The royal garden of Tezcuco was an extensive piece of ground, fenced, on three sides, by the palace and its dependencies, and bounded on the fourth, by the waters of the lake, from which it was divided by a low wall, long since broken down by the Conquerors, by certain shadowy buildings, and by clumps of noble cypresses and other trees. The moon, not yet near her full, shone westward of the meridian, in a sky intensely azure and almost cloudless; and her beams could be traced, through the wall of cypresses, glittering and dancing on the light waves, as they rippled up merrily to the night-breeze. What taste was displayed in the plan and cultivation of the garden, could not be determined, at this hour, and in this insufficient, though beautiful, light. One could behold, indeed, obscurely, flower-beds and shrubberies, winding alleys and hanging groves, little still pools and even, here and there, a jetting fountain, scattered about in a manner which the imagination might believe was designed and judicious; but it seemed, at night, rather a wilderness, in which the nostrils had greater reason to be gratified than the eyes. A thousand odours fell from the trees, a thousand scents rose from the flowers, as the heads of the one and the petals of the other were shaken by the flitting gusts. It was a scene calculated at least to soothe exasperated feelings, and induce sentiment and melancholy in the breast of the contemplative.
To Juan's temperament, it would have been, at any other moment, saddening enough; but his thoughts were, at present, far too much, and far too painfully, engaged, to permit any to be wasted upon it.
As he followed hastily at the heels of the Alguazil, he made one or two agitated attempts to draw from him some further tokens to remove or confirm his boding suspicions; but the Alguazil had on the sudden grown very cautiously or very maliciously silent, and answered only by pressing his finger on his lips, eyeing the youth significantly, and hurrying him more rapidly along.
He led him to a spot, almost in the centre of the garden, where a little oval-shaped pool lay embosomed among schinus-trees, whose long weeping branches, stirred by the wind, swept gracefully over and in the water, which was only agitated, when thus disturbed by the motion of a bough, or by the plunge of the fragrant berries, the harvest of a former year, which dropped at intervals from the cluster. A single moonbeam found its way into this solitary inclosure, falling upon a limited portion of a path which seemed to surround the pool. In other respects, all was dark and invisible, and not a ray could be seen on the water, save when the spectator, peering over the brink, beheld some faint star of the zenith glimmering down among the shadowy depths.
Upon this path, and in this moonbeam, the Alguazil paused, and pointing hastily to a nook—the darkest of all where all were dark,—Juan perceived obscurely what seemed a moving figure. The next moment, Villafana passed among the boughs, retracing his steps, and strode again into the moonlight. As he stood an instant shaking the dew-drops from his cloak, he beheld a dark object approaching slowly on the path. It was the faithful Befo, who, with his head to the ground, and his tail draggling in the grass, as if sensible of having committed a breach of discipline, yet crawled along after his master, under the irresistible instinct of fidelity.
"This is ill thought on, and may be unlucky," muttered Villafana, with a subdued voice. "Here, Befo! you rascal! come with me, and you shall have a bone.—Ay, thou ill devil!" he continued, in the same whispered tones, as Befo, without stirring to the right or the left, and merely showing his teeth, when the Alguazil seemed disposed to check him with his hand, passed on towards the grove,—"go thy ways, and growl as thou wilt: thou art the only thing in the land incorruptible. But thou wilt be acquainted with my dagger yet, if thou hast no better appetite for my dinner."
He resumed his path. He had not taken a dozen steps, before he became sensible of the approach of another intruder: but this time the intruder was human. There was something in the fashion and sweep of the garments, which, even at a distance, apprized him of the character of the comer.
"The devil take these prying priests, monks, friars, and all!" he muttered irreverently betwixt his teeth.—"Holy father,——Hah! by the mass, is it thou, Camarga! my brother of all orders, monkish, mendicant, martial, and so on? Thy masking goes the wrong way: I told thee to meet me at the prison. 'Tis my palace, man; and the princes are in waiting.—Come, these damp mazes are ill for thy years and diseased liver. We will walk together."
"Señor Gruñidor, as they call you," said Camarga, flinging back the white cowl, and revealing his sallow features in the moonshine, "señor Alguazil, carcelero, rogue, conspirator, devil, and what-not, how I came to be so deep among your damnable devices, in the short month I have been in this land, I know not, except that I have, like thyself, a greater aptitude to be groping among caverns than journeying on kings' highways. But know, sirrah, that besidesthysubtleties, I have some whimseys of my own; to which, when the wind stirs them, yours must give place, were they ten thousand times more magnificent than your wit strives to make them appear. Begone, therefore; get thee to thy scurvy Tlascalan, whom thou art training to the gallows; to thy Mexican Magnifico, who is an ass to trust his neck to thy keeping; and to what vagabond Christians will give thee their countenance, who are e'en greater fools than thyself, and the Indians together. Get thee away: I have business of mine own; and I will come to you when it is despatched, or I willnotcome,—just as the imp urges me. So away with you, and leave me to myself."
"Under your favour, no," said Villafana, apparently too well acquainted with the man to be much surprised at a tone and manner so unlike to those which Camarga had used at the cypress-tree: "I must e'en have your saintly cowl and leaden cross, to swear the two infidels together: otherwise there is no trusting them.—They have much superstitious reverence for our priests and ceremonies. Come, señor; I tell thee, the Mexican will make our fortunes."
"Thine, rogue,thine!" said the disguised Camarga, impatiently: "Why talkest thou to me in this stupid wise? I am an older villain than thou.—I have a fancy for this lad of the Anakim, this thick-witted, turtle-brained young Magog. Thou makest a mystery of him, too. 'Slid! I will penetrate it; for I have a use to make of him, as well as thou."
"Demonios!" said Villafana; "are you seeking Juan Lerma?"
"Ay, marry. I dogged thee hitherward, I saw thee hide him in the bush, and by St. Dominic, (who will fry my soul to cinders, for defiling his garments—peccavi!) I will know what's i' the wind betwixt you, ere I stir a step further in your counsels. Dost thou think I will be thine accomplice, and have anything hidden from me? Thou swearest, he is to be murdered to-morrow, too. There is no time to be lost."
"Thou art mad," said Villafana: "he is engaged on our business. I make no mystery; I will tell you all. It is well I met thee. He has company,—a good sword,—and would think no more of lunging through thy holy lion's skin, if he caught thee eavesdropping—"
"Hark! dost thou not hear tuck and corselet?" said Camarga, smiling grimly, and rattling the hilt of a sword against his concealed armour. "I must know his companion too. I tell thee, I will have all thy secrets, or I drop thee, perhaps denounce thee."
"Thou shalt have them," said Villafana, gradually drawing him further from the pool. "His companion is La Monjonaza."
"Ha! sits the wind there? I must have a peep at her: they say, she is lovely as a goddess."
"Thou wilt incense her," said Villafana, emphatically. "By heaven, thou knowest not the temper of this woman, which is deadly. Leave the two cooing fools to themselves. Our fortunes,—nay, faith, our lives, depend upon them. La Monjonaza is deep in our secrets,—"
"Knave!" muttered the pretended friar, in a low but furious voice, "hast thou trusted my life in the keeping of a woman?"
