University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.

The cavalier was roused from his slumbers by a
cause at first incomprehensible. The moonlight had
vanished from the prison, and deep obscurity had
succeeded; but in the little light remaining, he saw,
as he started up, the figures of several men, one of
whom had been tugging at his shoulder, and now
whispered to him, as he instinctively grasped at his
dagger,

“Peace, cavalier! I am a friend, and I give you
liberty.”

“I will thank thee for the gift, when I am sure I
enjoy it,” said the neophyte, already on his feet; “I
remember thy voice—thou art one of the followers
of the knave Narvaez?”

“I am one who laments, without extenuating, the
folly of the general,” said the voice of Duero. “But
tarry not to question. Hasten,—thy horse is ready.”

“Where is the youth Fabueno? It is not in my
power to desert the secretary.”

“Here, señor!” whispered Lorenzo. “I am ready.”

“Ah, friend Fabueno! I am glad to hear thee speak
so cheerily;—it assures me thy wound does not afflict
thee.—And my varlets, señor?”

“They wait for thee, Don Amador. Delay not:
the door is open. The magician will guide thee to
thy kinsman.—Commend me to Cortes; and if thou

art at any time found fighting on the pyramid of
Zempoala, remember that Duero is not thine enemy.”

“By heaven, I should think I dream!” said Amador.
“Stay, señor! I would thank thee for thy
honourable and most noble benevolence; and, in addition,
would tax thy charity in favour of a certain
Moor—”

“Tetragrammaton! thou pratest as if thou wert
among thy friends in Christendom! and of infidels too,
as if there were no Christians to be thought of!” said
a voice, in which Amador instantly recognised the
tones of the enchanter. “I said, the captive should
be freed; but never a jot that he should not be reduced
to bonds again by his own folly!—Be silent,
and follow me.”

The neophyte had collected his scattered senses,
and instantly assuming the prudence, which, he now
understood, was necessary to his safety, he issued
from the prison. The moon was sinking behind the
vast and majestic peaks of the interior. A deep
shadow lay over the great square, on one side of
which stood the dungeon; and only on the top of the
principal tower trembled a lingering ray. A silence
still deeper than the darkness, invested the Indian
city; and Amador could distinctly hear the foot-fall
of a sentinel as he strode to and fro over the terrace
of the pyramid. He looked to that quarter, whence,
as he judged, had come the shafts which had so nearly
robbed him of his fellow-prisoner. The crossbowmen
slept on their post, in the mild and quiet air, at
the base of the temple.

“Give me thy hand, Fabueno,” said Amador,
drawing his poniard again from the sheath. “I will
shield thee from the dogs this time. And now that
I snuff the breath of freedom! I think it will need a
craftier knave's trick than, that of Salvatierra, to deprive
me of it a second time.”

Following the magician, as he stole cautiously
along, the brothers in misfortune crept on with a
stealthy pace, under the shadows of buildings and

trees; till, exchanging the more exposed openness of
the square for the safer gloom of a street, they advanced
with greater assurance and rapidity. The
stone dwellings of the Tlatoani gave place to the
earthen and wicker cabins of the suburbs.—The gray
glimpses of morning had not yet visited the east,
when they reached the extreme edge of the town,
and betook themselves to the covert of a clump of
trees, under which, in the figures that were there visible,
Don Amador recognised with joy his war-horse
and his followers.

“Rejoice in silence,” said Botello, interrupting his
raptures; “for there is an ear at no great distance
very ready to hear thee. Mount and be ready.—Se
ñor secretary, thy sorrel is tied to the mimosa.—You
can look to your equipments a little, while I see if
heaven will not confirm the fate of visions; for I
dreamed I should ride back to Cortes on a good
roan charger to-day.”

