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

As if to make good the promise, almost on the heels of her slaves rode the deft cavalier, blithe of spirit, because of the happy chance which made the place of the lover that of duty also. Behind him, well apportioned of Christians and Tlascalans and much the largest of the divisions, moved the rear-guard, of which he and Leon were chiefs. His bay mare, Bradamante, however, seemed not to share his gayety, but tossed her head, and champed the bit, and frequently shied as if scared.

“Have done, my pretty girl!” he said to her. “Frightened, art thou? ’Tis only the wind, ugly enough, I trow, but nothing worse. Or art thou jealous? Verguenza! To-morrow she shall find thee in the green pasture, and kiss thee as I will her.”

“Ola, captain!” said Cortes, approaching him. “To whom speakest thou?”

“To my mistress, Bradamante, Señor,” he replied, checking the rein impatiently. “Sometimes she hath airs prettier, as thou knowest, than the prettinesses of a woman; but now,—So ho, girl!—now she—Have done, I say!—now she hath a devil. And where she got it I know not, unless from the knave Botello.”[52 - A reputed soothsayer.]

“What of him? Where is he?” asked Cortes, with sudden interest.

“Back with Leon, talking, as is his wont, about certain subtleties, nameless by good Christians, but which he nevertheless calleth prophecies.”

“What saith the man now?”

“Out of the mass of his follies, I remember three: that thou, Señor, from extreme misfortune, shalt at last attain great honor; that to-night hundreds of us will be lost,—which last I can forgive in him, if only his third prediction come true.”

“And that?”

“Nay, Señor, except as serving to show that the rogue hath in him a savor of uncommon fairness, it is the least important of all; he saith he himself will be amongst the lost.”

Then Cortes laughed, saying, “Wilt thou never be done with thy quips? Lead on. I will wait here a little longer.”

Alvarado vanished, being in haste to recover his place behind Nenetzin. Before Cortes then, with the echoless tread of panthers in the glade, hurried the long array of Tlascalans; after them, the cross-bowmen and arquebusiers, their implements clashing against their heavy armor; yet he stood silent, pondering the words of Botello. Not until, with wheels grinding and shaking the pavement, the guns reached him did he wake from his thinking.

“Ho, Mesa, well met!” he said to the veteran, whom he distinguished amid a troop of slaves dragging the first piece. “This is not a night like those in Italy where thou didst learn the cunning of thy craft; yet there might be worse for us.”

“Mira, Señor!” and Mesa went to him, and said in a low voice, “What thou saidst was cheerily spoken, that I might borrow encouragement; and I thank thee, for I have much need of all the comfort thou hast to give. A poor return have I, Señor. If the infidels attack us, rely not upon the guns, not even mine: if the wind did not whisk the priming away, the rain would drown it,—and then,”—his voice sunk to a whisper; “our matches will not burn!”

At that moment a gust dashed Cortes with water, and for the first time he was chilled,—chilled until his teeth chattered; for simultaneously a presentiment of calamity touched him with what in a man less brave would have been fear. He saw how, without the guns, Botello’s second prediction was possible! Nevertheless, he replied,—

“The saints can help their own in the dark as well as in the light. Do thy best. To-morrow thou shalt be captain.”

Then Cortes mounted his horse, and took his shield, and to his wrist chained his battle-axe: still he waited. A company of horsemen brushed past him, followed by a solitary rider.

“Leon!” said Cortes.

The cavalier stopped, and replied,—

“What wouldst thou, Señor?”

“Are the guards withdrawn?”

“All of them.”

“And the sentinels?”

“I have been to every post; not a man is left.”

Cortes spoke to his attendants and they, too, rode off; when they were gone he said to Leon,—

“Now we may go.”

And with that together they passed out into the street. Cortes turned, and looked toward the palace, now deserted; but the night seemed to have snatched the pile away, and in its place left a blackened void. Fugitive as he was, riding he knew not to what end, he settled in his saddle again with a sigh—not for the old house itself, nor for the comfort of its roof, nor for the refuge in time of danger; not for the Christian dead reposing in its gardens, their valor wasted and their graves abandoned, nor for that other victim there sacrificed in his cause, whose weaknesses might not be separated from a thousand services, and a royalty superbly Eastern: these were things to wake the emotions of youths and maidens, young in the world, and of poets, dreamy and simple-minded; he sighed for the power he had there enjoyed,—the weeks and months when his word was law for an empire of shadowy vastness, and he was master, in fact, of a king of kings,—immeasurable power now lost, apparently forever.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE PURSUIT BEGINS

In the afternoon the king Cuitlahua, whose sickness had greatly increased, caused himself to be taken to Chapultepec, where he judged he would be safer from the enemy and better situated for treatment by his doctors and nurses. Before leaving, however, he appointed a deputation of ancients, and sent them, with his signet and a message, to Guatamozin.

