CHAPTER XXIV.
NAHUA BEARS WITNESS
Some hours passed, and again the gates were opened, and through them came Tikal and a guard of five men. The guard he left by the gates, advancing alone to where we were seated near the far end of the hall.
“What would you of us?” asked Maya. “Can you not leave me in peace even here in my dungeon?”
“I desire to speak with you alone, Maya.”
“Then, Tikal, I tell you now what I have told you before, that I will not listen to your words alone. If you have anything to say, say it in the presence of my husband and my friend, or go and leave it unsaid.”
“You speak roughly to one who comes here in the hope of saving the lives of all of you,” he answered; “still I will bear with you in this as I have borne with you in much else. Listen: all your crimes are known to me, for Nahua, my wife, has revealed them to me. I know how you and that dead rogue, Mattai, on whom the curse of heaven has most justly fallen, forged the prophecy and violated the sanctuary, for I have held the proofs of it in my hand.”
“Do you know that we did this to save our lives,” asked Maya, “for if we had not done it, Mattai would have murdered us in order that, by removing me, he might assure his daughter in her place?”
“I do not know why you did it, nor do I care, seeing that nothing can lighten such a crime; but I think that you did it in order that you might win yonder white man as a husband. At the least the thing is done, and vengeance waits you,—vengeance from which there is but one escape.”
“What escape?” asked Maya quickly, for when she learned that Tikal knew everything, all hope had faded from her heart, as from ours.
“Maya, two people live, and two alone, who know this tale,—Nahua my wife, and I myself. Till this morning there was but one, for Nahua only told me of it when she found that you had not escaped, and this she has done that she may be rid of you whom she hates as her rival. Therefore it was that she would have held me back from pursuing you, and therefore it is that she will appear before the Council of the Heart this night, so that her evidence may ensure your instant death in the Pit of Waters. But as it chances, least of anything on the earth do I desire that my eyes should lose sight of you, whom now as ever I love better than anything on the earth.”
Now the señor grew white with rage, and he broke in—
“You will do well to keep such words to yourself, Tikal; for of this be sure,—if you do not, I will add to my crimes and you shall not leave this place alive. No need to look at your guards. What do I care for your guards, who have but one life to lose. Speak thus again, and, before they reach you, you shall be dead.”
“Let him go on, husband,” said Maya; “what can a few insults more or less matter to us now. Continue, most noble Tikal; but, for your own sake, restrain yourself, and say nothing that a husband should not hear.”
“It is for this reason,” he went on, taking no notice of the señor’s anger, “that I have come here with a plan to save you all; yes, even this braggart white man who has robbed me of you. If Nahua and I are silent, who will know of your crimes? And if the evidence of them is destroyed before your eyes, who is there that can prove them? Now, I will be silent—at a price. I will even bring the true tablet of the prophecy and the roll of Mattai’s confession, and destroy them with fire before you.”
“You will be silent,” said Maya,—“but what of Nahua? Will she be silent also?”
Now Tikal’s dark face grew evil with some purpose of his own, though whether it were of murder or of what I do not know.
“Leave Nahua to me,” he said. “Withdraw the charge you made against her, of attempting to kill yonder child, and free her thus of the need of appearing this night in the Sanctuary, and I swear to you that no word of her dreadful secret shall ever pass her lips. Then you will be tried upon one issue only,—that of having broken your oaths by flying the city,—a crime that is not beyond forgiveness.”
“You spoke of a price, Tikal; tell us, what is this price that we must pay?”
“The price is yourself, Maya. Nay,—hear me out; and you, White Man, keep silent. If you will swear upon the Heart to become my wife within six months from this day, then I, on my part, will swear that the white man—your husband who is not your husband, for he won the consent of the Council to his marriage by a trick—shall be suffered to escape the land unharmed, taking with him his friend and so much of our treasure and things needful for their journey as he may desire. I will swear also—and by this you may see how deep and honest is my love for you—that your son shall not be dispossessed of the place and rank which he holds in the eyes of the people as a Heaven-sent Deliverer whose coming was foretold by prophecy. My child shall give place to yours, Maya. Once before I held out the hand of peace to you, but you refused it and tricked me, and from that refusal has sprung the death of your father and many other sorrows. Do not refuse me again, Maya, lest these sorrows should be increased and multiplied upon you, and upon us all. It is no strange or unnatural thing I ask of you—that you should wed the man to whom for many years you were affianced, and take your place as the first lady in this city, instead of giving yourself over, with your accomplices, to the most infamous of deaths.”
“Yet it is most strange and unnatural, Tikal, that a wife should be asked to part thus from her husband. But stay,—it is for him to speak, not me, for he may be glad to buy safety at this cost. First, what do you say, Ignatio? Tell me,—though I fear your answer, for it is easy to guess, seeing that Tikal offers all that you can desire, freedom, and treasure to enable you to execute your plans.”
“It is true, Lady,” I replied, “that he offers me these things,—though whether or no he is able to give them I cannot say; and it is true also that I have no wife here whom I must leave, and no prospect save that of a traitor’s death. Still, Lady, I remember a certain promise that I made to you yonder in the wilderness, when by your courage you saved your husband’s life; and I remember also that it was through me that he, my friend, came to visit this accursed city. Therefore I say, let our fate be one fate.”
