After four hours of fighting and slaughter, Cortes concluded that the lesson thus given the Cholulans was one that would not be speedily forgotten. So he withdrew his forces to their own quarters, at the same time ordering the Tlascalans back to their camp. The mountaineers bore with them quantities of plunder, mostly things of every-day use in Cholula, but so rare in the poorer city of Tlascala as to be deemed luxuries. They also carried off nearly a thousand prisoners whom they intended to devote to slavery. Through the influence of Huetzin, who vividly remembered his own sufferings as a prisoner of war, and recalled the charge given him by the chief of Titcala to be merciful in the hour of victory, these were ultimately released and allowed to return to their homes.
The young Toltec, with the permission of Cortes and accompanied by Sandoval, also visited every temple in the city, and, throwing open the doors of their cages or dungeons, gave freedom to hundreds of wretched prisoners who had been doomed to sacrifice. The only service required of these, in return for their liberty, was that they should bury the victims of the recent battle. As the dead numbered nearly three thousand, and as their bodies were exposed to the hot sun in all parts of the city, their speedy removal was a matter of prime necessity.
In spite of this sad record of fighting, burning, slaughter, and pillage, no woman or child in all Cholula had been harmed by either Spaniard or Tlascalan. This fact went so far toward restoring confidence in the honor and forbearance of the white conquerors that, when Cortes issued a proclamation inviting all citizens to return to their homes with an assurance of safety, the invitation was generally accepted. Thus, within a few days, the city had nearly recovered its former air of peaceful prosperity. Markets and workshops were reopened, the streets were filled with a busy population, and only the blackened ruins lining certain streets remained to tell of the fiery ordeal through which Cholula had so recently passed.
During this period of peaceful occupation by the conquerors, not only was no human sacrifice offered to the humbled Aztec gods, but no priest dared show himself in the presence of Huetzin, the Toltec. From the hour of his terrible vengeance upon the priests of Quetzal's temple, he was known through the length and breadth of Anahuac as a bitter enemy of the Aztec gods and a relentless persecutor of their priests. He aided in erecting the cross of stone and lime on the summit of the great teocal, that Sandoval had promised should stand there; and, as he gazed at it in earliest morning light, or when bathed in the glory of a setting sun, he felt that the spirits of his ancestors must, indeed, be regarding his work with approval.
As the news of the punishment inflicted by the white conquerors upon the treacherous Cholulans spread through the land, numerous embassies began to pour into the Christian camp, with tenders of allegiance from provinces and cities, which gladly seized this opportunity for throwing off the galling Aztec yoke. All brought the same tales of cruelty and extortion; of oppressive taxation that left them impoverished; of their young men forced to serve in Montezuma's armies, and of the yearly tribute of slaves, which they were compelled to furnish from their own families.
Besides these petty, but always welcome, embassies, there came an imposing one, laden with presents, from the Aztec king. It brought assurances of that monarch's distinguished regard for the noble Spaniards, as well as his regrets for the unfortunate affair of Cholula. He disclaimed any share in the conspiracy, and rejoiced that so summary a punishment had been meted out to its authors. He explained the presence of one of his own armies in the vicinity of the city, on the ground that it had been sent to protect the Spaniards from any treachery on the part of their base Tlascalan allies.
Pretending to believe these fair, but false words, Cortes dismissed the embassy courteously, but without any message to their royal master. This, he said, he would shortly deliver in person, as he intended to proceed, without further delay, to Tenochtitlan.
After spending a fortnight in Cholula, and strengthening his position on all sides, the Spanish commander issued orders for leaving the sacred city and resuming the march toward the Aztec capital. On a glorious morning of early November, therefore, the allied forces again set forth, filled with the high hopes inspired by their recent victory, and impatient to enter new fields of conquest.
For several leagues their way lay through a smiling country of broad fields, luxuriant plantations, and thrifty villages, watered by numerous clear streams pouring down from the adjacent mountains. During their passage through this pleasant land Huetzin heard frequent rumors from friendly Indians of trouble that was in store for the invaders in the mountains that must be crossed before the Mexican valley could be reached. He faithfully reported these rumors to the commander, and, in consequence of them, the march was conducted with every precaution that prudence or military science could suggest. Advance and rear guards of cavalry were always maintained, while small bodies of Tlascalan scouts were thrown out on either side.
Although it was thought to be somewhat beneath the dignity of his rank to do so, Huetzin generally led one of these scouting parties in person, so anxious was he to prove his vigilance. At length he was rewarded by the capture of a courier, who was attempting to avoid the army by taking a wide circuit around it. From this prisoner he gained the information, that of the two roads crossing the mountains before them, one had been rendered impassable by orders from Montezuma. On the other, which was so rugged as to present almost insurmountable difficulties, an Aztec army was stationed in ambuscade for the destruction of the invaders.
