University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

Two or three hours before sunset, the sleepers were
roused to renew their march. Horses were saddled
and armour buckled, and Don Amador de Leste
mounted his steed with great satisfaction at the
thought of still further diminishing the distance that
separated him from his knight. As the train began
to ford the rivulet, he turned round and beckoned to
Abdoul, who, with Jacinto, had taken the station assigned
them behind the musketeers.

“Sidi Abdalla,” said he, “I have thought it a great
shame that thy weary boy should trudge over these
sands afoot, when such men as myself and my people
are resting our lazy limbs on horseback. I have
therefore given order to my soldier, Lazaro, to take
the youth behind him; whereby much discomfort and
suffering may be avoided.”

“My lord will scorn the thanks of the poor Morisco,”
said Abdoul, humbly. “Sleep, and the food
which it pleased my noble lord to give to the boy,
have so refreshed his strength and his spirits, that
now, in the pleasant evening air, he will journey
without pain, as he has often, of yore, in the deserts
of Barbary. And let not my lord be displeased to
know, that Jacinto will be of better heart at the side
of his father, than on the saddle of my lord's servant.”

“If it be as thou sayest,” said the cavalier, “I am
content. Heaven forbid I should take him from thee,
but for his good; which, doubtless, thou must know
better how to compass than myself. Yet if he should
at any time grow weary, make me acquainted with it,
and Lazaro shall be still prepared to give him relief.”

The Moor bent his head to the ground, and fell
back; while Amador, followed by his attendants and
the secretary, rode to the head of the train.

No occurrence of moment interrupted the monotony
of the journey, until a thunderstorm, accompanied

by rain, drove them for shelter into a forest, where
their march was interrupted for a time. But with a
capriciousness equal to the fury with which they had
gathered, the clouds parted and vanished in the sunbeams;
the earth was gladdened; the trees shook
the liquid treasure from their leaves; a breeze came
from the distant surges; and, resuming their path,
the train and cavalcade went on their way rejoicing.

As they advanced, and as the day declined, the
country assumed a more agreeable aspect; the woods
were thicker and more luxuriant; the mountains approached
nearer to the sea, and the streams gambolled
among piles of rocks, instead of creeping sluggishly
through the sands; the flowers were more
abundant, and the birds, resuming their songs, prepared
their vespers for the sinking luminary. At last
he set: the curlew wheeled his last flight; the plover
sent his last whistle, from the air; and the stars,
stealing out from the dusky arch, shed their celestial
lustre over the path of the travellers. With these
lamps of heaven, were also lit the torches of the cucujos,—those
phosphorescent beetles, with which Don
Amador had been made acquainted in the islands.
But he did not the less admire the splendour of the
spectacle, when he saw these resplendent insects
glistening among the trees, or flashing by him like
little meteors. The moon rose from the sea; and as
her mellow radiance streamed over the tree tops, or
sheeted itself on the sands, and as a thousand delicious
scents came to the nostrils of the soldier, he
thought he had never before, not even when watching
the same planet in the calm bosom of the Levantine
sea, looked upon a scene of more beautiful repose.
The commander of the squadron had not,
since the affair of the dinner, thought fit, frequently,
to trouble Don Amador with his presence; but by
the murmurs of satisfaction and curiosity which were
breathed about him, the cavalier knew he was approaching
the Indian city Zempoala. The party issued
from the wood upon what seemed a fair waving

plain, dotted, in certain places, with clumps of trees,
and doubtless, in other spots, enriched with plantations
of maize and bananas. In the distance, from a
dark and shadowy mass, which might have been a
lofty grove or a low hillock, and whose gloom was
alike broken by the glare of insects and the flash of
many flambeaux, arose three lofty towers, square
and white, and glittering in the moonbeams as if
covered over with plates of silver.

“Zempoala!” whispered an hundred voices, as
these gleaming fabrics came fairly into view. The
languid horseman raised himself on his saddle; the
foot-soldier strode onwards with a firmer and quicker
step; and at each moment, as the three towers reflected
the moonbeams with increasing brilliancy,
more torches flickered and more structures were
seen shining among the trees; and it was evident to
Don Amador that he was approaching a city or town
of no little magnitude.

The secretary had pressed to his side, and over-hearing
his exclamations of surprise, took the liberty
of addressing him.

“Señor,” he cried, “they say this pagan city is
bigger and lovelier than Seville. I have often before
heard of the Silver Towers; for truly, when the men
of Cortes first saw them, they thought they were built
of blocks of plate, and rode forward to hack away
some samples with their swords; whereupon, to their
great shame and disappointment, they discovered the
brilliance to be owing to a certain white and polished
plaster, with which these barbarians have the art to
beautify their temples.”

“Are these then the sanctuaries of the fiend?” said
the neophyte, raising himself, and surveying the structures
with a frown of infinite hostility: “It drives me
to little esteem, to know that the señor Narvaez and
his companions should rest in sight of these accursed
places, without hurling them to the dust.”

