University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.

What Juan had said in relation to the cause of
his confinement, was true, although he was not
aware of the whole extent of the truth. In releasing
him from impending death at Tezcuco, the
young infidel did not doubt, in the simplicity of his
heart, that he was adding a powerful engine of defence
to his preparations, as well as requiting the
obligation, which, he believed, had been the principal
cause of Juan's downfall. He reckoned confidently
upon Juan's desire for vengeance, the absence
of which feeling, after wrongs so stirring and
manifold, his nature did not allow him to anticipate;
and he dwelt also, with the security of pride, upon
the incentive offered in the love of the daughter of
Montezuma. In this spirit of confidence, without
much regarding Juan's previous averments, he introduced
him to his assembled forces, upon the day
of coronation, that all might know him, and respect
him thenceforth as one honoured with the highest
of titles—the king's brother. So far, all was well:
the name of the Young Eagle was not wholly unknown
to the Mexican warriors; and the sight of
his manly figure, arrayed in a native cloak, his
head crowned with a lofty penacho, put on by the
king's hand, and the glittering axe of obsidian received
from the same quarter, and grasped a moment
with a military air, made an impression in his
favour, that could only be obliterated by his own

act of rejection. The spectacle was hailed with
acclamations, and

Unfortunately, Juan, unwilling that any act should
be interpreted as expressing his assent to take arms
against his countrymen, immediately threw down
the macana, and would even have taken the plumes
from his head, had he not been arrested by Techeechee,
and made sensible that such a proceeding
would be followed by the most fatal consequences.
The movement, however, had been observed by
many of the nobles; and from that moment, Juan
saw that he was watched by jealous and hostile
eyes. His explicit and absolute refusal to take part
in the conflicts, had convinced the young king of
his error; yet, though greatly exasperated, he took
such measures, from motives of honour or humanity,
as protected the obdurate Christian from the
daily increasing anger of his people. He confined
him in the palace, and forbade even the ardent
Zelahualla to go near him. In this he was actuated
by suspicions, constantly inflamed by the Lord of
Death, and not unnatural in themselves, that the
young man had abused his credulity in the case of
Magdalena. The love of the Indian maid, however,
penetrated through guards and prison-doors; and
Juan, almost as impatient of confinement and
suspense as Magdalena herself, resolved to effect
his escape, and by throwing himself upon the mercy
of the Captain-General, make one effort to liberate
his unhappy sister. The attempt was discovered

and thwarted; and from that moment his confinement
had been very rigid.

Still, however, the young infidel was wont frequently
to visit him, after the combat of the day, in
the hope of overcoming his scruples, or of gathering
from his accidental expressions some hints that
might be turned to advantage against the besiegers.
On all such occasions, he refused to satisfy the prisoner's
questions concerning his sister and the
princess; giving him plainly to understand that nothing
but the assumption of the pagan battle-axe,
or positive counsels in his straits, which he did not
attempt to conceal, could purchase a sight of either.
In all these things, if the infidel acted with more
crafty selfishness than generosity, he only proved
that he belonged to his race. The whole conduct
of Juan was, according to his scale of morals and
honour, both unfriendly and unaccountable. He
designed, this very night, to visit the prisoner, of
which intention Juan was apprized; and hence his
eagerness to dismiss the maidens from the chamber,
before the conclusion of the attack upon the neighbouring
dike, with the nature and objects of which
he was well acquainted.

Before the maidens had departed, it was evident
that the firing and other noises on the causeway
were subsiding. Before they had been gone the
full space of an hour, a heavy step rang in the
passage, and the next moment the Indian monarch
stood before the captive. He was singularly and
sumptuously armed. From head to foot, his body
was covered with a garment, perhaps of escaupil,
fitting so tightly as to display his limbs to advantage;
and over all was a coat of mail, consisting of copper
spangles or scales, richly gilded, and stitched
upon a shirt of dressed leather. His head was defended
by a morion of the same metal, shaped not
unlike to those of the Spaniards, and equally strong;

and its ability to resist a violent blow was increased
by the folds of a stout serpent, painted green,
wreathing over its whole surface. A shield of tapirskin,
studded with copper nails, hung from his neck;
and he bore a macana, which was stained with
blood. He wore none of the emblems of royalty,
and his appearance was only that of some highly
distinguished noble. His eye was bright and fiery,
his step firm and proud, but his aspect was thin
and haggard.

“Has my brother heard the shouts of men near
him, and does he yet say, `Let me sleep?”' were
the words with which he saluted the captive.

“Prince,” said Juan, eyeing him anxiously and
interrogatively, though speaking with positive emphasis,
“as I told you before, so has it happened.
The cannon were ready on the dike, the falconets
were charged in the ships, and the men of Sandoval
slept with swords and matches in their hands, and
with their eyes open. Guatimozin does not come
back a victor!”