The magician disappeared, and Amador, scarcely
suppressing his ardour, when he found that not only
his attendants and horses, but even the well-fleshed
sword wrested from him in the evening, was in readiness
to be restored to him, grasped it with exultation,
and sprang into the saddle. Then passing towards
Fabueno, and finding that his arm caused him
much pain in the act of mounting, he assisted him to
ascend with his own hand; a condescension that
went to the heart of the secretary. From Fabueno
also he learned, in a few words, somewhat of the secret
of their liberation. Less than an hour after
Amador had fallen asleep, and while Lorenzo was
still kept awake by the pain of his wound, the door
of the prison was opened, and Botello thrust in; who
comforted the secretary with a mystic, but still an
unequivocal assurance of freedom before sunrise;
and commanded him not to wake the novice, but to
follow his example—he would need invigoration from
slumber to support the toils of the coming day. What
previous understanding might have existed between

the enchanter and the señor Duero, he knew not;
but, certain he was, Botello had predicted a speedy
deliverance for all; and all were now delivered.

“I have often considered,” said the novice, thoughtfully,
“that the existence of magical powers, either
for the purposes of prediction or enchantment, was
incompatible with the known goodness and wisdom
of God; for surely if the power to foresee would
have added any thing to the happiness of man, God
would not have denied it to men generally. And as
for the powers of enchantment, as they can only be
used for good or bad purposes, it seems to me that to
employ them for the first, would be to accuse the Divinity
of an insufficient benevolence; while to exercise
them for the last, would imply a supposition that
heaven had not all men equally under its protection.
This, therefore, is my opinion; though I must confess
that, sometimes, when governed more by passion or
imagination than by reason, I have had my misgivings
on the subject. Nevertheless, good Fabueno, in
this particular case of Botello, I must advise thee
not too much to abuse thy credulity; for, I think, all
circumstances go to show, he grounded his prophecy
of our deliverance more on a knowledge of the resolutions
of the good señor Duero than on the revelations
of stars or spirits. Yet must I confess,” continued
Amador, “that this very goodness of Duero,
implying, as it truly does, a state of opposition and rebellion
to the will of the uncivil Narvaez, his general,
is so very miraculous, as almost itself to look like
magic.”

Before the secretary could reply, the sound of
hoofs was heard approaching; and Botello, as they
discovered by his voice, rode up to the trees.

“The dream was true, the imp that speaks to slumber
was not a liar!” he cried, exultingly. “We
leave the jailor afoot; and Kalidon-Sadabath shall
swing on a galloping horse. God is over all, by night
and by day, afoot and on horse, in battle and in flight,
Amen!—Now ride, and Santiago for Spain!”—He

shouted this sudden cry with a voice that amazed
Amador, after his often-repeated injunctions for
silence,—“Santiago for Spain! San Pedro for the
Invaders! and San Pablo for flying prisoners! Whip
and spur, guide and cheer! and rocks and thorns
spread over the path of pursuers!”

As Don Amador anticipated, the shout of the lunatic,
for such he began to esteem Botello, was carried
even to the head-quarters of the Biscayan. An arquebuse
was discharged from the pyramid, and, as
the fugitives began their flight, the flourish of a trumpet
in one quarter of the town, and the roll of a drum
in another, convinced them that the alarm had been
given, and was spreading from post to post in a manner
that might prove exceedingly inconvenient. The
cavalier pressed to the side of Botello,—an achievement
of some little difficulty, for he perceived his
guide was well mounted.

“Señor Magico,” he cried, as he galloped in company
with him, “dost thou know thou couldst not have
fallen upon a better plan to oppose our flight, and
perhaps reduce us again to bonds, than by the indulgence
of this same untimely and obstreperous shouting?”

“Trust in God, and fear not,” replied the magi
cian. “This day shalt thou look upon the face of
Cortes; and though the enemy follow us, yet shall
his pursuit be vain and unlucky.”

“I will allow that such may be the termination,”
said Amador; “yet, notwithstanding, can I perceive
no advantage in being pursued; but much that is to
be deprecated, inasmuch as we shall exhaust that
strength of our horses in our hurry, which might
have been reserved for a more honourable contingency.”

