University of Virginia Library

30. CHAPTER XXX.

While these occurrences were transpiring, Don
Amador de Leste, in search of the knight, had rambled
through the streets, and following, very naturally,
the only path with which he was acquainted,
soon found himself issuing from that gate by which
he had entered from Tlascala. The domination of
the Spaniards had interrupted many of the civil, as
well as the religious, regulations of the Cholulans;
and, with their freedom, departed that necessity and
habit of vigilance, which had formerly thronged their
portals with watchmen. No Indian guards, therefore,
were found at the gate; and the precautions of the
general had not carried his sentinels to this neglected
and seemingly secure quarter. The neophyte passed

into the fields, and though hopeless, in their solitudes,
of discovering the retreat of the penitent, was seduced
to prolong his walk by the beauty of the night
and by the many pensive thoughts to which it gave
birth. How many times his reflections carried him
back to the land of his nativity, to the surges that
washed the Holy Land, to the trenches of Rhodes,
to the shores of Granada, need not be here related;
nor, if he gave many sighs to the strange sorrow and
stranger destiny of his kinsman, is it fitting such
emotions should be recorded. He wandered about,
lost in his musings, until made sensible, by the elevation
of the moon, that he had trespassed upon the
hour of midnight. Roused by this discovery from
his reveries, he returned upon his path, and had arrived
within view of the gate, when he was arrested
by the sudden appearance of four men, running towards
him at a rapid gait, and presenting to his
vision the figures of Indian warriors. No sooner
had these fugitives approached near enough to perceive
an armed cavalier intercepting the road, than
they paused, uttering many quick and, to him, incomprehensible
exclamations. But, though he understood
not their language, he was admonished, by their
actions, of the necessity of drawing his sword and
defending himself from attack; for the foremost,
hesitating no longer than to give instructions to his
followers, instantly advanced upon him, flourishing a
heavy axe of obsidian. Somewhat surprised at the
audacity of this naked barbarian, but in no wise
daunted at the number of his supporters, the cavalier
lifted his trusty Bilboa, fully resolved to teach him
such a lesson as would cause him to remember his
temerity for ever; but, almost at the same moment,
his wrath vanished, for he perceived, in this assailant,
the young ambassador of the preceding evening;
and, remembering the words of De Morla, he felt
reluctant to injure one of the princes of the unhappy
house of Montezuma.

“Prince!” said he, elevating his voice, but forgetting

his want of an interpreter, “drop thy sword,
and pass by in peace; for I have not yet declared
war against thy people, and I am loath to strike thee.”

But the valiant youth, misconceiving or disregarding
both words and gestures, only approached with
the more determination, and swung his bulky weapon
over his head, as if in the act of smiting, when one
of his followers, exclaiming eagerly, “Ho, Quauhtemotzin!
forbear!” sprang before him, and revealed
to Don Amador the countenance of the Moor Abdalla.

“Thou art safe, señor!” cried the Almogavar,
“and heaven be thanked for this chance, that shows
thee I have not forgotten thy benefits!”

The assurance of Abdalla was presently confirmed;
for the young prince, seeing the action of the
Moor, lowered his weapon, and merely surveying
the cavalier with an earnest look, passed by him on
his course, and was followed by the two others.
Meanwhile Don Amador, regarding the Almogavar,
said,—

“I know not, good Sidi,—notwithstanding this
present service, for which I thank thee,—not so
much because thou hast stepped between me and
danger, (for, it must be apparent to thee, I could,
with great ease, have defended myself from such
feeble assailants,) but because thou hast freed me
from the necessity of hurting this poor prince;—I
say, notwithstanding all this, Abdalla, I know not
whether I should not now be bound to detain thee,
and compel thee to return to the general; for it is
not unknown to me, that thou art, at this moment, a
deserter and traitor.”

“Señor!” said the Moor, withdrawing a step, as
if fearing lest the cavalier would be as good as his
word, “my treason is against my misfortunes, and I
desert only from injustice; and if my noble lord
knows thus much, he knows also, that to detain me,
would be to give me to the gallows.”

“I am not certain,” said Don Amador, “that my

intercession would not save thy life; unless thou hast
been guilty of more crimes than I have heard.”