Hastening to convey this important item of news to Cortes, Huetzin found the army halted at a place where two roads forked. One of them, as he had already learned, was filled, farther than the eye could reach, with great bowlders and the trunks of trees. The other was open, and at the outset looked to be much the easier and better of the two. At the moment of the young Toltec's arrival, the Aztec ambassadors who still remained with Cortes, had nearly persuaded him to take the open road. They assured him that the other would be found impassable for his cavalry and artillery, even if it were cleared of its obstructions.
The Aztec nobles were greatly confused when they heard Huetzin's report to the commander. They attempted a blunt contradiction of his statements; but Cortes, paying no further attention to them, warmly thanked his young ally for his timely service, and ordered that the obstructed road be cleared. To this task Huetzin set a thousand of his hardy mountaineers. These worked with such willing industry that, within two hours their task was accomplished, and the highway was open to the passage of the army. Thus the ambushed Aztecs were allowed to wait indefinitely for the coming of their expected victims, who, in the mean time, were proceeding cheerfully on their unmolested way.
The invaders now left the pleasant plateau on which they had lingered so long, and began the ascent of the bold mountain ranges separating it from the valley of Mexico. On their left towered the grand peak of Popocatepetl, clouded with smoke and fire, and lifting his majestic head nearly eighteen thousand feet above the level of the sea, or more than two thousand feet higher than Mont Blanc. On their right rose the vast proportions of snow-robed Iztaccihuatl, the "white woman." Between the two extended a steep barrier of bare, wind-swept rock, up which the rough road zigzagged its tedious way. From the snow-peaks came icy winds, chilling man and beast to the bone, while they were continually buffeted by fierce snow-squalls or tempests of cutting sleet. Dark gorges yawned on either side, and from their profound depths came dismal moanings, as though the storm demons were already lamenting the anticipated fall of the Aztec gods. Amid these surroundings the little army toiled painfully on, until darkness shrouded the dreary landscape, when, utterly exhausted, they clamored for a halt, declaring that human endurance could hold out no longer.
Again Huetzin came to the rescue with a knowledge of the road gained from his recent bitter experience as a hunted fugitive, in those same mountains. He assured them that a cluster of commodious post-houses, erected for the shelter of Montezuma's own troops and couriers, stood but a short distance ahead. Thus cheered, the Spaniards struggled on to the welcome haven so unwittingly provided by their enemy, where, by the aid of rousing fires, the fuel for which they found already cut and stored, they passed a night of comparative comfort.
Early on the succeeding day they passed the crest of the divide, and, feeling that the worst of their trials were now left behind, they advanced with buoyant steps down the western slope of the sierra. Suddenly a glad shout from the front woke the mountain echoes, and startled those who came behind. The leaders had turned an angle, and, as though by magic, the promised land was outspread before them. The superb valley of Mexico, unrivalled in the world for the exquisite beauty of its scenery, lay smiling in unclouded sunshine at their feet.
In an emerald setting of verdant fields, orchards, groves, and stately forests, blended with areas of yellow maize and blooming gardens, five lakes of heavenly blue shone like brilliant jewels. Clustered thickly about them, and even resting on their dimpled bosoms, were scores of white-walled cities, towns, and hamlets, all distinctly visible through the rarefied atmosphere. Most conspicuous of all, fairest and most stately of all, sat the Queen City of the New World. Tenochtitlan, the royal city of their hopes and dreams, was no longer an elusive mystery, but a visible reality. Near it rose the dark mass of Chapultepec, home of Aztec kings, crowned with the same majestic cypresses that shadow it to this day. It was a sight to repay years of suffering toil, and it is no wonder that these first white men gazed on it in spellbound silence.
As the white conquerors descended by easy stages into this marvellous valley, making frequent pauses to admire the fertility of its fields, or the beauty of its white-walled villages nestled in green nooks, they were everywhere hailed by the people of the country as deliverers from the harsh tyranny of Montezuma. These received the all-powerful strangers with shouts and songs of rejoicing, at the same time showering upon them gifts of food and flowers. Thus, the march resembled the return of a victorious army rather than one of invasion and conquest. They were also met by another of Montezuma's numerous embassies bearing, as usual, gifts of gold, jewels, and rich mantles of fur or exquisite feather-work. Threats and persuasions having proved unavailing to check the progress of the conquerors, Montezuma was reduced to bribery as a last resort. This embassy brought the offer of two hundred pounds of gold to Cortes, fifty to each of his captains, and an annual tribute to the Spanish king if the strangers would return whence they came.
