University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

The first thought of the young cavalier was, that
Don Gabriel had been basely and murderously struck
by some felon hand; an apprehension of which he
was, in part, immediately relieved by the protestations
of Baltasar, but which was not entirely removed
until he had assisted to carry the knight into
a chamber of the palace, and beheld him open his
eyes and roll them wildly round him, like one awaking
from a dream of night-mare.

“I say,” muttered Baltasar, as he raised the head
of the distracted man, and beckoned to clear the room
of many idle personages who had thrust themselves
in, “he was hurt by no mortal man, for I stood close
at his side, and there is not a drop of blood on his
body. 'Twas one of the accursed ghosts, whom
may St. John sink down to hell; for they are ever persecuting
us.”

“Mortal man, or immortal fiend,” whispered Lazaro,
knitting his brows, but looking greatly frighted,
“I saw him running away, the moment the knight
screeched; and, I will take my oath, he had such a
damnable appearance as belongs to nothing but the
devil, or one of these pagan gods, who are all devils.
Had he been a man, I should have slain him, for I
struck at him with my spear!”

“Miserere mei!” groaned the knight, rising to his
feet, “they are all unearthed,—Zayda at the temple,
and he in the palace!”

Don Amador trembled, when, he heard his kinsman
pronounce the name of Zayda, for he remembered
the words of Jacinto. Nevertheless he said, “be not

disturbed, my father; for we are none here but thy
servants.”

“Ay!” said the knight, looking gloomily but sanely
to his friend; “I afflict thee with my folly; but I
know now that it will end.—Let the boy Jacinto sing
to me the song of the Virgin; I will pray and sleep.”

Don Amador looked round, and Jacinto not being
present, began to remember that the page had been
separated from him in the crowd, and that he had
not seen him since the moment of separation. None
of the attendants had noticed him enter the court-yard;
and a superstitious fear was mingled with his
anxiety, when Don Gabriel, casting his eyes to heaven,
said, with a deep groan,—

“The time beginneth, the flower is broken, and
now I see how each branch shall fall, and the trunk
that is blasted, shall be left, naked, to perish! Seek
no more for the boy,” he went on to Amador, with a
grave placidity, which, coupled with the extravagance
of his words, gave the youth reason to fear that his
mind, wavering under a thousand shocks, had at last
settled down for ever in the calm of insanity,—“seek
for the good child no more, for he is now in heaven.
And lament not thou, my son Amador, that thou shalt
speedily follow him; for thy heart is yet pure, thy
soul unstained, and grace shall not be denied thee!”

“Jacinto is not dead, my father,” said the neophyte
earnestly; “and if thou wilt suffer Baltasar to remove
thy corslet, and make thee a couch under yonder
canopy, I will fetch him to thee presently, and he
shall sing thee to sleep.”

“Remove the armour indeed,” muttered Don Gabriel,
submitting passively, “for now there is no more
need of aught but the crucifix, prayers, and the
grave. Poor children! that shall die before the day
of canker, what matters it? I lament ye not,—ye
shall sleep in peace!”

Thus murmuring out his distractions, in which his
servants perceived nothing but the influence of some
supernatural warning that boded them calamity, the

knight allowed himself to be disarmed and laid upon
a couch on a raised platform at the side of the
chamber, over which the voluminous arras that covered
the walls, were festooned into a sort of not
inelegant tester.

Meanwhile, the neophyte, beckoning Lazaro with
him, and charging him to make good search throughout
the palace for the page, began to address himself
to the same duty. And first, attracted by the lights
and by the sounds of many voices coming from a
neighbouring apartment, he advanced to the door,
where he was suddenly arrested by the appearance
of a Mexican of very majestic stature, though clad
in the same humble robes which had covered the attendants
of Montezuma, issuing from the chamber,
followed by a throng of cavaliers, among whom was
the general himself. At the side of Cortes stood a
boy, in stature resembling Jacinto; and in whom, for
a moment, Don Amador thought he had discovered
the object of his desires. But this agreeable delusion
was instantly put to flight, when he heard Don Hernan
address him by the name of Orteguilla, and saw
that he exercised the functions of an interpreter.