“Those are very noble words, friend,” she said, “such as could have come only from your noble heart. Now, husband, do you speak?”
“I have nothing to say, Maya,” replied the señor with a little laugh, “except that I wonder why you waste time, which we might spend happily together, in listening to this fellow’s insults. If you bid me to go to save you, perhaps I might think about it; but certainly I will not stir one pace from your side to save myself from any death.”
“It seems that I have got my answer,” said Tikal. “May none of you regret it to-night when you come to look down into the Pit of Waters. Well, time presses, and I have much to do before we meet again,”—and he turned to leave us.
Now, as he went, despair took hold of Maya. For a moment she struggled with it and with herself, then she cried:
“Come back, Tikal!”
He came, and stood before her in cold silence, and she spoke, addressing her husband in a slow voice:
“You are over-hasty; my answer is not yet spoken, husband. Tikal, I accept your offer. Prevent Nahua from giving testimony against us; destroy the evidences she holds, and set these men safe, with all that they may desire, on the further side of yonder mountain, and within six months I will become your wife.”
Now the señor and I stared at each other aghast.
“Are you mad?” he said, “or do you speak so in the hope of saving us?”
“Would it be wonderful, husband,” she answered, “if I should wish to save myself and my child? That I have loved you and love you, you know; yet is there any love in the grave? While I live, at least I have my memories; if I die, even these may be taken from me. Go back, husband, go back wealthy to your own people and your old life, and choose some other woman to be your companion. Do not forget me, indeed; but let me become as a dream to you, seeing that for all our sakes this is the best. To you also, Ignatio, I say ‘go.’ Our fellowship has brought you little luck; may its severing be more fortunate, and may you at last attain your ends. Tikal, give me your hand, and let us swear the oath.”
He stepped towards her,—his eyes glowing with triumph; but as their fingers touched she glanced sideways and upwards, and saw the doubt and agony written on her husband’s face. With a little scream, she sprang to him and threw herself into his arms, saying:
“Forgive me; I have tried my best, but this is more than I can do. Oh! weak and foolish that I am, I cannot part from you, no, not even to save your life. Surely you did not think that I should have fulfilled this oath and given myself to him in marriage. No, no,—it is to death that I should have given myself when you were gone. But I cannot part with you,—I cannot part with you,—though my selfishness is your doom.”
“I rejoice to hear it,” said the señor. “Listen you, Tikal, if you are a man, give me a sword and let us settle this matter face to face. So shall one of us at least be rid of his doubts and troubles.”
“Surely, White Man,” answered Tikal, “you must be a fool as well as a rogue, otherwise you would scarcely ask me to risk my life against yours, which is already forfeit to the law. Farewell, Maya; long have you fooled and tormented me; to-night I will repay you all,”—and he went.
It might be thought that, after Tikal was gone, we should have spoken together of what had passed, and of the dangers before us. But this was not so. I think we felt—all of us—that there was nothing more to be said. It is useless to fight against Fate, and it is still more useless to be afraid of him, seeing that whatever we do or leave undone, he has his will of us at last. So we sat and chatted on indifferent things,—of our life at the mine at Cumarvo, of that night which we spent in the hacienda at Santa Cruz, of the death of our brave companion, Molas, and I know not what besides. Presently the child awoke, and its parents occupied themselves with it, finding resemblance to each other in its tiny features, while I walked up and down the hall, counting the lamps, smoking, and wondering where I should be by this time on the morrow.
At length the gates opened, for now it was almost the middle of the night, and there came through them Dimas and a guard of priests. The old man bowed before us and said that the time had come to lead us before the Council in the Sanctuary, but that we were to have no fear, seeing that, from all that he had been able to learn, our offence would be leniently dealt with. Maya asked what was to become of the infant, which could not be left alone, and he replied that she must bring it with her, whereon she began to wrap it in a serape.
“Your care is needless,” said Dimas. “There is a secret way to the Sanctuary from this place, by which I propose to lead you in order that the child, our lord, shall not be exposed to the raw cold of the night.”
Then he took a bunch of keys from his girdle, and, handing them to one who accompanied him,—a fellow-priest and a member of the Council,—he commanded him to go forward with several of the escort, to open the doors and light lamps in the passages that lay between us and the Sanctuary. The priest went, and, having waited awhile, we followed him, to find him standing by the marble wall which separated the passages from the Sanctuary. On seeing us approach, he gave the signs, which were answered from within; next he opened the false door with a silver key, leaving the key and the bunch to which it was attached fixed in the lock, for Dimas to take as he passed. This, however, the old priest did not do, for he thought that we should all return by this passage, and as we stepped into the Sanctuary he contented himself with closing the door without locking it.