"Pho, she is an older conspirator than thou; a wiser, too, for she can keep her temper. Out of her love for the young man, we draw our truest safety and quickest success."
"Her love! oh fu! and is she of this corrupt fickleness, that she will have two lovers in one hour? But it is the way with these creatures!"
"They are old lovers, very old lovers, señor," said Villafana, endeavouring, as he spoke, but in vain, to quicken the steps of Camarga. "You shall hear the story.—Juan Lerma's father was some low, poor, base fellow, killed in some tumult at Isabela. The old hidalgo, Antonio del Milagro, took the boy out of charity, first as a servant—"
"A servant? Dios mio!—Is he of no better beginning?"
"Not a jot; but the old fellow liked him, and, in the end, treated him full as well as his own son,—a knavish lad, called Hilario, some two or three years older than Juan."
"Slife!" said Camarga, "tell me no granddam's tale, with all tedious particulars. How came the youth into the hands of Cortes?"
"Even by setting out to seek his fortune, somewhat early, and getting to Santiago, where Cortes took him into keeping. You heard us say, that Don Hernan, when he received his commission from Velasquez, sent Juan back to his native island, to recruit forces. It was natural he should visit his old friends at Isabela. It was here he met with, and quarrelled about, Magdalena—"
"Magdalena!" said Camarga, with surprise. "You swore her name was Infeliz!"
"Ay; but the true one is Magdalena. When she came from Spain—"
"From Spain!" cried Camarga, starting: "is she not an islander?"
"Pho! didst thou ever see a creature of her beauty, born out of Andalusia?"
"I have not seen her—but I will,—yes, by all the saints of heaven, I will,—I must.—How came she to the island?"
"Oh, a-horseback, I think," said Villafana; "for the ship was never seen at Isabela: never question about that. The two young dogs, Hilario and Juan, found her somewhere, brought her to old Milagro, and, Juan being more favoured and better beloved than Hilario, who, to say truth, was both ugly and vicious, they fought about her, and Hilario was killed. Thus, Juan was left the master of the beauty; but being tired of her, or afraid of old Milagro's vengeance, or perhaps both, he fled again to Cuba, and thence as you heard, came to Mexico in a fusta. What brought Magdalena after him I know not, unless 'twas mad, raging love; yes, faith, that's the cause; for she cares not half so much for Don Hernan. But they did say, at Isabela, she had a better cause; for the ship, it was well known—"
"Fool of all fools!" said Camarga, with a strange and unnatural laugh, "didst thou not say the ship was never seen at Isabela?"
"Ay, truly; but it was seen on the rocks at the Point of Alonso, not many leagues distant," replied Villafana; and then added, "I would thou couldst be more choice of thine epithets of endearment. These 'knaves,' 'rogues,' and 'fools,' do well enough among friends; but one may season discourse too strongly with them, even for the roughest appetite.—The ship was a wreck: there was said to be foul work about it; but that's neither here nor there. The girl was brought ashore by the young men, Juan being good in the management of a skiff,—indeed, a notoriously skilful and fearless sailor. What was said of Magdalena, was this," continued the Alguazil, with a low, confidential voice: "It was discovered, or at least conjectured, that the ship was no other than the Santa Anonciacion, a vessel sent from Seville with a bevy of nuns,—faith, some worshippers of thine own good St. Dominic,—who were to found a convent at the Havana. It was whispered, that the fair Magdalena was even one of the number, and therefore—But the thing must be plain! To be a nun, and to love young fellowspar amours—this is a matter for the Inquisition. But thanks be to God, we have no good Brothers in Mexico!—I will tell thee more, as we walk, and show thee, if thou hast not the wit to see it, how much it concerns us to have a friend like La Monjonaza."
"I have heard enough," said Camarga, with tones deep and hoarse; "enough, and more than enough. And this woman was,then, the leman of Juan Lerma, and, now, the creature of Cortes!"—Here he muttered something to himself. Then, speaking with an audible voice, he said,
"Get thee to thy den, and look to thyself: there is danger afloat, and full enough to excuse me from meddling with thee to-night. There is a force of men concealed near to the prison, and commanded by Guzman. Ask no questions—look to thyself: thou art suspected."
At these words, Villafana became greatly alarmed, and exchanging but a few words more with Camarga, hastily departed. He was no sooner gone, than Camarga, yielding to an emotion he had long suppressed, fell upon his knees and uttered wild prayers, mingled with groans and maledictions, all the while beating his breast and brows. Then rising and whipping out his sword, as if to execute some deadly purpose of vengeance, he strode towards the pool.
No sooner had the Alguazil departed from the enclosure, than the figure which Juan had beheld obscurely among the shadows, stepped slowly into the moonshine, looking like a phantom, because so closely shrouded from head to foot that nothing was seen but the similitude of a human being, wrapped, as it might be imagined, in a gray winding-sheet. The thick hood and veil concealed her countenance, and even her hands were hidden among the folds.
It seemed, for a moment, as if she were about to speak, for low murmurs came inarticulately from the veil. As for Juan himself, he was kept silent by the most painful agitation. At last, and when it appeared as if the unhappy being was conscious that no other mode of revealment was in her power, she raised her hand to her head, and the next moment, the hood falling back, the moonbeams fell upon the exposed visage of La Monjonaza. It was exceedingly, indeed deadly, pale; and the gleaming of her dewy forehead indicated how feebly even her powerful strength of mind contended with a sense of humiliation. She made an effort to elevate her head, to compose her features into womanly dignity, but all in vain; her hands sought each other, and were clasped together upon her breast, her lips quivered, her head fell, and her eyes, after one wild, brief, and supplicating glance, were cast upon the earth.
"Alas, Magdalena!" exclaimed Juan, with tones of the deepest feeling, "do I see you here, do I see youthus?"
At these words she raised her head, with a sudden and convulsive start, as if the imputation they conveyed had stung her to the soul; and as she bent her eyes upon Juan, though they were filled with tears, yet they flashed with what seemed a noble indignation. But this was soon changed to a milder and sadder expression, and the flush which had accompanied it, was quickly replaced by her former paleness.
"Thou dost indeed see me here," she replied, summoning her resolution, and speaking firmly, "and thou seest me thus,—degraded, not in thine imagination only, but in the suspicions of all, down to the level of scorn. Yes," she continued, bitterly, "and while thou pitiest me for a shame endured only for thyself,—endured only that I may requite thee with life for life,—thou art sorry thy hand ever snatched me from the billows. Speak, Juan Lerma, is it not so?"
"It had been better, Magdalena," said the youth, reproachfully, "for, besides that the act caused me to be stained with blood, it afflicts me with a curse still more heavy. I do not mourn the death of Hilario, as I mourn the downfall of one whom I once esteemed almost a seraph."
