The continued good fortune of the prince in evading capture was a source of great annoyance and aggravation to the evil disposed Maxtla. He was daily becoming more violent and overt in his conduct, ruling with an arbitrary hand. He had terrorized his household, and the sound of his voice was sufficient to cause a flurry of trepidation to agitate its members. His subjects regarded him with fear and trembling, and his comportment toward his weaker neighbors was a growing menace. His soldiers seemed to partake largely of his evil tendencies, for, in their search after Hualcoyotl, they became a dread to the inhabitants of the valley and surrounding country in consequence of their flagrant and atrocious acts.
After weeks of determined but unsuccessful efforts to secure the person of the prince, Maxtla decided on a council with his advisers over the matter, and they were accordingly ordered to assemble in the council chamber. The subject was duly considered, but without any definite conclusion. As was customary, when a question of so much importance proved unsolvable by the council, the oracles (high priests) were called upon for a solution of the matter, which resulted in their declaring that the gods were favoring the fugitive prince as against the king, and must be propitiated. Agreeably to this decision, an early day was fixed for the sacrificial ceremony which was to mollify the wrath of the particularly offended deities, and the priests were instructed to have ready the necessary number of victims for the occasion.
The temples (teocallis) of the ancient Mexicans, which were numerous, were peculiar structures, usually rising in pyramidal form to various heights, depending, doubtless, on the importance attached to the presiding deities which they represented and to whom they were dedicated. They were constructed solidly of earth, incased around with stone, or blocks of clay, which were hardened by some peculiar process of their own. The structure usually consisted of several stories—as many as four or five—each of which rose twenty or more feet, terminating at a terrace of accommodating width, which extended clear around the temple. Four or five of these terraces carried the structure up as much as a hundred feet, culminating in a broad, flat, paved area, on which were situated the sanctuaries of the gods, and in which a great sculptured image of each was placed. In front of each sanctuary was an altar, whereon the sacred fire was kept constantly burning, and which, not infrequently, was stained with human blood.
Near the altars stood the sacrificial block on which the victim was immolated in the horrible and sickening act of tearing the heart from the breast and laying it on the altar as a conciliatory offering to the offended deity, while the organ was still pulsating.
The terraces were gained by steps on the outside, leaning at an angle with the wall, which inclined toward the center.
The ceremonies were always public, and from the situation at the summit were to be viewed from any part of the city.
The processions engaged in by the priests—a multitude in themselves, winding their way as many times as there were terraces around the greatteocalli, from base to summit—were impressive spectacles, at which the people were expected to be present as witnesses; and, as one author has said, since a ceremony of some sort occurred almost every day, it is difficult to understand how the ordinary business of life could, under such conditions, go on.
The day appointed by Maxtla for the propitiating of the gods was ushered in by the sound of the doleful drum. The people, who were assembled by thousands, arrayed in their most gorgeous attire—when arrayed at all—filled the city's public places. A religious chant, accompanied with dancing and contortions of the body, and a representation of minstrelsy, in a multiplication of weird noises, was begun and continued throughout the procession and ceremony.
One by one the victims were led or borne to the sacrificial block, and if, perchance, they paused upon the area of the temple's summit, their anointed bodies, which were shielded only by a girdle about the loins, glistened in the sun's intense light—a mollifying spectacle for Aztec gods.
When the ceremony had progressed to that point when all the bloodthirstiness which such sights must surely beget in the savage mind had taken possession of the witnesses, a thought seemed to occur suddenly to Maxtla, who was a delighted spectator of the bloody carnival, and he exclaimed:
"Bring hither Itzalmo, the traitorous friend and counselor of Hualcoyotl, and prepare him for the sacrifice. Let him die for the appeasing of the gods."
The prison-keeper, who had charge of Itzalmo's dungeon, took the necessary assistance and proceeded to execute the order of the king.
When the dungeon to which Itzalmo had been consigned was reached by the prison-keeper and his assistants, the door was thrown open, and they entered to secure the prisoner, but a surprise awaited them which they were not anticipating—the cell was empty; Itzalmo was not there.
The prison-keeper was speechless with amazement at the discovery, and, on contemplating the consequences to himself of the prisoner's escape, became horrified at the thought of the fate which certainly awaited him. He returned to the presence of the king, fully realizing the awful strait in which the situation put him. Prostrating himself at Maxtla's feet, he cried out, in accents of despair:
"Woe is come to thy servant, O King, and he is undone; for Itzalmo, the prisoner, is gone! He has fled his prison cell."
Maxtla looked for a moment, in menacing silence, on the prostrate man before him, his face becoming, as he did so, livid with rage. When he spoke, his accents were inhuman—demoniacal.
"Miserable dotard!" he exclaimed. "Thy cowardly, cringing body is fit only for sacerdotal hands. A heart for a heart it shall be—not Itzalmo's, but thine, shall fall to-day, to assuage the offended gods. Take him hence to the block, and let his blood condone his offense." Thus did the keeper of Itzalmo's dungeon become, innocently, the victim of Maxtla's ferocity.
