Some few of the company were silent, but the rest cried:
“We accept you, Tikal and Nahua, and long may you rule over us according to the ancient customs of the land.”
“It is well, my brethren,” answered Tikal. “Now, before we drink the parting-cup, have any of you ought to say to me?”
“I have something to say to you,” cried Zibalbay in a loud voice from the shadows wherein we stood at the far end of the hall.
At the sound of his voice, the tones of which he seemed to know, Tikal started and rose in fear, but, recovering himself, said:
“Advance from the shadow, whoever you are, and say your say where men may see you.”
Turning to his daughter and to us, Zibalbay bade us follow him, and do as he did. Then, veiling his face with a corner of his robe, he walked up the hall, the crowd of nobles and ladies opening a path till we stood before the throne. Here he uncovered himself, as we did also, and standing sideways, so that he could be seen both by Tikal and all that company, he opened his lips to speak. Before a word could pass them a cry of astonishment broke from the nobles, and of a sudden the sceptre fell from the hand of Tikal and rolled along the floor.
“Zibalbay!” said the cry. “It is Zibalbay come back, or the ghost of him, and with him the Lady of the Heart!”
“Aye, nobles,” he said, in a quiet voice, although his hand shook with rage, “it is I, Zibalbay, your lord, come home, and not too soon, as it would seem. What, my nephew, were you so hungry for my place and power, that you must break the oath you swore upon the Heart, and seize them before the appointed time? And you, Mattai, have you lost your skill, or have the gods smitten you with a curse, that you prophesy falsely, saying that it was written in the stars that we who are alive were dead, thereby lifting up your daughter to the seat of the Lady of the Heart. Nay, do not answer me. Standing yonder I have heard all your story. I say to you, Tikal, that you are a foresworn traitor, and to you, Mattai, that you are a charlatan and a liar, who have dared to use the holy art for your own ends, and the advancement of your house. On both of you will I be avenged,—aye, and on all those who have abetted you in your crimes. Guards, seize that man, and the Lord Mattai with him, and let them be held fast till I shall judge them.”
Now the soldiers that stood on either side of the thrones hesitated for a moment, and then advanced towards Tikal as though to lay hands upon him in obedience to Zibalbay’s order. But Nahua rose and waved them off, saying:
“What! dare you to touch your anointed lord? Back, I say to you, if you would save yourselves from the doom of sacrilege. Living or dead, the day of Zibalbay is done, for the Council of the Heart has set his crown upon the brow of Tikal, and, whether for good or ill, their decree cannot be changed.”
“Aye!” said Tikal, whose courage had come back to him. “The Lady Nahua speaks truth. Touch me not if you would live to look upon the sun.”
But all the while he spoke his eyes were fixed upon Maya, whose beautiful face he watched as though it were that of some lost love risen from the dead.
Now, as Zibalbay was about to speak again, Mattai the astronomer bowed before him and said:
“Be not angry, but hear me, my lord. You have travelled far, and you are weary, and a weary man is apt at wrath. You think that you have been wronged, and, doubtless, all this that has chanced is strange to you, but now is not the time for us to give count of our acts and stewardship, or for you to hearken. Rest this night; and to-morrow on the pyramid, in the presence of the people, all things shall be made clear to you, and justice be done to all. Welcome to you, Zibalbay, and to you also, Daughter of the Heart,—and say, who are these strangers that you bring with you from the desert lands across the mountains?”
Zibalbay paused awhile, looking round him out of the corners of his eyes, like a wolf in a trap, for he sought to discover the temper of the nobles. Then, finding that there were but few present whom he could trust to help him, he lifted his head and answered:
“You are right, Mattai, I am weary; for age, travel, and the faithlessness of men have worn me out. To-morrow these matters shall be dealt with in the presence of the people, and there, before the altar, it shall be made known whether I am their lord, or you, Tikal. There, too, I will tell you who these strangers are, and why I have brought them across the mountains. Until then I leave them in your keeping, for your own sake charging you to keep them well. Nay, here I will neither eat nor drink. Do you come with me,” and he called to certain lords by name whom he knew to be faithful to him.
Then, without more words, he turned and left the hall, followed by a number of the nobles.
