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

“O ’tzin,” he said, “his blood is not in my veins. He is only my benefactor. Your days are not numbered, like mine, and as yet you are blameless; for the sake of the peace that makes life sweet, I pray you let my hand do this service.”

And the ’tzin took his hand, and replied, fervently,—

“There is nothing so precious as the sight that is quick to see the sorrows of others, unless it be the heart that hurries to help them. After this, I may never doubt your love; but the duty is mine,—made so by the gods,—and he has asked it of me. Lo, the heralds appear!”

“He has asked it of you! that is enough,” and Hualpa stayed no longer.

Upon the turret the carpet was spread and the canopy set up, and forth came a throng of cavaliers and infidel lords, the latter splendidly bedight; then appeared Montezuma and Cortes.

As the king moved forward a cry, blent of all feelings,—love, fear, admiration, hate, reverence,—burst from the great audience; after which only Guatamozin and Hualpa, in front of the gate, were left standing.

And such splendor flashed from the monarch’s person, from his sandals of gold, tunic of feathers, tilmatli of white, and copilli[51 - The crown.] inestimably jeweled; from his face and mien issued such majesty that, after the stormy salutation, the multitude became of the place a part, motionless as the stones, the dead not more silent.

With his hands crossed upon his breast he stood awhile, seeing and being seen, and all things waited for him to speak; even the air seemed waiting, it was so very hushed. He looked to the sky, flecked with unhallowed smoke; to the sun, whose heaven, just behind the curtain of brightness, was nearer to him than ever before; to the temple, place of many a royal ceremony, his own coronation the grandest of all; to the city, beautiful in its despoilment; to the people, for whom, though they knew it not, he had come to die; at last his gaze settled upon Guatamozin, and as their eyes met, he smiled; then shaking the tilmatli from his shoulder, he raised his head, and said, in a voice from which all weakness was gone, his manner never so kingly,—

“I know, O my people, that you took up arms to set me free, and that was right; but how often since then have I told you that I am not a prisoner; that the strangers are my guests; that I am free to leave them when I please, and that I live with them because I love them?”

As in a calm a wind sometimes blows down, and breaks the placid surface of a lake into countless ripples, driving them hither and thither in sparkling confusion, these words fell upon the listening mass; a yell of anger rose, and from the temple descended bitter reproaches.

Yet the ’tzin was steady; and when the outcry ended, the king went on,—

“I am told your excuse now is, that you want to drive my friends from the city. My children, here stands Malinche himself. He hears me say for him that, if you will open the way, he and all with him will leave of their own will.”

Again the people broke out in revilements, but the monarch waved his hand angrily, and said,—

“As I am yet your king, I bid you lay down your arms—”

Then the ’tzin took the ready bow from Hualpa; full to the ear he drew the arrow. Steady the arm, strong the hand,—an instant, and the deed was done! In the purple shadow of the canopy, amidst his pomp of royalty, Montezuma fell down, covered, when too late, by a score of Christian shields. Around him at the same time fell a shower of stones from the temple.

Then, with a shout of terror, the companies arose as at a word and fled, and, panic-blind, tossed the ’tzin here and there, and finally left him alone in the square with Hualpa.

“All is lost!” said the latter, disconsolately.

“Lost!” said the ’tzin. “On the temple yonder lies Malinche’s last hope. No need now to assail the palace. When the king comes out, hunger will go in and fight for us.”

“But the people,—where are they?”

The ’tzin raised his hand and pointed to the palace,—

“So the strangers have asked. See!”

Hualpa turned, and saw the gate open and the cavaliers begin to ride forth.

“Go they this way, or yon,” continued the ’tzin, “they will find the same answer. Five armies hold the city; a sixth keeps the lake.”

Down the beautiful street the Christians rode unchallenged until they came to the first canal. While restoring the bridge there, they heard the clamor of an army, and lo! out of the gardens, houses, and temples, far as the vision reached, the infidels poured and blocked the way.

Then the cavaliers rode back, and took the way to Tlacopan. There, too, the first canal was bridgeless; and as they stood looking across the chasm, they heard the same clamor and beheld the same martial apparition.

Once more they rode, this time up the street toward the northern dike, and with the same result.

“Ola, father!” said Cortes, returned to the palace, “we may not stay here after to-morrow.”

“Amen!” cried Olmedo.

“Look thou to the sick and wounded; such as can march or move, get them ready.”

“And the others?” asked the good man.

“Do for them what thou dost for the dying. Shrieve them!”

So saying, the Christian leader sank on his seat, and gave himself to sombre thought.

He had sped his second and—LAST BOLT!

The rest of the day was spent in preparation for retreat.

CHAPTER XV

THE DEATH OF MONTEZUMA

Again Martin Lopez had long conference with Cortes; after which, with his assistant carpenters, he went to work, and, until evening time, the echoes of the court-yard danced to the sounds of saw and hammer.

And while they worked, to Cortes came Avila and Mexia.

“What thou didst intrust to us, Señor, we have done. Here is a full account of all the treasure, our royal master’s included.”

Cortes read the statement, then called his chamberlain, Christobal de Guzman.

“Go thou, Don Christobal, and bring what is here reported into one chamber, where it may be seen of all. And send hither the royal secretaries, and Pedro Hernandez, my own clerk.”

The secretaries came.

“Now, Señores Avila and Mexia, follow my chamberlain, and in his presence and that of these gentlemen, take from the treasure the portion belonging to his Majesty, the emperor. Of our wounded horses, then choose ye eight, and of the Tlascalans, eighty, and load them with the royal dividend, and what more they can carry; and have them always ready to go. And as leaving anything of value where the infidels may be profited is sinful, I direct,—and of this let all bear witness, Hernandez for me, and the secretaries for his Majesty,—I direct, I say, that ye set the remainder apart accessible to the soldiers, with leave to each one of them to take therefrom as much as he may wish. Make note, further, that what is possible to save all this treasure hath been done. Write it, good gentlemen, write it; for if any one thinketh differently, let him say what more I can do. I am waiting to hear. Speak!”

No one spoke.

And while the division of the large plunder went on, and afterwards the men scrambled for the remainder, Montezuma was dying.

In the night a messenger sought Cortes.

“Señor,” he said, “the king hath something to ask of you. He will not die comforted without seeing you.”

“Die, say’st thou?” and Cortes arose hastily. “I had word that his hurts were not deadly.”

“If he die, Señor, it will be by his own hand. The stones wrought him but bruises; and if he would let the bandages alone the arrow-cut would shortly stop bleeding.”

“Yes, yes,” said Cortes. “Thou wouldst tell me that this barbarian, merely from being long a king, hath a spirit of such exceeding fineness that, though the arrow had not cut him deeper than thy dull rowel marketh thy horse’s flank, yet would he die. Where is he now?”