The sacrificial ceremony was at last concluded. The sanguinary rites, in compliance with the demands of the offended deities, had been formally observed, and Maxtla, according to the declarations of the oracles, was thereby restored to favor. The assembled multitude dispersed, self-satisfied with its part in the bloody festival, and quiet once more prevailed in Azcapozalco.
Maxtla was not a man to be thwarted in his designs without a supreme effort to accomplish them. Itzalmo had escaped, but the whole Tepanec empire should be called to the support of the king, that his purposes might be made good. Pursuant to this end an edict was issued, to the effect that Itzalmo was outlawed, and, furthermore, his delivery to the Tepanec authorities, dead or alive, would be amply rewarded.
Unfortunately for Maxtla, in his purpose to not only retake Itzalmo, but to discover his abettors, who, if taken, would suffer equally with the escaped prisoner, he had, in sacrificing his prison-keeper, removed the only person who might have found a clue to the party concerned in the liberation. By his destruction the security of the liberators, if not Itzalmo's, was assured.
When it was learned by the friends of Itzalmo, who were members of the king's retinue, and who, during his imprisonment, had looked well to his comforts, that a sacrifice to the gods was contemplated, they became alarmed for his safety, and at once set about arranging for his escape. The necessary preparations were effected, and the night prior to the day on which the sacrifice was to take place was fixed upon as the time to deliver him from his imprisonment.
Agreeably to arrangements, about the hour of midnight two men entered the passage which led to the stairway down which they had to go to be on the same ground as was Itzalmo's dungeon. They were not unacquainted with the locality, and quickly gained the avenue leading to the cell. One of the party carried a lighted taper, which greatly facilitated their movements. When the cell was reached, the fastenings were removed and the door thrown open. As it swung back on its hinges, one of the party inquired:
"Are you ready, Itzalmo?"
"Yes, I am ready. Lead on," he answered, and walked forth a free man once more.
When he was outside of the dungeon the fastenings were replaced, and the party moved silently and cautiously to the stairway, and up. Here the taper was extinguished, making their progress from this point necessarily very slow. They finally emerged upon the narrow court at the rear of the palace, and from there into the great inclosed court, where one of the conductors turned aside, leaving the other to accompany Itzalmo alone.
Leaving the great court, Itzalmo and his conductor came out onto a wide street, feeling somewhat apprehensive as to the outcome of their undertaking. The city was thoroughly policed by the soldiers of the king, who were supposed to be, without exception, his adherents. However, Itzalmo was a stranger to all of them, whether friends or foes, which was greatly in his favor.
The old Tezcucan's friends had taken the precaution to furnish him with a suit of priestly attire, making it an easy matter to offer a pretense for being on the street at so unseasonable an hour. Under such conditions the liability of detection was greatly lessened.
The avenues of the royal city being broad and extensive, Itzalmo and his conductor could hardly expect to travel them, even at the late hour of midnight, without being discovered, and, in all probability, stopped. So the bold plan of moving nonchalantly through the streets was adopted.
An exhibition of nonchalance does not always indicate unflinching bravery, and is never assumed by a brave man, except as a means to an end.
Though men of the dare-devil stamp, who are nonchalant, and appear to be careless of consequences, may not, under such circumstances as surrounded the old Tezcucan and his escort, feel in any degree apprehensive, it is not always the result of true courage, but more often lack of consideration. Such men are not to be classed in any sense with the conscientious, considerate man, who, anxious and expectant, steps into the unexplored and doubtful breach, uncertain as to what awaits him there—the man who, realizing that danger, and perhaps death, may be just ahead, sets hard his teeth, and, with paling cheek, goes bravely forward to meet it. The latter is the man who wins battles, and, if needs be, dies a hero, while the former far too often proves himself a blustering braggart, who, when death stalks forth, forgets all else save his own safety, and ignominiously becomes a turn-tail.
We have seen Itzalmo, with dauntless courage, face the tyrant Maxtla, the most cruel and heartless man in all the Anahuac; still, he was not a dare-devil, but a conscientious, unswerving friend, who could die in the performance of a duty, as only such men can. His courage, however, was not a feelingless one. His heart, no doubt, beat quicker, while his face grew less florid; yet, in the consciousness of well-doing, and the strength of an unyielding faithfulness, he was capable of heroic action.
When the distance of about two squares had been gone over, they were challenged by the demand:
"Who goes there at this late hour?"
"A priest and escort, on their way to visit the sick," was the quick reply.
"Ah, Melca, is that you?" questioned the guard, who recognized an acquaintance in the voice of Itzalmo's companion.
"Yes, it is me," he answered. "I am seldom out at this hour," apologetically, "but the call of a friend in distress must needs be answered, even though it be at midnight."
The escort was not a little disturbed at his sudden recognition by the guard, though, on second thought, saw security in Itzalmo's perfect disguise. The old man made a venerable representative of the character he had assumed, which the soldier could easily discern in the semi-darkness; and as great reverence for that class of citizens was generally entertained, there was hardly a possibility of detection. After a brief scrutiny of the priestly appearing Itzalmo, the guard said:
"It is well, Melca. Pass on; and may your friend find consolation from your visit."