"Villain that he was!" cried Magdalena, with vindictive impetuosity, "mean and malignant in life and in death! who, with a lie, living, destroyed the peace and the fame of the friendless, and died with a lie, that both might remain blighted for ever! O wretch! O wretch! there is no punishment for him among the fiends, for he was of their nature. And thou mournest his death, too! Thou cursest the hand that avenged the wrong of a feeble woman!"
"I lament that I slew the son of my benefactor," said Juan, with a deep sigh; and then added with one still deeper, "but, sinner that I am, I rejoice while looking on thee, in the fierce thought, that I killed the destroyer of innocence."
"The destroyer of innocence indeed," replied Magdalena, with a voice broken and suffocating. "Yes, innocence!" she exclaimed more wildly, "or at least, thefameof innocence! for innocence herself he could not harm. No, by heaven! oh, no! for what I came from the sea, that I amnow; yes, now, I tell thee, now! and if thou darest give tongue to aught else, if thou darest think—Oh heaven! this is more than I can bear! Say, Juan Lerma! say! dostthou, too, believe me the thing I am called? the base, the fallen, the degraded?"
"Alas, Magdalena," replied Juan, to the wild demand: "with his dying lips, Hilario——"
"With his dying lips, he perjured his soul for ever!" exclaimed Magdalena, "for ever, for ever!" she went on, with inexpressible energy and fury; "and may the curse of a broken-hearted woman, destroyed by his defaming malice, cling to him as long, scorching him with fresh torments, even when fiends grow relentful and forbearing. Mountains of fire requite the coals he has thrown upon my bosom! May God never forgive him! no, never! never!"
"This is horrid!" said Juan. "Revoke thy malediction: it is impiety. Alas, alas!" he continued, moved with compassion, as the singular being, passing at once from a sibyl-like rage to the deepest and most feminine abasement of grief, wrung her hands, and sobbed aloud and bitterly; "Would indeed that thou hadst perished with the others!"
"Would that I had!" said Magdalena, more calmly; "but thou hadst then been left to a malice like that which has slain me.—No, not like that; for it is content with thylife!—I would ask thee more of myself," she went on, more composedly, after a little pause, "but it needs not. If I can show thee thou wrongest me concerning Hilario, canst thou not believe I may be evenherewithout stain? Well, I care not; one day, thou wilt know thou hast wronged me. But let the shame rest upon me now; for it needs I should think, not of myself, but of thee. Listen to me, Juan Lerma; for fallen or not, yet am I thine only friend among a thousand enemies. Give up thy service, thy hopes of fame and fortune in this land, and leave it. Leave Mexico, return to the islands. Thou hast marvellously escaped a death, subtly and cruelly designed; and now thou art destined to an end as vengeful, and perhaps even more inevitable. Yet there is one way of escape, and there is one moment to take advantage of it. Leave Mexico: Cortes is thy foe.—Leave Mexico."
"These are but wild words, Magdalena," said Juan, with a troubled voice. "I would do much to removetheefrom a situation, the thought whereof is bitterer to me than my own misfortunes."
"Wouldst thou?" said Magdalena, eagerly. "Go then, and I go likewise; go then, and know that thy departure not only releases me from a situation of disgrace, but enables me to make clear a reputation which thou—yes,thou,—believest to be sullied and lost. I am not what I seem—Saints of heaven, that I should have to say it! But by the grave of my mother, I swear, Juan Lerma, thou doest me as deep a wrong as others. Leave this land, and thou shalt see that the fame of an angel is not purer than mine own scorned name,—no, by heaven, no freer from a deserved shame. Thou shakest thy head!—I could kill thee, Juan Lerma, I could kill thee!"—she went on, with a strange mingling of fierce resentment and beseeching grief; "I could kill thee, for I have not deserved this of thee!" Then, changing her tone, and clasping her hands submissively, she said, "But think not of me, or rather continue to think me unworthy of aught but pity: think not, above all, that what I do is with any reference to myself. No, heaven is my witness, I claim of thee neither affection nor respect; I am content to be mistaken, to be despised. All this I can endure, and will, uncomplaining,—so that I can rescue thee from the danger in which thou art placed. Leave this land: Don Hernan deceives thee; he hates thee, and thirsts after thy blood. He has confessed it!"
"God be my help!" said Juan, despairingly; "my life is in his hands. If this be true—"
"If it be true!" repeated Magdalena: "It is known to all but thyself."
"It isnottrue!" exclaimed the young man, vehemently: "I have done him no wrong, and he is not the detestable being you would make him. If he be, I owe him a life—let him have it; it is in his hands."
"Leave Mexico," reiterated Magdalena. "If thou goest to Tochtepec, thou art lost. I have it in my power to aid,—nay, to secure thy escape. Say, therefore, thou wilt consent, say thou wilt leave Mexico!"
"It cannot be," said Juan, with a sad and sullen resolution: "I will await my fate in Mexico!"
"And wilt thou stand, like the fat ox, till the noose is cast upon thy neck? till thou art butchered?"
"My life is nothing—I live not for myself; the redemption of others depends upon my acts. I have a duty that speaks more urgently than fear. My lot is cast in Mexico; I cannot leave it."
As he spoke, with a firm voice, he bent his looks expressively on his companion. Her eyes flashed fire, and they shone from her pale face like living coals:
"Sayst thou this to me?" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with fury, "sayst thou this to me?" Then advancing a step, and laying her hand upon his arm, she continued, her accents sinking almost into whispers, they were so subdued, or so feeble, "Lay not upon thy soul a sin greater than stains it already. Leave Mexico; resolve or die: leave Mexico, or perish!—Oh, thou art guiltier than thou thinkest! Thou hast cursed Hilario for my fall: curse thyself,—not Hilario, but thyself; for but for thee, but for thee, I had been happy! yes, happy, happy!"
To these words, Juan, though greatly compassionating the distress of the speaker, would have replied with remonstrance; but she gave him no opportunity. She continued to repeat over and over again, with a kind of hysterical pertinacity, the words 'Leave Mexico! leave Mexico!' so that Juan was not only prevented replying, but confounded. He was relieved from embarrassment by a sudden growl, coming from the bushes at his side. La Monjonaza started at the sound, and in the moment of silence that succeeded, both could distinguish the steps of a man rapidly approaching the pool. At the same instant, another growl was heard, and Befo, issuing from the leafy covert, took a stand by his master's side, as if to defend him from an enemy. The veil of Magdalena fell over her visage; she paused but to whisper, in tones of such energy that they thrilled him to the soul, 'Leave Mexico, or die!' and then instantly vanished among the boughs. It was too late for Juan to follow her: he had scarce time to lay his hand upon Befo's neck and moderate his ferocity, before his eyes were struck with the strange spectacle of a tall man, in the garb of a Dominican friar, his face pale as death, his hand holding a naked sword, who strode into the inclosure and upon that part of the path which was illuminated by the moonbeams. No sooner had he cast his eyes upon Juan than he exclaimed, "Die, wretch!" and made a pass at him with his weapon. Had the lunge been skilfully made, it must have proved fatal; for though Juan still held the sheathless rapier he had brought from his chamber, he was so much surprised at the suddenness of the apparition, that his attempt to ward it could not have succeeded against a good fencer. A better protection was given by the faithful Befo, who, darting from Juan's hand, against the assailant's breast, attacked him with a shock so violent, that, in an instant, the señor Camarga (for it was he who played this insane part) lay rolling upon his back, his grizzled locks streaming in the pool.
