University of Virginia Library

25. CHAPTER XXV.

As the cavalier sprang among his countrymen,
almost fainting with exhaustion, he loosened, with as
much discretion as dexterity, the knot of the tilmatli,
and dropped it to the earth, so that he might not be
mistaken for a foe. The sudden gleam of his armour,
and the sight of his wan visage, struck all those who
had rushed against him with horror. Among the
foremost of all, was the man-at-arms Lazaro, who
no sooner perceived that he had raised his trusty espada
against what he doubted not was the spectre of
the novice, than he fell upon his knees, yelling aloud,

“Jesu Maria! my master! my master's ghost!”
with other such exclamations of terror.

At this moment, the page revived in the arms of
his patron, but only to add to the cry of Lazaro a
shriek so wild and heart-piercing, that it drove all
other sounds from the ears of Don Amador. The
cavalier observed the cause of this cry, and again his
eye lighted up with the fires of passion. A group of
soldiers, agitated by some tumult, which had no part
in the conflict around, stood against the palace wall,
under a casement, from which was projected a bundle
of partisans. Round this extempore gibbet was
fixed a rope, one end of which being pulled at by
those below, the cavalier beheld, shooting up above
the heads of the mass, a human being, to all appearance,
bound hand and foot; and in the blackened and
horribly convulsed countenance of the sufferer, he
perceived the features of Abdalla, the Wali.

With a bound, that carried him at once into their
midst, and with a rapidity that prevented opposition,
he rushed up to the wall, and before the Morisco was
elevated above his reach, struck the halter with his
weapon. The Zegri fell to the earth;—the executioners
looked upon the visage of his bold preserver, and
being persuaded, like Lazaro, that the very ghastly

apparition before them was nothing less than the
ghost of an hidalgo, universally reckoned dead, they
recoiled in affright. Before they had recovered from
their confusion, the culprit rose to his feet, glared a
moment on the cavalier, and then springing away,
was instantly lost among the combatants. A wild
and exulting cry of “Moro! Moro! Tlatoani Moro!”
rose among the barbarians; and the Spaniards knew
that their prey was beyond pursuit.

“Santos santisimos! Holy Mother of heaven!
grace upon all, and Amen! if thou beest a living
creature, speak,—or I will smite thee for a devil!”

These words came from the lips of Alvarado, who
had himself commanded the body of hangmen, and
who now, though his teeth chattered with terror, advanced
his rapier towards the bosom of his late companion.
As he gazed and menaced, Don Amador,
yielding, at last, to the consequences of labours altogether
above his enfeebled powers, sunk swooning to
the earth; and Jacinto, rushing from the crowd, flung
himself upon his body.

“Viva! praise God, and let the cry go round; for
we have saved the noble De Leste!” shouted Don
Pedro, with a voice of joy, raising the senseless cavalier.
“Now shall ye hear from his own mouth, ye
caitiffs that have belied me, that I played not the foul
companion. Viva! I swear it rejoices me to behold
thee!—Why, thou little rascal traitor, art thou here,
too! It was God's will thy vagabond father should
purchase me my brother; for which reason, I am not
incensed he has escaped me. One day is as good as
another for hanging.—How now, my noble friend!
art thou hurt beyond speaking! God's lid! but I
would hug thee, if thou didst not look so dismal!”

All this time, the neophyte surveyed the astounded
visages around him with a bewildered eye; and,
doubtless, his obtuse senses could not, at that moment
of clamour, detect the accents of Don Pedro.

“Tetragrammaton! did I not tell thee the truth?”
cried the harsh voice of Botello.

“Master! dear master!” exclaimed Lazaro, as he
embraced the knees of the novice.

“Thanks be to God! the noble señor has escaped!”
shouted the secretary.

“God be praised! but would it had been yesterday!
for then might it have been better for Don Gabriel.”

The name of his kinsman, spoken by the well-known
voice of Baltasar, dispelled at once the dreamy trance
of the cavalier.

“How fares my noble kinsman?” he cried.

The head of Baltasar fell on his breast, and a loud
groan came from his fellow-servitor. Don Amador
looked to the Tonatiuh, and witnessed the change
from blithe joy to gloomy hesitation, which instantly
marked his handsome aspect; the face of Fabueno
darkened; and the magician strode away.

“Clear for me, if ye will not speak!” said the cavalier,
with sudden sternness; “for there is no sight of
wo I cannot now look upon.”

He grasped the arm of Jacinto, and pushing into
the palace, made his way toward the chamber of the
knight.—The hand of devastation had been upon the
walls of the passage; beams and planks had been
torn away to supply the materials for the mantas and
other martial engines; and Don Amador no longer
knew the apartment of his kinsman. A dim light,
and a low sound of wailing, came from a curtained
door. Before the secretary and the other attendants
who followed, could intercept him, he stepped into
the room.

The sight that awaited him instantly fastened his
attention. He was in the chamber of Montezuma,
and the captive monarch lay on the bed of death.
Around the low couch knelt his children, and behind
were the princes of the empire, gazing with looks of
awe on the king. In front were several Spanish
cavaliers, unhelmed and silent; and Cortes himself,
bare-headed and kneeling, gazed with a countenance
of remorse on his victim; while the priest Olmedo
stood hard by, vainly offering, through the medium

of Doña Marina and the cavalier De Morla, the
consolations of religion.

The king struggled in a kind of low delirium, in
the arms of a man of singular and most barbarous
appearance. This was a Mexican of gigantic stature,
robed in a hooded mantle of black; but the cowl had
fallen from his head, and his hair, many feet in length,
plaited and twisted with thick cords, fell like cables
over his person and that of the dying king. This was
the high-priest of Mexico, taken prisoner at the battle
of the temple.