Now once more we stood within the dim and holy place, there to take our trial for offences committed against the laws of the City of the Heart. There was a full gathering of the Council, and Tikal, its high-priest and president, sat in his seat behind the altar, but I noted, with a thrill of hope, that Nahua his wife was not by his side, nor was she to be found among the members of the Council. We took seats that had been prepared for us in the open space before the altar, Maya being placed in the centre, and the señor and myself on either side of her. Next the Priest of the Records rose and announced that the first business before the Council was the trial of three of its members, namely, Maya, Lady of the Heart, her husband, the white man, Son of the Sea, and Ignatio, the Wanderer, a lord of the Heart from beyond the mountains, upon the charge of having broken their oaths which they took as members of the Council. Having read this formal accusation, the priest set out the case against us clearly but briefly:
“On this very night of the festival of the Rising of Waters, a year ago,” he began, “you, strangers, amongst other things swore upon the altar, setting in pledge your souls and bodies for the fulfilment of the oath, that without the consent of this high Brotherhood you would not attempt to leave the gates of the City of the Heart. Yet but the other day you were overtaken and seized in the act of flying across the mountains to the wilderness beyond. Nor is this all your crime, for with you was that infant, born of the white man and the Lady of the Heart, the Heaven-sent Child of prophecy, of whom you wickedly sought to rob us and the people. Say, now, how do you plead to these charges?”
“We plead guilty,” answered Maya, “but we ask to be heard in our own defence. Listen, lords: Since that night when we were married by your command, my husband and I myself have been dogged by murder, and yonder, as high-priest of the Heart and president of your councils, he sits who would have murdered us. I see among you this night some of those who waited on me upon the day of our escape, having the Lord Dimas at the head of them. What did they tell me? That a plot had been discovered, made by Tikal, my cousin, to murder my husband, my child, and my friend, Ignatio the Wanderer. They told me also that Tikal would be deposed because of this and his other crimes, and that the infant in my arms would to-night be anointed cacique of the people of the Heart. Is it not so, Dimas?”
“It is so, lady,” he answered, “and learn that you are not the only ones who are on trial this night. Though your case is taken first, that of Tikal the high-priest and others will follow; but till then, in virtue of his rank and office, he sits as president of our Council.”
Now Tikal sprang from his seat, but Dimas turned upon him and said sternly:
“Keep silent, lord, or speak only to fulfil the duties of your place. Your judging shall be just, but know that there is no hope of escape for you till it is done, seeing that your guards are disarmed, and all the paths are watched.”
Tikal seated himself again, and Maya went on:
“On that very night of the coming of the Lord Dimas, when I was alone in my chamber, the Lady Nahua, the wife of Tikal, crept upon me and strove to murder this my child;” and she set out the story telling how the señor and I, hearing her cries for help, had entered the chamber and seized and bound Nahua. “Then it was, brethren, that sudden terror took us, and we fled, seeking to escape a land where we could not live in safety from one hour to another. This is our sin, and we leave our punishment in your hands. Surely it was better that we should strive to save the child, so that he might live to play his part, whatever that may be, than that he should be kept here to be butchered by those whom you have raised up to rule you.”
When Maya had finished her speech the señor and I addressed the Council in turn, confirming all that she had said, and submitting ourselves to the judgment of the Brotherhood.
Now we were commanded to fall back, and took our stand beneath the mask of the Nameless god, while the Council consulted together, and there we awaited our doom. Presently we were brought forward again, and Tikal spoke to us, saying that our sentence was postponed till the charge against Nahua, the daughter of Mattai, and against himself, Tikal, the cacique and high-priest of the City of the Heart, had been considered, adding in a slow and triumphant voice:
“Let Nahua, the daughter of Mattai, who waits without, be brought into the presence of the Heart.”
We heard, and gathered up our courage to meet the advancing fate, for we knew that death was on us, and that for us there was no more pity or escape.
The door was opened, and Nahua came through it, dressed in the robes of her rank, and wearing the green diadem that could be carried only by the wife or mother of the cacique.
“What is your pleasure with me, lords?” she said proudly, after she had made her obeisance to the altar.
Then the Priest of the Records rose and read the charge, namely, that she had attempted with her own hand to do murder upon the body of the infant child of Maya, Lady of the Heart, and her husband, the white man; also that she had aided and abetted Tikal, her husband, in various acts of cruelty and misgovernment that were alleged against him, asking her what she pleaded in answer.
“To the last charge, not guilty,” she said. “Let Tikal defend his own sins. To the first, guilty. I did attempt to put an end to yonder brat, but Maya discovered me, and I was caught and bound.”
“Surely, brethren,” said Dimas, rising, “we need carry this matter no further. We have heard the evidence of the Lady Maya and the others, and now Nahua confesses to her crime. She confesses that she attempted to take the life of him whom she knew to be the sacred child, the hope of the People of the Heart, and for such a sin it seems to me that there is but one punishment, though it is terrible, and she who must suffer it is a woman and of high rank.”
“Stay!” broke in Nahua. “You have not heard me out, and I have the right to speak before I am condemned to die. You charge me with having attempted to take the life of ‘the sacred child, the hope of the People of the Heart,’ and, had I done this, doubtless I should be worthy of your doom, whereas in truth I am worthy of your praise. Lords of the Heart, this child whom you adore, the Heaven-sent Child of prophecy, whom to-night you would anoint as your cacique, deposing Tikal, my husband, and who, as you believe, shall be the star to light our race to greatness and to victory, is a living lie, a fraud, and a bastard!”
