 | CHAPTER IX. Centeola |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
The awful rites of sacrificing human beings to false
gods having been thus inaugurated, and ordered to be immediately
commenced, the devoted virgins, two by two,
led by a priest and enclosed by files of guards, armed
with short, sharp lances, were now put in motion, and
goaded and forced along up the broad stair-way winding
round the outside to the top of the Temple, where the
altar, or sacrificial stone stood ready prepared for the abhorrent
immolation. The stairway wound three times
completely round the tall structure in its course upward,
and every time the mournful train came round fronting
the crowd, their ears were saluted by the fresh bursts of
the wails of sorrow and despair from these hapless victims
of superstition and cruelty. At length they all
reached the consecrated area on the summit; when the
devoted innocents were ranged in a circular row in front
of the bloody altar, to await, in turn, their respective
dooms. The great drum then again sounded to betoken
that all was ready; when the High Priest, amidst the
cheers and shouts of the multitude, slowly ascended the
the sacred area, where his presence was awaited to superintend
the ceremony at hand. For a moment, there was
a dead silence above; and the whole vast throng stood
hushed in mute expectation below. Then a sharp, wild
shriek from above, quickly followed by a succession of
less audible cries, apprised all of the fact, that a victim
had been seized, thrown prostrate over the sacrifical stone,
her neck confined down by a yoke or fork made for the
purpose, and her breast laid bare for the fatal blow.
At the tap on the great drum, a Priest, called the Chief
Sacrificer, approached and plunged his knife deep into the
vitals of the victim, who, with one long cry of mortal
agony, subsiding into a gurgling groan, yielded up her
life forever. The sacrificer then ripped open the quivering
breast of the bleeding victim, tore out her heart and
threw it down at the feet of the grim image of the God,
to whom the horrid oblation was made; when the High
Priest loudly exclaimed,
“Accept this, our willing sacrifice, O, Mixitli, forgive
our offences, and interpose thy mighty arm for the salvation
of our imperilled city!”
After this the mutilated body was caught up by two of
the attendant Priests, borne to the battlement and hurled
down from the dizzy height to the ground below. A loud
shout of exultation, the next instant rose from the excited
multitude, the nearest of whom eagerly fell on the body
to those around them, amidst the furious beating of drums
and tymbals, which, mingling with the fresh outbursts of
human voices, made the heavens resound with the wild
uproar.
And thus, for the next two hours, proceeded this ceremony
of accumulating horrors, as victim after victim was
successively thrown on the gory altar, received the fatal
plunge of the knife, uttered her last death scream, and
her remains, torn, mangled and streaming with blood,
sent flying over the battlement to the ground below.
But as horrible as were these infernal rites, they were
witnessed throughout with the most manifest gratification
by the whole populace, who, at the close of each individual
sacrifice, as practically announced by the swift descending
corpse to the ground, testified their delight in the
most wild and jubilant acclamations.
After the last of the nineteen victims had been despatched,
the High Priest followed by his subordinates, descended
the stairway and took his seat in the sacred chair
directly facing the Royal platform, and very near Centeola
and her train. The crowd for the moment were
hushed to silence; and all eyes were turned upon him to
hear what might next proceed from his oracular lips, and
see what might be his next movement. For some time,
however, he remained mute, expecting every moment to
hear the fair object of his infamous machinations, who
at the scenes she had just witnessed, now raise her
voice in recantation of what she had uttered, and in humble
petitions to the King and to himself for pardon and
mercy. But soon growing impatient at her persistent silence,
he turned on her a prolonged, scrutinizing and significant
look of inquiry. But instead of the expected response
of relenting and kind expressions of countenance,
he found himself defiantly confronted by the now doubly
indignant maiden, and his unhallowed glances met with a
look of scorn which he could be at no further loss how to
interpret, and which seemed instantly to fill him with the
deepest, though smothered resentment. He was evidently
conceiving a plan of the most dastardly and deadly revenge,
and accordingly, he soon arose, and, with a voice tremulous
with passion, which was attributed by the spectators
to the intensity of his holy emotions, turned to the
King and said —
“We have anxiously endeavored, O King, to make an
acceptable and sufficient sacrifice. But the Great Mixitli,
on whose interposition the safety of the Imperial city
depends, is not yet satisfied. One full score of fair virgins
were decreed him for a sacrifice on this great occasion.
