"Zelmonco is very lonesome, mother. How rarely does anything come to disturb the sameness of our lives. No change from day to day: only the voice of Nature, in the songs of birds and the murmur of the leaves, is heard; and, much as I love these sounds, they make me sad."
These words were addressed by a young girl to an elderly appearing woman a short distance off, who was at the moment giving attention to a beautiful cluster of blooming rosebushes.
"Yes, the villa does seem lonesome; still we have each other, my child, which is much to be thankful for," was answered.
"True, mother; but that does not relieve the quietude of our home. I wish that Euet would come. He remains from us longer this time than usual. Do you think we may expect him soon?"
"Euet does, indeed, stay from home longer than usual, but is no doubt detained. Still, I hope he will be here before the day is gone," replied the elderly woman.
The persons engaged thus in conversation were in the open air, strolling leisurely about, rearranging a disturbed bush or vine, plucking a flower here and a twig there, and drinking in the sweet perfumes rising from the odoriferous flowers and shrubs which met them at every turn. They were the mother and sister of Euetzin, the friend and companion of Prince Hualcoyotl, who were out for an hour's stroll in the beautiful grounds fronting their villa home—a place very dear to them for the sacred memories which clung around it; memories of other and happier days, when home associations and ties were unbroken and complete.
Euzelmozin, the husband and father, as we have stated previously, perished with his king on the battle field, where Tezcucan liberty went down under the bloody hand of a cruel victor. He left them a beautiful home, however, with gold and other wealth sufficient to make them independent.
By paying promptly the required tribute to the Tepanec king they were permitted to live undisturbed in their isolation.
The mother, whose name was Teochma, had passed middle life. She still possessed a vigorous womanhood, and showed her age in the hair only, which was freely sprinkled over with gray.
Itlza, the daughter, was fair and of medium size. About nineteen years had marked her young life, but, being a child of a sunny clime, she appeared older. She was not beautiful, yet upon her face there was a sweet, confiding look, which attracted and charmed the beholder, impressing his or her mind with a pleasing sense of acquaintanceship. The light of geniality beamed upon her countenance, and a spirit of mirthfulness sparkled up from the depths of two bright, laughing eyes. A pair of carmine-tinted lips, as delicately colored as the lovely rose she was carelessly twirling between her thumb and finger, backed by two perfect rows of pearly teeth, adorned a pretty, tempting mouth, which completed the charm and brightness of an otherwise plain face.
They were dressed becomingly in the manner of their people. The character of their dress was not greatly dissimilar to that worn by the women of other Indian nations, except in its completeness. Among the higher classes of native Mexican women the costume was usually gorgeous in gay colors, and adorned with trimmings of gold and featherwork.
The mother and sister of tzin Euet were the wife and daughter of a fallen Tezcucan noble; and, though robbed of the title of nobility, still endeavored to sustain, in their manner of living, the dignity of their former rank.
Zelmonco villa, the home of the family, was situated on an eminence, about two leagues from Tezcuco, and commanded a fine view of the adjacent country and the city in the distance. Euetzin was in the habit of visiting it often, to enjoy, for a brief season, the society of his loved and honored mother and very dear sister.
It becomes necessary at this point for us to return to the time of parting between the tzin and prince, which occurred some hours earlier than the incident which opens this chapter.
On withdrawing from Hualcoyotl's apartment, Euetzin made a hasty preparation to leave the city. His first object was to pay a hurried visit to his mother and sister, and then go forward in the performance of his mission. When the necessary preparations for his departure were completed, he left the palace, going out through the court onto a thoroughfare, which he followed for some distance. On reaching the outskirts of the city he took a southeasterly course and walked briskly in the direction of his home. He had about six miles to go, but thought nothing of it. The Aztec mode of traveling was almost entirely pedestrial; in fact, none but the wealthy and the nobility traveled in any other way. The palanquin, a kind of chair, borne by slaves or hired servants, was their only conveyance—burden-bearing animals being unknown on the Anahuac previous to the advent of the conquerors. The men were, as a consequence, trained pedestrians from necessity and habit.
As Euetzin neared the villa, the anxiety to see his loved ones grew upon him, and his movement became proportionately quicker. He had to pass up through the park to reach the house; and, anticipating he would find his mother and sister strolling there, carefully guarded his approach from observation, hoping to give them a sudden and pleasant surprise.
The words addressed to his mother by Itlza, and the replies were distinctly heard by the tzin as he drew near.
Itlza continued to address her mother:
"Do you think, mother, that the old king's death will effect the prince in his retirement?" she asked.
"Maxtla will be king; evil is in Maxtla's heart—the prince must beware," replied the mother.
"Why does Hualcoyotl remain so passively a prisoner in his own palace? Is he a slave that he endures his restraint without an effort to obtain his freedom?" questioned Itlza, with much warmth.
"I know of but one way by which he might gain his freedom, my child; and that is too terrible to think about."
"You allude to a revolt, mother?"
"Yes, it was that I had in mind; and yet, though it would bring sorrow to many hearts, and possibly to ours, I could not say my people nay should they attempt it, for they are but slaves to the Tepanec king," replied the mother, in accents of sadness.
"You speak truly, mother; for Euet would—" Itlza's half-formed sentence was here suddenly broken off. She was seized from behind and held firmly for a moment, while a hand was placed over her mouth. When she was released, she turned quickly to learn who her assailant was, and met the laughing face of her brother, who saluted her in a most loving manner and completed her unfinished sentence by saying:
"Euet would that you drop so unpleasant a subject—there is only sadness in it."
"A bad brother is Euet, to give his sister such a fright!" exclaimed she, pleasantly.
The tzin answered her badinage with a closer embrace; and, releasing her, saluted his mother in an affectionate manner, who said:
"Euet, my son, you are most welcome after so protracted an absence. Your sister and myself were beginning to wonder at your remaining away so long, and would in a little while have become uneasy about you."