“He comes back with a prisoner,” said the
prince, proudly; “and, to-morrow, the lord with
red hair (Sandoval) will count the dead and weep,
and Malintzin shall see the flames of sacrifice rising
from the pyramid.”

“Alas!” exclaimed Juan, “in condemning captives
to this horrible death, against your will, for I
know your heart is not cruel, you harden the soul
of Cortes against you; and he will remember each
sacrifice, when the day of surrender comes at last.”

“Let it be harder than it is, what cares the
Mexican who dies?” replied the king. “Does my
brother think that I am weary, or that Malintzin
can fight longer than I?”

“Think not to deceive me, prince—I know that
already your altars and palaces are within reach of
the cannon-shot—nay, of the musket-bullet—You

are hemmed in, like a wild-cat on a tree—Your
enemies are all round you, and they look into your
eyes. Are not the water-suburbs already taken?”

“Why should I lie?” replied Guatimozin. “If
you go to Tacuba, you will see the banks of the
island—the city of the water is not there. If you
look from Iztapalapan, the surges go rushing up towards
the great temple—the houses are under the
lake—If you look from the door of my dwelling,
you will see the quarter of Tepejacac falling also
into the lake. When Malintzin calls aloud in the
morning, the lord of the red hair answers him, and
Malintzin hears. Thus it is with Mexico; yet my
brother sleeps, while I die, saying to his soul, `It is
all very just, for I sleep and see not.”'

“If I see not and help not, yet is my heart torn
by your distresses,” replied Juan, earnestly. “But
why should I help? It would be a great sin upon
my soul, and could do you no good. Listen to
my counsel, Guatimozin: It is not yet too late.
Cease to protract an unavailing resistance; send to
Cortes with offers of submission, and be assured
of reigning still, a king, though a vassal.”

“Does Guatimozin fight to be a king?” said the
infidel, with dignity. “He struck the Spaniard
before he thought of a crown. He thinks not of
palaces and fine garments, but says, `Why should
the people of Mexico be made slaves?' The king
fights for Mexico.”

“He will fight best for Mexico with peace. The
kings of Tezcuco and Iztapalapan pay tribute to
Mexico—are their people slaves? Thus shall it
be with Mexico: the king shall give gold, as the
tributary of Spain, and Mexicans shall remain in
freedom.”

“Will my brother prattle like Malintzin?” demanded
the monarch, sternly. “Where is the
freedom of Zempoala, of Tlascala, of Cholula?

The people talk of it, while a Spaniard strikes
them with a lash. Where is the freedom of Tezcuco?
The young king, who is a boy, sits on the
throne; but the Spaniard, whom my brother struck
in the face with a sword, when he chased Olin-pilli,
is there with him, and he robs and abuses the
people, so that they have sent their tears to Malintzin.
What was the fate of Montezuma? He
sat in the Spaniards' house in chains, and the soldiers
murdered his nobles, who danced in peace in
the courtyard. What was the fate of Montezuma?
The Spaniard, who is lord of the king of Tezcuco,
would have done violence to the captive maiden—
Does my brother remember?”

“Ay!” replied Juan, with the gleam of passion
that visited his eyes, only when he spoke of Guzman:
“I remember, and I hope yet to avenge—
Sinner that I am, I cannot think it a crime, to covet
the blood of this man!—But, prince, let me know—
My captivity is very hard—Why should I not be
allowed to speak with the princess? Why should
my sister be hidden from me?”

The countenance of Guatimozin darkened.

“When my brother will fight for them, he shall
be at liberty. My brother thinks again of the canoe
at the bottom of the garden?”

Juan coloured, and said,

“You keep me a prisoner—I strove to escape.
The king mocks me, to call me his brother.”

“The warriors are very angry, yet the Great
Eagle is alive. He cannot go among them in safety,
unless as their friend.”

“And who,” said Juan, “shall warrant me of
safety, if I go even as a friend?”

He deemed it now the period to commence acting
upon his scheme of escape, yet hesitated, stung
with shame at the thought of the duplicity to which

he was descending.—“It is better to die on the
dikes than to pine in the dungeon.”

Guatimozin's eye gleamed with a sudden fire:

“Does my brother jest with me?” he said. “If
my brother think it wrong to strike a Spaniard, he
shall not be called upon to fight. He can teach
me the things it is needful to know; and be in no
fear.”

“When did Guatimozin see me afraid?” cried
Juan, stifling as well as he could the sense of humiliation
and disgust, with which he began the office
of a deceiver. “To give you counsel how to resist
or attack, will make me as much a renegade as to
draw sword at once. If I do become apostate, it
shall be boldly, and with the sword. Prince, I have
thought over this thing: my heart is grieved with
your distress; and for my sister, and for Zelahualla,
I will do what my conscience condemns. Does the
king know what shall be my fate, if I am found
fighting by the Spaniards?”