“Guilty of nothing but misfortune!” said the Moor,
earnestly; “guilty of nothing but the crimes of others,
and of griefs, which are reckoned against me for
sins!—”

“Guilty,” said the cavalier, gravely, “of treating
in secret with these barbarians, who are esteemed
the enemies of thy Christian friends; and guilty of
seducing into the same crime thy countrymen, the
Moriscos; one of whom, I am persuaded, did but
now pass me with the Indians, and one of whom,
also, hath charged thee with tempting him.”

“Señor,” said Abdalla, hurriedly, “I cannot now
defend myself from these charges, for I hear my enemies
in pursuit.”

“And guilty,” added Don Amador, with severity,
“as I think, of deserting thine own flesh and blood,
—thy poor and friendless boy, Abdalla!”

The Almogavar flung himself at the feet of the
cavalier, saying, wildly,—

“My flesh and blood! and friendless indeed! unless
thou wilt continue to protect him. Señor, for the
love of heaven, for the sake of the mother who bore
you, be kind and true to my boy! Swear thou wilt
protect him from malice and wrong; for it was his
humanity to thy kinsman, the knight, that has robbed
him of his father.”

“Dost thou confess, thou wert about to steal him
from his protector? Now, by heavens, Moor, this is
but an infidel's ingratitude!”

“Señor!” said Abdalla, “you reproached me for
forsaking him; and now you censure me for striving
not to forsake him! But the sin is mine, not Jacinto's.
I commanded him to follow me, señor; and he would
have obeyed me, had he not found thy knight Calavar
swooning among the ruins. He tarried to give
him succour, and thus was lost; for the soldiers came
upon him.”

“Is this so, indeed? My kinsman left swooning!
Thou wert but a knave, not to tell me this before.”

“The knight is safe—he has robbed me of my
child,” said Abdalla, throwing himself before the neophyte.
“Go not, señor, till thou hast promised to
requite his humanity with the truest protection.”

“Surely he shall have that, without claiming it.”

“Ay, but promise me! swear it to me!” cried the
Moor, eagerly. “Don Hernan will be awroth with
him. The cavaliers will call him mine accomplice.”

“They will do the boy no wrong,” said Amador;
“and I know not why thou shouldst ask me the superfluity
of an oath.”

“Señor, I am a father, and my child is in a danger
of which thou knowest not! For the love of God,
give me thy vows thou wilt not suffer my child to be
wronged!”

“I promise thee this; but acquaint me with this new
and unknown peril. If it be the danger of an accusation
of witchcraft, I can resolve thee, that that is
not regarded by the general.”

“Señor, my pursuers are nigh at hand,” cried
Abdalla, “and I must fly! A great danger besets
Jacinto, and thou canst preserve him. Swear to me,
thou wilt not wrong him, and suffer me to depart.”

“Wrong him!” said the cavalier. “Thou art
beside thyself.—Yet, as it does appear to me, that the
soldiers are approaching us, I will give thee this very
unreasonable solace.—I swear to thee very devoutly,
that, while heaven leaves me my sword and arm,
and the power to protect, no one shall, in any way,
or by any injustice, harm or wrong the boy Jacinto.”

“I will remember thy promise, and thee!” cried
the Almogavar, seizing his hand and kissing it.

“Tarry, Abdalla. Reflect;—thou rushest on many
dangers. Return, and I will intercede for thy pardon.”

But the Moor, running with great speed after his
companions, was almost already out of sight; and
Don Amador, musing, again turned his face towards
Cholula.

“If I meet these soldiers,” he soliloquized, “I must,
in honour, acquaint them with the path of the Moor;

whereby Abdalla may be captured, and put to death on
the spot. I am resolute, I cannot, by utterly concealing
my knowledge of this event, maintain the character
of a just and honest gentleman; yet, it appears to me,
my duty only compels me to carry my information
to the general. This will I do, and by avoiding the
pursuers, preserve the obligations of humanity to the
fugitive, without any forfeit of mine honour.”

Thus pondering, and walking a little from the path,
until the pursuers had passed him, he returned to the
quarters.