"My mother and sister are very good to remember me so kindly, but they should not forget that Euet is no longer a boy. A man's responsibilities are now his, and he has duties to perform which sometimes interfere very much with his plans for gratifying the cravings of his heart. I am not forgetful of the filial obligations which bind me with golden chords of love to my estimable mother and sweet sister; yet there are times, in the press of worldlier things, when even these most precious of all obligations are neglected."
"You are right, my son; a mother's love is selfish. I had not considered well—but you are tired and need refreshment. Let us go in."
As they moved toward the house the conversation was continued. The mother presently inquired:
"How fares the good prince?"
"The prince is well, though somewhat dejected at the turn affairs have taken since the old king's death, of which you have already heard," answered the tzin.
"Yes, the news of his death has spread quickly. Your allusion to it prompts me to inquire about his successor. Maxtla has ascended the throne, I suppose, and now rules in his father's stead?" inquiringly returned the mother.
"Maxtla is king," replied Euet; "and even now may be laying plans for the destruction of the prince."
The faces of the mother and daughter quickly took on an expression of anxiety.
Hualcoyotl had spent many of his boyhood hours at the home of his friend Euet, which had resulted in his holding a warm place in the heart of each member of the family. Itlza and her mother had not seen him for a number of years, yet in Euetzin was found a link which bound them still to their young friend of other and more auspicious times.
"What are we to understand by those ominous words, my son?" inquired the mother in anxious tones.
"Good mother, I will explain, but not now. My walk has made me ravenous, and I do not intend that even your anxiety for the prince shall deprive me of my supper," replied he, playfully.
"How thoughtless of me to forget for a moment that you are hungry," returned she, with maternal concern. "Itlza, see that refreshments are served immediately; and now, my son, you must pardon your mother for her negligence."
"Thank my mother for her goodness, rather, in being thoughtful of my friend," replied the tzin, imprinting a filial kiss upon her brow.
This act and the accompanying words were in a vein of affectionate mirthfulness which brought the mother's heart into her eyes, and she could only look her gratitude. The tzin led her to the board where refreshments were served, and mother and daughter were soon partaking of a spirit of cheerfulness which his presence imparted….
The day was nearly spent; approaching night was beginning to cast her shadows over the earth, and her dusky mantle would soon envelope all. The family were seated in the spacious drawing-room of their home. Euetzin was relating the particulars of the prince's experience at the palace of the king, and his mother and sister were listening with the most intense interest to his recital. When he told of the prince's determination to prepare for resistance, and that he, the tzin, was then on his way to engage in inciting it, the mother could keep silent no longer, but cried out in anguish of heart:
"Oh, my son, can it be that my fears are to be realized so soon, and must we indeed lose you?"
"Be calm, good mother; do not make my duties heavier by inflicting greater sadness upon my heart. You would not counsel your boy to shrink from the call which must come, sooner or later, to every true son of Tezcuco? The prince has seen fit to send me as his representative among the people, and has charged me with a great and responsible duty. Shall the son of Euzelmozin cowardly shirk it, or shall he, like his lamented father, be fearless in the face of danger? What greater danger, O Teochma, my mother, could arise than that which now threatens the destruction of our prince, and a lower degradation for our deeply wronged country?"
"Forgive me, my son, if I showed in my words a feeling of resentment to the fates that would rob me of my boy. You know your mother too well to believe that she would for a moment counsel you contrary to the dictates of patriotism. No, Euet; though my heart may bleed for the sorrow it will feel, yet would I say, go to your duty, perform it to the best of your ability, and prove yourself a worthy son of Zelmozin and Tezcuco."
"Thanks, my noble mother; with your approval, so patriotically expressed, I will go out into the midst of dangers, fearing only to do wrong."
When the morning came the tzin was gone, and the unwonted stillness of the villa told of saddened hearts within.
When suspicious jealousy culminates in anger it is but a step to malicious madness. In such a conflict of the passions reason is unable to hold its sway; especially is this true if the natural impulses of the heart are evil. The fatal step is taken and destruction inevitably follows upon the victim, and too often upon those who are innocently the cause.
Maddened at the sight of his supposed rival, and no longer the unimpassioned arbiter of a king's court, Maxtla, immediately on the withdrawal of Prince Hualcoyotl, dismissed from his presence the chiefs and vassals about him, and retired to his own apartment, where, by giving way to the dominant passions of his nature, he wrought himself into a very demon. In his terrible anger he resolved that Hualcoyotl should die, and ordered a meeting of his privy council, whose duty it was to pass upon the decisions of the king, to take place at once.
The council convened in a chamber set apart for that purpose. When the members were all seated the king addressed them. He appeared unusually stern and determined, and evidenced the deep, terrible, and inflexible purpose which moved him. He said:
"Your king has commanded your presence here at this hour to obtain your approval to a decree of death, which he has laid upon one who is a menace to our authority. Hualcoyotl, the prince of Tezcuco, is the only surviving heir to the Tezcucan crown. While he is permitted to live the Tepanec supremacy over that nation will be as unstable as would a habitation on yonder burning mountain.[3]The voice of the murmuring wind is not more distinct than is the murmur of repining and disaffection which rises from among our subjugated vassals, the Tezcucans, who would have this prince to rule over them. Shall we fold our arms and wait for the storm of insurrection and rebellion, which his existence makes possible, to sweep down upon and overwhelm us, or shall we be wise in precluding the possibility of such an event by his removal? The desolation of our kingdom would no doubt be attempted, and possibly accomplished, should he be raised to power; and I warn you, if accomplished, more than Maxtla would find a grave beneath the ruins. We must strike, worthy chiefs, nobles, for self-preservation. Your king has decreed it—Hualcoyotl must die; are you prepared to approve the decision?"
