he had fought hard. He had never during the long days of the siege saved himself in the slightest, and had borne the same privations as had the common people. The exertion and the excitement were almost too much for him. But he thought of the reward, of the knights who had helped to send him to this Terra Firma, and of his comrades. If he escaped to the coast and gained a ship, how miserable to reach home empty handed, to arrive at the port of London with a tale of this siege, and with the report of lost riches. Would they be believed? Would the folks in London city credit the fact that the simple crossbow youth had risen to such high places, and had had the promise of huge wealth? No! They would be thought to be mad. Solid facts would be necessary to convince them. Gold and jewels and pearls. Roger determined to make one last struggle, and bracing himself for it, slowly followed up the stairs. He reached the very top and halted, his body concealed by an ornamental ledge which fringed the edge of the tower. Then he sought for some object behind which he could obtain cover, and from which he could observe what was passing. There was a huge stone vase for flowers near at hand, only the flowers had long since dwindled away, no one having had time or the strength to attend to their watering during the siege. But it would form an excellent obstruction, and our hero crept behind it. Then he slowly lifted his head, and looked on to the square court at the top of the tower. There stood the scarlet-robed priest, obviously delaying so that the white cacique might have time to follow, while Alvarez stood beside him eager, excited, scarcely able to keep still, so much was he roused. But Roger noticed that he had lost the old hunted appearance. He no longer stared about him, looking now over this shoulder and now over that. Once, indeed, he walked to the ledge and stared over into the garden, but a glance satisfied him that none of the Spaniards followed. He returned, therefore, rubbing his hands together with pleasure, and muttering to himself.

"At last!" he was saying. "I have waited, and I have plotted, and not in vain. Here is reward for all the dangers I have run, for the risk I took when I lay off Cuba for the British ship. At last I shall see a fortune, and I alone of all who are here shall return to Spain with wealth. What is conquest without it? Even Fernando Cortes will envy me. But – supposing that English giant knew? He promised to slay me for the blow I dealt him. That I know, for it was told me. Ah, perhaps he is dead. I will ask the priest. Come, sir priest," he said aloud, addressing the man in scarlet, "tell me of this giant who led you. Is he dead?"

"Not dead," was the answer, "but starving – worn out with the struggle. Do not trouble about him now, but come. I have the key to the treasure. The picture directs me to the summit of this temple. There is a wall before me. I step to it like this, and stand with my toes against it, with the tips of the fingers of my right hand just level with the corner. Then I sweep them so above my head till I come to a ledge. Here it is, my lord. And on the ledge – " (he fumbled there till his fingers came in contact with an object, and he withdrew a heavy bar of glittering metal, somewhat tarnished by exposure to the weather) – "on the ledge a bar of gold. I turn to the left, and step to the nearest door. It is here. I enter, and within search for a hole which will accept this bar. The picture shows it before me as I enter. Stand aside there, dogs who have helped to ruin this fair country. You keep the light from the chamber. Now enter, my lord, and the natives can follow if you wish it. Ah, here is the aperture. I place the bar within it and press. It gives. Enter again to this inner chamber, where you will find the treasure."

The priest stood back, lifting his arms as he did so, and pointing to a narrow aperture which had suddenly opened in what would appear to have been solid masonry. But a closer inspection showed that it was merely imitation – that the wall was painted to represent stonework, and that a portion, exquisitely made, was designed to swing outwards. Through the opening thus disclosed could be seen a chamber of small proportions, lit by rays which came from small niches in the outside walls. A closer inspection showed that it swept to the left out of sight, while, more engaging sight still to Alvarez, there were piles of loose stones within, and beyond those a heap of golden ornaments set with stones, and of crude gold struck into rough bars. It was a sight, in fact, to make the blood of the Spaniard course swiftly through his veins.

"The treasure!" he gasped. "The treasure for which I have longed! Bar the door, dogs! Hold the priest, and let none enter while I am within. Remember! Let no one follow. If a question is asked, say that no Spaniard is here. Wait, and I will return in a few minutes."

He stepped to the opening and clambered through. Then the native guards closed about the doorway, so cutting off escape for the priest. But they kept no watch on the terrace outside. They failed to see the creeping giant who had emerged from behind the vase, while Roger himself, intent on treasure also and on the payment of his debt, kept no watch on the stairs by which he had ascended. He did not see the crafty figure which had tracked him to the terrace, the figure of a Spaniard to whom some inkling of the plot had come from Alvarez when in his cups, the figure of a Spaniard determined to share the treasure at the very least, and, if possible, if his hand could strike the blow, to take all for himself.

CHAPTER XX

A Race for the Ocean

Alvarez de Logas was spellbound. The highest flight of his imagination had never conjured up such a scene, such vast wealth as was displayed in the treasure chamber. He stood aghast, more perturbed by the sight of so much gold and so many jewels, than he had been at the thought of losing even a portion of the riches to be gained by coming to Mexico. He stood rooted to the spot, now inclined to fling himself upon the gems which sparkled in the light which came through the apertures in the walls, and a moment later scarcely resisting the inclination to rush upon the massive golden vessels with the shining orbs set into their sides. His hand went to his head, and he lifted his steel cap, while the fingers of his other hand passed through the wisp of hair which clung to his scalp.

"The treasure! At last the treasure!" he gasped. "Riches enough to make me the highest noble in all Spain, wealthier even than the king. Here is comfort for my old age, and honour, honour such as comes not even to men like Fernando Cortes, for wealth brings everything in its train. I will take the gems alone, for those I can carry. But no! I cannot leave the gold. To do so would be a sin. I have bearers in plenty. All shall be mine!"

The sound of his voice startled him, for in his excitement he raised his tones almost to a shriek. But now he was frightened. The old fears returned to him, and he stared back at the door, and then ran to it, peering through the narrow opening into the chamber beyond, where the guards stood, listening to the shrieks of the unfortunate Mexicans below, and to the triumphal shouts of the native allies as they slaughtered the unhappy people. They showed on their faces that they longed to be gone, while the scarlet-cloaked priest also looked steadily to the door, as if he were also listening and expecting something. A suspicion crossed the mind of Alvarez. He looked sharply at his captive, who had read the secret of the disc for him. Then his eye went back to the treasure, and that conquered. The sight of the glittering gems and of the piled-up gold drove all fear and suspicion from his mind. He recollected nothing beside the fact that he was actually in the treasure-house, wading in the riches for which he had sought so long, for which he had plotted and schemed, and for which he had not hesitated to risk his own life and to attempt to take that of another. Every night he had dreamed of this great day, and now —

"Mine!" he shouted. "All mine! I will look round. I will touch the wealth, and then I will devise how to take it away."

He fell on his knees beside the gems, and let them trickle through his fingers. He picked out the largest and the finest stones, held them to the light, and set them aside. Then he poured handful after handful within his cotton-padded jerkin.