“They are no longer the houses of devils,” said
Lorenzo: “Cortes, the great rebel, tore the idols

from their altars, and putting an image of Our Blessed
Lady in their place, consecrated them forthwith to
the service of God.”

“I hear nothing of Cortes, that does not convince
me he is a truly noble and faithful cavalier,” said
Amador, with emphasis.

“There can be no doubt of that,” said the secretary;
“nevertheless, if I may presume to advise your
favour, I would beseech you not to mention the name
of Cortes among these men of Narvaez; or at least,
not with the respect which you may think his due.”

“Dost thou know,” said Amador, addressing Fabueno
so sternly, as to cause him instantly to repent
his presumption: “dost thou know, that what thou art
saying is of so base and boorish a spirit, that, if it be
the true prompting of thy heart, thou art utterly unworthy
to take upon thee the arms, as thou art wholly
incapable of winning the fame, of a soldier? Know
thou, for it is good thou shouldst be told, that all
hypocrisy is the offspring of cowardice, and is therefore
impossible to be practised by a brave man: know
also, that when thou art deceiving man, thou art lying
to God, which is an impiety not to be thought of
by an honest man: and know, in conclusion, that
when thou art called upon for thy opinion, if thou
givest not that which is in thy heart, thou art guilty
of that hypocrisy which is cowardice, and that deceit
which is perjury.”

“I beg your worship's pardon,” said Lorenzo,
abashed and confounded, and somewhat bewildered
by the chivalrous and fastastic system of honour
disclosed in the reproof of the cavalier. “I meant
only to let your favour know, that there could be no
travelling beyond this Indian city, without the good
will of Narvaez and his officers, which might not be
gained by commending their enemy. And moreover,
señor, if you will suffer me to justify myself,—
while I confess it would be both cowardly and impious,
as your worship says, to conceal or alter a
sentiment, when it is called for, yet was I thinking it

could be in no wise dishonourable to retain in our
own mind opinions not called for, particularly when
they might be disagreeable to those upon whom they
were thus, as I may say, forced.”

“By my faith, thou art, in a measure, very right,”
said Amador, “and I hereby recall any expressions
which may have reflected on thy courage or thy religion;
for, I perceive, thou wert only touching upon
the obligation all men are under not to force their
opinions upon others; an obligation of which I am
myself so sensible, that, provided I am not called
upon by the questions of these people, or the enforcements
of mine own honour, I shall surely utter nothing
to displease them. But canst thou tell me, se
ñor secretario, how far from this town lies the commander,
of whom we were speaking?”

“I have heard, only at the distance of two or three
leagues,” replied Fabueno; “but I should think, considering
the wisdom of Cortes, he would be fain to
increase that distance, as soon as he came to know
the strength of Narvaez. Your favour may see, by
the many torches glimmering through the streets,
and the many voices that go chanting up and down,
that there is a goodly multitude with him.”

“I see, by the same tokens,” said Amador, “he
has a set of riotous, disorderly vagabonds, who seem
to think they are keeping carnival in Christendom,
rather than defending a camp among infidels: and,
by St. John, I know not any very good reason, why
the valiant Cortes might not, this instant, with his
knot of brave men, steal upon the town, and snatch
it out of the hands of the Biscayan. There is neither
out-post in the field, nor sentinel in the suburbs!”

There seemed some grounds for this notion of the
cavalier. As he approached nearer to Zempoala,
there was audible a concert of sounds such as one
would not have looked for in the camp of a good
general. A great fire had been lit, as it appeared,
among the Silver Towers, the ruddy reflection of
which, mingled with the purer light of the moon, had

given them so shining an appearance, even at a distance.
In this neighbourhood, as Amador judged by
the direction and variety of cries, was the chief place
of the revellers; though in divers quarters of the
town might be heard the voices, and sometimes the
musical instruments, of idle soldiers, struggling in
rivalry with the ruder songs and harsher instruments
of the natives. Besides the bonfires among the temples,
there was another in the quarter of the town
which the train was just entering, and apparently
upon the very street which they were to pass. The
cavalier had, however, underrated the vigilance of
the sentinels; for, just as he had concluded his denunciation,
the trumpet with which Salvatierra announced
his approach to his companions, was answered
by a flourish from the fire; and there was straightway
seen a group of armed men advancing to challenge
the party. In fact, an out-post was stationed
at the fire; the worthy warriors of which, in the absence
of any important duties, had got together the
means of amusement in the persons of certain Indian
tumblers and merry-andrews, who were diverting
them with feats of agility. Besides these tawny sons
of joyance, there were others of the same race,
whose business it was to add to the pleasures of the
entertainment the din of the musical instruments
common to barbarians; only, as it seemed to Amador,
that if there was nothing superior in the tone
or management of these which he now heard, they had
an advantage over those of the islanders, in being
wrought with greater skill and ornamented with a
more refined taste. Thus, of the little drums which
were suspended to the necks of the musicians, and
which were at least equal in sound to the tabours of
Europe, some were carved and painted in a very
gay manner; while the flutes of cane, though not
less monotonous than the pipes of other savages, had
about them an air of elegance, from being furnished
with pendants of rich flowers, or beautiful feathers.