The members of the council felt that the king was in no humor to brook opposition, and as it was a personal as well as public consideration with them the decree was confirmed.
It was decided, in accordance with the wishes of the king, to have the prince put out of the way in a quiet manner. Agreeable to this decision, arrangements were made for a private party to be given by one of the king's officers in Tezcuco, to which the prince was to have a cordial and pressing invitation, and at which he was to be secretly put to death.
Itzalmo was informed of the diabolical plotting of the conspirators by a friend who was close to the king, and shrewdly defeated their design to assassinate his young master; but tradition says another perished in his stead.
The failure of the plan to entrap the prince so enraged the king that he threw off all disguise and publicly proclaimed the decree condemning him to death. The execution of the mandate was imposed upon one of his chief officers, who was ordered to go with a party of soldiers to Tezcuco, and there to enter the palace, seize the prince and put him to death.
On the second day subsequent to the one on which the attempt was made to create an opportunity in which to assassinate the prince—the consummation of which was prevented by the old preceptor's cunning, Hualcoyotl was seated alone in his private apartment. There was a notable change in his appearance. The past few days, with their important and, to him, momentous events, had made him seem older. The youthfulness and freshness of his former self were gone, and the sternness of a determined man had settled upon him.
The tzin had been gone several days, and the importance of his mission under the light of recent developments was greatly heightened. The prince felt that his friend's prediction relative to the king's probable conduct toward himself was likely to be verified; yet he hoped for time, that organized resistance might be effected before extreme measures were resorted to by his enemy. Still he was not sanguine: the uncertainty of the situation because of the meagerness of knowledge possessed regarding the temper and disposition of his people was a source of discouragement. A consciousness of his present helpless state, also, had its depressing effect. Hope, however, supported by a strong faith in the patriotism of his immediate friends sustained him. He could not work, and had fallen into one of his thoughtful moods. His countenance was ever expressive of his emotions, the character of his thoughts being clearly reflected upon it. Now a dark cloud would cover his face, its shadows deepened and intensified by the flashes of angry light which gleamed from his dark eyes, plainly showing the feelings which agitated his troubled and fearless soul. Again, the subduing influence of more gentle thoughts would follow, and the hard lines upon his countenance would pass away, giving place to a softened expression which clearly said the nobler man within had risen, and that thoughts according with his better nature held his mind.
Love of country, pity for his oppressed people, sorrow for those whose loss he mourned, and affection for his immediate friends and companions were ruling passions in him, and could not be repressed for any great length of time. So he sat and pondered, trains of thought the while, ladened with bitter and sweet, coursing their way across his active brain, till suddenly he exclaimed: "Beware! O Maxtla, perfidious monster; the hunted ocelotl[4]may turn and rend you." With these words, which broke the spell, Hualcoyotl awoke from his reverie, little dreaming that at that very moment death was on his track and closely stealing to take him unaware.
The news of the issuing of the king's decree condemning the prince to death had just reached Itzalmo; and, almost at the same moment in which Hualcoyotl uttered the exclamation which broke in on his reverie, a servant approached his door to say that the watchful old servitor wished to communicate with him.
"Inform Itzalmo that I will see him in his own apartment," said the prince, in answer to the message.
Hualcoyotl was greatly surprised on entering the old man's room to find him very much agitated, and at once surmised that something of a very serious nature was the matter; for Itzalmo was ever dignified and composed in his demeanor, seldom permitting anything to visibly disturb him. After the accustomed civilities he addressed the prince:
"I have just received startling intelligence from our friends at the palace of Maxtla to the effect, most noble prince, that your life is in imminent peril. The failure of the king's plan to entrap you two days since has so enraged his majesty that he has thrown off all restraint, and publicly proclaims your existence a menace to his authority, and that it must be terminated. He has ordered an officer with a number of soldiers to come here and murder you—yes, murder you in your own palace. Your only safety lies in flight. Go at once, O Prince; for they may come at any moment."
Hualcoyotl's habitual serenity was somewhat shaken by the knowledge of his public condemnation to death; but it was only for a moment, for he quickly recovered, and when Itzalmo finished speaking, said:
"You are a true friend to me, Itzalmo, but in your anxiety for the safety of your prince forget your teachings. What you propose might be the best thing to do; such a course, however, would not be in accordance with my training; neither would it meet the approval of my feelings. No, good friend, I'll turn my back upon no man. Let them come—I will remain to receive them."
"You, O Hualcoyotl, prince of Tezcuco, forget your duty to your people, and remember only your pride of honor," remonstrated Itzalmo.
"My dear, good friend, I forget nothing, except that I am Maxtla's slave," returned the prince, with flashing eyes. "If the gods forsake us not," continued he, "Hualcoyotl, prince of Tezcuco, will yet meet this monster king on equal terms, and when he does, the skill at arms which thou hast taught shall serve him well; or, failing, leave him a lifeless thing at Maxtla's feet! A truce to further discussion of the matter except as to where and how these assassins are to be received."
Itzalmo was greatly discouraged by the prince's refusal to fly the palace, but not less determined to do all in his power to save him. It was agreed that he should repair to the court and engage in a game of ball, trusting to his good luck and the cunning of the old tutor to deliver him from the dangers which encompassed him.
When the soldiers arrived they were received in the palace and informed that Hualcoyotl was playing at ball in the court. This had the desired effect of leading the officer to infer that he had found the prince and his household ignorant of the contemplated assassination of the former; thus rendering it less difficult for Itzalmo to further and accomplish any meditated plan looking to the frustration of the murderous design upon his young master's life.
When the soldiers reached the court they were received in a very courteous manner by the prince, who said:
"The soldiers of Maxtla, the king, do me great honor in visiting my palace at this time, and will add to my pleasure if they will enter with me and partake of refreshments to relieve the fatigue of their journey."