“Your valour will by-and-by perceive there is
more wisdom than looks to the moment,” said Botello,
coolly, without slacking his pace: “and, provided
you can keep your followers from swerving
from the path, and that inexperienced youth from

falling out of his saddle, I will, with my head, answer
for your safety.”

Amador dropped behind a little: Lazaro and Baltasar
required no instructions to keep them in the
neighbourhood of their master; and the secretary,
though complaining that he rode in pain, professed
himself able to keep up with the party. From his
henchmen, as he rode, Don Amador obtained but
little to unravel the mystery of his escape. The two
attendants had been quartered alone in a deserted
building, in the garden of which they were instructed
to provide for their steeds. They had been roused
by a cavalier, who commanded them to follow him
to their master, in token of whose authority he showed
them the well-known blade of the novice. He had
conducted them to the grove, and left them, with
charges to remain, as they had done, in tranquillity,
until the appearance of Don Amador.

At the dawn of day, the neophyte became convinced
he had ridden more than the distance which, he supposed,
separated the camps of the rival generals; and
wondering at the absence of all signs of life in the
forest through which he was passing, he again betook
himself to Botello.

The magician had halted on the brow of an eminence,
where, though the dense wood, as well as the
obscurity of the hour, greatly contracted the sphere
of vision, he looked back as if striving to detect the
figures of pursuers among the thick shadows. The
shouts of men were heard far behind; but this circumstance,
instead of filling the mind of Botello with
alarm, gave, on the contrary, to his countenance an
expression of great satisfaction.

“We are pursued, enchanter; and yet, I perceive
neither tent nor outpost of thy friends, to give us refuge
from our enemies,” said Don Amador.

“Let them come,” cried Botello, tranquilly: “It is
worse for the stag, when the pack is scattered; but
better for the kite, when the pheasants have broke the
covey.”

“There may be much wisdom in thy tropes, as
well as in thine actions,” said the novice; “yet am I
slow to discover it in either. Whether we are to be
considered the stag or the hounds, the hawk or the
pheasants, entirely passes my comprehension; but
sure am I that, in either case, our safety may be considered
quite as metaphorical as thy speech. I understood
from thee, last night, and I remember it very
well, because it was that communication which exasperated
me into a quarrel with the governor,—that
the river whereon Cortes was encamped, was but a
league from Zempoala; yet am I persuaded we have
galloped twice that distance.”

“He travels no straight road who creeps through
the country of a foeman,” said Botello, resuming his
journey, though at a more moderate gait than before;
“and Don Amador should be content, if he can avoid
the many scouts and vedettes that infest the path, by
riding thrice the two leagues he has compassed already.”

“Fogoso is strong, and, it seems to me, his spirit
revives at every new step he takes through these
fresh forests,” said the cavalier; “yet even for his
sake, were there no other reason, would I be fain to
pick the shortest road that leads to the camp of Cortes.
I am greatly concerned about my young friend,
the secretary, who, as thou hast doubtless learned,
was last night shot through the arm with an arrow, by
those knaves who kept watch at the window of the
prison; and therefore, for his sake, am I desirous to
find a resting place as soon as possible. If I should
give thee my counsel, (a thing I am loath to do, as
thou seemest experienced in all the intricacies of this
woody wilderness, in which I am a stranger,) it would
be, to forsake all these crooked and endless by-ways
without delay, and strike upon the shortest path,
without consideration of any small party of scouts we
might meet. For, even excluding the wounded Fabueno,
we are here together four strong men, armed,
and well mounted, who, fighting our way to freedom,

would doubtless be an over-match for twice the humber
of enemies.”

“The youth must learn the science of a soldier,”
said Botello, “and suffering is the first letter of its
alphabet. Happy will he be if, in the life he covets,
he encounter no more agony than he shall endure today.
When we have time to rest, I will anoint his
arm with a salve more powerful than the unguents of
a physician.—What I do, señor, and whither I guide,
are best; as you will acknowledge, when the journey
is over. Why should your honour desire to exchange
blows with poor scouts? I shall win better thanks
of the knight Calavar, when I conduct you to him
unharmed.—Faster, señor—the pursuers are gaining
on us.”