Since he had succeeded without difficulty in deceiving an acquaintance, Melca was assured that they would have no trouble in passing out of the city, and so it proved. They met with several guards, who readily passed them along when informed of the mission they were on. Thus they got safely beyond the city's limits and out into the country, where a consultation was held as to where they should go.
It was wisely concluded to keep away from Tezcuco, as it would undoubtedly be the first place visited by the emissaries of Maxtla in their search for the condemned Itzalmo. They decided, accordingly, to get out of the tyrannical king's dominions as quickly as possible, and seek concealment in some secluded locality. A road leading to the south, along the western border of the lake, was taken and followed until Tlacopan was reached, where a stop of one day was made to give Itzalmo a resting spell; after which they went on around the lake until they came to a small, isolated hamlet, situated on the lake's border, among the trees which grew there, and by which it was almost hidden, where the old man found refuge with some loyal countrymen, with whom we leave him for the present, in company with Melca, his escort, who decided, after being recognized by the guard, that it might not be safe for him to return to Azcapozalco.
One night and a day in Tenochtitlan found Euetzin and Cacami ready to proceed to some other point, they having effected the object of their visit to the Mexican capital.
The tzin had laid out to spend one night at home; and, as Tezcuco must necessarily be visited in his short tour of inquiry, it was decided to go to Zelmonco first, and from there to the city. Their plan was to cross the lake to a small village which was situated about two leagues and a half south of Tezcuco, and go from there to the villa, which would save time, distance, and a walk of one league, as compared with their going to Tezcuco by one of the barks which plied regularly between the two great cities for the purpose of transporting persons and merchandise.
There is sufficient ground for believing that traffic between Tenochtitlan and other cities on Lake Tezcuco was carried on at that time exclusively by canoes, and it is not an unreasonable thing to suppose that it was done systematically, and with a view to gain.
So, in the afternoon of the day following their arrival at Tenochtitlan, Euetzin and his companion secured the services of a boatman to row them across to the little town. It was quite a pull for the boatman and his one assistant, for the distance was between three and four leagues. The trip was made, however, in time for our friends to reach Zelmonco just at dusk of evening. We will not undertake to describe the meeting which followed their arrival at the villa. It is sufficient to say that it was a happy one, and that the evening was passed by the reunited family and their guest in a most agreeable manner.
Cacami was an early riser, and usually up with the sun. The morning following his coming to Zelmonco was not an exception in his commendable habit; he was out in the park betime, enjoying the invigoration which the first hour of the day imparts. The morning's breath was most delightful, too, loaded as it was with the exhalations of a thousand buds and flowers.
The time and conditions were especially favorable for thought; particularly to a man affected as he was. Itlza had not been out of his mind for a moment during his absence, except when important matters were in, or when he was sleeping, and not always then. When in the presence of Mitla and her vivacious young sister a pair of laughing eyes continually rose up before him, reminding him of one who seemed to exercise an influence, even in her absence, which made him almost negligent of the hunter's daughters. Euetzin, knowing nothing of the attachment which his companion had formed for his sister, thought it very strange that the young fellow should be so indifferent to the charms of the mountain girls—Mitla especially; and, yet, away down in his heart the tzin experienced a sense of relief and gratification that such was the case.
Believing that a suitable opportunity would reveal the fact that his hopes, which Itlza's actions at their last meeting had quickened, were well founded, Cacami heartily wished that one might arise before the hour for his departure should come around.
In pursuing his solitary stroll through the park he came to the oak tree by the fountain, and had paused for a moment to contemplate upon the pleasant surroundings. He had only been there once before; yet, the spot was endeared to him because of his meeting with Itlza on that occasion. Recalling the felicitous event his eyes lingered fondly on the rustic seat, where she had sat and looked down upon him with her beautiful, laughing eyes, as he reclined on the ground almost at her feet. He remembered the pledge of silence she had exacted of him, which he felt was no longer binding since the episode of the flower-heart, the trend of which he had rightly interpreted. Feeling thus, he resolved to renew his wooing at the first offered opportunity. While he stood indulging in his retrospective reverie, he was suddenly made aware of the approach of someone. Turning to see who it was, he discovered, to his delight, the charming Itlza coming toward him from the villa.
It was a supreme moment to the very much enthralled Cacami; the culmination of his most cherished desires were reached when he beheld the idol of his thoughts advancing toward him. Nothing could have happened so perfectly in accord with the conditions—his feelings, the hour and its alluring train of exquisite delights—as Itlza's unexpected but longed for advent upon the scene. He waited her approach with a pleased sense of expectation, for he saw in her coming the opportunity he had only just been wishing for. He greeted her with a delight to which he gave full expression, both in manner and voice. He said:
"You come, O Laughing-eyes, to add by your presence the crowning joy to a splendid morning stroll, which I have had."