"In the name of heaven, what dost thou mean, and who art thou, impostor and assassin!" cried Juan, pulling off the dog, and helping Camarga to his feet. "Thou art mad, I think!"
There was something in the man's countenance, as well as in the murderous attempt, to confirm the idea; for Camarga's agitation was singular and extreme, and he seemed unable to answer a word.
"Who art thou?" continued Juan angrily, impressed with the certainty that he had seen the face of the assailant before, yet without knowing when or where. "Confess thyself straight, or I will have thee to the Alguazil, and see the friar's frock scourged from thy base body!"
However eager and foreboding the young man's curiosity, it was doomed to be disappointed by a new interruption. While he yet spoke, he was alarmed by a sudden discharge of firearms, followed by shrieks and cries, at the bottom of the garden; and presently the whole solitude was transformed into a scene of tumult and uproar. Lights were seen flashing among the trees, and men were heard running confusedly to and fro, calling to one another.
The last word had hardly parted from his lips, before the boughs crashed on the opposite side of the pool, and a new actor was suddenly added to the scene.
As the bushes parted, a tall figure sprang into the path, and running round the pool, would instantly have been at the side of the two Castilians, who were yet unobserved, had it not been that Befo, his ferocity greatly whetted by his former encounter, darted forward as at first, with a sudden roar, with equal violence, and with similar success. As the stranger fell to the earth under an attack so impetuous and unexpected, he uttered an exclamation in which Juan recognized the language of Mexico. He ran forwards, guided by the growls of the beast and the stifled cries of the man, (for the spot on which the two contended was covered with impenetrable gloom,) and, by accident, caught the stranger's arm, and felt that it wielded a heavy macana, now uplifted against the animal. As his other hand was stretched forward, again to remove the victorious Befo from a fallen antagonist, it fell upon the naked breast of a barbarian.—In a moment more, he had torn the dog away, and dragged the savage into the moonshine, where he had left Camarga standing, but where Camarga stood no longer. He had fled away in the confusion, unobserved, and now almost forgotten.
Here Juan released the captive from his powerful grasp, for his rapier was in his hand, and the macana of the Mexican he had already cast into the pool; and thus standing, confiding as much in the aid of Befo as in the menacing attitude of his weapon, he began to address his prisoner.
"What art thou?" he demanded, in the tongue which, as he had boasted, was almost as familiar to him as the language of Spain: "What art thou? and what dost thou here?"
Instead of answering, the Mexican, gazing over his conqueror's shoulder, seemed to survey, with looks of admiration and alarm, some spectacle behind his back. Juan cast his eye in the direction thus indicated, and beheld the visage of Magdalena, recalled by the tumult, gleaming hard by. In an instant more, she had vanished, and he turned again to the captive, who, when the vision, to him so inexplicable, had faded away, now directed his attention to an object equally surprising and much more formidable in his estimation than even the redoubtable Juan. As he rolled his eyes, in mingled wonder, trepidation, and anger, on the huge Befo, who now stood regarding him, writhing his lips and showing his tusks, in the manner with which he was wont so expressively to intimate his readiness to obey any signal of attack, Juan had full leisure to observe that the Indian was a young man not above twenty-three or twenty-four years old, of good and manly stature, and limbs nobly proportioned. His only garments were a tunic and mantle of some dark-coloured stuff, but little ornamented, the former extending from the waist to the knees, the latter, knotted, as usual, about his throat, but so disordered and torn by the teeth of the dog, as to leave the upper part of his body nearly naked. His only defensive armour was a little round buckler of the skin of thedantaor tapir, not exceeding fourteen inches in diameter, strapped to his left arm. The loss of the macana had left him without any offensive weapon. As he raised his head at the second salutation of his capturer, he flung back the long masses of black hair from his forehead, and displayed a visage, as well, at least, as it could be seen in the moonlight, not unworthy his manly person.
"Olin, the tongue of the Teuctli, is a prisoner."
As he pronounced these words, in his own language, signifying that he was an orator of his high class, and that he confessed himself a captive, he touched the earth with his hand and kissed it, in token of submission. The tones of his voice caused Juan to start.
He dropped his sword-point, advanced nearer to him, and perused his features with intense curiosity. His gaze was returned with a look of equal surprise, which betrayed a touch of fear; for the Mexican at once exclaimed, withdrawing a step backward,
"The Great Eagle fell among the archers of Matlatzinco!"
"The king is not wise—Guatimozin is in the hands of Cortes!" said Juan, with deep earnestness.
"Olin is the orator—the king is wise," replied the Indian, hastily.
"It is in vain," said Juan. "Thou art Guatimozin! and a captive, too, ere a blow has been struck, in the camp of thy foeman! Is this an end for the king of Mexico?"
"Quauhtimozin can die: there are other kings for the free warriors of Tenochtitlan," replied the young monarch, boldly and haughtily, avowing his name,—which is here given in its original and genuine harshness, that the reader may be made acquainted with it; though it is not intended to substitute it for its more agreeable and familiar corruption: "Guatimozin is a prisoner," he continued, with a firm voice and lofty demeanour, "but the king of Mexico is free.—When did the Great Eagle become the foe of Guatimozin?"
"I am not thy foe," replied Juan, "but thy friend; so far, at least, as it becomes a Christian and Spaniard to be. I lament to see thee in this place—I am not thy foe."
"Raise then thy weapon," said the prince, dropping his haughty manner and ceremonious style, and speaking, as he laid his hand on Juan's arm, with fierce emotion; "strike me through the neck, and cast my body into the pool.—It is not fit that Guatimozin should wear the bonds of Montezuma!"
It must not be supposed that this conversation took place in quiet. During the whole time, on the contrary, the garden continued to resound with the voices of men running from copse to copse, from alley to alley, sometimes drawing nigh, and, at other moments, appearing to be removed to the furthest limits of the grounds. At the moment when the Mexican made his abrupt and insane appeal to the friendship of his capturer, a party of Spaniards rushed by at so short a distance and with so much clamour, that he had good reason to conceive himself almost already in their hands. They passed by, however, and with them fled a portion of Juan's embarrassment. As soon as he perceived they were beyond hearing, he replied:
"This were to be thy foe indeed. But, oh, unwise and imprudent! what tempted thee to this mad confidence?"
"The craft of Malintzin," replied the Mexican, making use of a name which his people had long since attached to Cortes,—"the craft of Malintzin, who ensnares his foe like the wild Ottomi, hidden among the reeds;—he scatters the sweet berry on the lake, and steals upon the feeding sheldrake; so steals Malintzin. He sends words of peace to the foe afar; when the foe is asleep, Malintzin is a tiger!"
"And thou hast been deceived by these perfidious and unworthy arts?" said Juan, the innuendoes of Villafana and the monitions of Magdalena, recurring to his mind with painful force.
