University of Virginia Library

24. CHAPTER XXIV

WHEN the boy returned, bearing a bundle of garments,
and two or three such crests as were worn
by the nobler Mexicans, in time of war, the cavalier
had more than half-armed himself. He sighed, as he
flung the habergeon over his shoulders, to find the many
rents made among the Flemish links by the Mexican
glass; but he sighed more, when he discovered
how greatly his bodily powers were enfeebled, by
feeling, almost for the first time in his life, the oppressive
weight of the mail. Nevertheless, the cannon
still roared at the palace, every moment was expediting
the doom of Abdalla, perhaps, also, that of his
friends and kinsman; and he seized upon cuish and
greave, gauntlet and helm, with activity and eagerness.

"What is that huge mantle thou placest upon the
table?" he demanded of the page, without relaxing
in his efforts.

"A tilmatli, or Indian cloak, large enough to hide
my lord's armour," replied Jacinto, hurriedly. "If the
Mexicans should see the gleaming of but a single link,
death on the spot, or, still more horrid, on the pyramid,
will be the fate of my lord."

"Now that I know, that such would be the consequence
of captivity," said the cavalier, fiercely, "I
swear to God and St. John, I will die fighting—that
is, if it please heaven, that I shall be struck no more
blows that overpower without killing."

"And this great penacho," said the boy, "I will tie
to my lord's crest, so that it shall entirely veil the
helmet. I have fastened some of the red tufts among
the feathers, whereby the pagans may think my lord
is a war-chief, and noble, if they should see them."

"Of all boys that I have ever yet seen, thou art by
far the shrewdest and wisest," said Don Amador,
with complacency, but without ceasing a moment to

do on his armour, “What disguise hast thou provided
for thyself?”

“A garment,” said Jacinto, “which, being flung
about my body and hooded over my head, will cause
the Mexicans to think me a woman devoted to the
service of one of their gods.”

“A most damnable delusion,” said the novice;
“and I would thou hadst fallen upon some other device.
But, perhaps, thou hadst no choice; and, now
that I think of it, thy small stature, and very smooth
and handsome visage, will, perhaps, suit this disguise
better than another. If there be any sin in assuming
it, heaven will allow the necessity, and forgive the
commission. Quick, and don it,—for I would have
thee tighten these greave-straps, before I pull on my
boots.”

“It will but encumber me: I will fling it over me
in the passage,” said Jacinto, kneeling, and endeavouring,
with an unsteady hand, to perform the office
required of him.

“Be of good heart, I charge thee, and tremble
not. Thou art unused to this service; but think not,
though thou beest the son of a Moorish Wali, of the
noblest blood, that this duty can dishonour thee. I
have performed it myself, times without number, to
my good knight, Don Gabriel. I would thou wert
somewhat stronger, though. Fear not to pull with all
thy strength. I have shrunk somewhat with the
fever,—greatly to the disparagement of my leg,—
and the strap is of the stiffest.”

“It is stiffened with my lord's blood!” said the
page, trembling more, but succeeding, at last, in securing
it. Then rising, and knotting a broad and
shadowy plume over his patron's helmet, so as, in a
great measure, to conceal the gleaming iron, he assisted
to fasten it. There remained nothing, then,
for the cavalier, but to arrange the tilmatli about
his person; a feat, in which, with the aid of the page,
he succeeded so well, as quite to hide his martial
equipments, without yet depriving him of the power,

in case of necessity, of using the sword, which he
held naked in his hand.

“Thy woman's weeds! Why dost thou hesitate,
Jacinto?” he cried, prepared, and now eager to make
his departure. “Thou thinkest of thy lute? By my
faith, I shall be loath thou shouldst lose it, for much
good has it done, and yet may do, to Don Gabriel.
I will bear it under my arm.”

“Think not of the lute,” said Jacinto, sorrowfully.
“What need have we now of music? It will but
overburden my lord, whose hands should be free;
and in mine, it would only serve to expose the deception
of my apparel.”

“Cast it aside, then; and now, in God's name, let
us depart!”

Jacinto stepped, faltering, up to the body of Ayub,
lying stiff and cold, the countenance, illuminated by
the slanting torch-light, still mingling a grin of exultation
with the contortion of the death-agony. A tear
dropped upon the swarthy cheek, and a deep sob
burst from the bosom of Jacinto, when he gazed his
last upon the dead Morisco.

“Why dost thou tarry to weep?” said Amador,
impatiently.—“Ayub was an infidel.”

“My lord does not know how those who have not
many friends, can value the few,” said the page.
“This man was faithful to my father; and therefore
do I lament him, as one whose loss is a sore misfortune;
and, infidel though he were, yet was he of the
faith of my ancestors.”

“Remember, however, that, while thou weepest
over a dead friend of Abdalla, thou deprivest him of
the services of a living one.”

Thus rebuked, Jacinto moved rapidly into the
passage, and flinging, as he went, the garment he
held about his person, stepped with the cavalier into
the street.