"I shall be pleased if my coming out will add to the pleasure of your ramblings, which are just a little too early to agree with my habits," she answered, with a sparkling eye and smiling face. He looked admiringly at her and said:
"The air at such a time and in such a place is always delightfully fragrant. To drink of its sweetness is a pleasure no one should fail to enjoy, not excepting the leisured Laughing-eyes."
"Yes, it is a pleasure; but what an effort some of us would have to make to gain it. Then, oft repeated, it loses much of its charm," she replied, and, continuing, inquired: "How long have you been out in the park?"
"For more than an hour I have been strolling among the shrubs and flowers; but, delightful as the beautiful park is, there was one thing wanting to make it perfect: one flower which I did not find—the loveliest that blooms at Zelmonco; it was not there," he said, fixing on her a look which plainly revealed his meaning. She returned the look with one expressing comprehension, and answered, jestingly:
"You came out too soon to find the flower you are pleased to think so lovely; it does not bloom so early."
"It has bloomed but now; and I am more than happy to find it here," he said, taking her hand and leading her to a seat at the foot of the oak tree. With her hand still resting in his he continued: "Do you remember, Laughing-eyes, our tryst on this love-inspiring spot, which seems to me so very long ago, and like a dream?"
"Yes, I remember; and more," she answered, looking up at him archly, while she continued: "I remember that you gave me a promise, Cacami, which I fear you are about to forget." This rejoinder was uttered insinuatingly, and accompanied by a coquettish side glance. Cacami, believing that the words were intended to be convertible, put his own construction on them, and said:
"I do not forget, Laughing-eyes, but only remember my promise now as a thing of the past, and no longer binding upon me. The flower-heart, and the voice of the little love-bird singing through your beautiful eyes, which came to me that day, when Teochma's call so cruelly disturbed us, were the signs which made me free. Is it not so, Laughing-eyes?" Cacami's voice and manner were full of pleading, and Itlza, loving as she did, could not resist their influence, and said:
"Yes, Cacami, I may not longer trifle; you have read my thoughts and actions rightly. The flower-heart, in which was entwined my best love, was wrought for you, and made the messenger of release."
"I thought as much, and yet there was a doubt, which your blessed words have removed, and I am free to tell you how dear you are to me. From the moment when I first looked into those laughing eyes I have loved them and their adored possessor. You must recall how earnest was my wooing from the very beginning—not a happy wooing either, Itlza, for I thought it was in vain. But now I know it was not, for the love of the Laughing-eyes is mine. When the battle comes my sword shall make me worthy of it. Then you shall pledge yourself to be my wife—not before. Until that hour love alone shall keep us for each other," he spoke with passionate emphasis.
"It shall be as you have said—love shall keep us for each other," she replied, looking beseechingly into his face. "My heart is sad, even while it is happy," she continued. "War is ever terrible, but doubly so when those we love are in it—Euetzin, my brother, and you, my new-found love." Here her disengaged hand was laid lovingly on his arm, and her eyes, moist with the dew of affection, looked pleadingly up to him. "Both must go. Will both, or even one, return?" She dropped her head upon his hand and wept.
"Be brave, dear heart; those bright, laughing eyes were never made for tears," said he, consoling her tenderly. "The gods, you may be sure, will shield your loved ones in the fight for freedom, and bring them safely back to you." Said encouragingly.
A call to the morning meal interrupted further conversation on the subject so near to the hearts of the twain; and they went in, happy now in each other's love, yet sad from the thoughts which had caused the Laughing-eyes to weep.
Two hours later Euetzin and Cacami were on the road to Tezcuco. That their stay at the villa had to be so brief was a source of regret to both.
The fond associations of a beautiful and attractive home, the dearest of which were found in the presence and love of Teochma and Itlza, were pressing inducements for the tzin to prolong his stay, but there was no time to spare just then for gratifying the tenderer impulses; so, stifling the cry in his heart—the voice of filial love—he went sadly away, in answer to duty's call.
Cacami, in the character of an accepted lover—though somewhat regretful at having to go from the scene of his late successful wooing so soon, possessed as he was with the blissful assurance of a reciprocated affection—could not be other than felicitous. Still, his happiness was not cloudless. There was mingled with it a disquieting doubt as to the acquiescence of the aristocratic mother and brother in hisaffairewith Itlza. He was hopeful, however, in view of his intimacy with the brother. He had no intention of informing them, at this time, of the state of his feelings, and was confident that Itlza would be equally reticent. When he had won honor and fame as a warrior he could approach them with a stronger assurance of approval.
Thus it happened that a knowledge of the existing state of their feelings toward each other was kept from Teochma and the tzin by the lovers, which, as it subsequently proved, was an unfortunate course for them to pursue; and yet, in view of the fact that no betrothal had taken place, they were not to be blamed for keeping the matter a secret between themselves.
On arriving at Tezcuco Euetzin went about his errand of procuring information and the transaction of other business, for which he had come to the city. While he was thus occupied, Cacami went to visit for a brief spell with his people, returning in time to accompany him to other points, and finally back to Tlacopan for the appointed audience with Macua, the king.