“Twenty chosen warriors shall circle my brother
round about, and he shall keep aloof from the van
of battle.”

“If I fight, it shall be in the van,” said Juan, his
self-condemnation giving a character of sullenness
to his tones. “But what, if I fall,—what shall become
of my sister?”

“She shall be the sister of Guatimozin and of
Zelahualla,” said Guatimozin, with energy, yet
with doubt; for he could hardly believe that Juan
was speaking seriously.

“Let the king say this, and I will go out with
him to battle:—If I die, he will cause my sister and
the princess to be delivered into the hands of
Cortes.”

“The Spanish lady shall be sent to Malintzin;
but the Centzontli shall remain with her brother
the king. It is better she should die with him than

dwell with the Spaniards. Why shouldst thou
think it? Are there not more Guzmans than
one?”

Juan muttered painfully to himself,

“Perhaps it is better. Heaven will protect her,
for she has acknowledged her Redeemer.—Will
the king swear, then, if his brother falls, that Magdalena
shall be sent to the Spaniards?”

“He will swear,” said Guatimozin, ardently.
“It is better for the Spanish lady; for she knows
not our speech, and she pines away with grief. And
if the king prevails over his enemies, the king will
remember what Juan says of her.”

“Now, then, let the king tell me the truth, and
mislead me not. How much longer can he maintain
the city?”

“Till he is dead!—But he may soon die,” he
added, confidingly, for now he doubted no longer
that he had gained his purpose. “My brother shall
first teach me how to get food. The ships move
about at night, and no canoe can reach the shore.
The king sits down to eat with the warriors, and
he eats no more—but the warriors cry all night for
food.”

“Good heaven!” said Juan, surveying the
wasted cheeks of the monarch; “are you already
so straitened? your garners already exhausted?”

“Who can reckon for so many mouths?” cried
Guatimozin.

“I dreamed not of this—Sure, I have never been
denied abundance!”

“My brother is a prisoner; and the women and
children are feeble. Why should they want, when
the warriors can endure hunger better?”

The communication of this painful intelligence
nerved Juan more strongly in his purpose. He
perceived the necessity of acting without delay, if
he wished to protect the young infidel from the

consequence of his own despairing fury, and the
maiden of his love, and his sister, from a fate too
dreadful to be imagined. His eagerness the more
fully deluded the young monarch, not prone to
suspicion where he loved, and he was soon made
acquainted with the whole condition of the beleaguered
city, and the situation of the Spaniards.
He was also instructed in the particulars of a design
of Guatimozin, to be practised upon the ensuing
day, the boldness of which, as well as its strong
probabilities of success, both astonished and dismayed
him. He perceived that perhaps the fate of
the entire Spanish army depended upon the course
he might pursue, and his honour and feelings seemed
all to call upon him for some exertion to arrest
the impending destruction.

When he had been made acquainted with all that
Guatimozin thought fit to divulge, and had again
and again repeated his resolution to take arms and
accompany the Mexicans against his countrymen,
the king embraced him with great warmth, promising
to provide him with a good Spanish sword
and helmet from among the spoils; but recommending
that, in all other respects, he should assume
the guise of a Mexican.

When these arrangements were completed, he
turned to depart, and yet seemed loath to go.
Finally, he took Juan by the arm, and said,

“To-night the king will sleep by the side of his
brother: we will wake in the morning and go out
together.”

“Why will not the king speak kind things to the
queen? It will rejoice her to look upon the king.”

“Has she not a little sick babe by her side? and
are they not very wretched?” said Guatimozin,
exposing, without reserve, the miseries preying
upon his own bosom, and abandoning himself to a
grief that seemed to mock the greatness of his

station. “When I look upon them,” he said, “I
am no longer the king who thinks of Mexico and
the people, but a man with a base heart, who cries,
`Why am not I a prisoner and a slave, that my
little child may be saved, and his mother protected
from the famine that is coming?' The king should
not think these things,—he should not look upon
his household, but his country.”

“Go, notwithstanding,” said Juan, touched still
further by the distresses of the infidel. “Comfort
them with your presence, and let their sufferings
admonish you of the only way to end them. It is
not too late to submit.”

“Is this the way my brother begins the duties
of a Mexican?” said Guatimozin. “The gods tell
me to die, not yield. I fight for Mexico,—not for the
wife and child of Guatimozin.”

With these words, and having banished all traces
of weakness and repining, he left Juan to slumber,
or to weigh, in painful anticipation, the risks and
uncertainties of his projected enterprise.