Now a confusion broke out among the Council, and angry voices called to her to cease her blasphemies; but she won silence, and went on:
“Hear me out, I pray you, for, even if I wished it, I should not dare to speak thus at random, but am prepared with proof of every word I utter. You think that I would have killed this child to wring the heart of my rival, Maya,—and indeed I desire to wring it; and that I would set my own son in his place,—and indeed I wish to set him there. Yet these were not my reasons for the deed. Lords of the Council, listen to a tale, the strangest that ever you have heard, and judge between me and Tikal, my husband, and Maya, my rival, and her friends. Mattai, my father, was known to you all, seeing that at the time of his death, and, indeed, since Tikal was anointed cacique, he stood next to him in place and power among the People of the Heart, holding those offices in the Brotherhood which now are filled by Dimas, and among them that of Keeper of the Sanctuary. Yet, lords, Mattai, my father, was no true man. Alas! that I should have to say it, seeing that it was more for my sake that he sinned than for his own, since he loved me, and desired my welfare above everything on earth. It was this love of his that ruined him, making him false to his god, to his oaths, and to his country. Thus, in the beginning, he knew that since I was a child I had set my heart upon the Lord Tikal, who was affianced to the Lady Maya; also that I was ambitious and yearned to be great. Therefore it was that he deceived Tikal, pretending that it had been revealed to him by heaven that the Lady Maya and her father were dead in the wilderness. Therefore it was also that when he had persuaded him that she was lost to him for ever, he pressed it upon the Lord Tikal that he should marry me in place of Maya, his affianced, who was dead, promising him in return that he would bring it about that he should be anointed cacique of the People of the Heart. All these things and others he did, though at that time I knew nothing of them, and thought in my folly that Tikal married me because he loved me, and sought me as the companion of his life and power.
“Then Zibalbay returned on the night of our marriage-feast, and with him came Maya and the strangers; and from that hour my husband began to hate me because I was his wife in place of Maya, whom he loved. More, as I have learned since, he went to Zibalbay while he lay in prison, and offered to resign his place as cacique in his favour for so long as he should live, and no more to oppose his schemes, if he would give him Maya in marriage after I had been put away either by death or by divorce. This Zibalbay would have done, and gladly; but, as it chanced, Maya here had set her heart upon the white man during their journeyings together through the wilderness, and refused to be separated from him that she might be palmed off in marriage upon Tikal. Yet he might have won his way, for their case was desperate, and the alternative was death had not Mattai, my father, found a plan whereby they could be saved and I remain the wife of the cacique. This was the plan, lords: that a prophecy should be set in the symbol of the Heart yonder, such as would deceive the Council of the Heart, and bring it about that Maya should be given in marriage to the white man whom she loved. Lords, this was done. At the dead of night they crept to the Sanctuary, and, opening the Heart, they placed within it that tablet which you have seen, the tablet that foreshadowed the birth of a Deliverer. The rest you know.”
“It is false,” cried many voices. “Such sacrilege is not possible.”
“It is not false,” answered Nahua, “and I will prove to you that the sacrilege was possible. The Heart was opened, and the false prophecy forged by my father was placed within it, where it was found by you on the night of the festival of the Rising of Waters, this day a year ago. But when the holy Heart was opened, behold! it was not empty, for in it lay another prophecy,—a true prophecy,—which was removed from it, that the lie which has deceived you might be set in its place.”
“Where, then, is that writing?” asked Dimas.
“Here,” she answered, drawing the tablet from her breast. “Listen——” and she read:
“The Eye that has slept and is awakened sees the heart and purpose of the wicked. I say that in the hour of the desolation of my city not all the waters of the Holy Lake shall wash away their sin.”
“Take it, lords, and see for yourselves,” she continued, laying the tablet on the altar. “Now, listen again, and learn how it chanced that this relic came into my keeping. After he had wrought this great sin, the curse of the Nameless god fell upon my father, and, as you know, he was smitten with a sore disease. Then it came about that, when he lay dying, remorse took him, and he wrote a certain paper which he caused to be witnessed and given to me, together with this tablet. In my hand I hold that paper, lords; hear it and judge for yourselves whether I have spoken truth or falsehood,”—and she read aloud the confession of Mattai, that set out every detail of our plot and the manner of its execution.
“Now, lords,” she added, when the reading was finished and the signatures had been examined, “you will understand how it happened that in my rage at this tidings I strove to kill yonder infant, who has been palmed off upon you as the seed of the god, and I leave it to you to deal with those who planned the fraud.”
CHAPTER XXV.
FAREWELL
Nahua ceased and sat down, and so great was the astonishment—or rather the awe—of the Council at the tale that she had told, that for a while none of them spoke. At length Dimas rose, and said:
“Maya, Lady of the Heart, and you strangers, you have heard the awful charge that is brought against you. What do you say in answer to it?”
“We say that it is true,” answered Maya calmly. “We were forced to choose between the loss of our lives and the doing of this deed, and we chose to live. It was Mattai who hatched the fraud and executed the forgery, and now it seems that we must suffer for his sin as well as for our own. One word more: Ignatio here did not enter into this plot willingly, but was forced into it by my husband and myself, and chiefly by myself.”
