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

“Let me be sure I understand you, father. What do you offer me?” asked the ’tzin, quietly.

“Escape from the wrath,” replied Mualox.

“And what is required of me?”

“To stay here, and, with me, serve his altar.”

“Is the king also to be saved?”

“Surely; he is already a servant of the god’s.”

Under his gown the ’tzin’s heart beat quicker, for the question and answer were close upon the fear newly come to him, as I have said; yet, to leave the point unguarded in the paba’s mind, he asked,—

“And the people: if I become what you ask, will they be saved?”

“No. They have forgotten Quetzal’ utterly.”

“When the king became your fellow-servant, father, made he no terms for his dependants, for the nation, for his family?”

“None.”

Guatamozin dropped the hood upon his shoulders, and looked at Mualox sternly and steadily; and between them ensued one of those struggles of spirit against spirit in which glances are as glittering swords, and the will holds the place of skill.

“Father,” he said, at length, “I have been accustomed to love and obey you. I thought you good and wise, and conversant with things divine, and that one so faithful to his god must be as faithful to his country; for to me, love of one is love of the other. But now I know you better. You tell me that Quetzal’ has come, and for vengeance; and that, in the fire of his wrath, the nation will be destroyed; yet you exult, and endeavor to speed the day by prayer. And now, too, I understand the destiny you had in store for me. By hiding in this gown, and becoming a priest at your altar, I was to escape the universal death. What the king did, I was to do. Hear me now: I cut myself loose from you. With my own eyes I look into the future. I spurn the destiny, and for myself will carve out a better one by saving or perishing with my race. No more waiting on others! no more weakness! I will go hence and strike—”

“Whom?” asked Mualox, impulsively. “The king and the god?”

“He is not my god,” said the ’tzin, interrupting him in turn. “The enemy of my race is my enemy, whether he be king or god. As for Montezuma,”—at the name his voice and manner changed,—“I will go humbly, and, from the dust into which he flung them, pick up his royal duties. Alas! no other can. Cuitlahua is a prisoner; so is Cacama; and in the court-yard yonder, cold in death, lie the lords who might with them contest the crown and its tribulations. I alone am left. And as to Quetzal’,—I accept the doom of my country,—into the heart of his divinity I cast my spear! So, farewell, father. As a faithful servant, you cannot bless whom your god has cursed. With you, however, be all the peace and safety that abide here. Farewell.”

“Go not, go not!” cried Mualox, as the ’tzin, calling to Hualpa, turned his back upon him. “We have been as father and son. I am old. See how sorrow shakes these hands, stretched toward you in love.”

Seeing the appeal was vain, the paba stepped forward and caught the ’tzin’s arm, and said, “I pray you stay,—stay. The destiny follows Quetzal’, and is close at hand, and brings in its arms the throne.”

Neither the tempter nor the temptation moved the ’tzin; he called Hualpa again; then the holy man let go his arm, and said, sadly, “Go thy way,—one scoffer more! Or, if you stay, hear of what the god will accuse you, so that, when your calamity comes, as come it will, you may not accuse him.”

“I will hear.”

“Know, then, O ’tzin, that Quetzal’, the day he landed from Tlapallan, took you in his care; a little later, he caused you to be sent into exile—”

“Your god did that!” exclaimed the ’tzin. “And why?”

“Out of the city there was safety,” replied Mualox, sententiously; in a moment, he continued, “Such, I say, was the beginning. Attend to what has followed. After Montezuma went to dwell with the strangers, the king of Tezcuco revolted, and drew after him the lords of Iztapalapan, Tlacopan, and others; to-day they are prisoners, while you are free. Next, aided by Tlalac, you planned the rescue of the king by force in the teocallis; for that offence the officers hunted you, and have not given over their quest; but the cells of Quetzal’ are deep and dark; I called you in, and yet you are safe. To-day Quetzal’ appeared amongst the celebrants, and to-night there is mourning throughout the valley, and the city groans under the bloody sorrow; still you are safe. A few days ago, in the old palace of Axaya’, the king assembled his lords, and there he and they became the avowed subjects of a new king, Malinche’s master; since that the people, in their ignorance, have rung the heavens with their curses. You alone escaped that bond; so that, if Montezuma were to join his fathers, asleep in Chapultepec, whom would soldier, priest, and citizen call to the throne? Of the nobles living, how many are free to be king? And of all the empire, how many are there of whom I might say, ‘He forgot not Quetzal’’? One only. And now, O son, ask you of what you will be accused, if you abandon this house and its god? or what will be forfeit, if now you turn your back upon them? Is there a measure for the iniquity of ingratitude? If you go hence for any purpose of war, remember Quetzal’ neither forgets nor forgives; better that you had never been born.”

By this time, Hualpa had joined the party. Resting his hand upon the young man’s shoulder, the ’tzin fixed on Mualox a look severe and steady as his own, and replied,—“Father, a man knows not himself; still less knows he other men; if so, how should I know a being so great as you claim your god to be? Heretofore, I have been contented to see Quetzal’ as you have painted him,—a fair-faced, gentle, loving deity, to whom human sacrifice was especially abhorrent; but what shall I say of him whom you have now given me to study? If he neither forgets nor forgives, wherein is he better than the gods of Mictlan? Hating, as you have said, the sacrifice of one man, he now proposes, you say, not as a process of ages, but at once, by a blow or a breath, to slay a nation numbering millions. When was Huitzil’ so awfully worshipped? He will spare the king, you further say, because he has become his servant; and I can find grace by a like submission. Father,”—and as he spoke the ’tzin’s manner became inexpressibly noble,—“father, who of choice would live to be the last of his race? The destiny brings me a crown: tell me, when your god has glutted himself, where shall I find subjects? Comes he in person or by representative? Am I to be his crowned slave or Malinche’s? Once for all, let Quetzal’ enlarge his doom; it is sweeter than what you call his love. I will go fight; and, if the gods of my fathers—in this hour become dearer and holier than ever—so decree, will die with my people. Again, father, farewell.”