A thick scud, threatening rain, careered over the
heaven, and the smoke of cannon, mingling with the
mists of the lake, covered the city with a gloom so

deep, that Don Amador could not easily distinguish
the peculiar habiliments of his companion. Nevertheless,
he could well believe that his appearance was
that of an Indian maiden. He bade Jacinto to take
him by the hand, adding an injunction, under all circumstances
that might arise, to maintain his grasp.
To this, Jacinto answered,—

“Let it not be so,—at least, not until we are so
environed, as to be in danger of separating. My lord
must now consent to be guided by me.” (He spoke
with singular coolness, as if restored, by the urgency
of the occasion, to all that self-command and discretion,
which had so often excited the wonder of his
patron.) “I will walk a little before; and if the
people should approach, let my lord take no notice,
but follow calmly in my steps, as though he were a
great noble, disdaining to look upon his inferiors. Be
not amazed at what may happen, and, especially, do
not speak a word until close by the Spaniards.”

“Dost thou mean,” said the cavalier, suddenly
struck with the memory of the vision, not yet accounted
for by the page,—“dost thou mean to practise
any arts of magic? for if so—”

“I beseech my lord not to speak,” said the boy,
with a hurried voice; “for, if a word be heard, neither
valour nor magic can save us from destruction.
By-and-by, my lord shall see the wisdom of this
counsel; and all that is strange in its consequences,
shall be explained to him.”

Thus speaking, Jacinto strode forwards, and Don
Amador, wondering, yet yielding to his instructions,
followed in silence.

The cannon still roared at the palace, and the
shouts of the infuriated combatants were plainly
heard, in the intervals of the discharges; so that, as
the cavalier had hinted, there could be no difficulty
in determining their path. Nevertheless, it appeared
to him, that Jacinto walked forwards with the boldness
and certainty of one familiar with the streets he
was treading.

For a time, their course lay through a street
entirely deserted; but, by-and-by, passing into one
of greater magnitude, they beheld shadowy masses,
now of single figures, now of groups, darting about,
many of them with lights, as if flying, some from
the scene of combat, and others, like themselves,
approaching it. It was apparent that this street
was one of the four great avenues leading to the
square of Axajacatl; for no sooner had the two
Christians stepped upon it, than the sounds of conflict
came to them with tenfold loudness; and they could
behold, ever and anon, as the deadly discharges burst
from the artillery, the flames flashing luridly up
through the mists, like the jets of a distant volcano.

With the consciousness that he now trod a principal
street, Don Amador became aware that he was,
of a certainty, advancing full upon the mouth of, at
least, one piece of ordnance; and, as Jacinto paused
suddenly, as if dismayed at his peril, (for at that moment
a ruddy flame shot out of the mist, and a falconet
bellowed down the street,) he approached the boy,
and said,—

“For thy sake, Jacinto,—(it does not become me
to say for my own; though I confess some repugnance
to advance thus on the cannon of my friends,)—
I should wish thou couldst find some other path, not
so much exposed to be raked as this.”

“Speak not,—we have no choice,” muttered the
boy. “But God be thanked! the bullet that strikes
my lord, will first pass through my own body.”

This little expression of devotion was pronounced
with an earnestness that touched the heart of the
cavalier; and he was about to utter his satisfaction,
when a gesture of Jacinto, who immediately began
to resume his pace, warned him into silence. The
usefulness of the caution was soon made manifest;
for two or three Mexicans suddenly brushed by,
though without seeming to notice them. An instant
after, there passed several groups, bearing wounded
men in their arms; and, by-and-by, while every

moment seemed to surround them yet more with
isolated individuals, there came a party in some
numbers, uttering lamentations, as if over the body
of a great noble. Several of these bore torches in
their hands, wherewith they were enabled to descry
the pair; and Don Amador's heart beat quick, as he
saw three or four detach themselves from the group,
and run forwards, as if to make sure of a prey. He
grasped at his weapon, invoked his saint, and moved
quickly up to Jacinto, to give him what protection
he could. But, at the very moment when he feared
the worst, he was amazed to behold the barbarians
come to a dead halt, and, at the waving of Jacinto's
hand, part from before him with countenances of
reverence and fear. The same remarkable change was
observed in those who composed the party bearing
the corse, with the addition of new marks of homage;
for, leaving the body in the hands of a few, they
seemed about to follow the page in a tumultuous
procession, until he turned round, waving his hand
again; at which gesture, nearly all immediately fell
on their knees, and so remained until he passed. All
this time, the wondering cavalier was conscious that
he was himself unregarded.

Little by little, while the screams and cannon-shots
grew louder at each step, Don Amador perceived
that the groups began to grow into crowds, and then
into dense masses, every moment; while, every moment,
also, it became still more apparent, that his
guide exercised some powerful, though, to him, inscrutable,
influence, over the mob; for, no sooner
did their torches reveal his figure, than all were
straightway seized with admiration, falling upon their
knees, or returning on their path, and following him
towards the battle.

The gestures of Jacinto served no longer to repel
them; and in a few moments there were hundreds
of men, their numbers increasing at each step, who
pressed after him eagerly, though reverentially,—
uttering, at first, low murmurs, and then, at last,

shouts of joy and triumph. These reaching the ears
and drawing the attention of others in front, they, in
turn, added their respect to the homage of the rest.