The fifth day subsequent to the one on which Euetzin and Cacami made their first visit to Macua, King of Tlacopan, and the one appointed for a second audience with him, had dawned, and the sun was on its upward course.
A number of notables—princes, caciques, and chiefs—had recently arrived in Tlacopan, and were being entertained by Macua, at the king's palace. Much speculation was indulged in by the city's denizens, as to what they were there for. Their mission, however, was of a secret character, known only to themselves, the king and his advisers, and was scrupulously guarded by the close-mouthed leaders.
An important council was about to convene, the result of Maxtla's aggressiveness, which proved, in the end, to be a memorable event in the lives of those who took part in it, and also for those in whose interest it was held.
The meeting took place in the audience hall of the king's palace, and the most prominent person present was the king himself. He was seated on his throne, arrayed in magnificent attire, and bore himself with kingly dignity, as one after another the gathering warriors advanced to salute him as the presiding official of the occasion.
On looking over the body of dignified and sober appearing individuals there assembled, one would have decided at once that it was no ordinary gathering of the king's subjects. Seated on his right was a man whose dress and bearing were significant of royalty; while on his left was another equally as notable. Richly caparisoned caciques and warriors were present, some seated, and others standing about the chamber, all waiting expectantly for the king to announce the opening of the council.
Macua presently rose to speak, and every eye was fixed upon him with interested attention. When perfect silence prevailed he said:
"I am pleased to witness the presence here at this time of so many nobles and warriors, who have come to engage in important deliberations. I have reason to believe that all of you are inspired by a common thought: that of a mutual defense of our liberties. The promptness with which the call has been met presages success in what shall follow this meeting. As the head of this nation I extend to all a cordial welcome to Tlacopan." Turning to a person who was evidently the keeper of records, he continued: "The names of those who are to sit in council with us will now be read, and the person named will rise and acknowledge the same in the usual manner."
As the name was announced the person bearing it rose and made an obeisance. After a number of names were gone over and acknowledged, the recorder called out:
"Euetzin of Tezcuco!" to which no one responded. The tzin had not arrived. At this moment an interruption occurred in consequence of the entrance to the hall of a person who was conducted into the presence of the assembly, causing a suspension of the roll call.
The newcomer appeared to be a stranger to all present, for no one seemed to recognize him. If he was known his identity was not apparent. Advancing before the king he saluted his majesty very profoundly. Macua acknowledged the courtesy, but gave no sign of recognition.
"You do not remember me, O King, for which omission you are pardonable, since my former appearance before you was in an assumed character. This," he continued, holding up a signet, "may prove a reminder to you."
"Euetzin of Tezcuco!" exclaimed Macua. "We were looking for a hunter, not a tzin."
"I am the accredited representative of a prince to-day, if your majesty pleases," replied Euetzin, with proper dignity.
"You are; and as the King of Tlacopan I greet you as such," returned Macua, leaving the throne to extend to the tzin an honor seldom conferred except upon a prince.
Euetzin was attired in the costume of a tzin, which changed his appearance greatly, preventing his recognition by the king. His dress was of the finest material, but not gaudy; showing a conservatism in his notions of apparel. In this his second appearance before Macua he felt that the dignity of his position as the representative of Hualcoyotl demanded that he should be becomingly clothed; he accordingly came to Tlacopan prepared to abandon the character and garb of a hunter, and appear, temporarily, in his rightful one.
After greeting the tzin the king bade him take a seat with the assembly.
The call of the roll was resumed and completed. It was found that all were present who were expected to take part in the council. At its conclusion Macua again arose and said:
"We are assembled here to-day to consider a matter of vital interest to all of us: the matter of a threatened invasion of our territories by Maxtla, the new king at Azcapozalco. The fate of Tezcuco is before us. Shall this man be allowed to spoil us while our eyes are open? This, friends, is the question you have been called together to consider. Let your words be words of wisdom, that our council may result in good."
After a brief period of silence an old man—a Tlacopan chief—rose up, and addressed the king:
"Your majesty's words are words of warning. We are, of a truth, menaced by this Maxtla, of Azcapozalco, whose power is great. The army of Tlacopan, combined with the armies of all the principalities here represented, would be as naught before the hosts of his mighty empire. Have you not something to say that will give encouragement? What is in your mind that has not been revealed to us?"
The king spoke in reply:
"The armies of all the principalities represented here to-day would, indeed, be unequal to cope with Maxtla in the field; but, friends, there is offered us a hope in a union with the oppressed Tezcucans. A voice has come to me from Tezcuco: Tezcuco would be free. Euetzin, a representative of that people, is with us to-day. He is here as the envoy of Hualcoyotl, their prince, who is now a fugitive, unjustly pursued—a man who is beloved of his own, but hated by the monarch we fear. We would join the Tezcucans in a war against Maxtla, if the appearances are favorable to success. We would hear what Euetzin may have to offer us."
