University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.
THE TRIAL.

HUALPA'S adventure in the garden made a great stir
in the palace and the city. Profound was the
astonishment, therefore, when it became known that the
savior of the king and the murderer of the Tezcucan were
one and the same person, and that, in the latter character, he
was to be taken into court and tried for his life, Montezuma
himself acting as accuser. Though universally discredited,
the story had the effect of drawing an immense attendance
at the trial.

“Ho, Chalcan! Fly not your friends in that way!”

So the broker was saluted by some men nobly dressed,
whom he was about passing on the great street. He stopped,
and bowed very low.

“A pleasant day, my lords! Your invitation honors me;
the will of his patrons should always be law to the poor
keeper of a portico. I am hurrying to the trial.”

“Then stay with us. We also have a curiosity to see the
assassin.”

“My good lord speaks harshly. The boy, whom I love as
a son, cannot be what you call him.”

The noble laughed. “Take it not ill, Chalcan. So much
do I honor the hand that slew the base Tezcucan that I care

not whether it was in fair fight or by vantage taken. But
what do you know about the king being accuser to-day?”

“So he told the boy.”

“Incredible!”

“I will not quarrel with my lord on that account,” rejoined
the broker. “A more generous master than Montezuma
never lived. Are not the people always complaining of
his liberality? At the last banquet, for inventing a simple
drink, did he not give me, his humblest slave, a goblet fit
for another king?”

“And what is your drink, though ever so excellent, to the
saving his life? Is not that your argument, Chalcan?”

“Yes, my lord, and at such peril! Ah, you should have
seen the ocelot when taken from the tank! The keepers
told me it was the largest and fiercest in the museum.”

Then Xoli proceeded to edify his noble audience with all
the gossip pertaining to the adventure; and as his object was
to take into court some friends for the luckless hunter more
influential than himself, he succeeded admirably. Every few
steps there were such expressions as, “It would be pitiful
if so brave a fellow should die!” “If I were king, by the
Sun, I would enrich him from the possessions of the Tezcucan!”
And as they showed no disposition to interrupt him,
his pleading lasted to the house of justice, where the company
arrived not any too soon to procure comfortable seats.

The court-house stood at the left of the street, a little retired
from the regular line of buildings. The visitors had
first to pass through a spacious hall, which brought them to
a court-yard cemented under foot, and on all sides bounded
with beautiful houses. Then, on the right, they saw the entrance
to the chamber of justice, grotesquely called the Tribunal
of God,[2] in which, for ages, had been administered a
code, vindictive, but not without equity. The great door

was richly carved; the windows high and broad, and lined
with fluted marble; while a projecting cornice, tastefully finished,
gave airiness and beauty to the venerable structure.

The party entered the room with profoundest reverence.
On a dais sat the judge; in front of him was the stool bearing
the skull with the emerald crown and gay plumes. Turning
from the plain tapestry along the walls, the spectators
failed not to admire the jewels that blazed with almost starry
splendor from the centre of the canopy above him.

The broker, not being of the class of privileged nobles,
found a seat with difficulty. To his comfort, however, he
was placed by the side of an acquaintance.

“You should have come earlier, Chalcan; the judge has
twice used the arrow this morning.”

“Indeed!”

“Once against a boy too much given to pulque,— a drunkard.
With the other doubtless you were acquainted.”

“Was he noble?”

“He had good blood, at least, being the son of a Tetzmellocan,
who died immensely rich. The witnesses said the
fellow squandered his father's estate almost as soon as it came
to him.”

“Better had he been born a thief,”[3] said Xoli, coolly.

Suddenly, four heralds, with silver maces, entered the
court-room, announcing the monarch. The people fell upon
their knees, and so remained until he was seated before the
dais. Then they arose, and, with staring eyes, devoured the
beauty of his costume, and the mysterious sanction of manner,
office, power, and custom, which the lovers of royalty
throughout the world have delighted to sum up in the one
word, — majesty. The hum of voices filled the chamber.
Then, by another door, in charge of officers, Hualpa appeared,

and was led to the dais opposite the king. Before
an Aztecan court there was no ceremony. The highest and
the lowliest stood upon a level: such, at least, was the beautiful
theory.