"Deceived and trapped!" replied the infidel, with fierce indignation; "cajoled by lies, circumvented by treachery, seduced and betrayed!—Is the Great Eagle like Malintzin?" As he spoke thus, sinking his voice, which was indeed all the time cautiously subdued, he again laid his hand on the young Christian's arm, and continued,
"Art thou such a man, and dost thou desire the blood of thy friend? What shall be said to the littleCentzontli, the mocking-bird? The little Centzontli sang the song to Guatimozin, 'Let not the Great Eagle die in the trap!' What sings she now? Does the Great Eagle listen to the little Centzontli?"
"He does," replied Juan, on whom these metaphors, however mysterious they may seem to the reader, produced a strong impression. "Thou artmyprisoner, not Don Hernan's; and it rests with me to liberate or to bind, not with him. Answer me, therefore, truly; for if thou hast been trained by treachery into this present danger, coming with thoughts of peace and composition, and not with an army, to surprise and slay, thou shalt be made free, even though the act cost me my life."
"I come in peace: does the leader of an army walk bareheaded and naked? My canoe lies hid among the reeds: my warriors are asleep on the island. The Christian sent for a lord of the city, to give his hand to the angry men of Tlascala. Guatimozin is not the king, but he brought them the hand of the king.—It was the lie of Malintzin! I am betrayed!"
"If I suffer thee to depart," said Juan, anxiously, "canst thou make good thy escape?"
"Is not Guatimozin a soldier?" replied the Mexican, with a gleaming eye. "Give me a sword, and hold fast the Christian tiger."—
"Hark!—peace!" whispered Juan, drawing the prisoner suddenly among the boughs: "we are beset. Hist, Befo, hist!"
With a degree of uneasiness, which approached almost to fear, when he found that Befo, instead of following him into his concealment, remained out upon the illuminated path, where he attracted notice, while expressing fidelity, by setting up an audible growl, Juan heard a man crash through the boughs on the further side of the pool, all the while calling loudly and cheerily to his companions.
"Hither, knaves!" he cried; "the fox is in cover! Hither! quick, hither!"
It was the voice of Guzman. He had caught the growl of the dog, and responded with a shout of triumph, as he ran forward, closely followed by three or four soldiers armed with spears;
"The bloodhound for ever! he has the fox in his mouth, I know by his growling!—Hah, Befo, fool?" he continued, when he had reached the animal; "art thou baying the moon then?—Pass on, pass on: no Indian passes scotfree by Befo at midnight—Pass on, pass on!"
In a moment more, the nook was left to its solitude, and Juan reappeared, with the prince. The sight and voice of Guzman had stirred up his wrath, and he took his measures with a quicker and sterner resolution.
"He protects and loves this man, who is a villain," he muttered through his teeth. "There is nothing else left. Follow me prince: if we are seen, thy fate is not more certain than mine—Follow me in silence."
The garden was still alive with men; they could be seen running about in different directions, though the greatest numbers seemed to be collected at the bottom, near to the lake side. It was not from this circumstance, however, so much as from his ignorance of every portion of the grounds except that by which he had approached the pool, that he bent his steps towards the wing of the palace he had so lately left. He advanced cautiously, taking advantage of every clump of trees, which could afford concealment from any passing group; and once or twice, to allay suspicion, adding his voice to those of the others, as if engaged in the same duty; in which latter stratagem he was ably seconded by the unconscious Befo, whose bark, excited by the shout of his master, was a sufficient warrant to all within hearing, of the friendly character of the party.
Thus assisted by the undesigned help of the dog, and by the imitative caution of the Mexican, he succeeded in reaching the wing of the palace, and the passage that led to his chamber, which was illumined by torches of resinous wood. A door, leading to the open square that surrounded the palace, opened opposite to that by which he entered from the garden. It was his intention, if possible, to pass through this into the city, not doubting that it would be easy to conceal the fugitive among the thousand barbarians of his own colour and appearance, who yet thronged the streets; after which, it would not perhaps be impracticable to find some way to discharge him from the gates. But, unfortunately, as he pressed towards it, he found the outer door beset by armed men, thronging tumultuously in, as if to join their comrades in the garden. There was nothing left him, then, but to seek his apartment, as hastily as he could, and there conceal the Mexican until the heat of pursuit was over. A motion of his hand apprized the fugitive of his change of purpose, and Guatimozin, darting quickly forward, was already stealing into the chamber, when a harsh voice suddenly bawled behind,
"Mutiny and miracles! here runs the rat with the viper! Treason, treason!"
It was the hunchback Najara, whose quick eye detected the vanishing hair, and who now ran forward in pursuit, followed by a confused throng of soldiers, from among whom suddenly darted the cavalier Don Francisco de Guzman.
Juan had reached the door. The cry of Najara assured him that he was discovered; and conscious that his act of generosity was, or of right ought to be, considered little better than sheer treason, the varied passions of hope, grief, indignation and wrath, which had been, the whole evening, chasing one another through his bosom, gave place at once to the single feeling of despair. He felt that he was now lost.
At this very moment, while his brain was confused, and his heart dying within him, a laugh sounded in his ear, and he heard, even above the clamorous shouts of the soldiers, the voice of Guzman, exclaiming,
"What think'st thounow, señor? Art thou conquered?—Stand! I arrest thee."
He turned; the cavalier was within reach of his arm, and the malignant sneer was yet writhing over his visage. The words of scorn, the look of exultation, were intolerable; the rapier was already naked in his hand, and almost before he was himself aware of the act, it was aimed, with a deadly lunge, at Don Francisco's throat.
"The deed has slain thee!" cried Guzman, leaping backwards, so as to avoid a thrust too fiercely sudden to be parried, and then again rushing forward, before he could be supported by the soldiers, who had also recoiled at this show of resistance; "the act has slain thee; and so take the fate thou art seeking!"
As he spoke, he advanced his weapon, which was before unsheathed, against an adversary, whom the recollection of a thousand wrongs had inflamed to frenzy, but who could scarcely be supposed to have retained, during a year of servitude and suffering, the skill in arms, which once made him an equal antagonist. Nevertheless, Guzman's pass was turned aside, and returned with such interest, that, had the field been fair and unincumbered, it is questionable how long he might have lived to repeat it. As it was, the combat was cut short by the interposition of the bloodhound, who, whining, at first, as if unwilling to attack a cavalier so long and so well known as Don Francisco, and yet unable to remain neuter, at last added his fierce yell to the clash of the weapons, and decided the battle by springing against Guzman's breast. It was perhaps fortunate for the cavalier that he did. He had a breastplate on; and, for this reason, Juan aimed the few blows that were made, full at his throat, with the fatal determination of one, who, hopeless of life himself, had sworn a vow to his soul that his enemy should die. It was but the third thrust he had made, (they had scarce occupied so many seconds,) and it was directed with such irresistible skill and violence, that the point of the weapon was already gliding through Guzman's beard and razing his skin, when the weight of Befo's assault, for the third time successful, hurled him from his feet, and thus saved his life, at the expense of a severe gash made through his right cheek and ear.