Dimas made no answer, but at a sign the two priests who guarded the altar with drawn swords came forward and drove us into the passage that led from the Sanctuary to the Hall of the Dead, where they shut us in between the double doors, leaving us in darkness.
Here, as all was finished, I knelt down to offer my last prayers to Heaven, while Maya wept in her husband’s arms, taking farewell of him and of her child, which wailed upon her breast.
“Truly,” he said, “you were wise, wife, when you urged us not to enter this Country of the Heart. Still, what is done cannot be undone, and, having been happy together for a little space, let us die together as bravely as we may, hoping that still together we may awake presently in some new world of peace.”
While he spoke, the door was opened, and the priests with drawn swords led us back into the Sanctuary. As Maya crossed the threshold first of the three of us, she was met by Tikal, who with a sudden movement, but without roughness, took the child from her arms. Now we saw what was prepared for us, for the stone in front of the altar had been lifted, and at our feet yawned the black shaft from which ascended the sound of waters. They placed us with our backs resting against the altar; but Tikal stood in front, and between him and us lay the mouth of the pit.
“Maya, daughter of Zibalbay the cacique, Lady of the Heart; white man, Son of the Sea; Ignatio the Wanderer; and Mattai the priest, whom, being dead in the body, we summon in the spirit,” began Dimas in a cold and terrible voice, “you by your own confession are proved guilty of the greatest crimes that can be dreamed of in the wicked brain of man and executed by his impious hands. You have broken your solemn oaths taken in the presence of heaven and your brethren; you have offered insult to the god we worship, and violated his Sanctuary; and you have palmed off as their god-sent prince, upon the people who trusted you, a bastard and a child of sin. For all these and other crimes which you have committed,—why we know not,—it is not in our power to mete out to you a just reward. That must be measured to you elsewhere, when you have passed our judgment-seat and your names are long forgotten upon the earth.
“This is the sentence of the Council of the Heart, that your name, Mattai, be erased from the list of the officers of the Heart; that your memory be proclaimed accursed; that your dwelling-place be burned with fire, and the site of it strewn with salt; that your corpse be torn from its grave and laid upon the summit of the pyramid till the birds of the air devour it; and that your soul be handed over to the tormentors of the lower world to deal with according to their pleasure for ever and for aye.
“This is the sentence of the Council of the Heart upon you, Maya, daughter of Zibalbay the cacique, Lady of the Heart; white man, Son of the Sea, and Ignatio the Wanderer: That your names be erased from the roll of the Brethren of the Heart, and proclaimed accursed in the streets of the city; that you be gagged, bound hand and foot, and chained living to the walls of the Sanctuary, and there left before the altar of the god which you have violated, till death from thirst and hunger shall overtake you; that your corpses be laid upon the pyramid as a prey to the birds of the air; and that your souls be handed over to the tormentors of the under-world to deal with according to their pleasure for ever and for aye. It is spoken. Let the sentence of the Council be done. But first, since this bastard babe is too young to sin and suffer punishment, let him be handed into the keeping of the god, that the god may deal with him according to his pleasure.”
As the words passed his lips, and before we fully understood them, dazed as we were with the terror of our awful doom, Tikal stepped forward and—even now I shudder when I write of it—holding the poor infant, which at this instant began to wail again as though with pain or fear, over the mouth of the pit, suddenly he let it fall into the depths beneath.
The shriek of the agonised mother ran round the walls of the holy place, and before it had died away the señor had leaped forward—leaped like a puma—across the gulf of the open well and gripped Tikal by the throat and waist. He gripped him, and, rage giving him strength, he lifted him high above his head and hurled him down the dreadful place whither the child had gone before.
With a hoarse scream, Tikal vanished, and for a moment there was silence. It was broken by the voice of Maya, crying aloud, in accents of madness and despair,—
“Not all the waters of the Holy Lake shall wash away our sin, yet may they serve to avenge us upon you, O you murderers of a helpless child!”
As she spoke, followed by the señor and myself, who I think alone of all the company guessed her dreadful purpose, Maya ran round the altar, and with both her hands grasped the symbol of the Heart which lay upon it.
“Forbear!” cried the voice of Dimas, but she did not heed him. Before he or any of us could reach her, dragging at it with desperate strength, she tore the ancient symbol from its bed, and with a loud and mocking laugh had cast it down upon the marble floor, where it shattered into fragments.
For one second all was still; then from the altar there came a sudden twang as of harp-strings breaking, that was followed instantly by another and more awful sound, the sound of the roar of many waters.
“Fly! fly!” cried a voice, “the floods are loosed and destruction is upon us and upon the People of the Heart!”
Now the Council rushed one and all towards the door of the Sanctuary; but I, Ignatio, by the grace of Heaven, remembered the other door, the secret door through which we had entered, that the priest had left ajar.
“This way!” I cried in Spanish to the señor, and seizing Maya by the arm I dragged her with me into the passage. When all three of us were through I turned to close the door, and as I did so I saw an awful sight.
Out of the mouth of the pit before the altar sprang a vast column of water, which struck the roof of the Sanctuary with such fearful force that already the massive marble blocks began to rain down upon the crowd of fugitives, who struggled and in vain to open the door and escape into the Hall of the Dead. One other thing I saw; it was the corpse of Tikal, vomited from the depth into which the señor had hurled him, a shapeless mass ascending and descending with the column of water as alternately it struck and rebounded from the roof.