“It seems that my father has forgotten me,” said Maya, with a laugh, when he had gone. “Greeting to you all, friends, and to you, my cousin, Tikal, and greeting also to your wife, Nahua, who, once my waiting-lady, by the gift of fortune has now been lifted up to take my place and title. Whatever may be the issue of these broils, may you be happy in each other’s love, Tikal and Nahua.”
Now Tikal descended from the throne and bowed before her, saying, “I swear to you, Maya——”
“No, do not swear,” she broke in, “but give me and my friends here a cup of wine and some fragments from your wedding-feast, for we are hungry. I thank you. How beautiful is that bride’s robe which Nahua wears, and—surely—those emeralds were once my own. Well, let her take them from me as a wedding-gift. Make room, I pray you, Tikal, and suffer these ladies to tell me of their tidings, for remember that I have wandered far, and it is pleasant to see faces that are dear to me.”
For awhile we sat and ate, or made pretence to eat, while Maya talked thus lightly and all that company watched us, for we were wonderful in their eyes, who never till now had seen a white man. Indeed, the sight of the señor, auburn-haired, long-bearded, and white-skinned, was so marvellous to them, that, unlike the common people, they forgot their courtesy and crowded round him in their amazement. Still, there were two who took small note of the señor or of me, and these were Tikal, who gazed at Maya as he stood behind her chair serving her like some waiting slave, and Nahua his wife, who sat silent and neglected on her throne, sullenly noting his every word and gesture. At length she could bear this play no longer, but, rising from her seat, began to move down the chamber.
“Make room for the bride, ladies,” said Maya. “Cousin, good-night, it grows late, and your wife awaits you.”
Then, muttering I know not what, Tikal turned and went, and side by side the pair walked down the great hall, followed by their guard of soldiers.
“How beautiful is the bride, and how brave the groom!” said Maya, as she watched them go, “and yet I have seen couples that looked happier on their wedding-day. Well, it is time to rest. Friends, good-night. Mattai, I leave these strangers in your keeping. Guard them well—and, stay, bring them to my apartments to-morrow after they have eaten, for if it is my father’s will, I would show them something of the city before the hour of noon, when we meet upon the temple-top.”
When she had gone, Mattai bowed to us with much ceremony and begged us to follow him, which we did, across the courtyard and through many passages, to a beautiful chamber, dimly lighted with silver lamps, that had been made ready for us. Here were beds covered with silken wrappings, and on a table in the centre of the room cool drinks and many sorts of fruits, but so tired were we that we took little note of these things.
Bidding good-night to Mattai, who looked at us curiously and announced that he would visit us early in the morning, we made fast the copper bolts upon the door and threw ourselves upon the beds.
Weary as I was, I could not sleep in this strange place, and when, from time to time, my eyes closed, the sound of feet passing without our chamber door roused me again to wakefulness. Of one thing I was sure, that Zibalbay was not wanted here in his own city, and that there would be trouble on the morrow when he told his tale to the people, for certainly Tikal would not suffer himself easily to be thrust from the place he had usurped, and he had many friends. Doubtless it was their feet that I heard outside the door as they hurried to and fro from the chamber where Mattai sat taking counsel with them. What would be our fate, I wondered, in this struggle for power that must come? These people feared strangers—so much I could read in their faces—and doubtless they would be rid of us if they might. Well, we had a good friend in Maya, and the rest we must leave to Providence.
Thinking thus, at length I fell asleep, to be awakened by the voice of the señor, who was sitting upon the edge of his bed, singing a song and looking round the chamber, for now the daylight streamed through the lattices. I wished him good-morrow, and asked him why he sang.
“Because of the lightness of my heart,” he answered. “We have reached the city at last, and it is far more splendid and wonderful than anything I dreamed of. Also the luck is with us, for this Tikal has taken another woman in marriage, who, to judge from the look of her, will not readily let him go, and therefore Maya has no more to fear from him. Thirdly, there is enough treasure in this town, if what we saw last night may be taken as a sample, to enable you to establish three Indian Empires, if you wish, and doubtless Zibalbay will give you as much of it as you may want. Therefore, friend Ignatio, you should sing, as I do, instead of looking as gloomy as though you saw your own coffin being brought in at the door.”
