Munroe Kirk
The White Conquerors: A Tale of Toltec and Aztec

CHAPTER XXI.
A SUPERSTITIOUS KING

While the priests were making their complaints to Montezuma, Cortes and his companions were gazing with fascinated eyes over the incomparable scene outspread on all sides of their lofty observatory. At their feet lay the city, its terraced roofs blooming with flowers, its streets and shining canals intersecting each other at right angles, and the four great avenues, three of which connected with as many causeways leading to the mainland, stretching away in unbroken lines from the four gates of Huitzil's temple. The avenues, streets, squares, and canals were filled with a cheerful activity, and thronged with natives in gay and picturesque costumes. Beyond the clustered buildings of the wide-spread city sparkled the waters of the lake in which it stood, and on its distant shores could be seen other cities, nestling villages, and the white walls of many a tall teocal rising above dark groves. Far across the broad valley the glorious sweep of view was unbroken until it rested on the encircling range of mountains that bounded it on all sides. From these many a frosty peak pierced the blue heavens, and, high over all trailed the smoke banners of Popocatepetl.

Their enjoyment of this enchanting scene was cut short by the king advising Cortes of the sacrilege committed by Sandoval and his followers in ransacking the sacred shrine. He requested that, on account of it, the Spaniards should at once depart, leaving him and the priests to win forgiveness of the gods for the offence, if indeed that were possible. Although Cortes would gladly have seconded Sandoval's blunt proposal to tumble the stony-eyed god down a side of the pyramid, and fling the priests after it, he knew that the time for such heroic measures was not yet come, and so yielded to the request of the king.

The Spaniards, including Sandoval, who was more than ever perplexed and uneasy concerning the disappearance of his friend, had hardly taken their departure before the chief priest advanced toward Montezuma with a smiling face.

"Oh, mighty lord, and lord of lords!" he exclaimed, making a deep obeisance, "know that I have this day secured a victim for Huitzil's altar, the sacrifice of whom will not only banish from the mind of the gods the recent insults of the white zopilotes (vultures), but will restore their favor to thee and thy people. He is no other than that son of Tlahuicol, the Tlascalan, who is the avowed enemy of the gods, and defied their wrath by his sacrilege at Cholula. Ever since I learned of his coming I have had a score of trusty fellows pledged to his capture, and even now he is at hand, in a secret chamber of the shrine, where the prying eyes of the lime-faced strangers failed to discover him. I fear, however, that, by some mysterious power known only to themselves, they have gained a knowledge of his capture, and are secretly in search of him. If it is thy will that he be immediately sacrificed, and his body given to the sacred flame, then will their search be in vain, and the manner of his disappearance will never be known."

"Bring him forth and let him be sacrificed," replied the king. "The times are urgent, and no means for winning back the favor of the gods must be left untried. If it be not speedily restored, then shall king and priest fall together, and the glory of Anahuac pass forever. So hasten and produce thy victim, for I must shortly return to discover what new mischief these insolent invaders may be meditating."

Filled with a savage joy that his revenge was about to be gratified, and pleased to be able to celebrate the coming of the king with so worthy a sacrifice, Topil hastened to the secure hiding-place in which he had left Huetzin. So long was he gone that the king, impatient of waiting, despatched one of the lesser priests to bid him produce his victim without further delay. This messenger returned with the startling information that no trace of either the chief priest or his prisoner was to be found.

With an exclamation of anger, Montezuma himself entered the shrine and made a personal search of every room, closet, nook, and corner of its three stories. Finally he was compelled to admit that, in some mysterious way, and for some unknown reason, Topil had disappeared, leaving no trace of his presence. As even the king knew of no mode of exit from the shrine, save its one visible doorway, he could in no way account for this disappearance. Its mystery filled him with such a superstitious dread of the place that he made haste to leave it, and was borne back to his palace a prey to the most gloomy forebodings.

As the king, refusing the attendance of his nobles, entered his private apartments, he was stupefied with amazement to see, standing before him, holding a bloody human heart in his hand, the figure of Topil, the chief priest. For a few seconds he gazed in motionless terror, then he managed to gasp: "Art thou a spirit or a reality? Speak! I command thee!"