So intense was the curiosity to see the prisoner that the
spectators pressed upon each other, for the moment mindless
of the monarch's presence.

“A handsome fellow!” said an old cacique, approvingly.

“Only a boy, my lord!” suggested the critic.

“And not fierce-looking, either.”

“Yes —”

“No —”

“He might kill, but in fair fight: so I judge him.”

And that became the opinion amongst the nobles.

“Your friend seems confident, Xoli. I like him,” remarked
the Chalcan's acquaintance.

“Hush! The king accuses.”

“The king, said you!” And the good man, representing
the commonalty, was frozen into silence.

In another quarter, one asked, “Does he not wear the
'tzin's livery?”

The person interrogated covered his mouth with both
hands, then drew to the other's ear, and whispered, —

“Yes, he 's a 'tzin's man, and that, they say, is his
crime.”

The sharp voice of the executive officer of the court rang
out, and there was stillness almost breathless. Up rose the
clerk, a learned man, keeper of the records, and read the indictment;
that done, he laid the portrait of the accused on
the table before the judge; then the trial began.

The judge, playing carelessly with the fatal arrow, said, —
“Hualpa, son of Tepaja, the Tihuancan, stand up, and answer.”

And the prisoner arose, and saluted court and king, and

answered, “It is true, that on the night of the banquet, I
fought the Tezcucan; by favor of the gods, I defeated, without
slaying him. He is here in person to acquit me.”

“Bring the witness,” said the judge.

Some of the officers retired; during their absence a solemn
hush prevailed; directly they returned, carrying a palanquin.
Right before the dais they set it down, and drew
aside the curtains. Then slowly the Tezcucan came forth, —
weak, but unconquered. At the judge he looked, and at the
king, and all the fire of his haughty soul burned in the glance.
Borrowing strength from his pride, he raised his head high,
and said, scornfully, —

“The power of my father's friend is exceeding great; he
speaks, and all things obey him. I am sick and suffering;
but he bade me come, and I am here. What new shame
awaits me?”

Montezuma answered, never more a king than then:
“'Hualpilli was wise; his son is foolish; for the memory of
the one I spare the other. The keeper of this sacred place
will answer why you are brought here. Look that he pardons
you lightly as I have.”

Then the judge said, “Prince of Tezcuco, you are here by
my order. There stands one charged with your murder.
Would you have had him suffer the penalty? You have
dared be insolent. See, O prince, that before to-morrow you
pay the treasurer ten thousand quills of gold. See to it.”
And, returning the portrait to the clerk, he added, “Let the
accused go acquit.”

“Ah! said I not so, said I not so?” muttered the Chalcan,
rubbing his hands joyfully, and disturbing the attentive people
about him.

“Hist, hist!” they said, impatiently. “What more?
hearken!”

Hualpa was kneeling before the monarch.

“Most mighty king,” he said, “if what I have done be
worthy reward, grant me the discharge of this fine.”

“How!” said Montezuma, amazed. “The Tezcucan is
your enemy!”

“Yet he fought me fairly, and is a warrior.”

The eyes of the king sought those of Iztlil'.

“What says the son of 'Hualpilli?”

The latter raised his head with a flash of the old pride.
“He is a slave of Guatamozin's: I scorn the intercession.
I am yet a prince of Tezcuco.”

Then the monarch went forward, and sat by the judge.
Not a sound was heard, till he spoke.

“Arise, and come near,” he said to Hualpa. “I will do
what becomes me.”