I shook my head, and answered:
“I fear you speak lightly. There is trouble brewing in this city, and we shall be drawn into it, for the struggle between Tikal and Zibalbay will be to the death. As for the Lady Maya, of this I am certain, that—wife or no wife—Tikal still loves her and will strive to take her; I saw it in his eyes last night. Lastly, it is true enough that here there is boundless wealth; but whether its owners will suffer me to have any portion of it, to forward my great purposes,—useless though it be to them,—is another matter.”
“There was a man in the Bible called Job, and he had a friend named Eliphaz,—I think you are that friend come to life again, Ignatio,” answered the señor, laughing. “For my part, I mean to make the best of the present, and not to trouble myself about the future or the politics of this benighted people. But hark, there is someone knocking at the door.”
I rose, and undid the bolt, whereon attendants entered bearing goblets of chocolate, and little cakes upon a tray. After we had eaten, they led us to the baths, which were of marble and very beautiful, one of them being filled with water from a warm spring, and then to a chamber, where breakfast was made ready for us. While we sat at table, Mattai came to us, and I saw that he had not slept that night, for his eyes were heavy.
“I trust that you have rested well, strangers,” he said courteously.
“Yes, lord,” I answered.
“Well, it is more than I have done, for it is my business to watch the stars, especially my own star, which just now is somewhat obscured,” and he smiled. “If you have finished your meal, my commands are to lead you to the apartments of the Lady Maya, who wishes to show you something of our city, which, being strangers, may interest you. By the way, if I do not ask too much, perhaps you will tell me to what race you belong,” and he bowed towards the señor. “We have heard of white men here, though we have learned no good of them, and tradition tells us that our first ruler, Cucumatz, was of this race. Are you of his blood, stranger?”
“I do not know,” answered the señor, laughing. “I come from a cold country far beyond the sea, where all the men are as I am.”
“Then the inhabitants of that country must be goodly to behold,” answered Mattai gravely. “I thank you for your courtesy, Son of the Sea, in answering my question so readily. I did not ask it from curiosity alone, since the people in this city are terrified of strangers, and clamour for some account of you.”
“Doubtless our friend Zibalbay will satisfy them,” I said.
“Good. Now be pleased to follow me,”—and Mattai led us across courts and through passages till we reached a little ante-room filled with ancient carvings and decorated with flowers, where some girls stood chatting.
“Tell the Lady Maya that her guests await her,” said Mattai, then turned to take his departure, adding, in a low voice, “doubtless we shall meet at noon upon the pyramid, and there you will see I know not what; but, whatever befalls, be sure of this, strangers, that I will protect you if I can. Farewell.”
One of the girls vanished through a doorway at the further end of the chamber, and, having offered us seats, the others stood together at a little distance, watching us out of the corners of their eyes. Presently the door opened, and through it came Maya, wearing a silken serape that covered her head and shoulders and looking very sweet and beautiful in the shaded light of the room.
“Greeting, friends,” she said, as we bowed before her. “I have my father’s leave to show you something of this city that you longed so much to see. These ladies here will accompany us, and a guard, but we shall want no litters until we have ascended the great temple, for I desire that you should see the view from thence before the place is cumbered with the multitude. Come, if you are ready.”
Accordingly we set out, Maya walking between us, while her guards and ladies followed after. Crossing the square, which had been the scene of the festival of the previous night, but now in the early morning was almost deserted, we came to the inclosure of the court-yard of the pyramid, a limestone wall worked with sculptures of hunting scenes, relieved by a border of writhing snakes, and at intervals by emblems of the Heart. At the gateway of this wall we paused to contemplate the mighty mass of the pyramid that towered above us. There is one in the land of Egypt that is bigger, so said the señor, although he believed this to be a more wonderful sight because of its glittering slopes of limestone, whose expanse was broken only by the vast stair that ran up its eastern face from base to summit.
“It is a great building,” said Maya, noting our astonishment, “and one that could not be reared in these days. Tradition says that five-and-twenty thousand men worked on it for fifty years—twenty thousand of them cutting and carrying the stone, and five thousand laying the blocks.”
“Where did the material come from, then?” asked the señor.
“Some of it was hewn from beneath the base of the temple itself,” she answered, “but the most was borne in big canoes from quarries on the mainland, for these quarries can still be seen.”
“Is the pyramid hollow, then?” I asked.