When this offer was refused, as all others had been, and it became clear that nothing would check the victorious advance of the Christians, the Aztec monarch shut himself up in his palace, refused food, and devoted himself to prayer and sacrifice. He saw his mighty kingdom slipping from him, and, with a fatal superstition that forbade him to oppose the will of the gods, he refused to make an effort for its defence. Cuitlahuac, his warlike brother, Guatamotzin, his impetuous nephew, and others of the bolder spirits among his nobles, urged him to summon his armies and make at least one heroic effort to save his tottering throne. Tlalco, the Toltec priest, who had so worked upon the king's weak nature as to become his chief adviser, said: "Leave to the gods the honor of annihilating these unbelievers in their own good time," and the king listened to the voice of the priest.
So Montezuma prepared to send forth his last embassy to the advancing conquerors, and ordered Cacama, Prince of Tezcuco, with a noble retinue, to meet and welcome them to Mexico. This meeting took place amid the beautiful gardens and stately residences of the royal city of Iztapalapan, situated between the fresh waters of Lake Chalco and the salt flood of the broad Tezcuco. Here the Spaniards were entertained with regal splendor, and here they passed the last night before entering the capital.
Never did nature assume a fairer aspect than when, on the following morning, the clear-voiced Spanish trumpets set the little army in motion for the final march of their eventful progress through the land of Anahuac. A mere handful of men, cut off from all communication with their own race, they had traversed the breadth of a wealthy and populous kingdom, overcome its hostile armies, captured one after another of its strongholds, and were now about to make a triumphant entry into its capital city. Their record was without a parallel in the history of the world. Thus it was with swelling hearts and a proud bearing that they stepped on the superb stone causeway spanning the waters of the salt lake, at the distant end of which lay the queenly city of Tenochtitlan.
This causeway was one of the noblest works of New World civilization. Constructed of huge blocks of stone, it was wide enough for ten horsemen to ride abreast, and stretched for more than a league, in a perfectly straight line, across the lake. At several points it was cut by canals for the passage of boats, and these were crossed by drawbridges, which, when lifted, barred all communication by land with the city. Midway of its length stood Xoloc, a stone fort of immense strength, flanked by towers, and giving passage through a battlemented gateway.
At this point, as the Spaniards advanced with silken banners streaming bravely out in the fresh morning air, burnished mail, and glittering weapons, proudly prancing steeds and rumbling guns, they were met by immense throngs of spectators, who had poured from the city to witness the strangest sight ever beheld in Anahuac. Not only did the astonished natives line both sides of the causeway with dense walls of curious humanity, but the waters of the lake were alive with thousands of their canoes. With equal, but restrained, curiosity did the Spaniards gaze on them; on the wonderful floating islands that, covered with a luxuriant vegetation, and even with miniature forests, appeared on both sides, gently undulating with the swell of the waves, and upon the vast extent of the stately city they were nearing.
As they approached the end of the causeway, and crossed its last bridge, they perceived the brilliant retinue of the king advancing to meet them, and halted to receive it. The royal palanquin, plated with burnished gold, was surrounded by a glittering throng of nobles, four of whom, barefooted, with downcast eyes and walking with slowly measured pace, supported it on their shoulders. Four others bore aloft the royal canopy of brilliant featherwork, powdered with jewels and fringed with gold. It was preceded by three princes bearing golden wands, and having robes of the most exquisite plumage thrown over their golden armor.
When the dazzling train had reached a convenient distance it halted, and Montezuma, descending from his litter, advanced on foot, leaning on the lords of Tezcuco and Iztapalapan. He was still shaded by the feathered canopy, and his golden sandals touched only the rich tapestry spread down before him by attendant nobles. His thronging subjects prostrated themselves to the ground as he passed, and no eye dared gaze on his countenance.
The king was simply clad in a broad embroidered maxtlatl, or waist sash, and the voluminous tilmatli, or Aztec cloak; but above his head, held in place by a golden fillet, nodded a panache of green plumes, such as he alone might wear.
Dismounting from his horse, and tossing his reins to a page, Cortes, attended by Sandoval and Alvarado, stepped forward to meet the monarch. As they came face to face these two gazed for a moment, in silence and with a curious interest, at each other. Then Montezuma welcomed his guests with a kingly courtesy, and announced that his brother, the Prince Cuitlahua, would conduct them to the quarters prepared for their reception.
His words being translated by Marina, Cortes responded with a few courtly expressions of profound respect, hung about the king's neck a glistening chain of colored crystals, and the momentous interview came to an end.
Montezuma, returning through the prostrate ranks of his people, re-entered his litter and was borne back into the city with the same state in which he had left it. The Spaniards followed with colors flying, drums and trumpets arousing the echoes with strains of martial music, and with the trampling of horses and the rumble of heavy guns sounding for the first time over the cemented pavements of Tenochtitlan.