There was a stir about the chamber at this declaration from Macua, and the tzin at once became an object of much interest. He arose, at a motion from the king, and, after casting his eyes over the assemblage of stern-looking warriors, said:
"Tezcuco will be free, or go down deeper into the slough of oppression. To Maxtla she will no longer submit, if a mighty struggle will give her liberty. An army of patriots, though unseen, are now waiting for the signal to march to victory, death, or a lower degradation. Tezcuco would secure the aid of those who would have the Tepanec usurper overthrown. Many would make our victory sure. I am here, to-day, seeking coalition." Turning about, he addressed Macua: "Will it please the King to read this paper?" As he concluded, the tzin handed a document to the king, which proved to be an estimate of the Tezcucan forces, based on their secret enrollment.
When Macua had perused and understood the significance of the contents of the paper, he looked at the tzin in astonishment, and said:
"I am filled with wonder at what is here set forth. If Tezcuco can do so much, then, indeed, is there hope. Maxtla might well tremble for his supremacy, did he know the magnitude of his opposition."
After a further examination of the paper the king continued:
"With your consent, Euetzin, I would make known to our friends what is here written."
"The wisdom of Macua must direct him. He should understand the importance to Tezcuco of the knowledge which is contained in the paper. Should it be made public it would be most unfortunate for her cause," replied the tzin, courteously.
"I have faith in our friends, and will be responsible for their silence," returned Macua, proceeding to acquaint the council with the contents of the document. Its members were no less astonished than was the king at the measure of their significance. Macua then said:
"We remember the mild and generous disposition of the late king of Tezcuco, and how deeply our people regretted his fall, and the subversion of his government. A restoration of that government under the rule of his son, Prince Hualcoyotl, would give us complete security. Euetzin comes to us bearing evidence, which we can not doubt, that he is, in truth, the representative of the Tezcucan prince, and, as such, would not deceive us by misrepresentation. I, therefore, as the King of Tlacopan, having confidence in him, am ready to accept his statements as correct, and, with the consent of my advisers, will join Tezcuco in a war against the Tepanec king."
There were a number of high officials present from two states, besides Tlacopan, who were unanimous in their approval of Macua's declaration. It was, therefore, sustained by his chiefs, which led to an agreement of coalition being entered into, and its ratification in their accustomed manner.
After a further consideration of the matter as to plans of procedure, it was decided to hold a great tourney at Tlacopan on a certain day in the near future, which would afford the Tezcucans a pretense to withdraw from Tezcuco for the purpose of massing. It was also decided that envoys should be sent to Azcapozalco, to appear before Maxtla the same day on which the tourney was to take place, to present to him the ultimatum of the allied states, the principal condition of which should be the liberation of Tezcuco, and the enthronement of her prince.
It was further agreed that the army of each state should be under the command of its own prince and warriors, the whole to be commanded by the prince furnishing the greatest number of soldiers. The council then broke up, subject to a call from Macua.
There was much to accomplish before the time appointed for holding the tournament, which was to be nothing more nor less than the assembling of the hosts of the allied states. The secret councils of Tezcucans had to be notified and instructed, and the arms, which were already provided for their equipment, transported secretly to the vicinity of Tlacopan. In addition to this, Hualcoyotl was to be brought secretly to Tlacopan, for it was expected that he would be placed at the head of the army. These preparations would depend largely on the tzin and his companion, and they permitted no time to go by unimproved, but proceeded at once to the consummation of them.
Euetzin and his fellow conspirators found the time very brief for completing their preparations for the massing of the insurgent army of Tezcuco on the day appointed. The work was attended with so much secrecy that it had to be carried on in a very quiet manner, keeping them constantly on the alert. This being the case, the tzin and Cacami were kept continually employed, with not a moment of time to spare in which to visit their homes. However, just before starting for the mountains, to escort Hualcoyotl into Tlacopan, they took time to go and say good-by, and procure what was necessary to complete their outfits.
While the Tezcucans were secretly pushing forward their preparations, Macua was busily engaged in replenishing his store-houses with provisions and other supplies for the armies.
A commendable feature in the economy and foresight of the Aztecs—and no less that of the other nations of Anahuac, for what may be said of one will apply to all—was the establishment of great granaries, or store-houses, where supplies were garnered up to meet future exigencies. This was accomplished by tribute from the agricultural districts of the province.
The time appointed for holding the tournament was at hand, and Tlacopan was gorgeously attired for the occasion. The day was propitious, and the city was filled to overflowing with people, who had come from far and near to witness the achievements of the contestants.
The number of foreigners present was unprecedented. The primal cause of this unusual spectacle will be apparent to the reader.
The hour for the tourney to open had arrived, and an immense throng of people was assembled on the city's market-place, where it was thought best to hold the meeting, in view of the expected crowd. Thetianguezwas a great square, inwalled by buildings, store-houses, etc., and made to accommodate anywhere from twenty-five to fifty thousand people. Much of its space, on this day, was protected by coverings, cotton awnings, canopies, etc., and was arranged to seat a multitude.