The whole of this encounter, from the first attack to the fall of Guzman, had not occupied the space of twenty seconds; and Don Francisco was at the mercy of his rival, before even the rapid Najara could advance a spear to protect him. It was not improbable that Juan would have taken a deadly advantage of the mishap, for, as he had declared, in a cooler moment, he hated Don Francisco, and his blood was now boiling. If such, however, was his purpose, he was prevented putting it into execution by another one of those opposing accidents, which seemed this night, to pursue him with such unrelenting rigour.
Before he could advance a single step, a cavalier, bareheaded and unarmed, save that he flourished a naked sword, sprang from the throng of soldiers, followed by the señor Camarga, now without his masking habit, the latter of whom cried with fierce emphasis, all the time, "Kill him! cut him down! kill him!" until the soldiers caught up the cry, and the whole passage echoed with their furious exclamations. These served but the end of still further exasperating the choler of the young man, thus beset as it seemed by the tyranny of numbers; and seeing the bareheaded cavalier advancing against him, and already betwixt him and his fallen rival, he turned upon him with fresh fury.
"Hah!" cried the new antagonist, when Juan's weapon clashed against his own; "traitor! dost thou provoke thy fate?"
The words were not out of his lips, before Juan perceived that he had raised his rapier against the bosom of Cortes. He beheld, in the countenance which he had once loved, the scowl of an evil spirit, and the fire flashing from the general's eyes, was no longer to be mistaken for aught but the revelation of the deadliest hatred. He flung down his sword, resisting no longer, and the next instant would have been run through the body, but that Befo, fearing to attack, and yet unable to resist the impulse of fidelity, sprang up, with a howl, and seized the weapon with his teeth. Before Cortes could disengage it, and again turn it upon the unfortunate youth, the Mexican fugitive glided from the apartment, threw himself before the latter, and taking the point of the weapon in his hand, placed it against his own naked breast. Then bowing his head submissively, he stood in tranquillity, expecting his death.
At his sudden appearance, the soldiers set up a shout, and Cortes was sufficiently diverted from his bloody purpose, to smooth his frowning brow into an air of official sternness.
"Olin is the prisoner of the Teuctli," murmured the captive, in words scarce understood by any one present, except Juan.
"Where bide mine Alguazils?" demanded the Captain-General, without condescending to notice the Mexican any further than merely by removing the rapier from his grasp. "Hah, Guzman! thou art hurt, art thou? By heaven,"—But he checked the oath, when he observed that Guzman, already on his feet, notwithstanding the frightful appearance that was given him by the blood running down his cheek and neck, and drippling slowly from his beard, replied to the exclamation with a smile of peculiar coolness: "Get thee to a surgeon. Where bide the Alguazils? Is there no officer to rid me of a traitor?"
"Señor General," said Juan, sullenly, "I am no traitor—"
He was interrupted by the appearance of two men, carrying batons, who bustled from among the crowd, and laid hands upon him. The readiest and the most officious was Villafana, who concealed a vast deal of agitation under an air of extravagant zeal.
"Ha, Villafana! art thou found at last?" cried Don Hernan, with apparent anger. "Hast thou no better care of thy ward on the water-side, but that spies may come stealing into my garden?"
"May it please your excellency," said Villafana, recovering his wit, "I was neither gambling nor asleep; but—'Slid, this is a pretty piece of villany! Oho, señor mutineer, this is hanging-work?—Speak not a word, as you love life."—This was spoken apart into Juan's ear.—"What is your excellency's will, touching the prisoner?"
"Have him to prison, and see that he escape not."
These words were pronounced with a coolness and gravity that amazed all who had witnessed the rage, which, but a moment before, had shaken the frame of the Captain-General. "And you, ye idle fellows," he continued, addressing the soldiers, "get you to your quarters, to your watch, or to your beds. Begone.—Why loiter ye, Villafana? Conduct away the prisoner."
Juan raised his eyes once more to the general, and seemed as if he would have spoken; but, confused and bewildered by the extraordinary termination of the drama of the day, chilled by frowns, oppressed by a consciousness of having provoked his fate, his head sunk in a deep dejection on his breast, and he suffered himself to be led silently away.
A gleam of light, such as flares up at night from a decaying brand, just lost in ashes, sprang up in the leader's eyes, as they followed the steps of the unhappy youth, until, passing from that door, which he had so vainly sought to gain with the Mexican, he vanished from sight. Its lustre was hidden from all but the captive, who, maintaining throughout the whole scene, the self-possession, characteristic of all the American race, from the pygmies of the Frozen Sea to the giants of Patagonia, did not lose the opportunity thus afforded, of diving into the thoughts of the Invader.
As soon as Juan Lerma had departed, with the mass of the soldiers, Cortes turned to the Mexican, and with a mild countenance, and a gentle voice, which were designed to convey the proper interpretation of his Castilian speech, said,
"Let my young friend, the Tlatoani, be at peace, and fear not; no harm is designed him."
Then, making a signal to those who remained, to lead the captive after him, he passed into the garden, and thence, by a private entrance, into the hall of audience.
It has been already mentioned, that the person of Guatimozin was familiar to few, or none, of the Spaniards. Intensely and consistently hostile to the invaders, from the first moment of their appearance in the Valley, he had ever kept aloof from them, and was one of the few princes of Mexico, whom neither force nor stratagem could reduce to thraldom. His youth, indeed,—his want of authority, (for though of the loftiest birth and the highest military fame, he enjoyed, at first, no independent command or government,) and, hence, his apparent insignificance,—had made the possession of his person of no great consequence; and it was not until he was seen leading the incensed citizens up against the guns of the garrison, and directing the assault which terminated in the life of Montezuma, that he began to be considered an enemy worthy to be feared. Even then, however, he was but one among the warlike followers of Cuitlahuatzin,—the successor of Montezuma,—and on the famous battle-field of Otumba, he fought only as a second in command. But from that time until the present moment, his name was constantly before the Spaniards, first as the king of Iztapalapan, then as a leader among those royal warriors, sent forth by Cuitlahuatzin, now to annoy the Spaniards, even among their fortresses on the borders of Tlascala, and now to chastise those rebellious tribes which were daily acknowledging allegiance to the Spaniard, and preparing to march with him against Tenochtitlan.
The death of Cuitlahuatzin had suddenly exposed him to view as the probable successor to the imperial dignity; and the act of the royal electors, (the kings of Mexico were chosen by the crowned vassals of the empire,) in bestowing the mantle and sceptre, had left nothing to be done to confirm his authority, save a solemn inauguration on the day of an august religious and national festival.
He had thus assumed the attitude which Montezuma had once preserved in the eyes of the Conquistador; and it was as much the policy of Cortes to attempt the acts of delusion with him, as it had been with his predecessor. The craftier and haughtier Guatimozin had, however, rejected his overtures with disdain; and, justly appreciating the character and designs of his enemy, he prepared for war as the only alternative of slavery. He had already concentrated in his city, and in the neighbouring towns, the whole martial force of the tribes yet valiant and faithful; he had laboured, with an address that was not always ineffectual, to regain the false and rebellious; and, rising above the weakness of national resentments, he had even striven to unite his hereditary foes in a league of resistance against the stranger, who, whether frowning or smiling, whether courting with friendship, or subduing with arms, was yet, and equally, the enemy of all.