One is still lacking. It is in vain we have tried to
make him content short of the full number. The God cannot,
and will not be cheated. The lacking victim must be
immediately supplied.”
“Ay, ay!” eagerly responded the subservient Priests
and Seers of every grade. “Let a victim be at once selected
and brought forth.”
“And let her,” resumed the High Priest, growing
more decided by the support thus received, “Let her be
more beautiful than any of those who have been already
devoted to the God, as it will be but a suitable amend to
the offended deity. But who shall she be?” he added
glancing significantly to Centeola.
The crowd instantly comprehending the malicious indication;
and seeing in it the sanction for carrying out, and
more than carrying out their late demand of seizing and
imprisoning the maiden, instantly extended their scores of
menacing fingers towards her and fiercely exclaimed, —
“There she is! there is the one! She, who, an hour
ago, insulted the God, and audaciously put herself in opposition
to the doings and authority of the King and Council.
Let her be the one. Let her at once be delivered
over to the Priests.”
A great commotion now immediately ensued among the
multitude; and even the King and Council evidently
shared in the general sensation. But surprise at the
course things appeared to be taking, together with some
freshly springing doubts on the unexpected proposition
combined to keep the latter silent. Centeola was known
to several of the Council, from her first appearance before
them, to belong to a noble family of one of the most powerful
rest. This had restrained them from joining in the out-side
clamor for her arrest; since, by an established law
of the nation, the persons of nobles and their families
were exempted from seizure and imprisonment, except for
murder and one or two infamous crimes, none of which,
could it be pretended, she had committed, and much
less was it deemed permissible, that the daughter of a noble
should ever be made the victim of a sacrifice. The
King and Council, therefore, remained silent, knowing
not what to say or do, in their surprise and perplexity.
The High Priest, however, burning to revenge himself for
the mortifying repulse he had received in the prosecution
of his base designs, was not to be restrained from his present
deadly purpose by any such scruples, and custom having
made him supreme in all that pertained to the sacrifices,
he determined that nothing should prevent him from
carrying that purpose into execution. But for his own
safety he preferred to shoulder the responsibility on the
people, and through them secure, at least, the acquiessence
of the King and Council. In accordance with his
plan, he rose, and, with an assumed air of dignified calmness
and deliberation, slowly and with solemn emphasis,
proceeded.
“The people have willed it. They have pointed out
the virgin here present whom they deem the proper victim,
and persist in their demand to have her taken for the
obeyed? What victim could be offered to the God that
could so well appease and gratify him as one who has reviled
him and set his power at naught, as yon maiden has
this day done in the presence of the King, and before all
the assembled people? I repeat, then, why should not she
be the one to be selected for the purpose?”
“I will tell thee” here promptly interposed the hitherto
silent Sage Alcoan, in a voice of startling energy — “I
will tell thee, proud Priest, why this exalted maiden may
not be made a victim. If, as thou sayest, the people have
willed it, it is in their ignorance that they have done it.
By the laws and customs of this nation, the nobles, and
the daughters of the nobles, are exempt from seizure and
sacrifice. It is Alcoan, the Sage of the Feathered Serpents
who tells thee this — who is himself of noble blood,
and knows this maiden to be no less so.”
The Councillor Huasco, who had before shown himself
a subservient tool of the High Priest, now, on receiving
a secret sign from the latter, hastily rose, and by way of
coming to the rescue, authoritively exclaimed —
“She is not his daughter. He dare not assert that she
is his daughter.”