Tournaments were not an uncommon occurrence among the nations of Anahuac, and the people were encouraged to participate in them by awards of merit—jewels, medals, decorations, etc., which were bestowed upon the successful contestants. Every ruler of any importance was provided with a suitable place in which to hold the contests, usually a great inclosed court attached to the king's palace, but which, on this occasion, was not adequate to the demands.
In many instances, among the more barbarous nations, the tourney of the Aztecs was not less bloody than those of the ancients of Pompeii and Rome, resulting purposely in the death of one or more of the contestants.
In view of the immense concourse of people in attendance at Tlacopan, the occasion would prove a proud one for the victors.
Contests with the bow and arrow, and tilts with the javelin, were to be especial features of the approaching tourney, which were open to all comers.
It was not required of a contestant that he or she be personally known; a badge, however, was usually worn, denoting the tribal connection.
A trial of skill between bowmen was announced, and the babbling throng became hushed. The signal for the contestants to appear was sounded, and a score or more of athletic warriors leaped into the arena. They were clothed in their military tunic, which covered the body and thighs. About the head was a band surmounted with featherwork. Ornaments and decorations of different kinds, denoting former victories, were worn by a number of them. A buckler, or shield, was carried by each one as a protection against the arrows of an opponent.
There were two points of excellence considered in this contest: the accuracy with which the arrow was dispatched, and the dexterity with which it was caught upon the shield.
The contest was opened by two of the warriors taking positions opposite and facing each other, at a fixed distance apart. The assembled multitude became instantly stilled, and all eyes were centered upon them. The bows of the opposing bowmen were deliberately brought to position, and at a given signal two arrows sped across the space which separated them, and which were neatly stopped by the respective shields. The effect upon the audience was electrical; a shout of approval went up for the splendid exhibition of skill manifested by the contestants. The opponents, in this instance, were of Tlacopan and Tenochtitlan. After three trials the score was recorded in favor of the latter.
Another two advanced to position, and a record was made. Thus the contest proceeded to the fifth entry, when a Tepanec and Tezcucan stood opposed. Two trials were successfully achieved, but at the third the arrow of the Tezcucan clipped a piece from the ear of the Tepanec, carrying away the ring which adorned it. A prolonged shout of exultation from the Tezcucans present followed the discovery of the result of the shot.
The wounded contestant was a warrior of note in his own country, which was evidenced by the number of decorations he wore. He was greatly chagrined and angered at his mishap, and retired from the arena with bitterness in his heart, and a vengeful scowl upon his face. He was stoutly built, and would prove a dangerous adversary in a contest of strength.
The first of the series of contests was conducted to a finish, and the second was called, which was to be a contest in target shooting, to which none but women were admitted.
When the signal for their entrance was given, an array of beauty, in person and dress seldom witnessed, glided upon the scene. There were princesses, the wives and daughters of caciques and chiefs, and others with no royal blood to give them prestige—a double score.
We will not pause to describe the costumes—suffice it to say that the majority of them were gorgeous in the extreme, with elaborately wrought trimmings of gold and silver, and beautifully designed featherwork, making altogether a most fanciful picture of barbaric splendor.
The target, which in this case was the representation of a heart, was placed, and the contest opened.
The order of succession had been determined, and the first archer stepped to the front, receiving, as she did so, a good round of applause. After a moment's deliberation the arrow from her bow was sent on its harmless mission. It was well directed, but did not cut the target. She moved to one side, and another took her place.
"Look!" exclaimed a spectator to an associate as the second archer stepped into position. "By the bearded Quetzal, there's a beauty for you! Superb, isn't she?" The contestant was a stranger to that vast throng, but, had the reader of our story been present, a glance would have sufficed to reveal who it was; for it was none other than Mitla, the "Mountain Princess," who, through the persuasion of the tzin, had consented to enter the contest. After taking position she paused to recover her composure, giving the spectators time to note her admirable physique. A buzz of admiration was heard to pass through the great audience, and then as her bow was deliberately raised to shoot, all became silent! The silence was breathless—almost oppressive—while the vast crowd awaited the result of her shot. A snap was heard to break the stillness, followed by a sudden shadowy streak, which touched the target and disappeared; but the substance of it, the arrow from Mitla's bow, was left buried directly in the center of the heart. When the splendid feat of archery she had accomplished was realized, it was greeted with the wildest demonstrations of delight, accompanied by a shower of flowers, which fell in profusion about her. She had won the heart of the multitude by her superb, native presence, and unexcelled exhibition of skill.
Mitla cast her eyes in the direction of the king's canopied platform, and the look drew forth from friends there lively manifestations of recognition and applause. Coming, as these demonstrations did, from Macua's place on thetianguez, they were regarded by those who observed them as highly significant, fixing upon her the prestige of royal favor, raising the unknown archer, in their semi-barbarous minds, far above the plain of her uneventful life.
Many splendid shots were made by Mitla's competitors, but to no purpose. Her unerring accuracy could not be excelled, and at the close of the contest, amid shouts and acclamations of satisfaction, she was declared the winner.