Enough has been said to explain the purpose for which he so rashly threw himself into the power of the Conqueror. The certain assurance of disaffection in the invader's camp, not only among the allies, but among the Spaniards themselves, was enough to fire his heart with the desire of employing against Don Hernan a weapon which his foe had used so fatally against him; and, besides, the opportunity of detaching the Tlascalans from the Spanish interest, was too captivating to be rejected. These were advantages to be investigated and promoted by himself, rather than by agents; and, confiding in his enemies' ignorance of his person, in his cunning, and in the interested fidelity of traitors, who had already grasped at bribes, and were eager to be better acquainted with his bounty, he did not scruple to direct his midnight skiff among the reeds on the lakeside, and, in the guise of a mere noble, trust himself alone in their power.
If the reader desire to know what could induce any of the followers of Cortes to treat thus perfidiously with the infidel enemy whose wealth was promised as the certain guerdon of war, he may be answered almost in a word. Thedangersof the war were manifold and obvious to all, and the horrors of the five days' battles in the streets of Mexico, and more than all, the calamities of the midnight retreat, had given such a foretaste of what might be expected from a prosecution of the campaign, that full half the army looked forward to it with equal terror and repugnance. A majority of those who survived the Noche Triste, were followers of the unfortunate Narvaez, and some of them yet friendly to the deceived Velasquez. They remained with Cortes upon compulsion, and they hated him not only for their inability to return to their peaceable farms among the islands, for past calamities, and coming misfortunes, but for the superior favours showered so liberally, and indeed so naturally, upon those who had been his original, and were yet his faithful, adherents. In a word, they regarded the reduction of the Mexican empire as hopeless, and their own fate, if they remained, as already written in characters of blood. The bolder scowled and complained, the feeble and the crafty dissembled, but evil thoughts and fierce resolutions were common to all. They burned to be released from what was to them intolerable bondage, and the means were not to be questioned, even though they might involve connivance and collusion with the foe. But such collusion was by no means known, nor even suspected, by any save the few desperadoes who had risen to the bad eminence of leaders. Even Villafana was ignorant of the true character of his guest, and esteemed him to be only what he represented himself,—Olin, the young noble, an orator, counsellor, and confidential agent of Guatimozin. It was not possible for the Captain-General to regard him in any other light.
Whatever may have been the young monarch's thoughts, his secret misgivings and self-reproaches, as he strode, closely environed by cavaliers, into the great hall, now dimly lighted by tapers of vegetable wax and torches of fragrant wood, they were exposed by no agitation of countenance or hesitation of step; and when Cortes ascended the platform to his seat, and turned his penetrating eye upon him, he preserved an air of the most fearless tranquillity. For the space of several moments, the general regarded him in silence; then commanding all to leave the apartment, excepting Sandoval, Alvarado, and another cavalier who officiated as interpreter, he said to Alvarado, with a mild voice, very strangely contrasted with the rudeness of his words,
"Look into the face of this heathen dog, and tell me if thou knowest him."
Alvarado had been, as the historical reader is aware, left in Mexico, the jailer of Montezuma and the warden of the city, during the absence of Cortes, when he marched against Narvaez. It was supposed, therefore, that Don Pedro was better acquainted with the persons of the principal nobles than any other cavalier. He examined the captive curiously, and at last said, shaking his head,
"Methinks his visage is not unknown; and yet I wot not to whom it belongs. The knave is but a boy. If he be a noble, never trust me but he is one of Guatimozin's making, and therefore not yet of consequence."
At the sound of his own name, the only word distinguishable by the prisoner, Alvarado observed that his brow contracted a little. But this awoke no suspicion.
"Demand of him," said Cortes to the interpreter, "his name, and the purpose of his coming to Tezcuco?"
When this was explained to the Mexican, his brow contracted still further, but rather with inquisitiveness than embarrassment:
"I am Olin-pilli," (that is, Olin the Lord, or Lord Olin,) he replied, "the speaker of wise things to the king, and the mouth of nobles."
He then paused, as if to examine with what degree of belief he was listened to; and being satisfied, from the countenance of Don Hernan, that he was really unknown, he continued, with a more confident tone,
"And I come to the Lord of the East, the Son of the God of Air, to hear the words of his children. Did not the Teuctli send for me?"
"Not I," replied the Captain-General, sternly. "Speaker of wise things, I look into thy heart, and I see thy falsehood. Thou art a spy,—aquimichin,—sent by Guatimozin the king, to speak dark things to the men of Tlascala."
The captive, though somewhat disconcerted, maintained a fearless countenance:
"The Teuctli is the son of the gods, and knows everything," he answered.
"And charged also," continued Cortes, "to whisper in the ears of fools, who send good words to the king, that the king may enrich them with gold. Is not this true, Sir Quimichin?"
"Is not Malintzin the Son of Quetzalcoatl, the White God with a beard, who proclaimed from the Hill of Shouting[10]and from the Speaking Mountain,[11]the coming of his offspring? and shall Olin know more things than Malintzin? Guatimozin thinks, that the Spaniard should not slay his people."
"Wherefore, then, sent he not thee tome?" demanded the Captain-General. "I will listen to his words. It was not wise to send his ambassador to the soldier, when the general sat by, in his tent.—Hearken to me, friend Olin," he continued, with gravity: "Hadst thou brought his discourse to me, thou hadst then been listened to with honour, and dismissed in peace. Art thou a soldier?"
"Olin is a counsellor," replied the Mexican, proudly; "but he has bled in battle."
"And is not Guatimozin a warrior?"
"He is the king of the House of Darts, and he has struck his foe."
"When the lurking Ottomi is found skulking in his camp; when the angry Tlascalan creeps up to his fort; what does Guatimozin then with the prisoner? what says he to the Ottomi? what wills he with the Tlascalan?"
"He binds them to the stone, and they die like the dogs of the altar!" replied the barbarian, with a fierce utterance.
"Thou hast spoken thine own doom," replied Cortes, sternly; "only that, instead of perishing according to thy damnable customs, a sacrifice to spirits accurst, thou shalt have such death as we give to the dogs of Castile. Thou hast crept into my camp, like the spying Ottomi; thou comest with sword and shield, like the bravo of Tlascala; and thou hast addressed thyself to traitors and conspirators, to make them mine enemies. Why then should I not hang thee upon a tree? or why," he continued, with an elevated voice, descending from the platform, and, with a single motion, unsheathing his rapier and aiming it against the captive's breast—"why should I not kill thee, thou cur! upon the spot?"
"I am a Mexican!" replied the young king, rather opposing his body to the expected thrust than seeking to avoid it; "I look upon my death, and I spit upon thee, Spaniard!"