As they marched, with heavy tread, up the principal avenue of the city, the troops gazed with undisguised amazement at the evidences of wealth and civilization surrounding them. For miles the way was lined with the residences of nobles. They were built of a handsome red sandstone, and though generally of but one story in height, each covered a large area. Although the flat, battlemented roofs of these buildings showed that they were capable of being converted into so many fortresses, this military character was softened by the beds of flowers and perfumed shrubbery with which most of them were covered. Often broad, terraced gardens appeared between the dwellings, and the straight lines of their monotonous architecture were broken, here and there, by the pyramidal bulk of some teocal, lifting its fire-crowned summit high above all other structures, the fountains and porticos of a square, or the crossing of a canal.
The profoundest impression was, however, created by the dense population, who swarmed on the house-tops, in the streets and squares, and on the canals, in such numbers as the Spaniards had not believed existed in all Anahuac. These everywhere greeted the white strangers with cheerful smiles and acclamations, mingled with expressions of wonder at their horses, weapons, costumes, and beards. But when the cavalry, infantry, and artillery had passed, the dark ranks of Tlascalan warriors, who followed, were met with the scowls and mutterings of an undying hatred. These were not lost upon Huetzin, who, proudly marching at the head of his mountaineers, returned them with interest. Whenever he passed a temple he sincerely hoped that some day he might lead his fierce warriors to its destruction. When he finally came in sight of the great teocal, where his noble father had died, and where he had so nearly lost his own life, his eyes glistened with a light that boded ill to this dwelling of the gods if ever he should be allowed to have his way with it.
Opposite the western side of the temple stood a vast and commodious range of buildings surrounded by a stone wall. These had formed the palace of Montezuma's father, and were now given over to the strangers, to be their place of abode so long as they should remain in the city. As they entered these quarters the king himself, surrounded by his nobles, stood in the courtyard waiting to receive them.
After his departure, Cortes made a careful inspection of the buildings, which were found to be ample for the accommodation of the entire army, and assigned to whites and Tlascalans their respective quarters. He then stationed the artillery so as to command the gateways, posted sentinels, ordered that no soldier should leave the enclosure without permission, and in every manner that his prudence dictated, guarded against attack or surprise. When this had been accomplished, the army was allowed to partake of the bountiful meal provided for it. Later in the day Cortes, accompanied by Marina and his captains, visited the palace of the king, by whom they were granted a long audience, and presented with costly gifts. At sunset the Spaniards celebrated their entrance into Tenochtitlan with a simultaneous discharge of all their artillery. This awe-inspiring sound, and its thunderous reverberations, combined with the sulphurous fumes of powder, filled the superstitious Aztecs with dismay, and convinced them that they were indeed entertaining beings of more than mortal powers.
After this two days were passed quietly, or in the interchange of ceremonious visits; but on the night of the third Huetzin, tired of inactivity, and disguising himself in a peasant's robe of nequen, sallied forth into the city. He had a vague hope of thus learning something of Tiata, which thus far he had been unable to do. Ever since sighting the Mexican valley her image had been constantly before him, and he was strongly impressed with the belief that she was still alive.
The streets were as well filled with people as they had been on the eve of the festival of the great calendar stone. In the brilliantly lighted porticos of the squares, in which pulque, chocolatl, or cooling sherbets were sold, at the corners, before the open doorways, on the bridges, and at the landing-places of the many canals, were gathered animated groups discussing the arrival of the white strangers, which still formed the all-absorbing topic of public interest. There was little laughter or singing, but much earnest conversation, of which Huetzin caught such scraps as he could while passing, for he dared not join himself to any group, for fear of disclosing his identity. For an hour he wandered aimlessly to and fro, shunning lighted places as much as possible, and seeking friendly shadows. At the end of this time he suddenly became filled with the uneasy sense of one who is secretly observed, and looking about him, he strove to discover if this were the case.
Thus far Huetzin had felt almost certain that he had escaped recognition in Tenochtitlan. By the Spaniards he was invariably addressed as Don Juan, while his own followers spoke and thought of him only as their chieftain, giving him always the title of his office. Although, under the circumstances of his present appearance in the city, he did not fear any evil consequences to himself from being identified with the prisoner who had escaped from Huitzil's altar only three months before, he thought it best, for Tiata's sake, to remain unknown as long as possible. Nor did he esteem this a difficult matter. While the personality of the Spaniards was of great interest in the court of Montezuma, that of their despised Tlascalan allies was not deemed worthy of consideration. Who, then, would concern himself as to the name, title, or previous history, even of their chief? As Huetzin answered to himself "No one," he forgot that the anger of a baffled priest never slumbers, forgives, nor forgets. He forgot Topil.
