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

“Jesu Christo!” exclaimed Cortes, like one surprised. “Whence got ye this idea? Much I fear the Devil is abroad again.” And he began to walk the floor, using long strides, and muttering to himself; retaking his seat, he said,—

“The proposition hath a bold look, soldiers and comrades, and for our lives’ sake requireth careful thought. That we can govern the Empire through Montezuma, I have always held, and with that idea I marched you here, as the cavaliers now present can testify; but the taking and holding him prisoner,—by my conscience! ye out-travel me, and I must have time to think about the business. But, gentlemen,”—turning to the Captains Leon, Ordas, Sandoval, and Alvarado, who, as part of the delegation, had stationed themselves behind him,—“ye have reflected upon the business, and are of made-up minds. Upon two points I would have your judgments: first, can we justify the seizure to his Majesty, the Emperor? secondly, how is the arrest to be accomplished? Speak thou, Sandoval.”

“As thou know’st, Señor Hernan, what I say must be said bluntly, and with little regard for qualifications,” Sandoval replied, lisping. “To me the seizure is a necessity, and as such justifiable to our royal master, himself so good a soldier. I have come to regard the heathen king as faithless, and therefore unworthy, except as an instrument in our hands. I cannot forget how we were cautioned against him in all the lower towns, and how, from all quarters, we were assured he meant to follow the pretended instructions of his god, allow us to enter the capital quietly, then fall upon us without notice and at disadvantage. And now that we are enclosed, he hath only to cut off our supplies of bread and water, and break down the bridges. So, Señor, I avouch that, in my opinion, there is but one question for consideration,—Shall we move against him, or wait until he is ready to move against us? I would rather surprise my enemy than be surprised by him.”

“And what sayest thou, Leon?”

“The good Captain Sandoval hath spoken for me, Señor. I would add, that some of us have to-day noticed that the king’s steward, besides being insolent, hath failed to supply our tables as formerly. And from Aguilar, the interpreter, who hath his news from the Tlascalans, I learn that the Mexicans certainly have some evil plot in progress.”

“And yet further, captain, say for me,” cried Alvarado, impetuously, “that the prince now with us, his name—The fiend take his name!”

“Thou would’st say, the Prince of Tezcuco; never mind his name,” Cortes said, gravely.

“Ay, never mind his name,” Olmedo repeated, with a scarce perceptible gleam of humor. “At the baptism to-morrow I will give him something more Christian.”

“As ye will, as ye will!” Alvarado rejoined, impatiently. “I was about to say, that the Tezcucan averreth most roundly that the yells we heard this afternoon from the temple over the way signified a grand utterance from the god of war; and of opinion that we will now be soon attacked, he refuseth to go into the city again.”

“And thou, Ordas.”

“Señor,” that captain replied, “I am in favor of the seizure. If, as all believe, Montezuma is bent to make war upon us, the best way to meet the danger is to arrest him in time. The question, simply stated, is, his liberty or our lives. Moreover, I want an end to the uncertainty that so vexeth us night and day; worse, by far, than any battle the heathen can offer.”

Cortes played with the knot of his sword, and reflected.

“Such, then, is the judgment of the army,” he finally said. “And such, gentlemen, is mine, also. But is that enough? What we do as matter of policy may be approved of man, even our imperial master, of whom I am always regardful; but, as matter of conscience, the approval of Heaven must be looked for. Stand out, Father Bartolomé! Upon thy brow is the finger of St. Peter, at thy girdle the cross of Christ. What saith the Church?”

The good man arose, and held out the cross, saying,—

“My children, upon the Church, by Christ himself, this solemn hest hath been placed, good for all places, to be parted from never: ‘Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature.’ The way hither hath been through strange seas and deadly climates. Hear me, that ye may know yourselves. Ye are the swords of the Church. In Cempoalla she preached; so in Tlascala; so in Cholula; and in all, she cast out false gods, and converted whole tribes. Only in this city hath the gospel not been proclaimed. And why? Because of a king who to-day, almost in our view, sacrificed men to his idols. Swords of the Church, which go before to make smooth her path, Christ and the Holy Mother must be taught in yon temple of sin. So saith the Church!”

There was much crossing of forehead and breast, and “Amen,” and the sweet name “Ave Maria” sounded through the chamber, not in the murmur of a cathedral response, but outspokenly as became the swords of Christ. The sensation was hardly done, when some one at the door called loudly for Alvarado.

“Who is he that so calleth?” the captain asked, angrily. “Let him choose another time.”