“Tell me this knave, my merry muchacho,” said
the general,—“tell me this knave, (that is to say, this
royal prince,) Cuitlahuatzin, that I discharge him
from captivity, under the assurance that he shall,
very faithfully, and without delay, command his runagate
people to bring me corn to the market; of which
it is not fitting we should be kept in want longer than
to-morrow. And give him to understand, that I hold,
as the hostage of his good faith and compliance, the
dog Montezuma; (translate that, the king his brother:)
who shall be made to suffer the penalty of any neglect,
on his part, to furnish me with the afore-mentioned
necessary provision.”

The little Orteguilla, in part acquainted with the
Mexican tongue, did as he was directed; and the
prince Cuitlahuatzin, (or, as it should be pronounced
in English speech, Quitlawátzin,) receiving and understanding

the direction, bowed his head to Cortes with
stately humility, and immediately withdrew.

Not discovering or hearing aught of Jacinto in this
throng, Don Amador continued his search in other
parts of the palace, the court-yard, and even the
neighbouring street; but with such indifferent success,
that, when stumbling upon Lazaro, and made
acquainted that he had been equally unfortunate, he
began to entertain the most serious fears for the fate
of the boy.

“Perhaps he was carried off by the spectre,” muttered
Lazaro, superstitiously, “as his worship Don
Gabriel as much as hinted.”

“Or perhaps,” said the neophyte, with a thrill of
horror, “by some of those bloody cannibals, to be
devoured! And I remember now, that there were
many savages about me at the time; though I thought
them Tlascalans. I would to heaven, I had speared
the knaves that came between us; but I swear to St.
John of the Desert, if they have truly robbed me of
the boy, and for that diabolical purpose, I will pursue
their whole race with a most unrelenting vengeance.”

At this moment, the cavalier was startled by a sudden
“Hark!” from Lazaro, and heard, at a distance
in the street, though objects were lost in the darkness,
a great tumult as of men in affray, and plainly distinguished
a voice crying aloud, “Arma! arma! and
Christian men, for the love of God, to the rescue of
Christians beset by infidels!”

“Draw thy sword, Lazaro, and follow!” cried the
cavalier, “for these are other victims; and, with
God's favour, we will rescue them!”

Thus exclaiming, and without a moment thinking
of the unknown perils among which he was rushing,
he ran rapidly in the direction of the cries, and straightway
beheld, a little in advance of a great crowd of
people, a group consisting of four or five persons,
several of them women in strange attire, who stood
shrieking with terror, while at their feet rolled three
or four on the ground in close and murderous combat.

The cries of one of these prostrate figures bespoke
him a Spaniard, and while one sinewy pagan seemed
to hold him upon the earth, another stood with his
uplifted weapon, in the very act of despatching him.
At this moment, Don Amador rushed forwards, and
shouting his war-cry, Dios, y buena esperanza! (that
is, `God and good cheer!') struck the menacing
savage a blow that sent him yelling away, and seized
upon the other by the shoulder to stab him; when,
suddenly, the Spaniard rose to his feet, with a leap
that tumbled the infidel to the earth, and showed him
to be already dead, cried aloud, in the well-remembered
voice of the magician,—

“Tetragrammaton! thou wert a good shield, though
a bloody one, sir carcass!—Save the princesses, and
fly, or we are all dead men!—Arma! arma! to the
rescue!”

Thus shouting, and seizing upon one of the women,
while Don Amador snatched the arm of the other,
(for he perceived, they were like to be cut off by
the approaching crowd,) the sorcerer, with his rescuers,
ran towards the palace. His cries had reached
the quarters; and presently they were surrounded by
a hundred soldiers and cavaliers bearing lights, in the
glare of which Don Amador had scarce time to note
the countenance of his new ward, before she was
locked in the arms of De Morla.

“Minnapotzin! Benita!” cried the joyous cavalier.
“Amigo mio! thou hast saved my princess!”

“Stop not to prate and be happy; for the storm
comes!” exclaimed Botello. “To the palace, all of
ye! and to the cannon! for were you five hundred men,
there are wolves enow at your heels to devour you!”

Thus admonished, and perceiving, in fact, that a
vast, though silent multitude was approaching, all
were fain to fly, and in an instant they were crowding
into the gates of the court-yard.

“This comes of insulting the king!” cried a voice
from the melée, as Cortes, shouting out to clear the

gates, was seen himself assisting to draw a piece of
artillery to the opening.