Thus, when the young Toltec finally discovered a shadowy form, that seemed to move when he moved, and to halt when he halted, though always at a distance from him, he became interested rather than apprehensive, and wondered for whom he was mistaken. In his efforts to obtain a closer view of his shadow, he tried disappearing around corners and then quickly retracing his steps, hiding in dark angles, and various other plans, but always without success. At length he lost sight of the figure, and was beginning to think he must be mistaken in his suspicions, when he was startled by a whisper in his ear: "If you would know of Tiata, follow me!" Then a dark form moved swiftly ahead of him.
For a moment the young Toltec stood irresolute. The utterance of his sister's name showed that he was indeed recognized. He longed above all things for news concerning her, but should he, for that reason, throw prudence to the winds and follow the first stranger who bade him do so? Certainly not. At the same time his curiosity was so aroused that he determined to overtake the mysterious person, if possible, and force an explanation from him. The shadow was still in sight, though at some distance, and, under the impulse of the resolve just made, Huetzin started swiftly after it. As he ran, so it fled, always almost, but not quite, within reach. A touch of its fluttering garments led him to believe that the chase was nearly ended, and in his exultation he failed to notice that he had passed through a wide gateway. Again, as he was about to grasp the figure, it darted through an open door; but here the pursuer paused. He would follow no further.
At that moment there came a shrill scream from within. It was a woman's voice, and it seemed to cry: "Huetzin! oh, Huetzin!" Impulsively the young man sprang forward. He had hardly passed the dark portal, when he was seized by several pairs of strong hands and thrown to the ground. A minute later he was led away, helplessly bound, through the darkness. At length he was rudely thrust into a wooden cage, such as were used for captives destined for sacrifice, and there left to his own sorrowful reflections.
He could no longer doubt that he had been recognized, his every movement watched, and his capture devised by means of the simple trap to which he had fallen so easy a victim. Fortunately for him, Topil, the chief priest, had that day gone on a secret mission to Tezcuco. He did not return until near noon of the following day. As soon as he reached the temple he was informed that the young Tlascalan, upon whom he had so long desired to lay hands, once more awaited his pleasure.
Topil's eyes lighted with a fierce gleam as he muttered, "Ha! son of Tlahuicol, and avowed enemy of the holy priesthood, thou shalt not escape me now!" Then, aloud, he said: "Away with him to the altar of Huitzil, to which I will shortly follow. With this sacrifice shall the anger of the gods be averted, and all shall once more go well with Anahuac."
In obedience to this order, Huetzin was dragged from his cage, to which no ray of light had penetrated since he was thrust into it, was blindfolded, and bound to the back of a sturdy tamane, or porter of the temple. In this manner, and surrounded by a strong guard of priests, he was borne for a long distance, and, as he could distinguish from the motion, up many flights of stairs. When he was at length set down, although the bandage was not removed from his eyes, he felt certain that he once more stood on the horrible platform crowning the great teocal of Huitzil.
As he stood there, feeling that now his last hour had indeed come, he vaguely calculated the chances of a desperate plan for wrenching himself free, at the last moment, seizing the chief priest, who he was sure would conduct the sacrifice in person, and leaping with him from the giddy height. All at once he became conscious of a mighty hum of voices rising from far below, and gradually swelling into acclamations. Then, although he could not see him, a priest came running breathlessly up the stairway that led to the platform. Huetzin did, however, hear the words, "They are coming here! Away with him! Another time will do as well! Even his dead body must not be discovered!" Then the prisoner was seized and dragged into a building, which, by the horrible odor pervading it, he recognized as the shrine of the god. Here he was thrust into some sort of a room or closet, and its door was closed behind him.
In the meantime, Huetzin's former preserver, Tlalco, the Toltec priest, had been well aware of his arrival in the city, but had not yet found an opportunity to communicate with him. With all his secret means of acquiring information, he had not known of the young chieftain's capture and imminent peril until Topil's return from Tezcuco. Then he overheard the communication made to the chief priest, and, without an instant's delay, hastened to the king's palace. Montezuma was not there, nor were his attendant nobles. They were escorting the Spaniards on a visit to the places of greatest interest within the city.
Sandoval had been greatly concerned to learn, upon inquiring for his friend Don Juan, just before setting forth on this excursion, that the young Tlascalan had not returned to his quarters since leaving them late on the previous evening. He would have instituted an immediate search for the missing youth, had not the arrival of the king at that moment demanded his service. Filled with an ever-increasing uneasiness, the young Spaniard was compelled to visit, with his commander and the other cavaliers, the great market-place of Tlateloco, where not even the thousand strange sights, that so interested the others, could distract his mind from its one all-absorbing thought. What had become of the friend whom he had learned to love as a brother? Was he in danger? If so, what was its nature?