The name was repeated more loudly.

“Tell the mouther to seek me to-morrow.”

A third time the captain was called.

“May the Devil fly away with the fellow! I will not go.”

“Bid the man enter,” said Cortes. “The disturbance is strange.”

A soldier appeared, whom Alvarado, still angry, addressed, “How now? Dost thou take me for a kitchen girl, apprenticed to answer thee at all times? What hast thou? Be brief. This goodly company waiteth.”

“I crave thy pardon, captain. I crave pardon of the company,” the soldier answered, saluting Cortes. “I am on duty at the main gate. A little while ago, a woman—”

“Picaro!” cried Alvarado, contemptuously. “Only a woman!”

“Peace, captain! Let the man proceed,” said Cortes, whose habit it was to hear his common soldiers gravely.

“As I was about saying, Señor, a woman came running to the gate. She was challenged. I could not understand her, and she was much scared, for behind her on the street was a party that seemed to have been in pursuit. She cried, and pressed for admittance. My order is strict,—Admit no one after the evening gun. While I was trying to make her understand me, some arrows were shot by the party outside, and one passed through her arm. She then flung herself on the pavement, and gave me this cross, and said ‘Tonatiah, Tonatiah!’ As that is what the people call thee, Señor Alvarado, I judged she wanted it given to thee for some purpose. The shooting at her made me think that possibly the business might be of importance. If I am mistaken, I again pray pardon. Here is the cross. Shall I admit the woman?”

Alvarado took the cross, and looked at it once.

“By the saints! my mother’s gift to me, and mine to the princess Nenetzin.” Of the soldier he asked, in a suppressed voice, “Is the woman old or young?”

“A girl, little more than a child.”

“’Tis she! Mother of Christ, ’tis Nenetzin!”

And through the company, without apology, he rushed. The soldier saluted, and followed him.

“To the gate, Sandoval! See the rest of this affair, and report,” said Cortes, quietly. “We will stay the business until you return.”

CHAPTER IX.

TRULY WONDERFUL.—A FORTUNATE MAN HATH A MEMORY

Two canoes, tied to the strand, attested that the royal party, and Io’ and Hualpa, were yet at Chapultepec, which was no doubt as pleasant at night, seen of all the stars, as in the day, kissed by the softest of tropical suns.

That the lord Hualpa should linger there was most natural. Raised, almost as one is transported in dreams, from hunting to warriorship; from that again to riches and nobility; so lately contented, though at peril of life, to look from afar at the house in which the princess Nenetzin slept; now her betrothed, and so pronounced by the great king himself,—what wonder that he loitered at the palace? Yet it was not late,—in fact, on the horizon still shone the tint, the last and faintest of the day,—when he and Io’ came out, and, arm in arm, took their way down the hill to the landing. What betides the lover? Is the mistress coy? Or runs he away at call of some grim duty?

Out of the high gate, down the terraced descent, past the avenue of ghostly cypresses, until their sandals struck the white shells of the landing, they silently went.

“Is it not well with you, my brother?” asked the prince, stopping where the boats, in keeping of their crews, were lying.

“Thank you for that word,” Hualpa replied. “It is better even than comrade. Well with me? I look my fortune in the face, and am dumb. If I should belie expectation, if I should fall from such a height! O Mother of the World, save me from that! I would rather die!”

“But you will not fail,” said Io’, sympathetically.

“The gods keep the future; they only know. The thought came to me as I sat at the feet of Tula and Nenetzin,—came to me like a taste of bitter in a cup of sweets. Close after followed another even stronger,—how could I be so happy, and our comrade over the lake so miserable? We know how he has hoped and worked and lived for what the morrow is to bring: shall he not be notified even of its nearness? You have heard the sound of the war-drum: what is it like?”

“Like the roll of thunder.”

“Well, when the thunder crosses the lake, and strikes his ear, saying, ‘Up, the war is here!’ he will come to the door, and down to the water’s edge; there he must stop; and as he looks wistfully to the city, and strains his ear to catch the notes of the combat, will he not ask for us, and, accuse us of forgetfulness? Rather than that, O my brother, let my fortune all go back to its giver.”

“I understand you now,” said the prince, softly.

“Yes,” Hualpa continued, “I am to be at the temple by the break of day; but the night is mine, and I will go to the ’tzin, my first friend, of Anahuac the soul, as Nenetzin is the flower.”

“And I will go with you.”

“No, you cannot. You have not permission. So farewell.”

“Until to-morrow,” said Io’.

“In the temple,” answered Hualpa.