The prince's demeanor was dignified and fearless, and his speech the essence of suavity, which threw the officer off his guard, who, feeling secure in the ultimate accomplishment of his purpose, replied:
"Hualcoyotl, the prince, honors the king's service in extending to his soldiers the hospitality of his board, and as the soldiers of the king are not unlike other men, but, like other men, require sustenance, they accept the kind invitation."
The prince led the way to the banqueting hall, where the party was seated and refreshments ordered to be served. The refreshments were brought from an adjoining saloon, between which and the banqueting hall was a broad, arched doorway, with hangings, or portieres, richly adorned with gold and other trimmings, now drawn to each side and held by ornamental holders.
It was the custom of the natives of Anahuac, when an honored guest was being entertained, to place a burning censer in a conspicuous place and feed it with aromatics during the time of entertainment. The censer, on this occasion, was placed in the doorway between the banqueting hall and saloon.
While the party were engaged in eating and drinking, the prince suddenly had occasion to call a servant. No servant responded to the call, however, which seemed to arouse his ire. With an impatient gesture he arose from his place at the board and passed to the saloon as if in search of one. As he left the hall a fresh supply of aromatics was thrown into the censer, sending up dense clouds of incense, which enveloped him and filled the doorway, thus obscuring his movements from the eyes of the soldiers. At this moment a servant entered from another direction, as if in answer to the prince's summons.
"Did my master call?" he inquired.
"He did," replied the officer, "and is now in search of you."
The servant busied himself about the table for a short time, and then took a position at a respectful distance, apparently waiting his master's return.
The minutes went by and the prince did not return. It suddenly dawned upon the mind of the officer that something was being done to thwart him—that he had been duped; and, quickly rising from his seat, he rushed into the saloon, followed by his men. No trace of the prince was found, and a general search of the palace was ordered. It proved fruitless, however, for the prince was not discovered, nor could anything be learned from the servants concerning him. He had vanished, to all appearances, in the clouds of incense which enveloped him as he passed from the banqueting hall to the saloon.
Among the many ruins of ancient Mexico, and not the least of interest and wonder, were those of the great aqueducts, by means of which vast quantities of water were brought from distant points to supply an extensive system of irrigation, and, presumably, the palaces and villas of the rulers and their wealthy adherents.
The Tezcucan palace, while Hualcoyotl's father was yet a prosperous and independent sovereign, was furnished with all the advantages attainable, among which was an abundant supply of water, brought into the palace through a large conduit, or earthen pipe. After the subjugation of the Tezcucans, and death of their king, this pipe fell into disuse and ruin.
There was a passageway leading from within the palace to the abandoned conduit, which was concealed by a secret door. In this outlet Itzalmo saw a sure avenue of deliverance for his young master, and devised a plan of escape for him through its offered adaptedness, which was successfully carried out, as recorded at the close of the last chapter.
The plan of escape, so ingeniously devised by the old preceptor, was communicated to the prince, who, after being again urged to save himself for the sake of his people, concluded to acquiesce; for he began to realize that death certainly awaited him should he remain, while in the plan of Itzalmo there was hope, a strong argument against his false notion of defiance in the face of such overwhelming odds.
When Hualcoyotl left the banqueting hall and entered the saloon he was hurried to and through the secret door into the passageway and on to the conduit, where he found present security. It was not his purpose to reenter the palace, but to follow the pipe to a point where an opening had, in the gradual decay of the structure, appeared in its side, and from there make his escape. To do this was not an easy task, for he had a considerable distance to go, and the pipe being too small to permit him to rise, he was compelled to proceed in a crawling manner, and, frequently, to work his way through accumulated obstructions. After much vexatious toiling he found himself nearing the opening in the conduit, through which he expected to make his exit. A flood of light, most welcome, was streaming in through the breach, the sight of which freshened his flagging energies and relieved the arduousness of his advance. The goal was finally reached, and just beyond was freedom—to him, however, a freedom to be gained only under cover of darkness.
It had been arranged that the prince should remain in the conduit until night, when, at a preconcerted signal, to be given by his faithful and trusted attendant, Oza, to assure him that the way was clear, he should come forth and be conducted to a place of safety.
The time passed tediously to the anxious fugitive in his close quarters, and he was beginning to feel the effect of it on his endurance, when his attention was attracted by a sound not unfamiliar. A short period of silence ensued, and then followed the signal to quit the conduit. He was quickly at Oza's side, of whom he inquired:
"Whither do we go?"
"To the cottage of Kan, the weaver. Let my master follow his servant," cautiously replied Oza, moving noiselessly away.
While Hualcoyotl was waiting in the conduit for night to come to his relief, a former vassal and ardent adherent of his father's, a weaver ofnequen(maguey cloth) by the name of Kan, who lived on the outskirts of the city, was seen and consulted with reference to his safety. The weaver immediately interested himself in the son of his old master, and proposed that he be brought to his cottage, where he could remain until a better and safer refuge was found for him. The proposal was gladly acceded to, and the fugitive, at leaving the conduit, was conducted to his house, where he was made comfortable and secure for the time being.
The officer who had charge of the expedition to the Tezcucan palace, with a view to taking Hualcoyotl's life, was greatly chagrined at the effectual manner in which he was tricked. After exhausting his ingenuity in futile efforts to find a clue to the prince's mysterious disappearance, he placed a guard over the palace and returned in haste to his master, the king, to whom he reported the failure of his mission, but in such manner as to save his own head, which would no doubt have been required of him for his incautiousness, had the king been correctly informed.
