University of Virginia Library

37. CHAPTER XXXVII.

Meanwhile, the Adelantado and his prime minister, Don
Balthazar de Alvaro, sate late at their private councils, after the
rest of the noble Knights and Captains had retired. They had
much to discuss and determine which was not proper to be submitted
to the common ear. But a portion only of this conference
properly concerns our drama. It was at the close of their
discourse that De Soto gave it in charge to Don Balthazar, to
arrest the Princess and put her under safeguard.

“There need be no violence, Señor Balthazar, if your proceedings
are prompt and secret. All outward forms of respect must
be maintained. We must only see that she does not escape.
See to it by sunrise.”

“Better an hour or two before,” was the answer of the Don.
“The Indians may be put on the alert by sunrise.”

“What! you do not suspect Don Philip?”

“He is a favorite with the Princess.”

“But I should think her no great favorite with him. He seems
to treat her with great reserve, if not coldness.”

“Reserve is apt to be only a prudent masking of the passions.”

“But would he dare to play us false!”

“Ah! this would scarcely be considered a treachery; or only
such as were becoming in a good knight. We can, at all events,
better guard against than punish such a treachery.”

“Ay, by the holy cross, but I should punish such a treachery,
were the offender the best knight in Christendom.”

“Verily, and I should hark on, and say well done, your Excellency;
but still I repeat, better in this case prevent, than have
to punish such treachery. In brief, the Princess must not be
allowed to escape. Were she to do so, we should fare badly in
our future progress through her dominions. With your Excellency's
leave, I will make the arrest before the dawn of another
day.”

“It is as you please. You are no doubt right in the precaution;

though, let me find this Knight of Portugal playing me
false, and —”

The threat was unspoken, or was sufficiently expressed in the
angry gesture, and the heavy stroke with which, with clenched
fist, he smote the rude table at which the parties were seated.
In a little while after this, Don Balthazar took his leave.

He proceeded almost instantly to collect a select body of his
followers, all armed, for the capture of the Princess Coçalla.
This labor occupied some time. He had to move with all precautions,
rout up soldiers who were sleeping, and hunt up others
who were scattered; and this brought him to a tolerably late hour
in the night. By that time Philip de Vasconselos had already
proceeded on his generous mission, of arousing the Princess to
the necessity of flight, and ere Don Balthazar had set his little
squad in motion: but the latter was not delayed much longer.
Still, the Portuguese Knight is in season for his object, if there
should occur no embarrassments.

It was no small one, however, that of finding access to the
Princess. She occupied a centre mansion, rude enough for royalty,
so far as we refer to the agencies of art, but a most royal
abode if we look only to the natural accessories. That great
home of forest oaks, and hickories, and walnuts, towering masses
of wood and shrubbery—a mighty colonnade of gigantic forms,
conducting through numerous airy avenues to the lowly mansion
of logs, surrounded by a shady roof of thatched poles,—an ample
verandah of green, surrounding the habitation, which nestled
in the great shelter of the ancient forest—was an abode for an
Emperor. In this verandah slept a score or more of warriors
always ready, armed with feathered shaft, and flint-headed spear,
and obsidian bludgeon, stone tomahawk and knife of flint. No
Emperor ever possessed subjects more faithful and devoted. The
space of forest surrounding the abode of the Princess was filled
up with scattered parties of other warriors, who slept beneath
the trees when the weather was fair, and who kept watch from
hidden huts, when the storm descended. They were as vigilant
as faithful.

Hardly had Philip de Vasconselos entered the tabooed precincts,
when a dozen spears were at his breast.

“Lead me to your queen,” he said in calm, but commanding
accents—“she is in danger. I must see her.”