“Yes, in it are many chambers, for the most part store and treasure houses, and beneath its base lie crypts, the burying-place of the caciques, their wives, and children. There also is the Holy Sanctuary of the Heart, which you, being of the Brotherhood, may perhaps be permitted to visit. Come, let us climb the stair,”—and she led us across the court-yard to the foot of a stairway forty feet or more in breadth, which ran to the platform of the pyramid in six flights, each of fifty steps, and linked together by resting-places.
Up these flights we toiled slowly, followed by the ladies and the guard, till at length our labour was rewarded, and we stood upon the dizzy edge of the pyramid. Before us was a platform bordered by a low wall, large enough to give standing room to several thousand people. On the western side of this platform stood a small marble house, used as a place to store fuel, and as a watch-tower by the priests, who were on duty day and night, tending the sacred fire which flared in a brazier from its roof. Situated at some distance from this house, and immediately in front of it, was a small altar wreathed with flowers, but for the rest the area was empty.
“Look,” said Maya.
The city beneath us was built upon a low, heart-shaped island, so hollow in its centre that once it might have been the crater of some volcano, or perhaps a mere ridge of land inclosing a lagoon. This island measured about ten miles in length by six across at its widest, and seemed to float like a huge green leaf upon the lake, the Holy Waters of these Indians, of which the circumference is so great that even from the summit of the pyramid, a few small and rocky islets excepted, land was only visible to the north, whence we had sailed on the previous night. Elsewhere the eye met nothing but blue expanses of inland sea, limitless and desolate, unrelieved by any sail or sign of life. Amidst these waters the island gleamed like an emerald. Here were gardens filled with gorgeous flowers and clumps of beautiful palms and willows, framed by banks of dense green reeds that grew in the shallows around the shores. So luxuriant was the vegetation, fertilised year by year with the rich mud of the lake, and so lovely were the trees and flowers in the soft light of the morning, that the place seemed like a paradise rather than a home of men; and as was the island, so was the city that was built upon one end of it.
Following the lines of the land upon which it stood, it was heart-shaped—a heart of cold, white marble lying within a heart of glowing green. All about it ran a moat filled with water from the lake, and on the hither side of this moat stood a wall fifty feet or more in height, built of great blocks of white limestone that formed the bed-rock of the island, which wall was everywhere sculptured with allegorical devices and designs, and the gigantic figures of gods. Within the oblong of this wall lay the city; a city of palaces, pyramids, and temples, or rather the remains of it, for we could see at a glance that the population was unable to keep so many streets and edifices in repair. Thus palm-trees were to be found growing through the flat roofs of houses, and in crevices of the temple-pyramids, while many of the streets and avenues were green with grass and ferns, a narrow pathway in the centre of them showing how few were the feet of the passers-by. Even in the great square beneath us the signs of traffic were rare, and there was little of the bustle of a people engaged in the business of life, although this very place had been the scene of last night’s feast, and would again soon be filled with men and women flocking to the pyramid. Now and again some graceful, languid girl, a reed basket in her hand, might be seen visiting the booths, where rations of fish from the lake, or of meal, fruit, dried venison, and cocoa, were distributed according to the wants of each family. Or perhaps a party of men, on their way to labour in the gardens, stopped to smoke and talk together in a fashion that showed time to be of little value to them. Here and there also a few—a very few—children played together with flowers for toys in the shadow of the palaces, barracks, and store-houses which bordered the central square; but this was all, for the rest the place seemed empty and asleep.
“Does not the city lie very low?” I asked of Maya, when we had studied the prospect on every side. “To my eye its houses seem almost upon a level with the waters of the lake.”
“I believe that is so,” she answered. “Moreover, during those months of the year that are coming, the surface of the lake rises many feet, so that the greater part of the island is submerged and the water stands about the wall.”
“How, then, do you prevent the town from being flooded?” asked the señor. “If once the water flowed in, the place would vanish and every soul be drowned.”
“Yes, friend, but the waters never rise beyond a certain height, and they are kept from flooding the city by the great sluice-gate. If that gate were to be opened in the time of inundation, then we should perish, every one. But it never is opened during those months, for if any would leave or enter the city they do so by means of ladders leading from the summit of the wall to floating landing-stages on the moat beneath. Also night and day the gate is guarded; moreover, it can be moved from one place only by those that know its secret, who are few.”
“It seems a strange place to build a city,” answered the señor. “I do not think that I should ever sleep sound during the months of inundation, knowing that my life depended upon a single gate.”