“A conspiracy! Behold the conspiracy!” cried the
High Priest. “She is not his daughter; and he is trying
to shield her by claiming her, as such, to be the
daughter of a noble! Shall we suffer the sacred rights
her be brought forth.”
“Stay, thou remorseless Priest!” exclaimed Alcoan,
“I know thy motives, but thou shalt yet be baffled in thy
unholy purposes. I appeal to the King and Council.
Shall a noble, as they all know me to be, fail to be allowed
a hearing?”
The King betrayed tokens of perplexity and indecision,
and became visibly agitated. But finding that a response
was expected of him, he hurriedly consulted with two or
three Councillors sitting nearest to him; after which, with
a deprecating glance to the High Priest, he hesitatingly
said,
“The Sage of the Feathered Serpents is certainly a
noble; and, as it can be no interference with the prerogatives
of the High Priest to allow him at least a hearing.
He is permitted to speak; what would he say?”
“In the first place,” firmly replied Alcoan, “I would
repeat in this presence every assertion I have made respecting
this maiden, of whom I stand the protector.
She is not my daughter by blood, it is true, and for all
that she is the lawful offspring of a noble, and of one too,
far higher in his exalted rank, than the highest nobles
now sitting before me as Councillors.”
“What meanest thou, Alcoan?” exclaimed the King,
starting up in singular perturbation. “Explain — explain
thy words of mystery.”
“I obey,” promptly responded the Sage. “I will fully
reply to thy request: For I perceive that the time has
arrived when the great secret, of which I, among all thy
living, probably, am alone master, should be unfolded.
“Thou, O King, hadst once a wife, most fair to look upon
and graced with every virtue. She died, having borne
thee a daughter as lovely as herself. Thou didst then
take unto thee another wife, who was as evil of heart as
the first one was good. She also soon bore thee a daughter,
that was not fair; and the heart of the evil mother
sickened with envy and spite, as she compared her plain
offspring with the beautiful child of the former wife, and
she conspired with the nurse of that motherless child to
cause it to be carried out of the city and slain. But the
nurse relented and employed a confidant to carry it away
to a distance and leave it secretly at some lodge door,
where its origin would never be known; while she returned
and reported that the child had been seized and
devoured by a wild beast. That child was left at my
door, taken in and tenderly cared for. It had certain
marks on its inner dress, and a silver amulet around its
neck, which gave a direct clue to its origin, and which, for
months, I industriously but secretly followed up, until all
was unmistakably revealed. But I deemed it prudent to
keep the secret of the little castaway to myself, and
reared and adopted her as my daughter. Here, O King,
is that silver amulet, marked with thy royal eagle and a
the King are ever permitted to wear.”
The King, as the Sage proceeded, had become more and
more agitated, until he trembled and shook in his seat,
like the aspen in the wind. He seemed from first, to have
had a presentiment of what was coming; and conscience,
that unescapable chastiser of the wicked, was busy in
bringing up in review before his shrinking mind, the long
catalogue of the wrongs he had inflicted on his people,
and of the vices and crimes that had marked his dissolute
and corrupt career, and especially of his acquiescence,
after discovering the fact as he soon did, in the supposed
murder of his child, which he felt to be the most heinous
of all his offences. And thus it is ever among men, that
through this remarkable principle, which Providence has
implanted in the heart, no crime, however secret, can ever
long be exempted from the punishment which this inward
Nemesis is sure to inflict on the perpetrator by making for
him a life of misery here, or a hell hereafter.
Scarcely had the Sage named, and held up the token
found on the child to the view of the King, before he,
wanting no other confirmation of the truth of the startling
disclosure just made, leaped in terrible agitation to
his feet, and, in tones rising almost to a screech of frenzy,
exclaimed,
“What became of that child? speak! speak! where is
she now?”
“There, O King! replied Alcoan, proudly pointing to
Centeola, who appeared no less surprised than the King
at the development, “there she sits in all her purity and
beauty. She is truly thine own daughter, O King, and,
since thou art bereft of other heirs, the rightful successor
to the Royal throne of the whole of the broad domains of
our beloved Azatlan.”