Then, before the flood could reach it, I closed the door, and, possessing myself of the bunch of keys that still hung in the lock, we fled up the passages and stairs till we came to the hall where we had been imprisoned. Here, however, we dared not stay, for already strange gurgling sounds struck upon our ears, and we felt the mighty fabric of the pyramid shake and quiver beneath the blows of the imprisoned waters as they burst their way upward and outward. Seizing lamps, we ran to the copper gates at the head of the hall, and not without trouble found the key that opened them. We had no time to spare, for as we left it the water rushed in at the further end of the chamber, a solid wave that in some few seconds filled it to the depth of six or eight feet. On we fled before the advancing flood, and well was it for us that our course lay upwards, for otherwise we must have been drowned as we searched for the keys to open the different gates and doors. But now fortune, which for so long had been our foe, befriended us, and the end of it was that we reached the summit of the pyramid just as the dawn began to break.
The dawn was breaking and seldom perhaps has the light of day revealed a more wonderful or terrible sight to the eyes of man. Outside the gates of the courtyard of the pyramid were gathered a great multitude of people waiting to be admitted to celebrate the feast that on this day of the year was to be held, according to the custom, upon the summit of the pyramid. Indeed, they should have already been assembled there, but it was the rule that the gates could not be opened until the Council had left the Sanctuary, and this night the Council sat late. As we looked at them a cry of fear and wonder rose from the multitude, and this was the cause of it. Along that street which ran from the landing-place to the great square rushed a vast foam-topped wall of water twenty feet or more in depth by a hundred broad. Now we learned the truth. The symbol on the altar—I know not how—was connected with secret and subterranean sluice-gates which for many generations had protected the City of the Heart from flood. When it was torn from its bed these sluice-gates were opened, and the waters, rushing in, sought their natural level, which at this season of the year was higher than the housetops of the city.
On the summit of the pyramid were two priests who tended the sacred fire and made ready for the service to be celebrated. Seeing us emerge from the watch-house, they ran towards us, wringing their hands, and asking what dreadful thing had come to pass. I replied that we did not know, but that seeing the water gather in our prison we had fled from it. How we had fled they never stopped to ask, but ran down the stairway of the pyramid, only to return again presently, for before they reached its base their escape was cut off.
Meanwhile the terror thickened and the doom began. Everywhere the waters spread and gathered, replenished from the inexhaustible reservoir of the vast lake. Whole streets went down before them, to vanish suddenly beneath their foaming face, while from the crowd below rose one continuous shriek of agony.
Maya heard it, and, casting herself face downward upon the surface of the pyramid, that she might not see her handiwork, she thrust her fingers into her ears to stop them, while the señor and I watched, fascinated. Now the flood struck the people, some thousands of them, who were gathered on the rising ground at the gates of the enclosure of the temple, and lo! in an instant they were gone, borne away as withered leaves are borne before a gale. Ere a man might count ten the most of the population of the City of the Heart had perished!
For a little while some of the more massive houses stood, only to vanish one by one, in silence as it seemed, for now the roar of the advancing waters mastered all other sounds. Before the sun was well up it was finished, and of that ancient and beautiful city, Heart of the World, there remained nothing to be seen except the tops of trees and the upper parts of the pyramids of worship rising above the level of the lake. The Golden City was no more. It was gone, and with it all its hoarded treasures, its learning and its ancient faith, and that which for many generations had been held to be a myth had now become a myth indeed. One short hour had sufficed to sweep out of existence the ripe fruit of the labour of centuries, and with it the dwindling remnant of the last pure race of Indians, who followed the customs and the creed of my forefathers. Doubtless their day was done, and the Power above us had decreed their fall; still, so vast and sudden a ruin was a thing awful to behold, or even to think upon. What, I wondered, would the founders of this great city and the fashioners of its solemn pyramids and Sanctuary have thought and felt, could they have foreseen the manner of its end? Would they, then, have set the holy symbol so cunningly upon its altar, that the strength of a maddened woman, by tearing it away, could bury altar, temple, town, and all who lived therein, for ever beneath the surface of the lake? This they did to protect their homes and fanes against the foe, so that, if need were, they could prefer destruction to dishonour; but they did not foresee—indeed they never dreamed—that this foe might be of their own race, and that the hand of one of her children would bring disaster, utter and irredeemable, upon the proud head of their holy stronghold, the city Heart of the World.
Now foot by foot the waters found their level, filling up the cup in which the town had stood, and the bright sunlight shone upon their placid surface as they rippled round the sides of the pyramid and over the flat roofs of the submerged houses. Here and there floated a mass of wreckage, and here and there a human corpse, over which already the water-eagles began to gather, and that was all.
Presently Maya rose to her knees and looked out from beneath the hollow of her hand, for the light was dazzling there upon the white summit of the pyramid. Then she flung her arms above her head and uttered a great and bitter cry.
“Behold my handiwork,” she said, “and the harvest of my sin! Oh! my father, that dream which you sent to haunt my sleep was dreadful, but it did not touch the truth. Oh! my father, the people whom you would have saved are dead; lost is the city that you loved, and it is I who have destroyed them. Oh! my father, my father, your curse has found me out indeed, and I am accursed.”