A brief and rapid consultation ensued among the forest watchers.
The result was favorable to the wishes of the knight, simply
as all knew him to be the favorite of Coçalla. He was
scarcely a less favorite among her people. He was conducted

silently through the green glades, and amidst the dark avenues of
thicket; the boy Juan stealthily and closely following, unnoticed
by Philip, and permitted by the red men, as a matter of course,
as he was the attendant of the master. When they reached the
lodge, a conch, which hung from one of the pillars of the verandah,
was sounded by one of the watchers at the porch. A door
opened, and a whispered conversation ensued between the guard
and some one within. A brief space, and Philip was admitted
to an antechamber, a great hall, indeed, at one side of which stood
a maiden with a blazing torch. Juan remained in waiting without
the verandah, anxious to press forward, and trembling with
anxiety, yet dreading what he should behold. But, for awhile,
his courage failed him, leaving his anxiety unrepressed.

But a few moments had elapsed, after Philip's entrance into
the hall, when the princess made her appearance. She was clad
in simple white cotton garments, hastily caught up. It needed
but little time or effort to adjust the costume of the native princess.
She was followed by a group of damsels, and one or two
matrons. In a few moments after, several old men made their
appearance from contiguous dormitories.

There was a joyous eagerness in the face of the bright-eyed
Coçalla, as she looked upon the knight.

“Philip!” She had learned to call his name very prettily—
“Philip!” and the rest she spoke in her own language, taking his
hand frankly as she spoke.

“What would the voice of the Spaniard with Coçalla? It is
not the hour of council. The bird that sings by day, sleeps in
the darkness. The warrior sleeps, with the spear beneath his
arm. Why comes Philip to me now? Would he make his
home with the red warriors of the forest? Philip shall be a
chief for Cozalla.”

“It is not for that I come, noble Coçalla. But there is danger
for the princess. My people have said Coçalla must be ours!
She must march with our army to the great mountains. She
must be the hostage for her people. She must follow the path
as we mark it out for her footsteps. Let Coçalla fly to the great
thickets and escape from captivity.”

“Does the Spanish chief say this of the Queen of Cofachiqui?”
was the indignant answer.

“The Spanish chiefs have so spoken!”

“What! They see not my warriors? They know not their valor
their skill, their numbers, and the fatal weapons which they carry.”

“Neither numbers nor weapons will avail against the arms of
the Spaniards.”

“Ha! say'st thou! Thou shalt see.” And she whispered to
her attendants, one of whom disappeared.

“The princess must fly to the deep forests,” continued Vasconselos.
“There alone can she be safe from our people.”

“Fly! and from my home,—while my warriors are around
me? Never! never!—And yet—” speaking quickly—“Will
Philip go with me to my lodge in the great forests? Will he
become a warrior of Cofachiqui? Say, Philip,—wilt thou go
with me, and find a lodge among my people—and become a
chief—the great chief—the `well-beloved of Cofachiqui?' And
she caught his hand eagerly.

“Alas!” he said, “I cannot, beautiful Coçalla—my lot is cast
among the Spaniards.”

“Then will I meet them here. I will gather my warriors.
They shall fight these Spaniards—they shall fall upon them, and
slay them all—all but thee, Philip. Thou shalt be a great chief
of Cofachiqui.”

A group of old men entered at this moment, and were apprised
of what Vasconselos had reported. They received the information
gravely. They heard their princess as she inveighed
loudly against the insolent purpose of the Spaniards. She bade
them gather the warriors together, and meet their enemy. She
was resolved not to fly, unless—and she turned again to the
knight—

“Will not Philip go with Coçalla to the great forests of her
people, and be a chief of Cofachiqui?”