The victorious girl was conducted before King Macua, who presented to her the prize she had won—a beautiful necklace of gold and gems, which was clasped about her throat by the hand of Euetzin, who was of the king's party. It was a superlatively happy moment to the beautiful mountain girl, and her eyes were effervescing with love's softest light as they rested on him whom, unknown to all save herself, she almost worshiped.
Mitla at once became an object of royal favor, and was escorted onto Macua's platform, and given a place with the king's elect.
A tilt with javelins was the next thing in order. This was in the nature of a challenge contest; a very dangerous one for the participants, and exciting to the beholders.
A challenge to engage in a tilt, or contest, was always in order, and usually proved to be the most popular and exciting feature of the tourney.
The signal for the bout to commence was hardly sounded before the Tepanec warrior who had been wounded in the bowmen's contest was in the arena. His challenge was directed to the Tezcucan who had inflicted humiliation upon him. His appearance and actions showed that his object was to have revenge for the disgrace which the peculiar wound he had received in the bowmen's contest would fasten upon him.
The challenge was accepted, and the two warriors stood face to face, awaiting the moment of action; hatred depicted on the countenance of one, the other calm and defiant. They were each equipped with javelin and heavy buckler, and clothed about the body and thighs with a thick cotton tunic—the arms and lower limbs being entirely free from covering. They were without the customary headgear—a band only being worn to confine the long, coarse, black hair.
The instructions to the opposing warriors were to advance rapidly to a given point, and throw their weapons to kill—injury or death being avoided by dodging or catching the javelin on the buckler.
The great crowd was again hushed. The signals were given, and the rush of the opponents quickly followed. A whiz and crash were heard, and the Tezcucan was almost thrown from his feet by the force of the Tepanec's javelin, which he had succeeded in catching on his buckler. He immediately recovered himself, and faced his opponent, who, having dodged his adversary's weapon, stood fiercely watching the effect of his throw.
The advantage gained by the Tepanec over the Tezcucan, in the tilt, was not hailed with any degree of enthusiasm. There were too many friends of the latter, and others, present, in whose hearts burned the bitterest national hatred—a hatred for grievances inflicted—for which every Tepanec, no matter what his position, high or low, was held responsible.
It was evident that the Tepanec was the superior adversary, and he knew it. He was not satisfied with the result of the bout, and a second trial was demanded. Rather than be branded a coward, the Tezcucan granted it, but, in doing so, realized that he was no match for his enemy, and could hardly expect to come out of the contest with a whole skin, if he did not lose his life.
The lancers took their respective positions for a second trial. The signals were given, and they advanced quickly to the throwing point. A cutting of the air was heard, followed by a crash of javelins and shields, and the Tezcucan was knocked from his feet to the earth, where he lay powerless to rise, his buckler having been torn from his hand, and the weapon of his opponent buried in his body.
The Tepanec warrior, now insane with rage, rushed upon his fallen foe, with the evident intention of dispatching him.
Savage as they were, the Anahuacans had a profound sense of fair play. When the purpose of the crazed contestant was fully comprehended, the spectators, as by a single impulse, jumped to their feet, and a shout of derision went up from them for his wicked and unmanly design. The time was brief, but not too brief for an avenging hand to come between the would-be murderer and his fallen adversary. While all eyes were bent upon the insane victor, with no other thought but that he would accomplish his revengeful purpose, a hunter leaped into the arena, and, before the mad deed was consummated, a javelin was sent flying through the air, which struck the warrior in the neck, felling him, a lifeless heap, at the side of the prostrate Tezcucan.
The excitement was now intense. The dead Tepanec and his severely wounded adversary were forgotten for the moment by the excited audience, whose attention became centered on the hunter. This man, whose hand had sent the messenger of death, which so materially affected the aspect of the tragedy, suddenly became an object of speculation and the hero of the hour.
The king commanded that the slayer of the insane warrior be brought into his presence. When he appeared, in obedience to the command, great was the surprise and pleasure of Macua, and those with him, to see in the expert lancer the tzin's companion, Cacami.
The king said:
"We would honor the man who can throw a javelin so true, and at such a time; especially do we take pleasure in honoring Cacami. Wear this," he continued, placing upon Cacami's breast a decoration which carried with it honorable preferment, "as a mark of distinction, and also as a memorial of the valorous deed you have this day performed in behalf of a fallen man."
A shout of approbation ascended from the assembled throng, while the tzin warmly embraced his comrade and friend.
Cacami was a spectator only, not having determined to take part in the tournament, because of his engagements, especially on account of his recent journey to the mountains to assist in bringing the prince to the city. He was greatly interested in the tourney, however; particularly so in the tilt with javelins, and excitement might have led him to enter the contest had the first bout not ended as it did. No eye in that immense throng took in the situation as promptly as did his; and, instantly comprehending the purpose of the maddened warrior, he did not stop to think twice, but sprang to the defense of his fellow Tezcucan, which resulted, as we have seen, in his killing the vicious Tepanec.
When quiet was restored and the arena cleared, the tourney was conducted to a finish, and the great throng gradually melted away, most of it, however, to reassemble in a different capacity and place outside of Tlacopan.