Some such words as these she spoke, then began to laugh, and turning to the señor, she said,
“Where is the child, husband?”
He could not answer her, but she took no note of it, only she bent her arms, rocking them and crooning as though the infant lay upon her breast, then came first to him and next to me, saying,—
“Look, is he not a pretty boy? Am I not happy to be the mother of such a boy?”
I made pretence to look, but the sight of her pitiful face and of the empty arms, as she swayed them, was so dreadful that I was forced to turn away to hide my tears. Now I saw the truth. Weariness, sorrow, and shock had turned her brain, and she was mad.
We led her to the watch-house, where there was shelter, and the priests, who had returned, gave us food so soon as we could make them understand that we needed it, for they too were almost mad. Here her last illness seized the Lady Maya. It began with a hardening of the breast, which changed presently to fever. Two days and nights, with breaking hearts, we nursed her there upon the pyramid, striving not to listen to her sick ravings and piteous talk about the child, and at dawn upon the third day she died. Before she died her senses returned to her, and she spoke to her husband beautiful and tender words which seem almost too holy to set down.
“Alas!” she ended, “as my heart foretold me, I have brought you nothing but evil, and now the time has come for me to go away from you. Ignatio was right, and we were wrong,—or rather I was wrong. We should have died together a year ago, if that were needful, sooner than commit the sin we worked in the Sanctuary, for then at least our hands would have been clean, nor would the blood of the people have rested on my head. Yet, believe me, husband, that when I did the deed of death, I was mad, for I had seen our child murdered before my eyes and I heard a voice within me bidding me to be avenged. Well, it is done, and I have suffered for it and perhaps shall suffer more, yet I think that I was but the hand or the instrument of Fate predestined to bring destruction upon a race already doomed, and on a faith outworn. That faith I no longer believe in, for you have taught me another worship, therefore I do not fear the vengeance of the god of my people. May my other sins find forgiveness, if they are sins, for it was my love of you that led me to them. Husband, I trust that you may escape from this ill-omened place, and live on for many years in happiness; but most of all I trust that in the land which you will reach at last, you may find us waiting for you, the child and I together. Farewell to you. This is a sad parting, and my life has been short and sorrowful. Yet I am glad to have lived it, since it brought me to your arms, and, however little I may have deserved it, I think that you loved me truly and will love my memory even when I am dead. To you also, Ignatio, farewell. You have been a true friend to me, though I brought you no good luck, and at times I was jealous of you. Think kindly of me if you can, though had it not been for me you might have attained your ends, and, as in the old days before we met, comfort my husband with your friendship.”
Then once more she turned to the señor and in a gasping and broken voice prayed of him not to forget her or her child. I heard him answer that this she need not fear, as his happiness died with her, and, even if he should escape, he thought that they would not be parted for very long, nor could any other woman take her place within his heart.
She blessed him and thanked him, caressing his face with her dying hands, and, unable to bear more of such a sight, I left them together.
An hour later the señor came from the watch-house, and though he did not speak, one glance at him was enough to tell me that all was over.
So died Maya, Lady of the Heart, the last of the ancient royal blood of the Indian princes, myself alone excepted, a very sweet and beautiful woman, though at times headstrong, passionate, and capricious.
Now while Maya lay dying we learned that some Indians still lived on the mainland, men and women who had been sent there to tend the crops, for we saw a canoe hovering round what once had been the Island of the Heart. The two priests who were with us on the pyramid tried to signal to it to come to our rescue, but either those in the boat did not see us, or they were terror-stricken and feared to approach the pyramid. Still we kept the body all that day, hoping that help might reach us, so that we could take it ashore for burial. Towards night, however, when none came, we made another plan. On the roof of the watch-house the sacred fire still burned, for the two priests had tended it, more from custom, I think, than for any other reason. Hither we brought some of the gilded stools that were used by the nobles of the Heart on days of festival, and all the fuel that had been stored to replenish the fire, building the whole into a funeral pyre around and above the brazier. Then, as it caught, we carried out the body of Maya, wrapped in her white robes, and laid it upon the pyre and left it.
Presently the great pile was alight and burning so fiercely that it lit up the whole summit of the pyramid and the darkness which surrounded it. All that night we watched it, while the two priests lamented and beat their breasts after their fashion, till at length it flared itself away, and the holy fire that had burned for more than a thousand years died down and was extinguished. It seemed very fitting that the latest office of this ancient and consecrated flame should be to consume the body of the last of the royal race who had tended it for so many generations. Towards dawn a wind sprang up with drizzling rain, and when we approached the place at daybreak it was to find it cold and blackened. No spark remained alight, and no ash or fragment could be seen of her who was once the beautiful and gracious Lady of the Heart.
Now we set ourselves sadly enough to find a means of escape to the mainland, which indeed it was time to do, for the waters, working in its centre, were sapping the foundations of the great pyramid, portions of which had already fallen away. Our plan was to form a raft by lashing together some benches that were at hand, and on it to float or paddle ourselves to the shore. This, however, we were spared the pains of doing, for when our task was half completed we saw a large canoe, manned by three Indians, advancing towards us, and signalled to them to paddle round to the steps of the pyramid. They did so, and, taking with us all the food and such few articles of value as were to be found in the watch-house, the four of us embarked, though not without difficulty, for the current ran so strongly round the crumbling angles of the pyramid that it was hard to bring the canoe up to the stairs.