He shook his head mournfully. The old chiefs interfered.
Philip understood all that they spoke, though in low tones, to
their queen. They, too, exhorted her to take the counsel of Vasconselos,
and seek safety in flight. At the moment, they were
unprepared for conflict. Their warriors about the village were
few in number, hardly more than necessary for a body-guard of
honor for their sovereign. It required time to call in the warriors,
and to prepare for such enemies as those with whom they
had to deal, and the terrible resources of which were already, in
part, known to the chiefs. But the princess grew unreasonable;
still recurring, at the close of her speech, to the one burden,
in the appeal to Philip—“to find a lodge among, and be a
chief over her people—the chief!” The old warriors looked
grave. They renewed their counsels and expostulations. They
were seconded by the earnest entreaties of Vasconselos. She
said to him reproachfully—

“Does Philip bid me go from him where I can see him no

more? Does Philip say to Coçalla—let the forests grow between
us, so that our eyes shall never meet again? Ah! Philip!”
and she laid her hand, as if with pain, upon her heart. The
knight felt very wretched at the wretchedness he was compelled
to inflict, and a vague but beguiling thought passed through his
fancy for an instant, with the rapidity of an arrow of light.

“And why should I not depart with this true-hearted and innocent
princess?—She is young and beautiful, and powerful, and
more than all, pure of thought and feeling. Why should I follow
in the steps of those who hate, when I am persuaded by
those who love?”

But he dismissed the seductive argument with the resolute exertion
of his will. The very thought of love, and of another woman,
while his heart was still so sore with the most humiliating
experience of the sex, was a revolting thought. He hastily expelled
it from his mind.

“Heed not me,” he said, “noble Princess:—I am but an insect
in thy path. I am nothing.”

“Thou art every thing, Philip, to Coçalla. My people will
honor thee for my sake, and thou shalt be a chief among them.
And thou shalt dwell in a lodge with Coçalla, and there shall be
no Spaniards in the great forests where we go. Thou shalt be
a chief of my people, Philip,—thou shalt be the only chief for
Coçalla.”

And with these words, in the eager impulse of a passion which
was no less pure than warm,—the passion of a nature wholly unsophisticated,
no longer able to restrain her feelings, she threw
her arms around the neck of Vasconselos, and laid her head upon
his breast. Her long, dark tresses fell like a shower of starry
night over his shoulders.

At that moment, and before the knight could recover himself,
he felt his arm plucked from behind, and the voice of Juan
sounded huskily in his ears.

“See you not, Señor, that unless you tear yourself away from
her, she will not depart? She will be captured, unless you leave
her at once! Already Don Balthazar is gathering his troop to
surround the village of the princess. Fly from her in season, or
she is surely taken. These moments are fatally lost.”

Vasconselos heard, and tenderly but firmly he unwound the
arms of the princess from about his neck. At this act, silently
performed, she turned, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, and
threw herself on the bosom of one of the matrons, while her
sobs sounded distinctly through the apartment.

“Now—now!” cried Juan, in quick, eager accents, as Philip
lingered—“Now is the moment, Señor. She will fly when you
are gone from sight.”

“You are right, boy, right!” answered the knight. The hand
of Juan eagerly grasped that of his superior, and led him away
from the apartment and into the woods, without a moment's delay.
They were within a few paces of the lodging of Vasconselos,
when they heard a slight blast of a trumpet in the thicket
between them and the abode of the Princess.

“It is the signal of Don Balthazar,” said Juan hurriedly. “We
are safe;” and he drew the knight into the lodge.

“But Coçalla?” said Philip.

“She has had time enough for escape if she willed it; but methinks
she would rather be a captive were Don Philip the jailer,
than be the free Princess of all these forests.”

There was something of bitterness in the accents of the boy.
Philip noted it, but his mind was too full of anxiety, in respect
to the escape of Coçalla, to dwell upon minor matters.

“Now may the Saints forbid!” he ejaculated.

“This princess seems very precious to the Señor!” quoth
Juan, moodily.

“As nobility, and generosity of soul, and true virtue in a woman,
should ever be to every noble knight!” responded Philip,
somewhat sternly; and Juan shrunk away, as if an arrow had
pierced him suddenly in the breast; and Vasconselos heard no
more words from him that night. The boy had gone aside to
bury his face in the leaves of his couch, and to weep in secret, as
was his nightly custom and necessity.