“I know it, I have felt it!” gasped the feeble and
shattered old King, in tones of strangely mingled joy and
distress, as he sank back into his seat under the force of
his overpowering emotions, while the Council, Priests,
Seers and all the throng around, were thrown into the
deepest commotion.
But over all the noise and confusion, soon rose the
shrill voice of the High Priest, who, besides the danger
of being balked in his purpose of encompassing the maiden's
death, both out of revenge and the fear of her exposing
his iniquities, at once foresaw, that if Alcoan's story
was true, his own doom, after what had occurred, was inevitable,
and who, therefore, was impelled to the most
desperate exertions for the success of his murderous
scheme.
“It is false!” he frantically exclaimed. “It is the
fabrication of a traitor to shield a base and impious traitress.
They are both traitors to the King and revilers
of the God. But all their falsehoods and deceitful devices
shall not avail them. I have solemnly vowed the
King himself cannot dispute, I order her to be seized and
brought forward for the sacrifice. Advance then, guards,
sieze her instantly. In the name of the great God of
War, I command it!”
In obedience to this fierce and imperative command,
which none dare disobey, a half dozen of the Priests and
guards sprang forward, and, with arms extended for the
grasp, had nearly reached Centeola; when their advance
was suddenly arrested by Tulozin, who with a heavy war
club, bounded out from his unnoticed position among the
maiden's attendants, where he had been anxiously watching
the progress of events, and with one powerful sweep
brought several of the foremost of the assailants to the
ground, and caused the rest to retreat in disorder and
alarm.
“Mutiny! treason!” shouted the Councillor Huasco.
“Mutiny! Treason! Sacrilege!” screamed the High
Priest; while every lower Priest and Seer quickly echoed
the cry. “Let the audacious traitor, who has thus assailed
the sacred guards, be overpowered, and especially
let the impious maiden be at once secured. Guards, hesitate
at your peril!”
The guards now strongly reinforced, made a new and
desperate rush upon the gallant young chief who now in
spite of his sturdy and disabling blows, was driven from
the side of the maiden, and the now unchecked assailants
again brought to a pause by the sharp, cracked voice of
the troubled old King, who piteously exclaimed —
“Desist there, guards! Spare, O spare my daughter!”
“Spare her not,” cried the High Priest, fuming with
rage. “I will not yield my rightful authority. The
King is deceived and betrayed. Heed him not; and instantly
sieze that reviler of the God. I again command
it; and the curse of the God be on the head of
every one who shall this time refuse to obey me.”
On hearing this command backed as it was with the
terrible imprecation that accompanied it, the whole body
of the guards, with the assistant Priests, made towards
Centeola a rush against which the arm of Tulozin could
not be expected to prevail. But an arm mightier than his
was about to interpose to save the maiden from her menaced
doom.
At that instant an explosion, louder than the loudest
thunder, burst from the ground at the very feet of the advancing
assailants, filling the air with dust and sulphurous
smoke, disclosing a long opening rent in the earth,
causing the solid structures around to shake and topple,
and striking the whole assemblage dumb with consternation
and dismay.
“Tulozin, our mission is ended,” exclaimed Centeola,
turning to the young chief, who had sprung to her side.
gate of the city. The doom of Heaven is about to
fall on this den of iniquity. Haste thee, haste, brave
Tulozin, lest we perish with them.”
Taking instant advantage of the wild confusion that
reigned everywhere around, the young chief promptly
cleared a passage through the bewildered, and no longer
resisting crowd, and, before either Council, Priests, or the
general throng, had rallied from their amazement, and
collected their senses. Centeola, her father, and their
whole train, led by Tulozin, and closely followed by the
strong armed Wampa, had disappeared from the Sacred
Enclosure, and were well on their way out of the city.
| CHAPTER IX. Centeola | |