From the Indians we learned that those on shore were so overwhelmed with horror at the catastrophe which had fallen upon their holy city, that they did not dare to approach the place where it had stood. But when on the previous night they saw the great flame of Maya’s funeral pyre, they knew that men still lived upon the pyramid, who, as they thought, were signalling to them for help, and ventured out to save them. They asked us how it came about that the waters had overwhelmed the city which had stood among them safely from the beginning of time. We replied that we did not know, and the priests with us, now that they had escaped with their lives, seemed too prostrated to tell our deliverers that we had been imprisoned in the hollow of the pyramid, even if they knew that this was so.
On reaching the shore we found a little gathering of awe-stricken Indians,—perhaps there may have been a hundred and fifty of them,—the sole survivors of the People of the Heart, unless indeed a few still lived on the high land of those portions of the island of the Heart that as yet had not been submerged. Open-mouthed and almost without comment they listened to the terrible tale of the sudden and utter destruction of their city. When it was done, one among them suggested that the white man should be killed, as without doubt he had brought misfortune and the vengeance of heaven upon their race, but this proposal seemed to find no favour with the rest of them. Indeed, had they known the part which we played in the disaster, I doubt if they would have found the spirit to make an end of us.
On the other hand they gave us what food and clothing we required, and even weapons, such as machetes, bows and arrows, and blow-pipes, and left us to go our way. Often I have wondered what became of them, and if any of their number, or of their children, still survive.
So we turned our faces to the mountains, and on the second day we crossed them safely, for Maya had told us the secret of the passage through the rocks, which, under her guidance, we had passed blindfolded.
Thus, at length, having looked our last upon the blue waters of the Holy Lake, sparkling in the sunshine above the palaces of the city and the bones of its inhabitants, did we leave that accursed Country of the Heart, where so much loss and evil had befallen us.
ENVOI.
My friend, now I, Ignatio, have finished writing that story of how I came to visit the Golden City of the Indians, which so many have believed to be fabulous, and that to-day exists no more. It is a strange story, and I trust that it may interest you to read it when I am dead and buried.
Perhaps you would like to know the details of our homeward journey, but in truth I have neither the strength nor the patience to set them down. It was a terrible journey, and once we both of us fell ill with fever from which I thought that we should not recover; but recover we did by the help of some wandering Indians who nursed us, and at length reached this place from which we had fled for our lives nearly two years before. We found the hacienda deserted, for it had the reputation of being haunted, though some of the Indian dependents, or rather slaves, of that great villain, Don Pedro Moreno, still worked patches of the land. Well, the señor took a fancy to stay in the place, for it was here that he had first seen his wife, and so we sold that girdle of emeralds which Maya took from the chest of ornaments and gave to me when we were imprisoned for the first time in the hall of the pyramid (do not lose the clasp, friend, for it is the only remaining relic of the People of the Heart), and with the proceeds we bought at a cheap rate from the government of the day, who had entered into possession of them, this house and the wide lands round it, that I have cultivated ever since. For, my friend, now my ambitions were finished. I had played my last card and it had failed me, and, albeit with a sorrowful mind, I abandoned my hopes for the regeneration of the Indians which I had no longer the means or the health and vigour to attempt. Also, I was no more Lord of the Heart, for with its counterpart it was lost in the Sanctuary yonder beneath the waters of the Holy Lake, and with the ancient symbol went much of my power.
For five years the señor and I lived here together, but I think that during all this time he was dying. He, who used to be so strong in body and merry in mind, never regained his health or spirits from that hour when Maya passed upon the pyramid, and though he seldom spoke of her, I know that night and day she was always present in his thoughts. Twice in the spring seasons he suffered from calenturas, as we call the fever of the country, which left him sallow in face and shrunken in body; and when the spring came round for the third time, I begged him to go to Mexico for change, returning to the hacienda in the summer. In vain; he would not do it, indeed I do not think that he cared whether he lived or died. So the end of it was that the calentura took him again, and die he did in my arms, happily as a child that falls asleep.
Now my days are accomplished also, and, having failed in all things and known much sorrow and disappointment, I go to join him. My friend, farewell. Perhaps you will think of me from time to time, and, though you are a heretic, send up a prayer to heaven for the welfare of the soul of the old Indian—
Ignatio.
THE END.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES.
Errors/inconsistencies of the author that have been preserved:
The Usumacinta River is referred to as the Usumacinto River.
Tabasco and Tobasco are used interchangeably.
Minor spelling and hyphenization inconsistencies (e.g. corn-field/corn field, lamplight/lamp-light, etc.).
Alterations to the text:
[Title Page]
Add illustrator’s credit.
[Chapter III]
Change “Zilbalbay spoke to me in the presence” to Zibalbay.
[Chapter VI]
“tore along her deck from stem to stem” to stern.
“the mouth of the Usamacinto river” to Usumacinto.
[End of Text]