“I see naught,—I hear nothing,” cried the general,
affecting not to remark this reproach, (which was
indeed just; for it was this over-refinement of policy,
spread with wonderful celerity throughout the city,
which dashed the last scale from the eyes of the
Mexicans, convinced them that their monarch was
indeed a slave, and let loose the long-imprisoned current
of fury.) “I see nought, I hear nought; and my
brave Rolands have been flying from shadows!”

“Say not so; the town is alive,” cried the magician.
“The hounds set on me, as I was bringing, at your
excellency's command, these princesses from Tacuba;
and it was only through the mercy of God, my good
star, an Indian that I killed for a buckler, and the
help of this true cavalier, (whose fate, out of gratitude,
I will reveal to him to-morrow,) that we were not all
killed by the way:—for small reverence did the false
traitors show to the maidens.”

“Clear the way, then. Discharge me the piece, Catalan,
true cannohier!” said Cortes, “and we will see
what our foes look like, so near to midnight.”

The match was applied, the palace shook to the
roar,—and the blaze, illumining the street to a great
distance, disclosed it, to the surprise of all, entirely
deserted.

“I will aver upon mine oath,” said Don Amador,
“that the street was but now full of people; but
where they have hidden, or whither they have fled,
wholly passes my comprehension.”

“Hidden, surely, in their beds,” cried the general,
loudly and cheerfully, for he perceived the crowds
about him were panic-struck. “They set on Botello,
doubtless, because they thought he was haling away
the princesses with violence; and, convinced of their
error, they have now gone to their rest,—a mark of
wisdom in which I would advise all here to follow
their example.”

Thus cheered by their leader, the soldiers began

to disperse; and Amador, musing painfully on the
mysterious fate of the page, was accosted by Cortes,
who, drawing him aside, said,—

“It has been told me, señor, that your Moorish
boy has made his escape.”

“His escape!” echoed the novice, in surprise. “He
did indeed vanish away from me, and I know not
how, though much do I fear, in a manner that it
shocks me to think on. I was about to ask of your
excellency, as the boy is a true Christian, as well as
a most faithful servant, for such counsel and assistance
as might enable me, this night, to rescue him
out of the hands of the cannibals; for it would be a
sin on the souls of us all, should we suffer him to come
to harm.”

“And are you so well persuaded of his faith, as to
believe him incapable of treachery?” demanded Don
Hernan, earnestly: “Thou forgettest, he has a father
concealed among these infidels.”

“Ay! by my faith!” cried Amador, joyously; “I
thought not of that before. And yet, and yet—”
Here his countenance fell. “How should he be so
mad, as to leave us in this strange and huge city,
with any hope of discovering Abdalla?”

“I can resolve thee that,” said Cortes; “for it is
avouched to me by Yacub, that he saw this wretch
(whom may heaven return to me for punishment, for
he is a most subtle, daring, and dangerous traitor,)
this very knave Abdalla, at thy horse's heels; but he
could not believe 't was he, until made acquainted
with the flight of the page.”

“Ay! now I see it;” said Amador; “and I remember
that he wept, as he held my hand, as if grieving
to desert me. But, methinks, 't will be well to seek
him out, and reclaim him. Will your excellency allow
me the services of any score or two of men, who,
for love or gold, may be induced to follow me in the
search?”

“I will answer thee in thine own words,” said
Cortes: “Where wouldst thou look in this strange

and huge city, with any hope of discovering him?
Be content, señor; the boy is with the fox, his father.
That should convince thee, he is in present safety.
And señor, I will tell thee, what I conceal from my
people, (for thou art a soldier, and, therefore, as discreet
as fearless,) that I would not, this night, despatch
an hundred men a mile from the palace, without
looking to have half of them slain outright by the
rebels that are around us!”

“And dost thou think,” said Amador, “that these
besotted, naked madmen, would dare to assail so
many?”

“You will see, by my conscience!” cried the
general, with a grim and anxious smile. “Sleep with
thine armour at thy side; and forget not thy buckler,
for I have known a Tlascalan arrow pierce through
a good Biscayan gorget; and they say, the Mexicans
can shoot as well. Let not any noise arouse thee,
unless it be that of a trumpet. I would have thee sleep
well, my friend; for I know not how soon I may need
thy strong arm, and encouraging countenance!”

Thus darkly and imperfectly apprising the novice
of his fears, (for now, indeed, a demon had roused a
thousand apprehensions in his breast,) the general
departed; and Don Amador disconsolately pursued
his way to the chamber of the knight of Rhodes.