The countenance of Montezuma was changed by
suffering and the death-throe; and yet, from their
hollow depths, his eyes shot forth beams of extraordinary
lustre. As he struggled, he muttered; and his
broken exclamations being interpreted, were found
to be the lamentations of a crushed spirit and a broken
heart.

“Bid the Teuctli depart,” were some of the words
which Don Amador caught, as rendered by the lips
of Marina: “before he came, I was a king in Mexico.
—But the son of the gods,” he went on, with a hoarse
and rattling laugh, “shall find that there are gods in
Mexico, who shall devour the betrayer! They roar
in the heavens, they thunder among the mountains,”—
(the continued peals of artillery, shaking the fabric of
the palace, mingled with his dreams, and gave a
colour to them)—“they speak under the earth, and
it trembles at their shouting. Ometeuctli, that dwelleth
in the city of heaven, Tlaloc, that swimmeth on
the great dark waters, Tonatricli and Meztli, the
kings of day and night, and Mictlanteuctli, the ruler
of hell,—all of them speak to their people; they look
upon the strangers that destroy in their lands, and
they say to me, `Thou art the king, and they shall
perish!'—Wo! wo! wo!” he continued, with an
abrupt transition to abasement and grief; “they look
upon me and laugh, for I have no people! In the
face of all, I was made a slave; and, when they had
spit upon me, they struck me as they strike the slave;

so struck my people. Come, then, thou that dwellest
among the rivers of night; for, among the rivers,
with those who die the death of shame, shall I inhabit.
Did not Mexico strike me, and shout for joy?
Wo, wo! for my people have deserted me! and, in
their eyes, the king is a slave!”

“Put thy lips to this emblem of salvation,” said
the Spanish priest, extending his crucifix, eagerly;
“curse thy false gods, which are devils; acknowledge
Christ to be thy master; and part,—not to dwell
among the rivers of hell, which are of fire, but in the
seats of bliss, the heaven of the just and happy.”

“I spit upon thy accursed image!” said the monarch,
rousing, with indignation, into temporary sanity,
and endeavouring to suit the action to the word;
“I spit upon thy cross, for it is the god of liars and
deceivers! of robbers and murderers! of betrayers
and enslavers! I curse thy god, and I spit upon him!”

All the Spaniards present recoiled with horror at
the impiety, which was too manifest in the act to
need interpretation; and some, in the moment, half
drew their swords, as if to punish it by despatching
the dying man at once. But they looked again on
the king, and knew that this sin was the sin of
madness.

As they started back, the person of De Leste,
whom, in their fixed attention to Montezuma, none
of them had yet perceived, was brought into the view
of the monarch. His glittering eye fell upon the
penacho, which the cavalier had not yet thought to
remove from his helmet, and which yet drooped,
with its badges of rank, over his forehead. A laugh,
that had in it much of the simple exultation of childhood,
burst from the king's lips; and, raising himself
on the couch, he pointed at the ruddy symbols of
distinction. The cavaliers, following the gesture with
their eyes, beheld, with great agitation, their liberated
companion; and even Cortes, himself, started to his
feet, with an invocation to his saint, when his eye
fell upon the apparition.

The words of Amador,—“Fear me not, for I live,”
—though not lost, were unanswered; for, notwithstanding
that many of the cavaliers immediately
seized upon his hands, to express their joy, they
instantly cast their regards again upon Montezuma,
as not having the power to withdraw them for a moment
from him.

“Say what they will,” muttered the king, still eyeing
the penacho with delight, “I, also, am of the
House of Darts; and in Tlascala and Michoacan,
and among the Otomies of the hills, have I won me
the tassels of renown. Before I was a king, I was
a soldier: so will I gather on me the armour of a
general, and drive the Teuctli from my kingdom.
Ho, then, what ho! Cuitlahuatzin! and thou, son of
my brother, Quauhtimotzin! that are greater in war
than the sons of my body, get ye forth your armies,
and sound the horns of battle! Call upon the gods,
and smite! on Mexitli the terrible, on Painalton the
swift! call them, that they may see ye strike, and
behold your valour! Call them, for Montezuma will
fight at your side, and they shall know that he is
valiant!”

The struggles of the king, as he poured forth these
wild exclamations, were like convulsions. But suddenly,
and while the Spaniards thought he was about
to expire in his fury, the contortions passed from his
countenance, his lips fell, his eyes grew dim, and his
voice was turned to a whisper of lamentation.

“I sold my people for the smile of the Teuctli; I
bartered my crown for the favour of the Christian; I
gave up my fame for the bonds of a stranger; and
now what am I? I betrayed my children—and what
are they? Let it not be written in the books of history,—blot
the name of Montezuma from the list of
kings; let it not be taught to them that are to follow.
—Tlaloc, I come!—Let it be forgotten.”—

Suddenly, as he concluded, and as if the fiend of
the world of waters he had invoked, had clutched
upon him, he was seized with a dreadful convulsion,

and as his limbs writhed about in the agony, his eyes,
dilating with each struggle, were fixed with a stony
and basilisk glare upon those of Cortes; and thus,—
his gaze fixed to the last on his destroyer,—he expired.

When the neophyte beheld the last quiver cease in
the body, and knew by the loud wail of the Mexicans,
that Montezuma was no more, he looked round
for Don Hernan; but the general had stolen from the
apartment.—The visage of Cortes revealed not the
workings of his mind; but his heart spoke to his conscience,
and his soul recorded the confession;—“I
have wronged thee, pagan king;—but thy vengeance
cometh!”—

Don Amador's arm was touched by his friend De
Morla.

“In the chamber of death,” said the cavalier,
sadly, “thou mightest best hear of death: but I cannot
discourse to thee, while Minnapotzin is mourning.
Let us depart, brother.”

Don Amador motioned to the page, and followed
his friend out of the apartment.