To this Topil answered: "I know not, O king, whether I am truly the one or the other. Hear thou my tale and then judge. When I left thee, but now, on the summit of Huitzil's holy temple, I went to bring forth a prisoner whom I had in safe keeping. Upon entering the place where he had been I found naught save traces of unquenchable fire, such as is used by the gods, and this heart. I was not terror-stricken, nor even greatly surprised, for I have known of other cases in which the gods, impatient of delay, have slain impious victims by means of their own awful weapons. I was only amazed to see that the heart of this sacrifice was left as fresh and whole as though just torn from the living body.

"Lifting it, I instantly observed it to be covered with omens so favorable to thee as have never before been seen in all the years of thy glorious reign. I was about to hasten to thee with the joyful tidings, when I was suddenly enveloped in a whirling cloud of dazzling radiance and borne I know not whither. While in this state I was granted a vision. It was of the white strangers now within thy walls; but they were no longer proud, nor were they victorious. They seemed to be without a leader, and were being driven, like leaves before the wind, by the warriors of Tenochtitlan.

"This being interpreted, O king, means that if thou canst but deprive them of their leader, the accursed strangers shall fall beneath thy sword as falls the brittle chian before the reaper's sickle. Thus, O Montezuma, shall the immortal gods be vindicated and thy kingdom established forever.

"When I awoke from this glorious vision, behold, I was standing here, as thou seest me, with the heart of the son of Tlahuicol in my hand as a proof that I had not dreamed a dream."

Such was the story of Topil, the chief priest, and this was the flimsy argument by which he persuaded Montezuma to embrace the first opportunity for the destruction of the Spanish leader. It was a bold device, and it served to conceal the fact that the son of Tlahuicol had again escaped from the altar. For fear its falsity should be discovered, Topil urged immediate action according to his plan; but Montezuma would only promise that, if possible, it should be carried out on the following day.

When Huetzin found himself respited from immediate sacrifice and thrust into another cage, or cell, his first act was to tear the bandage from his eyes. Although the darkness in which he stood was absolute, and he could see no more than before, his brain seemed to act more clearly now that he was no longer blindfolded. With a new hope springing in his heart, he felt on all sides for traces of a door. If he could only get out he might hide in some recess of the temple, and ultimately effect an escape. Of course the chances were a thousand to one against him, but he would thankfully accept even that poor one. So he felt carefully round and round the rough stone walls, but nothing yielded, and there was no trace of an opening. All at once it flashed into his mind that he had been within the narrow limits of these impenetrable walls before. He was almost certain that he stood in the pedestal of Huitzil's image, and just above the narrow stairway down which Tlalco had conducted him on the occasion of his former escape from the altar of sacrifice.

If it should be! and if he could only discover the secret of the opening leading to the stairway, how gladly would he brave the underground terrors to which it would conduct him, for the sake of its one slender chance of escape! Kneeling on the floor he passed his fingers, again and again, over every inch of its cold surface. The result was the same as had attended his efforts against the walls. He could find no trace of an opening nor of a projection by means of which a trap-door might be raised.

Finally, abandoning himself to despair, the young Toltec flung himself at full length on the floor and beat with his clenched fists upon its stony surface. As he did so, it seemed to sink beneath him with a slight grating sound. There was an upward rush of cool, damp air, and, in an instant, Huetzin was standing at the head of a flight of steps, while above him the ponderous stone door, that had opened for his passage, swung noiselessly back into place.

With a wildly beating heart the fugitive began cautiously to descend the unseen stairway. When midway down the second flight, a sound struck upon his ears that froze the blood in his veins. It came from above, and was that of some person rapidly descending behind him. The chief priest, for it must be he, had discovered his escape and was in hot pursuit, probably accompanied by others, all well-armed, and thirsting for his blood.

Thus thinking, Huetzin listened for an instant to the advancing sounds, and then plunged forward, almost headlong, through the darkness. Down flight after flight of the interminable steps he dashed with reckless haste, often slipping, falling, and rolling, but ever keeping in advance of his pursuers. As he neared the bottom, the horror of the secret door, there to be encountered, fell on him, and he cried aloud in his agony. Like a mocking echo, his cry was repeated from above.

When he reached the bottom of the last flight of steps, and could go no farther, then he would turn and fight to the bitter end. They should never again lay his breathing body on the hideous stone of sacrifice.

