The Fair God; or, The Last of the 'Tzins

So saying, the chief dropped back into his seat, and held the sore hand to Olmedo for further care,—never speech more bluff, never face more calm. For a time, nothing was heard but the silvery tinkle of the falling water. At length one was found sturdy enough to speak; others followed him; and, at last, when the opinion was taken, not a voice said stay; on the contrary, the clamor to go was, by some, indecently loud.

Cortes then stood up.

“The opinion is all one way. Hast thou so written, Señor Duero?”

The secretary bowed.

“Then write again,—write that I, Hernan Cortes, to this retreat said, No; write that, if I yield my judgment, it is not to any necessity of which we have heard as coming from the enemy, but to the demand of my people. Hast thou so written?”

The secretary nodded.

“Write again, that upon this demand I ordered Alonzo Avila and Gonzalo Mexia to take account of all the treasure belonging to our master, the most Christian king; with leave to the soldiers, when the total hath been perfected and the retreat made ready, to help themselves from the balance, as each one may wish. Those gentlemen will see that their task be concluded by noon to-morrow. Hast written, Duero?”

“Word for word,” answered the secretary.

“Very well. And now,”—Cortes raised his head, and spoke loudly,—“and now, rest and sleep who can. This business is bad. Get ye gone!”

And when they were alone, he said to Olmedo,—

“I have done ill—”

“Nay,” said the father, smiling, “thou hast done well.”

“Bastante,—we shall see. Never had knaves such need of all their strength as when this retreat is begun; yet of what account will they be when loaded down with the gold they cannot consent to leave behind?”

“Why then the permission?” asked the father.

Cortes smiled blandly,—

“If I cannot make them friends, by my conscience! I can at least seal their mouths in the day of my calamity.”

Then bowing his head, he added,—

“Thy benediction, father.”

The blessing was given.

“Amen!” said Cortes.

And the priest departed; but the steps of the iron-hearted soldier were heard long after,—not quick and determined as usual, but slow and measured, and with many and long pauses between. So ambition walks when marshalling its resources; so walks a heroic soul at war with itself and fortune! He flung himself upon his couch at last, saying,—

“In my quiver there are two bolts left. The saints help me! I will speed them first.”

CHAPTER XIV

THE KING BEFORE HIS PEOPLE AGAIN

Guatamozin’s call at the royal palace to see the king, Cuitlahua, had not been without result. When told that the monarch was too sick of the plague to be seen, he called for the officer who had charge of the accounts of tribute received for the royal support.

“Show me,” said the ’tzin, “how much corn was delivered to Montezuma for Malinche.”

A package of folded aguave leaves was brought and laid at the accountant’s feet. In a moment he took out a leaf well covered with picture-writing, and gave it to the ’tzin, who, after study, said to a cacique in waiting, “Bring me one of the couriers,” and to another, “Bring me wherewith to write.”

When the latter was brought, he sat down, and dipping a brush into a vessel of liquid color, drew upon a clear, yellow-tinted leaf a picture of a mother duck leading her brood from the shore into the water; by way of signature, he appended in one corner the figure of an owl in flight. On five other sheets he repeated the writing; then the missives were given each to a separate courier with verbal directions for their delivery.

When he left the palace, the ’tzin laid his hand upon Hualpa’s shoulder, and said, joyfully,—

“Better than I thought, O comrade. Malinche has corn for one day only!”

The blood quickened in Hualpa’s heart, as he asked,—“Then the end is near?”

“To-morrow, or the next day,” said the ’tzin.

“But Montezuma is generous,—”

“Can he give what he has not? To-night there will be delivered for his use and that of his household, whom I have had numbered for the purpose, provisions for one day, not more.”

“Then it is so! Praised be the gods! and you, O my master, wiser than other men!” cried Hualpa, with upraised face, and a gladness which was of youth again, and love so blind that he saw Nenetzin,—not the stars,—and so deaf that he heard not the other words of the ’tzin,—

“The couriers bear my orders to bring up all the armies. And they will be here in the morning.”

In the depth of the night, while Cortes lay restlessly dreaming, his sentinels on the palace were attracted by music apparently from every quarter; at first, so mellowed by distance as to seem like the night singing to itself; afterwhile, swollen into the familiar dissonant minstrelsy of conch and atabal, mixed with chanting of many voices.

“O ho!” shouted the outliers on the neighboring houses, “O ho, accursed strangers! Think no more of conquest,—not even of escape; think only of death by sacrifice! If you are indeed teules, the night, though deepened by the smoke of our burning houses, cannot hinder you from seeing the children of Anahuac coming in answer to the call of Huitzil’. If you are men, open wide your ears that you may hear their paddles on the lake and their tramp on the causeway. O victims! one day more, then,—the sacrifice!”

Even the Christians, leaning on their lances, and listening, felt the heaviness of heart which is all of fear the brave can know, and crossed themselves, and repeated such pater nosters as they could recollect.

And so it was. The reserve armies which had been reposing in the vales behind Chapultepec all marched to the city; and the noise of their shouting, drumming, and trumpeting, when they arrived and began to occupy its thoroughfares and strong places, was like the roar of the sea.

To the garrison, under arms meantime, and suffering from the influence of all they heard, the dawn was a long time coming; but at last the sun came, and poured its full light over the leaguered palace and courtly precincts.

But the foemen stood idly looking at each other; for in the night, Cortes, on his side, had made preparations for peace. Two caciques went from him to the king Cuitlahua, proposing a parley; and the king replied that he would come in the morning, and hear what he had to say. So there was truce as well as sunshine.

“Tell me truly, Don Pedro,—as thou art a gentleman, tell me,—didst thou ever see a sight like this?”

Whereupon, Alvarado, who, with others, was leaning against the parapet which formed part of the battlements of the eastern gate of the palace, looked again, and critically, over that portion of the square visible from his position, and replied,—“I will answer truly and lovingly as if thou wert my little princess yonder in the patio. Sight like this I never saw, and”—he added, with a quizzical smile—“never care to see again.”

Orteguilla persisted,—

“Nay, didst thou ever see anything that surpassed it?”

Once more Alvarado surveyed the scene,—of men a myriad, in the streets rank upon rank; so on the houses and temple,—everywhere the glinting of arms, and the brown faces of warriors glistening above their glistening shields; everywhere escaupiles of flaming red, and banners; everywhere the ineffable beauty and splendor of royal war. The good captain withdrew his enamoured gaze slowly:—

“No, never!” he said.

Even he, the prince of gibes and strange oaths, forgot his tricks in presence of the pageant.

While the foemen looked at each other so idly, up the beautiful street came heralds announcing Cuitlahua. Soon his palanquin, attended by a great retinue of nobles, was brought and set down in front of the eastern gate of the palace. Upon its appearance, the people knelt, and touched the ground with their palms. Then there was a blare of Christian trumpets, and Cortes, with Olmedo and Marina, came upon the turret.