As Amador rode by, his attention was in a measure

diverted from the tumblers by the agitation of
Fogoso, who regarded neither the great fire nor the
wild looking artists with friendship; and when, having
subdued his alarm, he turned to gratify his wonder,
his eye was caught by the appearance of the Moor,
who had stolen to his side, and now stood with a countenance
even more disturbed than when shrinking
from the blow of Salvatierra, and with hands upraised
and clasped, as if to beseech his notice.

“My lord is benevolent to the friendless, and pitiful
to the orphan,” he cried anxiously, as soon as he
perceived that Amador regarded him; “he has been
the champion of the father, and the protector of the
son; and when the heart's blood of Abdoul can requite
his benefactor, Abdoul will not deny it.”

“Good Sidi,” said Amador, “that I have protected
both yourself and your son Jacinto, from unjust violence,
is more than can be denied; but why it is
needful to thank me so many times for the favour, is
more than I can easily understand. I must therefore
command you to find some more novel subject for
conversation.”

“My lord is a knight of Rhodes,” said Abdalla
quickly,” and therefore by vow bound to charity,
justice, pity, and all the other good virtues acknowledged
as well by infidels as Christians?”

“I am no knight; a novice of the order I may be
called,” said Amador, “but no knight; though,” he
added with a most dolorous sigh, “how soon I may
take the vows after returning from the lands of Mexico,
is more than I can pronounce. I have therefore
not bound myself by oath to any of those virtues of
which you spoke; but had you been born of a nobler
blood than I can account that of the lord of Fez,
you should have known, that, being a gentleman and
a Christian, I cannot release myself from any of their
natural obligations.”

“For myself,” said Abdalla, “though insult and
danger will come to me among these riotous soldiers,
who are the enemies of my race, and these barbarians,

who are surely the enemies of all, I can submit
to my griefs; but Jacinto needs the arm of power
to protect him. If my lord will take him to be his
servant, he will be merciful to misfortune; the
prayers of gratitude will ascend to heaven; and the
love of a faithful boy will watch ever at his side like
the vigilance of an armed follower.”

“Art thou content the boy should be parted from
thee?” demanded Amador. “I know not how,
among these strange lands and unknown wildernesses,
I may be able to take that care of his tender
years which should be the duty of a good master;
nor, to tell thee the truth, do I know in what manner
I can make use of his services.”—

“Let not my lord despise his skill,” said the Almogavar,
“because his fright and weariness palsied
his hand, when he should have played before him.
He hath good skill with the lute, and he has in his
memory a thousand redondillas, with which he may
divert the leisure of my lord. Besides this skill, he
hath a fidelity which nothing can corrupt, and a loving
heart which, once gained by kindness, no temptation
can lure from his master: and in these qualities
will I vouch for him with my head. I know not in
truth,” continued Abdalla, faltering, “since he has
never before served a master, if he have any other
qualifications. But he is quick to acquire, and perhaps—perhaps,
he may soon learn to preserve the
armour of my lord—yes, he will soon make himself
useful to my lord.”

“The cleaning of my armour,” said Amador, in a
very matter-of-fact manner, “is a duty which belongs
particularly to Lazaro; whose fidelity, as well as that
of Baltasar, is of so unquestionable a character, that
it fully meets all the exigencies of my course of life.
I would therefore receive thy son chiefly out of a
hope to be comforted, at times, with his music; and
partly out of pity for his forlornness. He will doubtless
serve me as a page and cup-bearer; in which
capacity, promising to give him as much protection

and kindness as may be in my power, I consent to
receive him.”

“And my lord will permit that I shall often see
him?” said Abdoul, eagerly.

“Surely I must desire thou shouldst,” said Amador,
“if it were possible thou couldst be in the same
army.”

Abdalla looked at the cavalier with a bewildered
and confused countenance, as if not understanding
him.

“I must acquaint thee, good Sidi,” said Amador,
“with one fact, of which thou seemest ignorant, and
which may wholly change thy desires in this matter.
Thy destination is to this town of Zempoala, and
mine to the very far city Tenochtitlan; thy fate is to
submit thee into the hands of the general Narvaez, as
thou hast heard, to serve him as a cannonier, while
mine is to betake myself to the general Cortes, his
sworn and most indomitable enemy. Thou mayest
therefore inquire of thyself, if thy boy go with me,
whether thou wilt ever again look upon him; a question
that I cannot myself answer in a satisfactory
manner. Make thy election, therefore, whether thou
wilt keep him at thy side, or entrust him to my guardianship;
being assured, that if the latter be thy desire,
I will bid thee call him, and straightway take him
into my keeping.”

“It cannot be!” said Abdalla, vehemently;—“I
cannot trust him from my sight: it cannot be! God
is just; and justice may come with misery!”

Thus lamenting, Abdoul al Sidi retired from the
side of the cavalier; and Amador, whose pity was
not a little touched, suffered his image to be crowded
from his mind by the new and strange spectacles
which were now opening upon him.