University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.

If it be indeed permitted to disembodied spirits to
look back to the world they have left, and to read the
hearts they have, in life, mistaken, then should that
of Gaspar Olea have seen, that his unlucky blow
fell not upon the head of an apostate, and that it had
not slain his friend and companion of the wilderness.
Even Gaspar's strength failed to pierce entirely
through a morion composed of tiger-skins and
thickly-padded escaupil; and though the violence
of the blow forced Juan to the earth, and left him
for a time almost insensible, it had done him no
serious injury. It robbed him, to be sure, of the
dearly coveted opportunity of escape, which the
lucky service he had done the Captain-General would
have rendered of still more inestimable value; but
it yet served the good purpose, since he did not escape,
of removing from the minds of the Mexicans
many fierce doubts and suspicions, with which they
beheld him rush into the melée.

He was dragged back upon the causeway, and
soon found himself in the arms of the king.

“My brother is brave and true,” said the young
monarch, tearing from his own hair the symbols of
military renown, and fastening them to Juan's.
“The people have seen his bravery, and now they
know him well. Did he not lay his hands upon

Malintzin? and was not Malintzin his prisoner,
until the red lion with the white and bloody face,
struck my brother with his sword? Is this a good
deed, men of Mexico?”

“The king's brother is valiant!” exclaimed many
nobles, who surrounded the monarch with a guard
of honour, eyeing the outcast with reverence.

Their words stung Juan to the soul; for he abhorred
his deception, though still urged by his desire
of escaping, to carry it on.

“Why do we stand here idle?” he cried, with
affected zeal: “Is not Malintzin yet upon the causeway?
My heart is very strong; I will look him in
the face again.”

At this proof of courage and apparent devotion to
their cause, the infidels shouted with approbation.
But the king took him by the arm, and withdrawing
him a little, said,

“My brother will go now to the palace.—What
is this that Azcamatzin says of my brother? He
says that my brother pierced the Lord of Death
with a sword, and pulled Malintzin out of his hands!
This foolish thing of Azcamatzin has made many
angry, and they say, `Let us know; for perhaps
the Great Eagle is for Malintzin.' Therefore my
brother shall not go from the king, till Azcamatzin
thinks better things; for many hurts have made him
mad.”

“Think not of this,” said Juan, eagerly, for every
moment the shouts of the Christians were at a
greater distance, and he feared that every step of
their retreat was one more link taken from his chain
of hope.

“My brother,” said Guatimozin, interrupting
him, “may yet fight the battles of the king, and
be the king's friend. It is said to me, by a messenger,
that the ships have broken the wall of my

garden, and that Spaniards are slaying the women.”

“Ha!” cried Juan, his own agitation at this information,
contrasting strongly with the frigid
placidity of the king.

“Why should the king think of his women—of
his wife and his little boy,—when he is taking the
Spaniards, like birds in a net? Let my brother
think for the king, for the king thinks for his people.
My brother's arm is yet strong—he will fight for
Zelahualla, and for her sister, the queen.”

A thousand contrary emotions tore the breast of
Juan, yet his thoughts were fixed upon the garden.
He remembered what counsel he had given to the
maidens, to sally forth, at any moment, when a
trumpet should be heard among the trees; and he
conceived the danger in which they would be involved,
among a troop of enraged and merciless
soldiers. He needed no second exhortation to run
to their assistance; and following Techeechee, who
remained at his side, he made his way through the
multitudes that thronged all the great streets, with
a rapidity that, at any other period, would have
even surprised himself. He passed the great square
of the pyramid, the Wall of Serpents, and the House
of Skulls, from which, had he been so minded, he
might have looked, at the same moment, upon the
three battles raging upon the three several causeways,
(for it was here the dikes terminated;) he
passed the house of Axajacatl, in which the Spaniards,
a year since, had endured those assaults
which terminated only in their expulsion from Tenochtitlan;
and he trod again upon the vast market
square of Tlatelolco, the northern side of which was
bounded by the walls of Guatimozin's palace and
garden. Upon this square he beheld many infidels,
shouting at once with wrath and triumph, a party

of whom bore in their arms a Christian prisoner,
bound hand and foot, over whom the others seemed
to exult, piercing the very heavens with their clamorous
cries.

Heart-sick, for well he knew the fate in store for
the captive, and struck with foreboding fear, he
rushed over the fosse that laved the garden wall,
and was now choked up by the falling of a portion
of its extent, washed and undermined by the heavy
rains, and passed into the pleasant wilderness
within. It was a theatre of wild disorder and
affright: men were seen rushing to and fro in great
numbers, and their cries were re-echoed by the
yells of a thousand beasts of prey, famished with
hunger, or alarmed by the tumult.

He perceived that the water-wall was rent at one
of the chief sally-ports, as if battered by cannon;
and he had no doubt, if it were not yet over, that
some terrific combat had but lately taken place in
the garden.

He came too late to share in it, but as he ran
down to the water-side, he beheld four brigantines
making their way with oars, for the atmosphere
was breathless, towards the dike of Tepejacae,
which was itself a scene of furious conflict. The
vessels were surrounded by countless canoes and
piraguas, some of which seemed to be manned by
Tlascalans; for while the brigantines were seen
contending with this aquatic army, it was equally
manifest that a battle was raging also among the
canoes themselves.

He gave but little heed to this spectacle, nor did
he scarcely note that among the many human corses
which strewed the lower part of the garden, there
were several with the visages of Spaniards.

His attention was arrested by a yelping cry;
and looking round, he beheld the dog Befo lying

upon the ground, with an iron sword-blade, broken
off near the hilt, sticking quite through his body.
But this painful sight was forgotten, when, having
approached, he beheld three or four barbarians
raising from the earth what seemed the dead body
of Magdalena. There were indeed blood-drops upon
her hollow and ghastly cheeks; and when he rushed
up among the Indians, they exclaimed,

“The Teuctlis killed her, the men of Malintzin
with beards,—they killed the bright-eyed lady, and
they killed the daughter of Montezuma!” And
then they added their wild lamentations to the
mourning cries of Juan.

Distracted himself, as indeed were all the infidels,
he could learn nothing but that the Teuctlis, or
Spaniards, had suddenly burst into the garden, and
besides slaughtering all that opposed them, in their
attempt to reach the palace, had killed, or carried
off, as seemed much more probable, the princess
Zelahualla.

The misery that took possession of his heart
at these evil tidings, he smothered within its secret
recesses, or strove to forget it in the contemplation
of his sister—for so his heart acknowledged her.
He bore her to the palace, and gave her in charge
to the maidens, who, whatever was their fright,
were not unmindful of the duties of humanity. He
then, in much of that sullen despair that had oppressed
him in the prison of Tezcuco, returned to
the garden and to Befo, whom he had left in suffering,
and drawing the sword-blade from his body, he
examined it with stern curiosity, as if hoping to
penetrate the mystery of the whole unhappy transaction,
from such records as it might furnish. His
scrutiny was vain: it was a blade without any
name, by which he might be enabled to guess at its
owner. He snapped it under his foot, and muttered
a malediction upon the unknown foe:

“Cursed be he that did this deed,” he cried; “for
he slew the only protector of a feeble and wretched
woman.”

He then carried Befo, almost with as much tenderness
as he had bestowed upon Magdalena, into
the palace, and stanching his wounds as he could,
deposited him upon his own couch.