Maxtla became greatly enraged when he learned of the failure of the expedition and escape of his hated rival. Troops of armed men were ordered to scour the country in every direction in search of him, and, in addition, a large reward was offered for his capture, dead or alive. The hand of a noble lady, and a rich domain to accompany it, was promised to whoever should take him, regardless of the captor's previous condition in life.
The perils to which the prince was being subjected by his powerful enemy, and the persistent efforts made to destroy him, were becoming generally known. Among his friends—the Tezcucans, who were deeply incensed at the unjust treatment of their favorite—a latent hatred of everything Tepanec was being wrought into a feeling of antagonism, which was rapidly engendering a spirit of resistance to the relentless and malicious persecutor.
"Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad," was assuredly exemplified in the brief and despotic career of the tyrant Maxtla; for by his unkingly conduct toward the unoffending Hualcoyotl he was digging a pit, so to speak, broad and deep, which would engulf not only himself, but his nation as well, of whose proud capital, the royal city of Azcapozalco, no vestige would remain to mark the spot whereon it stood; nor track, nor trace of all the mighty host of those o'er whom by right he ruled, but only waste and desolated space, on which, to emphasize a conqueror's hate, it was decreed the slave-man's mart should be.[5]
Some days subsequent to the coming of Hualcoyotl to the weaver's cottage a band of soldiers appeared in its vicinity. Every house was being searched, and it was soon learned that he was the object of the search. Measures were immediately taken to prevent his discovery.
When two of the soldiers presently entered Kan's place they found him busily engaged at his work, preparing the fibers of maguey for the loom, a quantity of which was lying in piles about him. One of the men, addressing him, said:
"The soldiers of the king are searching for Hualcoyotl, the fugitive prince, who is thought to be hiding somewhere in this part of the city. We are here to look through your cottage, weaver."
"The soldiers of the king know their duty, and must perform it, though it will avail them nothing to search my place. Kan, the weaver, has other business to occupy his time than that of hiding royal aristocrats, who would take no more account of his life than they would of an ocelotl's," was the curt and not inapt reply.
"There is truth in what you say, weaver," returned the soldier. "Small value is put upon a man's life by them, especially if he is in their way."
Without further delay he proceeded, with his companion, to search the few apartments of the cottage, giving them a thorough examination.
Kan never worked more diligently than he did while the soldiers were looking through his place. The fibers of the maguey fairly flew through his hands, and higher and wider grew the pile of thready stuff at his left. Although his movements were rapid, he showed no evidence of disquiet. His countenance wore its customary stern look, and yet, beneath, there was poignant solicitude for his royal charge. It appears to have been a characteristic of his people to forget self in their devotion to others. He took no account of his own personal risk: the penalty he incurred in harboring the fugitive—a penalty the measure of which would depend on the caprice of a suspicious and tyrannizing king.
After a protracted search into all the nooks and secret places about the weaver's premises, the men returned to the room in which he was working. This room was quite plain, without recess or other receptacle where a man might have found concealment. The spokesman looked critically over it, and said:
"The fugitive is surely not hiding with you, friend; for we find nothing of a suspicious character about your house. Sorry we were obliged to trouble you, but orders must be obeyed."
"Right, soldier!" returned Kan. "You have performed your duty, and no harm has been done."
The weaver spoke with affected carelessness, which he did not feel, for every moment which the soldiers spent in the room was one of anxiety to him.
Casting his eyes over the apartment once more, the soldier said:
"Since everything with you appears straight and satisfactory, we'll relieve you of our presence. Good luck to you, weaver."
"The same to the soldiers of the king," replied Kan, with a supreme effort at indifference, as the searchers turned to leave his place.
The party was hardly beyond the curtained doorway when the weaver's assumed carelessness gave place to cautiousness.
"Hist! do not stir!" he ejaculated guardedly. Rising, he went to a small window, a safe point from which to watch the soldiers' movements. When he was satisfied they would not return, and that all present danger was past, he went to the pile of selected fibers, which had grown so rapidly under his supreme efforts while the soldiers were searching his place, and, lifting them, said:
"You may rise now from your uncomfortable position. The soldiers seem to be satisfied with their search of my premises, and are gone."
The prince rose from the floor, on which he had been lying beneath the pile of fibers, and, glancing at his greatly disordered apparel, said, in a soliloquizing manner:
"Hualcoyotl is indeed fallen. I never expected to reach a state so far beneath my manhood as this; but, since it is for country and freedom, submission must be the rule, however humiliating the conditions." Fixing his eyes on the weaver, he continued: "Your reply to the soldier, Kan, in which you referred to royal aristocrats and the indifference usually shown by them for the lives of their subjects, has taught me a valuable lesson—one that I will not soon forget. It is too true that rulers are often disposed to hold the lives of their subjects lightly. Should it be my good fortune to regain my heritage, Kan and his words, so aptly spoken, shall not be forgotten."
"I pray, O Prince, that you will believe me. The words were not spoken out of disrespect, but to mislead the soldier that his search might not be too close." Spoken humbly and out of fear that he had given offense. "Kan is only one of many," he continued, "who would delight in serving and honoring Hualcoyotl as their king."
"It does not matter, Kan, what prompted the use of the words," replied the prince, kindly; "they were well said and timely, and you need have no regrets for having uttered them. At this moment I may be indebted to them for my liberty, if not my life. But let them pass; I would not they were unsaid. My escape from detection was narrow, indeed," he went on; "and due, my faithful friend, to your sagacity alone. I can no longer consent to your life and home being put in jeopardy on my account. There is no place in Tezcuco that will furnish me a safe retreat—my flight must be resumed. I will go into the mountains, in the direction of Tlascala, where refuge may be found in their fastnesses until my people are ready to avenge themselves on the authors of their degradation. If you will find a way, Kan, to inform Oza that I would see him, you will confer a favor which may be the last you will have an opportunity to bestow upon your unfortunate guest." The prince's closing words expressed deep dejection, and Kan hastened to answer by way of encouragement:
"May the son of my murdered master be mistaken in that, is the prayer of Kan. May he live to deliver his people from the power of the hated Maxtla, and be crowned king in the place of his noble father!"