The ’tzin, about the same time, changed his quarters from the teocallis, now but a bare pavement high in air, to the old Cû of Quetzal’. That the strangers must shortly attempt to leave the city he knew; so giving up the assault on the palace, he took measures to destroy them, if possible, while in retreat. The road they would move by was the only point in the connection about which he was undecided. Anyhow, they must seek the land by one of the causeways. Those by Tlacopan and Tepejaca were the shortest; therefore, he believed one or the other of them would be selected. Upon that theory, he accommodated all his preparations to an attack from the lake, while the foe were outstretched on the narrow dike. As sufficient obstructions in their front, he relied upon the bridgeless canals; their rear he would himself assail with a force chosen from the matchless children of the capital, whose native valor was terribly inflamed by the ruin and suffering they had seen and endured. The old Cû was well located for his part of the operation; and there, in the sanctuary, surrounded by a throng of armed caciques and lords, the deputies of the king Cuitlahua found him.

If the shade of Mualox lingered about the altar of the peaceful god, no doubt it thrilled to see the profanation of the holy place; if it sought refuge in the cells below, alas! they were filled by an army in concealment; and if it went further, down to what the paba, in his poetic madness, had lovingly called his World, alas again! the birds were dead, the shrubs withered, the angel gone; only the fountain lived, of Darkness a sweet voice singing in the ear of Silence.

So the ’tzin being found, this was the message delivered to him from the king Cuitlahua:—

“May the gods love you as I do! I am sick with the sickness of the strangers. Come not near me, lest you be taken also. I go to Chapultepec to get ready for death. If I die, the empire is yours. Meantime, I give you all power.”

Guatamozin took the signet, and was once more master, if not king, in the city of his fathers. The deputies kissed his hand; the chiefs saluted him; and when the tidings reached the companies below, the cells rang as never before, not even with the hymns of their first tenants.

While yet the incense of the ovation sweetened the air about him, he looked up at the image of the god,—web of spider on its golden sceptre, dust on its painted shield, dust bending its plumes of fire; he looked up into the face, yet fair and benignant, and back to him rushed the speech of Mualox, clear as if freshly spoken,—“Anahuac, the beautiful,—her existence, and the glory and power that make it a thing of worth, are linked to your action. O ’tzin, your fate and hers, and that of the many nations, is one and the same!” and the beating of his pulse quickened thrice; for now he could see that the words were prophetic of his country saved by him.

Then up the broad steps of the Cû, into the sanctuary, and through the crowd, rushed Hualpa; the rain streamed from his quilted armor; and upon the floor in front of the ’tzin, with a noise like the fall of a heavy hammer, he dropped the butt of a lance to which was affixed a Christian sword-blade.

“At last, at last, O ’tzin!” he said, “the strangers are in the street, marching toward Tlacopan.”

The company hushed their very breathing.

“All of them?” asked the ’tzin.

“All but the dead.”

Then on the ’tzin’s lip a smile, in his eyes a flash as of flame.

“Hear you, friends?” he said. “The time of vengeance has come. You know your places and duty. Go, each one. May the gods go with you!”

In a moment he and Hualpa were alone. The latter bent his head, and crossing his hands upon his breast said,—

“When the burthen of my griefs has been greatest, and I cried out continually, O ’tzin, you have held me back, promising that my time would come. I doubt not your better judgment, but—but I have no more patience. My enemy is abroad, and she, whom I cannot forget, goes with him. Is not the time come?”

Guatamozin laid his hand on Hualpa’s:—

“Be glad, O comrade! The time has come; and as you have prepared for it like a warrior, go now, and get the revenge so long delayed. I give you more than permission,—I give you my prayers. Where are the people who are to go with you?”

“In the canoes, waiting.”

They were silent awhile. Then the ’tzin took the lance, and looked at the long, straight blade admiringly; under its blue gleam lay the secret of its composition, by which the few were able to mock the many, and ravage the capital and country.

“Dread nothing; it will conquer,” he said, handing the weapon back.