He rejoiced when the tedious inspection of the market-place was ended, and the Spaniards were conducted toward the great temple, which Cortes was especially desirous of visiting. They were still some distance from it, when a page from the palace, mingling unnoticed with the throng, managed to attract the attention of Marina, who accompanied the party as interpreter, and delivered to her a whispered message. She turned pale as she gathered its import, and beckoning Sandoval to the side of her litter, said, in a low but thrillingly earnest tone:
"I am just told to inform the lord Sandoval that, if he would save his brother's life, he must make all speed to the summit of the great temple."
For a moment Sandoval was bewildered. His brother? Then it flashed into his mind that Huetzin, the missing one, must be meant. He also recalled the dread fate already escaped once by the young Toltec on the summit of that same pyramid of horrors. Huetzin had never been very clear in his account of how he escaped on that occasion, but it was likely that a similar method was well guarded against this time, if, indeed, he were in a similar danger.
While thus thinking, the young captain, saluting his commander, and obtaining leave to take a handful of men and act as an advance guard in clearing the streets, clapped spurs to Motilla and dashed away with a haste that occasioned general surprise. It was his impetuous arrival at the foot of the teocal that had occasioned such consternation on its summit, and the chief priest was but one flight of stairs ahead of him as he made his way, with all speed, up the long ascent. He was reckless of the fact that he had far outstripped his followers and was alone. Even when he gained the summit and found himself in the presence of a large body of scowling priests, he had no thought of his own danger. Drawing his sword, he advanced toward them with such a threatening air that they instinctively fell back at his approach.
"Where is he? What have you done with him? Answer me, dogs, ere I loosen thy false tongues with a taste of Spanish steel!" he cried, in savage tones, forgetting that they could understand no word of what he said.
As the priests retreated, so that his eyes could take in the whole of the broad platform, he saw that the object of his search was not there, nor was there any appearance of blood having been spilled that morning. Still he was not satisfied, and as his followers joined him, he led them, careless of the protests of the chief priest, into the foul shrine, where, in spite of its sickening odor, he searched every nook and corner, feeling with his sword in all places that he could not otherwise reach.
When the rest of the visiting party gained the summit of the teocal, the priest made such bitter complaint, to Montezuma, of the insult thus offered to their god that, for the first time during his intercourse with the whites, the king expressed anger at their proceedings, and declared that he himself must do penance for their sacrilege.
While the priests were making their complaints to Montezuma, Cortes and his companions were gazing with fascinated eyes over the incomparable scene outspread on all sides of their lofty observatory. At their feet lay the city, its terraced roofs blooming with flowers, its streets and shining canals intersecting each other at right angles, and the four great avenues, three of which connected with as many causeways leading to the mainland, stretching away in unbroken lines from the four gates of Huitzil's temple. The avenues, streets, squares, and canals were filled with a cheerful activity, and thronged with natives in gay and picturesque costumes. Beyond the clustered buildings of the wide-spread city sparkled the waters of the lake in which it stood, and on its distant shores could be seen other cities, nestling villages, and the white walls of many a tall teocal rising above dark groves. Far across the broad valley the glorious sweep of view was unbroken until it rested on the encircling range of mountains that bounded it on all sides. From these many a frosty peak pierced the blue heavens, and, high over all trailed the smoke banners of Popocatepetl.
Their enjoyment of this enchanting scene was cut short by the king advising Cortes of the sacrilege committed by Sandoval and his followers in ransacking the sacred shrine. He requested that, on account of it, the Spaniards should at once depart, leaving him and the priests to win forgiveness of the gods for the offence, if indeed that were possible. Although Cortes would gladly have seconded Sandoval's blunt proposal to tumble the stony-eyed god down a side of the pyramid, and fling the priests after it, he knew that the time for such heroic measures was not yet come, and so yielded to the request of the king.
The Spaniards, including Sandoval, who was more than ever perplexed and uneasy concerning the disappearance of his friend, had hardly taken their departure before the chief priest advanced toward Montezuma with a smiling face.
"Oh, mighty lord, and lord of lords!" he exclaimed, making a deep obeisance, "know that I have this day secured a victim for Huitzil's altar, the sacrifice of whom will not only banish from the mind of the gods the recent insults of the white zopilotes (vultures), but will restore their favor to thee and thy people. He is no other than that son of Tlahuicol, the Tlascalan, who is the avowed enemy of the gods, and defied their wrath by his sacrilege at Cholula. Ever since I learned of his coming I have had a score of trusty fellows pledged to his capture, and even now he is at hand, in a secret chamber of the shrine, where the prying eyes of the lime-faced strangers failed to discover him. I fear, however, that, by some mysterious power known only to themselves, they have gained a knowledge of his capture, and are secretly in search of him. If it is thy will that he be immediately sacrificed, and his body given to the sacred flame, then will their search be in vain, and the manner of his disappearance will never be known."