Thus Huetzin determined; but when he came to the door, and the pursuing footsteps were close upon him, it stood open. Hardly crediting this wonder, the fugitive sprang through the opening thus miraculously provided, and slammed the heavy door behind him. Then he again ran forward through utter darkness. Feeling for the side passages that he remembered, he at length found and entered one. In this he ran, until suddenly he brought up against a solid wall, where he fell, panting, bruised, and almost unconscious, to the ground.

CHAPTER XXII.
SANDOVAL PLIGHTS HIS TROTH

When Sandoval returned with the others to the Spanish quarters, after leaving the temple, he urged Marina to find out who had sent the message that had despatched him on so fruitless an errand to Huitzil's shrine, and, if possible, what it meant. This Marina was only too glad to undertake; for she, as well as the young Spaniard, was anxious and unhappy concerning the fate of him who had been her patient in Tlascala.

In the meantime Sandoval, visiting the Tlascalan quarters, found the fierce warriors very angry, and inclined to quarrel with some one, on account of the loss of their well-liked young chief. They could form no idea of what had become of him, but declared that if he were not restored to them soon, and in safety, the city that had swallowed him should be made to feel their vengeance. The matter was becoming so serious that it must be reported to Cortes. Upon hearing of it, the Spanish leader declared his intention of immediately visiting the king, and demanding any information he might possess upon the subject. To this end, he summoned Marina to accompany him as interpreter.

The Indian girl had but just discovered the page who had brought her the message, and gained from him the information that it had been sent by one of the court ladies, who was even now walking in the king's gardens, and to whom he would willingly conduct her. As Marina must attend the Conqueror in his audience with the king, she turned the page over to Sandoval, with instructions to lead the young cavalier to the gardens instead of herself, and point the lady out to him.

Then the same party, that had made a tour of the city that morning, set forth for Montezuma's palace. After they had entered its grounds, Sandoval, keeping a tight hold of his page, managed to slip away unnoticed. He was pleasantly conscious that at length he, like other young men whom he had known, was setting forth in search of a romantic adventure. The feeling was an entirely novel one; for the plain-faced young soldier, though expert in the art of war, was awkward of speech, and so diffident that, since his childhood, he had hardly exchanged a dozen words with any woman. Marina was, of course, excepted, but he regarded her more in the light of a fellow-soldier than as a member of the dreaded sex.

He wondered if the woman he was about to see would be old or young, attractive or otherwise. He finally decided that she would be middle-aged, as dark-skinned as were most of the Indian women he had seen, and that she was probably the wife of some court noble, who had let drop a chance expression concerning Don Juan, which she had misunderstood. While thus cogitating, Sandoval was led through a maze of shaded alleys and perfumed shrubberies until he was as bewildered as one without a compass in mid-ocean.

At length, after a long search, he and the page detected the sound of voices; and, as they emerged from behind a dense thicket of laurel, the latter pointed, with a triumphant air, to two female figures pacing slowly along the borders of a miniature lake, and engaged in earnest conversation. One was dark, middle-aged, and stately. She answered so well Sandoval's mental picture of the woman he wished to discover, that he accepted her as such without a question. The other woman appeared to be younger, but he could not see her face.

Unobserved, they walked toward the two women, and Sandoval had already lifted his steel bonnet, preparatory to addressing the elder, when the page, pulling at his arm, pointed to the other, thus intimating that it was she who had sent the morning's message. At that moment, startled by the sound of their footsteps, the younger woman turned upon the young soldier a face more gloriously beautiful than any he had ever seen or dreamed of. It was that of a girl just entering womanhood, and was fair almost to whiteness, but with a dash of carmine glowing on cheeks and lips. The little head bore a wealth of hair that was dark brown, instead of jetty black, as was the case with most Aztec maidens. It was poised like that of a princess, but the great brown eyes were fixed upon Sandoval with a startled, pleading expression that, as he afterward said, pierced him like the keenest of Toledo blades.

So taken aback was he by this sudden apparition of youthful beauty, that the steel bonnet, with which he was prepared to make an elaborate bow, slipped from his hand and fell, with a loud clatter to the marble pavement. It would have rolled into the water had not the page captured and returned it to its owner. At this mishap the girl laughed, just a little rippling laugh, the elder woman bit her lip, and poor Sandoval, the picture of despairing mortification, looked as though about to hide his confusion in flight.