The neophyte gave the rein to Fogoso, and greatly
inflamed by the mention of his kinsman's name, rode
by the side of Botello, to demand of him such intelligence
of the knight as it might be in his power to
impart. Little more, however, had the astrologer to
communicate than Amador had already acquired.
The knight Calavar was in the camp of Cortes,
among the most honoured of his followers, if such he
could be called, who divided the perils, without claiming
to share the profits of the campaign, and fought
less when he was commanded or entreated than when
moved by his own wayward impulses. That he was
in good bodily health, was also another point on which
Botello was able to satisfy curiosity; and as he made
no mention of another subject, on which Don Amador
scrupled to speak, he was glad to believe the distractions
of the new world had given some relief to the
mental maladies of his kinsman.

A very little circumstance served, however, almost
at the same moment to reveal one of his own infirmities.
As the morning dawned, and objects were seen
more distinctly, he began to bend an eye of observation
on the horse which Botello rode,—a spirited beast,
as he had already determined, by many evidences of
fleetness and mettle. When he came to regard it

more closely, he perceived, by signs not to be mistaken,
that it was no other than the animal which
had, the day before, caracoled under the weight of
Salvatierra. Botello grinned, when an exclamation
made him acquainted with the thoughts of the cavalier.
To the demand where and how he had obtained
possession of the charger, the answer was brief and
significant. The captain Salvatierra, like many other
officers of Narvaez, preferred rather to waste the
moonlight nights with the olive-cheeked Dalilahs of
the suburbs, than with enemies and prisoners, even
though they might be men of such merit and distinction
as Don Amador. This was a peculiarity with
which (he did not say whether by the instrumentality
of his art, or the intervention of human agents,) Botello
had contrived to become acquainted; and being
also apprised of Salvatierra's favourite retreat, which
was at no great distance from the grove wherein
Don Amador had found his followers, he did not
hesitate to deprive him of so superfluous an appendage
as his charger.

“By St. John!” cried the neophyte, in a heat, “I
would have bestowed upon thee more cruzadoes than
thou canst gain by a month's exercise of thine art,
hadst thou but made me acquainted with his hiding-place.
I now know, the man who could strike a boy,
and attack one he hated from behind, is a most execrable
caitiff, more worthy of misprision than revenge;
but despite all this, I should have begun this day's
labours with more tranquillity and self-approval, had
I but enjoyed two moments of conference with him
previously.”

“Your worship may have a day for acquitting
scores with him more conveniently than you could
have done this morning,” said Botello.

“Hark'ee, Botello,” cried Amador, eagerly—“It is
thy absolute opinion we are at this moment pursued,
—is it not?”

“I do not doubt it—I hear shouts behind, ever and
anon.”

“I will tell thee what I will do,” continued the
neophyte: “I will tarry here with Lazaro and Baltasar:
thou, if thou thinkest fit, canst advance with
the secretary—I should be loath to bring him into
combat before his wound is healed, and before Lazaro
has given him some instructions in the management
of his arms.”—

“All this thou wilt do then,” said Botello, interrupting
him, “on the presumption that Salvatierra is
among the pursuers? Your worship may satisfy
yourself, the vigilant cavalier is, at this moment, either
abiding the reproof of Narvaez for his negligence, or
biting his thumbs with disgust, as, among mounted
captains, he walks through the streets of Zempoala.
Horses are not in this land so plentiful as rabbits;
and I thank the blessed influences, which have given
to me so good a friend this day,” he went on, patting
the neck of the steed,—“so very good, that, until
there comes a new fleet from Cuba, the captain
Salvatierra will be scarce able to follow after his
charger. This may satisfy your honour on one point.
As to another, I beg to assure you, Don Amador, that
I am no lying juggler, selling my revelations for money.
I tell what is told me, when I am moved by
the spirit that is given to dwell within me; and neither
real of silver nor doubloon of gold can otherwise
buy me to open my lips!”