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

The citizen was incapable of speech, and the people cried out, “He is a shame to the heroic god! Off with him, off with him!”

But Hualpa interfered. “No. He still believes Malinche a god. Let him alone! I can use him.” Then he spoke to the merchant. “Hear me, my friend, and I will read. If I err, stop me.”

“Read, read!” went up on all sides.

Hualpa turned to the group as if studying it. Around him fell the silence of keen expectancy.

“Thus writes Huitzil’, greatest of gods, to the children of Anahuac, greatest of peoples!”—so Hualpa began. “‘The strangers in Tenochtitlan are my enemies, and yours, O people. They come to overthrow my altars, and make you a nation of slaves. You have sacrificed and prayed to me, and now I say to you, Arise! Take arms before it is too late. Malinche and his followers are but men. Strike them, and they will die. To convince you that they are not gods, lo! here is one of them dead. So I say, slay them, and everything that owns them master, even the beasts they ride!’—Ho, friend, is not that correct?”

“So I would have read,” said the merchant.

“Praised be Huitzil’!” cried Hualpa, devoutly.

“Live the good god of our fathers! Death to the strangers!” answered the people.

And amid the stir and hum of many voices, the comrade of the ’tzin, listening, heard his words repeated, and passed from man to man; so that he knew his mission done, and that by noon the story of the effigy would be common throughout the city, and in flight over the valley, with his exposition of its meaning accepted and beyond counteraction.

After a while the Chalcan caught his arm, saying, “The smell is dreadful to a cultivated nose sharpened by an empty stomach. Snuff for one, breakfast for the other. Let us go.”

Hualpa followed him.

“Who is he? who is he?” asked the bystanders, eagerly.

“Him! Not know him! It is the brave lad who slew the tiger and saved the king’s life.”

And the answer was to the exposition like an illuminated seal to a royal writ.

Morning advanced, curtained with clouds; and, as the account of the spectacle flew, the multitude in the tianguez increased, until there was not room left for business. All who caught the news hurried to see the sight, and for themselves read the miraculous message of Huitzil’. The clamor of tongues the while was like the clamor of waves, and not singularly; for thus was fought the first great battle,—the battle of the mysteries,—and with this result: if a believer in the divinity of Cortes looked once at the rotting head on the lance, he went away of the ’tzin’s opinion, impatient for war.

About noon a party of Spaniards, footmen, armed and out inspecting the city, entered the square. The multitude daunted them not the least. Talking, sometimes laughing, they sauntered along, peering into the open booths and stalls, and watching with practised eyes for gold.

“Holy mass!” exclaimed one of them, stopping. “The heathen are at sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice, saidst thou? This is their market-place.”

“That as thou wilt. I tell thee they have been at worship. My eyes are not dim as my mother’s, who was past fifty the day we sailed from Cuba,—may the saints preserve her! If they were, yet could I swear that yonder hangs the head of a victim.”

Over the restless crowd they looked at the ghastly object, eager yet uncertain.

“Now I bethink me, the poor wretch who hath suffered the death may have been one of the half-assoilzied sons of Tlascala. If we are in a stronghold of enemies, as I have concluded from the wicked, Carib looks of these savages, Heaven and St. James defend us! We are a score with weapons; in the Mother’s name, let us to the bloody sign!”

The unarmed mass into which, without further consideration, they plunged, was probably awed by the effrontery of the movement, for the leader had not once occasion to shorten his advancing step. Halted before the spectacle, they looked first at the horse, then at the head. Remembrance was faithful: in one, they recognized the remains of a comrade; in the other, his property.

“Arguella, Arguella! Good captain! Santa Maria!” burst from them.

As they gazed, tears of pity and rage filled their eyes, and coursed down their bronzed cheeks.

“Peace!” said the sterner fellow at whose suggestion they had come. “Are ye soldiers, or whimpering women? Do as I bid! Save your tears for Father Bartolomé to mix with masses for the poor fellow’s soul. Look to the infidels! I will take down the head.”

He lowered the lance, and took off the loathsome object.

“We will carry it to the Señor Hernan. It shall have burial, and masses, and a cross. Hands to the horse now! Arguella loved it well; many a day I have seen him comb its mane kindly as if it had been the locks of his sweetheart. Nay, it is too unwieldy. Let it stand, but take the armor. Hug the good sword close. Heaven willing, it shall redden in the carcasses of some of these hounds of hell. Are we ready? To quarters, then! As we go, mark the unbelievers, and cleave the first that lifts a hand or bars the way.”

They reached the old palace in safety. Needless to depict the grief and rage of the Christians at sight of the countenance of the unfortunate Arguella.

CHAPTER III

HOW ILLS OF STATE BECOME ILLS OF SOCIETY

By this time, Io’, the prince, had acquired somewhat of the importance of a man. Thanks to Hualpa, and his own industry, he could hurl a javelin, strike stoutly with a maquahuitl, and boast of skill with the bow. As well he might, he smiled at thought of the maternal care, and from his sisters demanded a treatment due to one of his accomplishments and dignity.

The day after the incidents narrated in the preceding chapter, he entered Tula’s apartment, and requested her to dismiss her attendants.

“Sit down, my brother,” she said, when they were alone. “You look vexed. What has happened?”

Going to a table close by, he commenced despoiling a vase of flowers. She repeated the question.

“I am glad,” he answered, “to find one whom the coming of the strangers has not changed.”

“What now?”

“I have been again and again to see Nenetzin, but she refuses me. Is she sick?”

“Not that I know.”

“Then why is she so provoking?”

“My brother, you know not what it is for a girl to find her lover. Nenetzin has found hers.”

“It is to talk about him I want to see her.”

“You know him! How? when?”

“Do I not see him every day? Is he not my comrade?”

“Your comrade!”

“The lord Hualpa! He came to you once with a message from the ’tzin.”

To a woman, the most interesting stories are those that have to do with the gentle passion. Seeing his mistake, she encouraged it.

“Yes, I remember him. He is both brave and handsome.”

Io’ left the vase, and came to her side. His curiosity was piqued.

“How came you to know he was her lover? He would hardly confess it to me.”

“Yet he did tell you?” she answered, evasively.