"Hah!" cried Cortes, whose desire was to intimidate, not to slay, and who could not but admire the fearless air of defiance, so boldly assumed by the captive, "thou hast either a true heart, or a penetrating eye.—Fear not; thy life is in my hands, but I design thee no wrong: death were but a just punishment for thy villany, yet I mean not to enforce it. What wilt thou do, if I discharge thee unharmed?"
"I will know," said the barbarian, with a look of surprise, as soon as this was interpreted, "that Malintzin is not always hungry for blood; or rather, I will ask of my thoughts, what mischief to Mexico is meditated in the act of mercy."
"A shrewd knave, i'faith, a shrewd knave!" cried Cortes, admiringly: "by my conscience, this fellow hath somewhat the wit of a Christian politician.—Infidel," he continued, "hearken to what I say. I desire to speak the words of peace with my young brother Guatimozin. Wherefore will he not listen to me?"
"Because his ears are open to the groans of his children," replied the Mexican, promptly. "When Malintzin smiles, the brand hisses on the flesh of the prisoner; when he talks of peace, the great warhorse paws the breast of the dead. Let this thing be not, let his insurgent subjects be sent to their villages, and Guatimozin will listen to the Teuctli."
"He has slain my ambassadors," said Cortes.
"Shall the slave say to his master, 'I am the bondman of another,' and laugh in the king's face? Let Malintzin send a Christian to Guatimozin. I will row him in my skiff, and he shall return unharmed."
"What thinkest thou ofthis? I will send him such an envoy, and thou shalt remain a hostage in his place. What will be said to him by the king of Mexico?"
"This," replied the captive, without a moment's hesitation: "The Christian is in Mexico, and Olin-pilli in the prisons of Malintzin: let the Christian therefore die."
"Ay, by my conscience, he speaks well," said Cortes. "But were friendship offered, and twenty thousand hostages left behind, I should like to know what Spaniard of us all would perform the pilgrimage? There is butone.—But that is naught. By heaven and St. John, we will think of other things! we will think of other things!—Is it not death by the decree?"
"Señor!" cried Alvarado in surprise. Cortes started.—In the moment of entranced thought, he had stridden away from the group to some distance, and, he now perceived, they were gazing at him with wonder.
"We will entrust this thing to him, then, as I said," he cried, hurriedly, "and he shall return with the misbeliever's answer. We have no other choice. What think ye of it, my masters?"
"Ofwhat?" said Alvarado, bluntly: "You have said nothing. By'r lady, and with reverence to your excellency, you are dreaming!"
"Pho!" cried the Captain-General, "did I not speak it? Our thoughts sometimes sound in our ears, like words. This is the philosophy of the marvel: Hast thou never, when thine eyes were shut, yet beheld in them the objects of which thou wert thinking? If thou couldst think music, never believe me but thou wouldst also hear it.—This, then, is the thought which I forgot to utter: I will give this dog his freedom, and, for lack of a better, make him my envoy to Guatimozin. If he return, it will be well; if not, we are left where we were; and we can hang him hereafter."
"Let us first know," said Sandoval, coolly, "by what sort of charm he prevailed on this mad young man, Juan Lerma, to peril limb and life for him, and, what is more, honour too."
"Ay, by my conscience!" said Cortes, hurriedly; "this thing I had forgotten.—He shall die the death! Connive with a spy? conceal him from the pursuers? draw sword upon a cavalier? strike at an officer's life? Were he mine own brother, he should abide his doom. Who will say I wrong himnow?—Hah! what says the dog? How came this thing to pass?"
While Cortes was yet pursuing the subject nearest to his heart, half soliloquizing, the question was asked and answered; and the reply, to Guatimozin's great relief, was received with unexpected belief.
"He was caught by the bloodhound; (An excellent dog, that Befo!)" said Alvarado; "and making his moan to Lerma, (whom heaven take to its rest! for I know not how he can be so brave, and yet an ass,) the young fool fell to his old tricks. When did an Indian ever ask him for pity in vain?—This is his story; it is too natural to be false; yet, Indians are great liars.—But you said something of making this cur your envoy?"
"Ay," replied Cortes: "What sayst thou, Olin, speaker of wise things! wilt thou bear my thoughts to thy master Guatimozin?"
"The lord of Tenochtitlan shall hear them," said Guatimozin, his eyes gleaming with expectation.
"And thou wilt return to me with his answer? Swear this upon the cross of my sword; ay, and swear it by thy diabolical gods also."
"Guatimozin shall send back to Malintzin a noble Mexican; or, otherwise, Olin will return. How shall the Mexican noble know that the Teuctli will not take his life?"
"Does that deter you?" said Cortes: "I swear by the cross which I worship, that, come thou or another, or come Guatimozin himself, provided he come to me in peace, and with the king's message, he shall depart in safety, with good-will and with favours such as this."
As he spoke, he took from his own neck, and flung round the Mexican's, a chain of beads, which were neither of diamond, sapphire, nor ruby, but sufficiently resembling each and all, to gratify the vanity of a barbarian. The young king smiled—but it was at the thought of freedom.
"Thou shalt have more such, and richer," said Cortes, misconceiving his joy. "Why is not Olin the friend of Malintzin?"
"Malintzin is a great prince," said the prisoner, softly.
"Is Olin content to be the slave of Guatimozin?" pursued the Captain-General, insidiously. "Will Olin do Malintzin's bidding, and be the king of Chalco?"
"Shall Olin slay Guatimozin?" cried the prisoner, with a gleam of subtle intelligence, and so abruptly, that Cortes was startled.
"Hah! by my conscience!" he cried, "I understand thee: thou art even more knave than I thought thee.—Kill the king indeed? By no means; harm not a hair of his head: we will have no assassination. It is better this young boy should be king than another.—This is a very proper knave. Gentlemen, by your leave, I will bid you good-night: I will see the dog to the water-side. Antonio, do thou walk with us, and explain between us.—A very excellent shrewd villain."
So saying, the Captain-General turned to the door by which he had lately entered, and taking the prisoner's arm, in the most familiar and friendly manner, he stepped forthwith into the garden. The Mexican's flesh crept, when it came in contact with that of the Spaniard; but this, the Spaniard doubted not, was the tribute of awe to his greatness. His voice became yet blander, as, walking onwards towards the lake, he poured into Guatimozin's ear his wishes and instructions.
As they passed by the little pool and its dark enclosure of schinus-trees, the infidel looked towards it anxiously and lingeringly, as if hoping to behold once more the pale and beautiful countenance which had shone upon it.—It lay in deep silence and solitude.
A few moments after, the Mexican had passed through the broken wall, and by the sentries who guarded it, receiving the last instructions of the invader. The next instant he was alone, stalking towards a little green point, where a fringe of reeds and water-lilies shook in the diminutive surges. He cast his eye backward to the two cavaliers, and beheld them pass into the garden. Then, taking the chain of beads from his neck, and rending it with foot and hand, he cast the broken jewels into the lake. A moment after, his light skiff shot from its concealment, and the sound of his paddle startled the droning wild-fowl from their slumbers.