"Bring him forth and let him be sacrificed," replied the king. "The times are urgent, and no means for winning back the favor of the gods must be left untried. If it be not speedily restored, then shall king and priest fall together, and the glory of Anahuac pass forever. So hasten and produce thy victim, for I must shortly return to discover what new mischief these insolent invaders may be meditating."
Filled with a savage joy that his revenge was about to be gratified, and pleased to be able to celebrate the coming of the king with so worthy a sacrifice, Topil hastened to the secure hiding-place in which he had left Huetzin. So long was he gone that the king, impatient of waiting, despatched one of the lesser priests to bid him produce his victim without further delay. This messenger returned with the startling information that no trace of either the chief priest or his prisoner was to be found.
With an exclamation of anger, Montezuma himself entered the shrine and made a personal search of every room, closet, nook, and corner of its three stories. Finally he was compelled to admit that, in some mysterious way, and for some unknown reason, Topil had disappeared, leaving no trace of his presence. As even the king knew of no mode of exit from the shrine, save its one visible doorway, he could in no way account for this disappearance. Its mystery filled him with such a superstitious dread of the place that he made haste to leave it, and was borne back to his palace a prey to the most gloomy forebodings.
As the king, refusing the attendance of his nobles, entered his private apartments, he was stupefied with amazement to see, standing before him, holding a bloody human heart in his hand, the figure of Topil, the chief priest. For a few seconds he gazed in motionless terror, then he managed to gasp: "Art thou a spirit or a reality? Speak! I command thee!"
To this Topil answered: "I know not, O king, whether I am truly the one or the other. Hear thou my tale and then judge. When I left thee, but now, on the summit of Huitzil's holy temple, I went to bring forth a prisoner whom I had in safe keeping. Upon entering the place where he had been I found naught save traces of unquenchable fire, such as is used by the gods, and this heart. I was not terror-stricken, nor even greatly surprised, for I have known of other cases in which the gods, impatient of delay, have slain impious victims by means of their own awful weapons. I was only amazed to see that the heart of this sacrifice was left as fresh and whole as though just torn from the living body.
"Lifting it, I instantly observed it to be covered with omens so favorable to thee as have never before been seen in all the years of thy glorious reign. I was about to hasten to thee with the joyful tidings, when I was suddenly enveloped in a whirling cloud of dazzling radiance and borne I know not whither. While in this state I was granted a vision. It was of the white strangers now within thy walls; but they were no longer proud, nor were they victorious. They seemed to be without a leader, and were being driven, like leaves before the wind, by the warriors of Tenochtitlan.
"This being interpreted, O king, means that if thou canst but deprive them of their leader, the accursed strangers shall fall beneath thy sword as falls the brittle chian before the reaper's sickle. Thus, O Montezuma, shall the immortal gods be vindicated and thy kingdom established forever.
"When I awoke from this glorious vision, behold, I was standing here, as thou seest me, with the heart of the son of Tlahuicol in my hand as a proof that I had not dreamed a dream."
Such was the story of Topil, the chief priest, and this was the flimsy argument by which he persuaded Montezuma to embrace the first opportunity for the destruction of the Spanish leader. It was a bold device, and it served to conceal the fact that the son of Tlahuicol had again escaped from the altar. For fear its falsity should be discovered, Topil urged immediate action according to his plan; but Montezuma would only promise that, if possible, it should be carried out on the following day.
When Huetzin found himself respited from immediate sacrifice and thrust into another cage, or cell, his first act was to tear the bandage from his eyes. Although the darkness in which he stood was absolute, and he could see no more than before, his brain seemed to act more clearly now that he was no longer blindfolded. With a new hope springing in his heart, he felt on all sides for traces of a door. If he could only get out he might hide in some recess of the temple, and ultimately effect an escape. Of course the chances were a thousand to one against him, but he would thankfully accept even that poor one. So he felt carefully round and round the rough stone walls, but nothing yielded, and there was no trace of an opening. All at once it flashed into his mind that he had been within the narrow limits of these impenetrable walls before. He was almost certain that he stood in the pedestal of Huitzil's image, and just above the narrow stairway down which Tlalco had conducted him on the occasion of his former escape from the altar of sacrifice.