Again the withered hands arose tremulously, and a look of exceeding anguish came to the paba’s help.

“If not for love of me, or of self, or of Quetzal’, then for love of woman, stay.”

Guatamozin turned quickly. “What of her?”

“O ’tzin, the destiny you put aside is hers no less than yours.”

The ’tzin raised higher his princely head, and answered, smiling joyously,—

“Then, father, by whatever charm, or incantation, or virtue of prayer you possess, hasten the destiny,—hasten it, I conjure you. A tomb would be a palace with her, a palace would be a tomb without her.”

And with the smile still upon his face, and the resolution yet in his heart, he again, and for the last time, turned his back upon Mualox.

CHAPTER V

THE CELLS OF QUETZAL’ AGAIN

“A victim! A victim!”

“Hi, hi!”

“Catch him!”

“Stone him!”

“Kill him!”

So cried a mob, at the time in furious motion up the beautiful street. Numbering hundreds already, it increased momentarily, and howled as only such a monster can. Scarce eighty yards in front ran its game,—Orteguilla, the page.

The boy was in desperate strait. His bonnet, secured by a braid, danced behind him; his short cloak, of purple velvet, a little faded, fluttered as if struggling to burst the throat-loop; his hands were clenched; his face pale with fear and labor. He ran with all his might, often looking back; and as his course was up the street, the old palace of Axaya’ must have been the goal he sought,—a long, long way off for one unused to such exertion and so fiercely pressed. At every backward glance, he cried, in agony of terror, “Help me, O Mother of Christ! By God’s love, help me!” The enemy was gaining upon him.

The lad, as I think I have before remarked, had been detailed by Cortes to attend Montezuma, with whom, as he was handsome and witty, and had soon acquired the Aztecan tongue and uncommon skill at totoloque, he had become an accepted favorite; so that, while useful to the monarch as a servant, he was no less useful to the Christian as a detective. In the course of his service, he had been frequently intrusted with his royal master’s signet, the very highest mark of confidence. Every day he executed errands in the tianguez, and sometimes in even remoter quarters of the city. As a consequence he had come to be quite well known, and to this day nothing harmful or menacing had befallen him, although, as was not hard to discern, the people would have been better satisfied had Maxtla been charged with such duties.

On this occasion,—the day after the interview between the ’tzin and Mualox,—while executing some trifling commission in the market, he became conscious of a change in the demeanor of those whom he met; of courtesies, there were none; he was not once saluted; even the jewellers with whom he dealt viewed him coldly, and asked not a word about the king; yet, unaware of danger, he went to the portico of the Chalcan, and sat awhile, enjoying the shade and the fountain, and listening to the noisy commerce without.

Presently, he heard a din of conchs and attabals, the martial music of the Aztecs. Somewhat startled, and half hidden by the curtains, he looked out, and beheld, coming from the direction of the king’s palace, a procession bearing ensigns and banners of all shapes, designs, and colors.

At the first sound of the music, the people, of whom, as usual, there were great numbers in the tianguez, quitted their occupations, and ran to meet the spectacle, which, without halting, came swiftly down to the Chalcan’s; so that there passed within a few feet of the adventurous page a procession rarely beautiful,—a procession of warriors marching in deep files, each one helmeted, and with a shield at his back, and a banner in his hand,—an army with banners.

At the head, apart from the others, strode a chief whom all eyes followed. Even Orteguilla was impressed with his appearance. He wore a tunic of very brilliant feather-work, the skirt of which fell almost to his knees; from the skirt to the ankles his lower limbs were bare; around the ankles, over the thongs of the sandals, were rings of furbished silver; on his left arm he carried a shield of shining metal, probably brass, its rim fringed with locks of flowing hair, and in the centre the device of an owl, snow-white, and wrought of the plumage of the bird; over his temples, fixed firmly in the golden head-band, there were wings of a parrot, green as emerald, and half spread. He exceeded his followers in stature, which appeared the greater by reason of the long Chinantlan spear in his right hand, used as a staff. To the whole was added an air severely grand; for, as he marched, he looked neither to the right nor left,—apparently too absorbed to notice the people, many of whom even knelt upon his approach. From the cries that saluted the chief, together with the descriptions he had often heard of him, Orteguilla recognized Guatamozin.

The procession wellnigh passed, and the young Spaniard was studying the devices on the ensigns, when a hand was laid upon his shoulder; turning quickly to the intruder, he saw the prince Io’, whom he was in the habit of meeting daily in the audience-chamber of the king. The prince met his smile and pleasantry with a sombre face, and said, coldly,—

“You have been kind to the king, my father; he loves you; on your hand I see his signet; therefore I will serve you. Arise, and begone; stay not a moment. You were never nearer death than now.”

Orteguilla, scarce comprehending, would have questioned him, but the prince spoke on.

“The chiefs who inhabit here are in the procession. Had they found you, Huitzil’ would have had a victim before sunset. Stay not; begone!”

While speaking, Io’ moved to the curtained doorway from which he had just come. “Beware of the people in the square; trust not to the signet. My father is still the king; but the lords and pabas have given his power to another,—him whom you saw pass just now before the banners. In all Anahuac Guatamozin’s word is the law, and that word is—War.” And with that he passed into the house.

The page was a soldier, not so much in strength as experience, and brave from habit; now, however, his heart stood still, and a deadly coldness came over him; his life was in peril. What was to be done?