"You have my thanks, Kan, for your kind and prayerful words; and, now, let Oza be summoned and preparations made for my departure to-night."
Oza came, and on being informed of the prince's purpose, became greatly worried over it. That he should go off to the mountains alone was not to be thought of for a moment. He was willing and ready to share his master's hardships, and insisted on being permitted to do so with so much earnestness and show of fealty that Hualcoyotl finally consented that he should, for a few days at least.
The preparations for their departure were speedily consummated, including a visit by Oza to the palace; and night, which was to shield them in their flight, was waited for in patient silence.
When the hour came for leaving, the prince bade his preserver a kind good-bye, with promises of future remembrance, and, with Oza for a companion, went out into the darkness—a fugitive from an unjust condemnation.
Off from Lake Tezcuco, in the direction of Tlascala, the country is rough and mountainous, and, at the time in which our story is laid, was a wild and woody district. We are not informed as to what nation or nations then possessed this territory; but, from the fact that it was a common hunting-ground, and frequently invaded by bands of soldiers, irrespective of tribal connections, it may be inferred that it was regarded neutral. Since this phase of the question is best suited to our purpose, we accept it as the true one.
Notwithstanding the wildness of the country, it had its denizens, though few in number and sparsely located. There were narrow, level stretches of ground-plateaus, found here and there on the range, sometimes extending for miles around the base of a mountain, or along the cliffs and crags which abounded. These plateaus, in most cases, were places of habitation; the men occupying them being of a class who preferred the life of a free mountaineer to living in the thickly settled districts. The territory was extensive, and game, consisting of wild fowl and small animals, was abundant. Herein was the charm which made a life there one of preference to those who found a home upon it. The occupation of the inhabitants was, therefore, chiefly that of hunting; and it may be added, in this connection, that many of the markets of the valley towns and cities were indebted to them for their supply of wild meats.
Some of the more thrifty and accumulative residents cultivated the plateaus on which they had fixed their habitations. When such was the case the mountaineer divided his time between farming and hunting; and, in some instances, a surprising degree of prosperity and comfort was the result. The better class prided themselves on their hospitality, and often carried it to a fault, to the truth of which hunters from the valley, and others who made excursions into the district, were ever ready to bear witness.
The most prominent person living in this mountainous region, and one who will hold a conspicuous place in our narrative, was a man named Tezcot, who did farming, besides being a most successful hunter. He was a person of intelligence, and showed in his intercourse with men that he had been well trained in his youth. He was never heard to refer to his early life, and all that could be learned of it was, that, for causes best known to himself, he had cut loose from his people, and, with his young wife, sought and found a home among the free hunters of the mountains.
As the years passed, this man grew in the estimation of his fellow mountaineers, until his position among them became one of preeminence. His goodness of heart, integrity of purpose, and excellent judgment made him a wise counselor. He was, consequently, consulted on all questions of importance. His advice was invariably good, and his decisions on questions referred to him for adjustment were always acquiesced in. As a result, peace and harmony prevailed where confusion and discord might otherwise have been expected. He was nominally the hunters' chief, ruling them by the power of his wisdom, integrity, and kindness.
Tezcot's dwelling was, comparatively, of a superior character. It was constructed of stone, and thatched with maguey leaves, and contained several apartments designed for supplying the needs of a family. Commodious porches protected its front and rear from the heat of a tropical sun, and furnished a pleasant retreat in leisure hours for the inmates. It was, altogether, a very convenient mountain home.
In addition to the dwelling there were quarters for servants, whom the mountaineer kept to perform the necessary labor about the place.[6]
The farm work was conducted mostly by an experienced and trusted vassal, while much of the master's time was spent on the mountains in pursuit of game.
Tezcot's household consisted of himself, his wife, and two daughters. The eldest daughter, who was about eighteen years of age, was a fine specimen of the Indian maiden, the pride of her immediate friends, and an object of admiration to all who knew her. She was known among the denizens of the range as the "Mountain Princess," to which appellation she was certainly entitled, if personal graces and womanly charms, together with the prominence of her father, counted in the elemental forces which fixed upon her a title so expressive of the high esteem in which she was held. Mitla was the name bestowed upon this nymph of the hills by her parents, and by which she will hereafter be known.
The second daughter of the hunter was not so queenly as her sister, and, being the younger, was looked upon as little more than a child. Her fifteen years were not sufficient to gain for her the consideration accorded the "Mountain Princess." Oxletta, or Oxie, as she was called, was an agreeable and comely appearing girl, and gave promise of developing into a splendid woman.
The mother was not an old woman, and still possessed much of the attractiveness and vivacity which had undoubtedly distinguished her in the bloom of womanhood. From her the daughters inherited much of the comeliness which marked them as objects of admiration and esteem. Her name was Xochitl, signifying wild flower, which evidenced, in its application, no small degree of loveliness even in the first years of her life. She was called "Zoei" by her acquaintances, and it fitted her well, so expressive of affection and gentleness, prominent characteristics of her disposition.
The daughters were given all the advantages possible under the isolated circumstances with which they were surrounded. The father and mother were fairly well educated, and through their efforts the girls became proficient in many things. Aside from being instructed in the history and traditions of their race, they were well trained in domestic affairs.
It is said of the Aztec women that they were adepts in the culinary arts. Their tables, when the occasion required it, we are informed, were replete with deliciously prepared sauces, confections, and other delicacies, which would have tempted the most fastidious epicurian palate; and Zoei, the good wife of the hunter Tezcot, was not an exception.
Spinning, embroidery, and featherwork were also considered essential accomplishments, in which the sisters were thoroughly instructed by their mother.