If it should be! and if he could only discover the secret of the opening leading to the stairway, how gladly would he brave the underground terrors to which it would conduct him, for the sake of its one slender chance of escape! Kneeling on the floor he passed his fingers, again and again, over every inch of its cold surface. The result was the same as had attended his efforts against the walls. He could find no trace of an opening nor of a projection by means of which a trap-door might be raised.
Finally, abandoning himself to despair, the young Toltec flung himself at full length on the floor and beat with his clenched fists upon its stony surface. As he did so, it seemed to sink beneath him with a slight grating sound. There was an upward rush of cool, damp air, and, in an instant, Huetzin was standing at the head of a flight of steps, while above him the ponderous stone door, that had opened for his passage, swung noiselessly back into place.
With a wildly beating heart the fugitive began cautiously to descend the unseen stairway. When midway down the second flight, a sound struck upon his ears that froze the blood in his veins. It came from above, and was that of some person rapidly descending behind him. The chief priest, for it must be he, had discovered his escape and was in hot pursuit, probably accompanied by others, all well-armed, and thirsting for his blood.
Thus thinking, Huetzin listened for an instant to the advancing sounds, and then plunged forward, almost headlong, through the darkness. Down flight after flight of the interminable steps he dashed with reckless haste, often slipping, falling, and rolling, but ever keeping in advance of his pursuers. As he neared the bottom, the horror of the secret door, there to be encountered, fell on him, and he cried aloud in his agony. Like a mocking echo, his cry was repeated from above.
When he reached the bottom of the last flight of steps, and could go no farther, then he would turn and fight to the bitter end. They should never again lay his breathing body on the hideous stone of sacrifice.
Thus Huetzin determined; but when he came to the door, and the pursuing footsteps were close upon him, it stood open. Hardly crediting this wonder, the fugitive sprang through the opening thus miraculously provided, and slammed the heavy door behind him. Then he again ran forward through utter darkness. Feeling for the side passages that he remembered, he at length found and entered one. In this he ran, until suddenly he brought up against a solid wall, where he fell, panting, bruised, and almost unconscious, to the ground.
When Sandoval returned with the others to the Spanish quarters, after leaving the temple, he urged Marina to find out who had sent the message that had despatched him on so fruitless an errand to Huitzil's shrine, and, if possible, what it meant. This Marina was only too glad to undertake; for she, as well as the young Spaniard, was anxious and unhappy concerning the fate of him who had been her patient in Tlascala.
In the meantime Sandoval, visiting the Tlascalan quarters, found the fierce warriors very angry, and inclined to quarrel with some one, on account of the loss of their well-liked young chief. They could form no idea of what had become of him, but declared that if he were not restored to them soon, and in safety, the city that had swallowed him should be made to feel their vengeance. The matter was becoming so serious that it must be reported to Cortes. Upon hearing of it, the Spanish leader declared his intention of immediately visiting the king, and demanding any information he might possess upon the subject. To this end, he summoned Marina to accompany him as interpreter.
The Indian girl had but just discovered the page who had brought her the message, and gained from him the information that it had been sent by one of the court ladies, who was even now walking in the king's gardens, and to whom he would willingly conduct her. As Marina must attend the Conqueror in his audience with the king, she turned the page over to Sandoval, with instructions to lead the young cavalier to the gardens instead of herself, and point the lady out to him.
Then the same party, that had made a tour of the city that morning, set forth for Montezuma's palace. After they had entered its grounds, Sandoval, keeping a tight hold of his page, managed to slip away unnoticed. He was pleasantly conscious that at length he, like other young men whom he had known, was setting forth in search of a romantic adventure. The feeling was an entirely novel one; for the plain-faced young soldier, though expert in the art of war, was awkward of speech, and so diffident that, since his childhood, he had hardly exchanged a dozen words with any woman. Marina was, of course, excepted, but he regarded her more in the light of a fellow-soldier than as a member of the dreaded sex.
He wondered if the woman he was about to see would be old or young, attractive or otherwise. He finally decided that she would be middle-aged, as dark-skinned as were most of the Indian women he had seen, and that she was probably the wife of some court noble, who had let drop a chance expression concerning Don Juan, which she had misunderstood. While thus cogitating, Sandoval was led through a maze of shaded alleys and perfumed shrubberies until he was as bewildered as one without a compass in mid-ocean.
At length, after a long search, he and the page detected the sound of voices; and, as they emerged from behind a dense thicket of laurel, the latter pointed, with a triumphant air, to two female figures pacing slowly along the borders of a miniature lake, and engaged in earnest conversation. One was dark, middle-aged, and stately. She answered so well Sandoval's mental picture of the woman he wished to discover, that he accepted her as such without a question. The other woman appeared to be younger, but he could not see her face.