His voice was low and tremulous with feeling, and over
his face came the peculiar suffusion of sadness afterwards its
habitual expression. The hunter kissed the floor at his feet,
and remained kneeling. Then he continued, —

“Son of the Tihuancan, I acknowledge I owe my life to
you, and I call all to hear the acknowledgment. If the people
have thought this prosecution part of my gratitude, — if
they have marvelled at my appearing as your accuser, much
have they wronged me. I thought of reward higher than
they could have asked for you; but I also thought to try
you. A slave is not fit to be a chief, nor is every chief fit
to be a king. I thought to try you: I am satisfied. When
your fame goes abroad, as it will; when the minstrels sing
your valor; when Tenochtitlan talks of the merchant's son,
who, in the garden, slew the tiger, and saved the life of
Montezuma, — let them also tell how Montezuma rewarded
him; let them say I made him noble.”

Thereupon he arose, and transferred the panache from
his head to Hualpa's. Those close by looked at the gift,
and saw, for the first time, that it was not the crown,

but the crest of a chief or cacique. Then they knew
that the trial was merely to make more public the honors
designed.

“Let them say further,” he continued, “that with my own
hand I made him a warrior of the highest grade.” And, bending
over the adventurer, he clasped around his neck the collar
of the supreme military order of the realm.[4] “Nor is
that all. Rank, without competence, is a vexation and
shame. At the foot of Chapultepec, on the shore of the
lake, lie an estate and a palace of which I have been
proud. Let it be said, finally, that I gave them to enrich
him and his forever.” He paused, and turned coldly to
the Tezcucan. “But as to the son of 'Hualpilli, his fine
must stand; such pride must be punished. He shall pay
the gold, or forfeit his province.” Then, outstretching
toward the audience both his arms, he said, so as to be
heard throughout the chamber, “Now, O my children,
justice has been done!”

The words were simple; but the manner, royal as a king's
and patriarchal as a pontiff's, brought every listener to his
knees.

“Stand up, my lord Hualpa! Take your place in my
train. I will return to the palace.”

With that he passed out.

And soon there was but one person remaining, — Iztlil', the
Tezcucan. Brought from Tlacopan by officers of the court,
too weak to walk, without slaves to help him, at sight of the
deserted hall his countenance became haggard, the light in
his hollow eyes came and went, and his broad breast heaved
passionately; in that long, slow look he measured the depth
of his fall.

“O Tezcuco, Tezcuco, city of my fathers!” he cried aloud.
“This is the last wrong to the last of thy race of kings.”

A little after he was upon a bench exhausted, his head
covered by his mantle. Then a hand was laid upon his
shoulder; he looked up and saw Hualpa.

“How now! Has the base-born come to enjoy his triumph?
I cannot strike. Laugh and revile me; but remember,
mine is the blood of kings. The gods loved my
father, and will not abandon his son. In their names I curse
you!”

“Tezcucan, you are proud to foolishness,” said the hunter,
calmly. “I came to serve you. Within an hour I have become
master of slaves —”

“And were yourself a slave!”

“Well, I won my freedom; I slew a beast and conquered
a — But, prince, my slaves are at the door. Command them
to Tlacopan.”

“Play courtier to those who have influence; lean your
ambition upon one who can advance it. I am undone.”

“I am not a courtier. The service I offer you springs
from a warrior's motive. I propose it, not to a man of
power, but to a prince whose courage is superior to his
fortune.”

For a moment the Tezcucan studied the glowing face;
then his brows relaxed, and, sighing like a woman, and like
a woman overcome by the unexpected gentleness, he bowed
his head, and covered his face with his hands, that he might
not be accused of tears.

“Let me call the slaves, O prince,” said Hualpa.

Thrice he clapped his hands, whereat four tattooed tamanes
stalked into the chamber with a palanquin. Iztlil' took seat
in the carriage, and was being borne away, when he called
the hunter.

“A word,” he said, in a voice from which all passion was

gone. “Though my enemy, you have been generous, and remembered
my misfortunes when all others forsook me. Take
with you this mark. I do not ask you to wear it, for the
time is nearly come when the son of 'Hualpilli will be proscribed
throughout the valley; but keep it in witness that I,
the son of a king, acknowledged your right and fitness to be
a noble. Farewell.”

Hualpa could not refuse a present so delicately given; extending
his hand, he received a bracelet of gold, set with an
Aztec diamond of immense value. He clasped it upon his
arm, and followed the carriage into the street.