Featherwork was an art of peculiar interest to the Anahuacans, and they greatly excelled in it. Abundant material for its practice was always at hand in the beautiful plumage of the myriads of tropical birds: the parrot, the hummingbird, the pheasant, and many others of the feathered tribes which might be named, congruous to that latitude and country.
In addition to her other attainments, Mitla was a fine archer, and was often to be found on the mountains in pursuit of its practice.
It was evening, and the twilight was rapidly verging into night. At this hour three persons might have been seen wending their way around the southwestern slope of the mountain at the base of which stood the dwelling of Tezcot, the hunter. The fast fading light of the departing day penetrated with its crimson-tinted rays the thickly standing trees, throwing sombre shadows athwart the pathway of the sojourners, warning them of the nearness of night. It was evident, from the rapid movement of the party, that they were not unfamiliar with the rough trail they trod. They were moving along in single file. In the lead was a man of large mold, who, though apparently past middle life, was yet in the prime of manhood. Upon his back was strapped a javelin and bow, with an accompanying quiver, which, with his general appearance and dress, distinguished him as a hunter. His companions were following closely behind him, bearing a heavy burden between them, the end of the pole or support of the burden resting on a shoulder of each. They were silent as the noiseless forest through which they moved. Not a sound was heard save the measured tramp of their feet as they hastened on. Finally emerging onto the plateau, and seemingly relieved from the sense of solitude with which the deep silence of the forest had impressed them, the hunter said:
"It is a heavy load ye bear, lads; but the end is near, and ye'll soon be rid of it."
"Yes, master," said the foremost man; "it is, indeed, a heavy load, and would try us greatly to go much farther."
"Think what is ahead of ye yonder: a bracing meal, and, by my life, ye shall have a refreshing mug ofpulque[7]to wash it down. D'ye hear?" returned the hunter, encouragingly.
"Ah, good master, you are very kind," answered the man.
"If to be mindful of a willing hand is kindness, then be it so, lad," was the hunter's benignant reply.
The hunter and his companions were now moving along the border of a narrow stretch of level ground, which extended far around the mountain. They suddenly rounded a sharp point which brought into view a dwelling, from which a faint glimmer of light penetrated the gathering darkness. The dwelling was the home of Tezcot, and the advancing hunter the mountaineer himself, accompanied by two servants, returning from a hunting excursion.
As the party approached the house, Tezcot saw that a man, who proved to be a strange hunter, occupied the front porch alone. When near enough to speak he stopped, his attendants passing on. Addressing the stranger, he said:
"Hail, friend! Peace and good-cheer to thee, and welcome to such fare as may be found in this, my mountain home. I am Tezcot. Who art thou?"
The stranger arose and, saluting, answered:
"The gods be with you and yours, most liberal of hosts. Cacami, a Tezcucan hunter, is he whom the good genii have directed to this excellent mountain home, where the tired applicant for nourishment and rest is ever met by generous impulses and unrestrained hospitality."
Tezcot scanned the stranger with not a little curiosity at hearing his gracious speech. The language bespoke him more than a mere hunter. He was a young man, and, from appearances, one enjoying superior advantages. The mountaineer was very much pleased at hearing words so eulogistic of himself and his, and could not repress his gratification. It was his chief pleasure to be reminded that he was generous and hospitable. He replied:
"Your speech commends us, friend, and we pray it may be deserved. We can say of a truth, and not boastingly, that no man ever turned from Tezcot's door hungry or weary."
"What you say needs no proof, generous host; it is but an echo of the voice of those who have eaten of your bread and drank of your excellent pulque. No man, in or out of the valley, hath in so great a degree the esteem and good will of the hunters of Anahuac as yourself. With them Tezcot is counted the prince of hosts, and a chief among men," added the stranger, warmly.
"I see, O Tezcucan, whence comes your favorable opinion of us," returned Tezcot. "A word of praise from our good friends in the valley is not less pleasing because it comes to us in this way. May the favorable impressions of us you bring with you not suffer by personal contact."
This dialogue was carried on standing, the mountaineer in the meantime relieving himself of his hunter's outfit. He now suggested that they be seated, and after being so he turned to his guest and inquired:
"Is this your first visit to these parts?"
"To this locality, yes; to the mountains, no. For several years I have made occasional incursions to the district in pursuit of that charm which sometimes leads the best of men—as in your own case—to choose for a home the most solitary scenes," replied the Tezcucan.
"A wonderful fascination, truly, is found in the life we lead, or how could we endure its solitude?" answered the mountaineer reflectively; and again, "You are not one who hunts for profit, I judge?" he added, interrogatively.
"No, for pleasure only; still I sometimes sell, or permit my men to do so, when we secure more game than we want."
"You are not alone, then?"
"No; I have two attendants who are being cared for by your servants. Your good wife has already looked after their comforts."
"And, be assured, O Tezcucan, that they will suffer no discomfort while under her care," returned Tezcot, showing his appreciation of his wife's excellence. He then added: "Referring to them, by the way, reminds me that others are needing refreshment. Zoei!" he called.
"Well, Tezcot, what is it?" came back from within.
"My jacket hangs limp as a dead hare's leg. Haven't ye something to put under it, eh?"
"Yes, supper is ready. Bring our guest and come."
Rising, Tezcot turned to the stranger, and said:
"Come, friend, you are doubtless as ready as myself to dispatch a good sized block of well prepared supper. There is nothing like a sharp appetite and a well loaded board to make a man satisfied with himself and all the world."
"A philosophical utterance, certainly," returned the Tezcucan, following his host into the house.
The evening meal consisted of maize bread, cold meats of game, fruit, and chocolate. The hunter's favorite mug of pulque, which he always relished after a day on the mountains, was in its place near him, while one was immediately passed to the guest.