At this juncture the girl put some question to the page. At his answer she became very grave, and again looked appealingly at Sandoval. He, realizing that the time had come when he must either speak or ignominiously retreat, and so become a fit subject for mirth throughout all Mexico, opened his mouth and, after several abortive attempts, blurted out:

"I – that is, señorita, you – ! I believe my brother, Don Juan – ! You have exhibited an interest – May I ask – ? I mean, did you – ?"

Here he paused, recalled by the expression of bewilderment on the girl's face, to the fact that she could not understand a word of what he was saying. She answered him, for all that, speaking so earnestly and with such musical accents, that poor Sandoval was completely bewitched, and, in spite of his ignorance of her meaning, would willingly have undertaken to listen to that sweet voice forever.

As she ended the words whose melody would linger in the ears of the embarrassed and shame-faced young soldier to his dying hour, there came a sound of other and harsher voices. Hearing them, the elder woman caught her companion by the arm and led her hastily away. Ere they disappeared, the girl looked back with a ravishing smile that said, as plainly as words of purest Castilian:

"I do not think you plain or awkward, or ill-favored, for I know you to be as true and brave a knight as ever plighted his troth to a maiden," and, from that moment, in his heart of hearts, was Sandoval's troth pledged.

Now he looked for the page on whom he relied to lead him from this enchanted wilderness. The boy had disappeared, and in his place stood two grinning dwarfs, with huge heads, grotesquely misshapen bodies, and thin, little legs that seemed illy calculated to support them. As Sandoval stared at them they returned his stare with interest, at the same time making diabolical faces and winking maliciously.

When he sternly demanded that they should lead him to the palace, they broke forth with a harsh cackle of laughter and danced about him like hobgoblins. Finally, tormented beyond endurance, he drew his sword as though about to attack them, whereupon they retreated beyond his reach with the lightness of thistledowns, and a speed that showed how little chance he had of capturing them. For an hour or so they amused themselves with impish torments of this young giant. When they at length disappeared, Sandoval found himself, flushed and breathless, standing before a cage of solemn-looking apes, whose appearance was so like that of his recent tormentors, that he could not help laughing in spite of his disgust. Fortunately, he was here discovered by some of the king's animal-keepers, who conducted him to a place from which he could see the Spanish quarters.

While Sandoval was undergoing these various and unique experiences in the royal gardens, Cortes and his companions were admitted to the presence of the king. Not having any reason to expect a visit from them at this hour, he was engaged in giving audience to many distinguished personages; ambassadors from other countries of the Western World, princes of tributary provinces or cities, caciques of recently conquered tribes, generals of his army, and the like, who had petitions to prefer or business to transact that required his personal attention.

Each of these was conducted into the throne-room by young nobles, who acted as ushers, and each, no matter how exalted his rank, was obliged to cover his gorgeous raiment with a robe of coarse nequen, and enter the presence barefooted. Approaching the king with many obeisances, and finally making the sign of servitude by touching first the ground and then his head with his right hand, the petitioner stood with downcast eyes waiting to be addressed before daring to speak. Each, as he was dismissed, retreated backward, and continued to make humble obeisances until he had passed from the room.

After watching this scene for some time with great interest, Cortes stepped forward, and, through his fair interpreter, abruptly demanded what had become of his young chief of Tlascalans.

"He is dead," answered Montezuma, simply, at which Marina staggered as though struck a heavy blow, and was scarcely able to translate the reply to Cortes.

"By whose hand?" demanded the Spanish leader, hotly.

"By the hand of no man, but by that of the gods."

"Where is his body?"

"No trace of it remains. If it were to be found I would deliver it to thee. If he had been slain by mortals they should be given to thee for punishment," replied the king, solemnly.

Nothing more was to be elicited; and, filled with rage, Cortes and his companions hastily departed, to consult as to what mode of revenge they should take, and upon whom.

They were followed, a few minutes later, by Sandoval, who, as he neared the Spanish quarters, was startled by seeing a man running toward him, hotly pursued by a crowd of priests and citizens brandishing weapons, and evidently intent upon taking his life. As he gazed curiously on this scene the young soldier was horror-stricken to recognize, in the well-nigh exhausted fugitive, his adopted brother, Huetzin the Toltec. Drawing his sword and springing forward with a loud cry, he succeeded in checking the pursuit long enough to enable the pursued to dart through a gateway of the old palace. As the rescuer quickly followed it was violently closed in the faces of the angry throng, whose prey was thus snatched from their very grasp.