However surprising, and, indeed, confounding, this
notice, and these salutations, to Don Amador, they
were far from agreeable; for the train followed so
close upon his heels, that he dreaded, every moment,
lest some derangement of his mantle or plumes might
expose to their gaze the hidden ensigns of a Christian.
Greatly was he rejoiced, therefore, when the steady
and persevering advance of the page had carried him
so deeply into the crowd, that it was scarcely practicable
for more than one or two individuals, at a time,
to look upon him, and quite impossible that the noisy
train should follow. He ceased, therefore, to lament
his proximity to the cannon-mouths, which still, at
intervals, flung death among the besiegers; for he
thought that in that alone there was safety. His
desire, in this particular, was soon gratified; for he
was, at last, wedged, with the page, among a mass
of men so dense and so disordered, that he no longer
feared a scrutiny. He was in sight of the palace, his
foot planted upon the square, and but a few paces
separated from his friends and his knight.

In the flash of the arquebuses, but more particularly
in the fiendish glare of the cannon, when disemboguing
their contents upon the barbarians, he
beheld the terraces covered with his countrymen,
resisting as they could, and with every shot from the
musket, every bolt from the arbalist, adding a life to
the reckoning of their revenge, and yet fainting with
fatigue over a slaughter which had no end. The
square was filled with men, as with a sea, and when
the fiery flashes of the ordnance lit it up as with a
momentary conflagration, the commotion following
upon each, made him think of those surges of fire
which roll in the crater of a volcano, and of the billows
of blood that dash upon the shores of hell. A
more infernal spectacle could not, indeed, have been
imagined; and when the harsh yells of the pagan

myriads were added, the tophet was complete, and
man appeared,—as he yet appears,—the destroyer
and the demoniac.

This spectacle, however horrible it might have
been to one accustomed to look upon man as the
image of his maker, and the blow struck at the life
of man, as a stroke aimed at the face of God, had
the effect to stir the blood of Don Amador de Leste
to such a degree, that, had he not been checked by
the cold hand and the deadly pale visage of his companion,
he would have followed the impulse of his
valour, uncovered his weapon, and, shouting a war-cry,
dashed at once upon the throat of the nearest infidel.
The look of Jacinto recalled him to his senses;
he made him a signal to clutch upon his mantle and
follow, and then plunged again into the gory crowd.

The tempest, both physical and mental, which beset
all that rout of pagans, reduced the intelligence of
each to but two objects of thought,—his enemy and
himself. Not one turned to wonder or observe, when
the strong shoulders—strong from excitement—of
the cavalier thrust him aside, or the hard touch of an
iron-cased elbow crushed into his bosom; nor, perhaps,
was a look cast upon the effeminate figure, that
seemed a girl, at the back of this impetuous stranger.
Thus, then, unresisted and disregarded, the cavalier
made his way, step by step, taking advantage of every
moment when the barbarians gave way before an
explosion of artillery, or a charge of the garrison,—
hoping, at each effort, to issue upon the open space
betwixt the besiegers and the besieged, and, at each,
arrested by a denser crowd,—speaking words of encouragement
to the horror-struck page, for well he
knew he might speak without fear in such a din,—
and, feeling, at each moment, his strength melting
away, like burning wax, under the prolonged exertion.
He toiled for his life, for the life of the boy, perhaps
for the life of Don Gabriel; but human nature could
not sustain the struggle much longer. Despair came
to his heart, for he knew not how far he stood from

the palace wall, and felt that he could labour no
more. His eye darkened, as he looked back to Jacinto,—the
boy was swooning where he stood.

“God be merciful to us both! But, at least, thou
shalt die in my arms, poor boy!” he muttered, making
one more effort, and raising the page from the
earth. “God be merciful to us,—but especially to
this child, for he is sinless, and, I fear me, fatherless.”

At this moment, a dreadful scream burst from the
lips of all around the novice, and immediately he felt
himself borne back by the barbarians as they recoiled,
seemingly, from a charge of cavalry. The
thought was hope, and hope again renewed his
strength. He planted his feet firmly on the earth, and
with his elbow and shoulder dashed aside the fleeing
pagans, pressed the senseless boy to his heart, raised
his voice in a shout, and the next moment stood free
from the herd, ten feet from the muzzle of a cannon,
from which the Mexicans had been recoiling. His
eye travelled along the tube;—the magician Botello
stood on the broken wall at its side, and the linstock
he held in his hand was descending to the vent.

“For the love of God, hold!” shouted the cavalier,
“or you will kill Christian men!”

The match fell to the earth, and the cavalier sprang
forward. But if his voice had reached the ears of
friends, it had not escaped the organs of foes. A
dozen savages, forgetful of their fears, sprang instantly
towards him, endeavouring to lay hold upon
him. A back-handed blow of his weapon loosed the
grasp of the most daring, and the hands of others
parted along with the flimsy disguise of Jacinto. He
left this in their grasp, tottered forward, and the next
moment, as the cannon belched forth its death upon the
pursuing herds, stood in the court-yard of the palace.