Tezcot was here reminded of his promise to his men, and ordered a glass of the beverage for each taken to them; then taking his own from the board, he said:
"Drink, friend, and let our drinking be a pledge of future good will between us."
"Most cheerfully, kind host; and may I not add for myself, your excellent family as well?"
The mother smiled and the daughters blushed, while the host and his guest quaffed their pulque with keen and appreciative gusto.
"Superb!" exclaimed the Tezcucan. "Your friends do not overestimate the quality of your pulque, and I shall join their ranks at once."
"We are glad it pleases you. Your appreciation is our recompense," returned Tezcot, much gratified. "And, now," he continued, "let us try some of the substantials."
The suggestion was equivalent to a command, and all went to eating.
When the meal was fairly begun, Mitla gathered sufficient courage to say:
"Father, tell us about your hunt to-day. From the quantity of game brought in, good luck must have attended you."
"Yes, the day was fine, and brought us extra good luck," he answered, and then paused to indulge his keen appetite for a moment. "Game was plentiful," he went on, "and we secured quite a bunch. There were some fine targets for testing an archer's skill, which would have delighted your heart, child, could you have been with us."
Mitla was the hunter's favorite, as was Oxie the favorite of her mother. The father's preference arose from the fact that Mitla, like himself, loved the mountains and their forest solitudes.
In reply to her father's reference to herself, she said:
"How much it would have delighted me, could I have been with you, I can not express; but you know how dearly I love to use my bow and arrow; let that speak for me. You often tell me, however, father, that I am too tender-hearted to engage in hunting."
"Yes, that's a fact, Mit, and I'm not sorry for it. I would not that ye were disposed to be cruel, for ye are a woman," he replied, in approval of her weakness, or, more fittingly, her innate sympathy.
"Your daughter is a fine archer, I infer?" remarked the Tezcucan inquiringly, addressing the mountaineer.
"Her arrow is true—I might say unerring," replied the father proudly. "And yet few know that she is an archer, at all."
"My father, you see, is a little extravagant in his praise of my archery," interrupted Mitla.
"He, no doubt, has reasons for being so," said Cacami. "It is a delightful accomplishment, and I'm sure you realize much pleasure from it. I am not unskilled in the use of the bow, and greatly enjoy its employment." Turning to the younger sister, he continued: "You, my young friend—Oxie, I believe, do not engage in its practice?"
"No, my sister's excellence and my own awkwardness have always discouraged me, so I have given up trying," she answered a little ruefully.
"Oxie, if not an archer, has other accomplishments really more womanly," spoke the mother, joining in the conversation to defend her favorite.
"Your daughters are both, without doubt, worthy of all praise, each for those accomplishments best suited to her disposition," replied Cacami with tact, addressing his hostess.
"Good girls, friend, both of them," interrupted Tezcot, stripping the meat from the bone of a pheasant; "differently constituted, that's all." Then abruptly turning the subject, he said: "Have you been successful, Cacami, in chasing the charm to which you alluded this evening, the charm which we of the mountains find in pursuing the hunter's calling?"
"You may be assured, O Tezcot, that I have no cause for complaint. My success has always been very satisfactory," replied Cacami; and continuing, he inquired: "How do you hunters manage to dispose of your game aside from what you consume?"
"Take or send it to the nearest market. My men will go in after another day to dispose of our surplus, which is now quite large," replied the mountaineer.
"I brought in a fine lot with me to-night, and as I never carry game from a worthy host's door, you may consider it a part of your surplus, which I hope will obviate the necessity of your going to the mountains to-morrow, thus affording you a day's rest," said Cacami, evidently bent on meeting the generosity of his host.
"It requires no such sacrifice, O Cacami, to prove your heartiness of will. We can not allow it," remonstrated Tezcot. "No, no, my friend, you must not think of it."
"I have so decided, good host, and beg that you will allow me to have my way," returned Cacami respectfully, but in a manner that settled the question.
"Well, friend, you seem bent on carrying out your purpose, which we hope is not prompted by any doubt of the unselfishness of our hospitality," said the hunter, feeling that his cherished reputation for generosity was being questioned.
"Not at all, most hospitable of men. On the contrary, the giving of the game is intended as a trifling mark of my appreciation of your unequaled liberality," urged Cacami. "The value of game, to me, is gone," he continued, "when I have it in hand. It is the pursuit of it, and not its possession, which brings satisfaction, excepting when I can dispose of it in the way I propose; then it does become of value, not intrinsically, but for the pleasure it returns when thus bestowed."
"You are kind, very kind, Cacami," rejoined the hunter, relenting. "And since you will have it so, be assured it shall not be lost to you."
"And why should it be counted lost at all? Does the hospitality of the great-hearted Tezcot amount to so little? The game is an insignificant return, I assure you, for the gratification it will afford me to recall having eaten of your bread and drunken of your pulque," returned Cacami warmly.
Supper was here concluded, and, yielding to the Tezcucan's fervency, Tezcot said:
"So be it, friend; providing, however, that you remain our guest another day, and join Mit and me in a short excursion on the mountain."
"That I will most cheerfully do, and count the day happily spent," responded Cacami graciously.
The majority of the little group we have introduced in this chapter—the home of the hunter's chief and the adjacent mountains, will figure extensively in this narrative. With our brief sketch of the persons presented, we leave the reader to perfect the individuality of each, forgetting for the moment to what race they belonged. An eminent mountaineer hunter, a man of noble impulses, proficient in everything required of him; an excellent wife and mother, who was a worthy companion to the father of her children; two beautiful maidens, who, though of directly opposite temperaments, were equally devoted in their home relations—an exceptional family, together with their Tezcucan guest, a young man whom the reader, we hope, will find an agreeable accession to thepersonnelof our story.