“Yet men have slept safely here for a thousand years or more,” she said. “Legend tells us that our ancestors who came up from the coast in ancient days settled on the island by command of their gods, choosing this hollow bed of land to build in, so that rather than submit themselves to foes, as their fathers were forced to do in the country beyond the mountains, they could, if need were, flood the place and perish in the water. For this reason it is that the holy sanctuary of the Nameless god, the Heart of Heaven, is hollowed deep in the rock beneath us, for the waters of the lake would flow in upon it at a touch, burying it and all its treasures from the sight of man for ever. Now, if you have seen enough, I will take you to visit the public workshops where fish is dried, linen woven, and all other industries carried on that are necessary to our comfort,”—and, turning, she led the way with her ladies towards the head of the stairs.
As we drew near to it, however, three men appeared upon the platform, in one of whom I knew Tikal. Seeing Maya he advanced toward her, bowing as he came.
“Lady,” he said, “learning that you were here with these strangers, I have followed you to beg that you will speak with me alone for some few minutes.”
“That I cannot do, cousin,” she answered coldly, “for who knows what colour might afterwards be put upon my words. If you have anything to say to me, say it before us all.”
“That I cannot do,” he replied, “for what I have to say is secret. Still, for your father’s sake, and perhaps for your own, you will do well to hear it.”
“Without a witness I will not listen to you, Tikal.”
“Then, Lady, farewell,” he said, and turned to go.
“Stay, cousin. If you fear to speak before our own people, let this stranger—” and she pointed to me, Ignatio—“be present at our talk. He is of our blood, and can understand our tongue, a discreet man, moreover, one of the Brethren of the Heart.”
“One of the Brethren of the Heart? How can a stranger be a Brother of the Heart? Prove it to me, wanderer.”
And, drawing me aside, he said certain words, which I answered, giving him the signs.
“Do you agree?” asked Maya.
“Yes, Lady, since I must, though it pleases me little to open my mind before a stranger. Let us step apart,”—and he walked to the centre of the platform, followed by Maya and myself.
“Lady,” he began, “my business with you is not easy to tell. For many years we were affianced, and both you and your father promised that we should be wed when you returned from this journey——”
“Surely, as things are, cousin, it is needless to discuss the matter of our betrothal,” she broke in with sarcasm.
“Not altogether needless, Lady,” he answered. “I have much to ask your pardon for, yet I make bold to ask it. Maya, you know well that I have loved and love you dearly, and that no other woman has ever been near my heart.”
“Indeed,” she said with a laugh, “these words sound strange in the mouth of the new-made husband of Nahua.”
“Perhaps, Lady, and yet they are true. I am married to Nahua, but I do not love her, though she loves me. It is you whom I love, and when I saw you yesterday all my heart went out to you, so that I almost hated the fair bride at my side.”
“Why, then, did you marry her?”
“Because I must, and because I believed you dead, and your father with you, as did every man in the city. You and Zibalbay being dead, as I thought, was it wonderful that I should wish to keep the place that many were plotting to take from me? This could be done in one way only, by the help of Mattai, the most clever and the most powerful man in the city, and this was Mattai’s price, that his daughter should become the Lady of the Heart. Well, she loved me, she is beautiful, and she has her father’s strength and foresight, so that among all the ladies in the land there was none more fitted to be my wife.”
“Well, and you married her, and there’s an end. You ask my forgiveness, and you have it, seeing that it does not befit me to play the part of a jealous woman. Doubtless time will soften the blow to me, Tikal,” she added, mockingly.
“There is not an end, Maya, and I come to ask you to-day to renew your promise that you will be my wife.”
“What, cousin! Having broken your troth, would you now offer me insult? Do you then propose that I, the Daughter of the Heart, should be Nahua’s handmaid?”
“No, I propose that when Nahua is put away you should take her place and your own.”
“How can this be, seeing that the Lady of the Heart cannot be divorced?”
“If she ceases to be the Lady of the Heart she can be divorced like any other woman; at the least, love has no laws, and I will find a way.”
“The way of death, perhaps. No, I will have none of you. Honour has laws, Tikal, if love has none. Go back to your wife, and pray that she may never learn how you would have treated her.”
“Is that your last word, Lady?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because more hangs on it than you know. Listen: Very soon all the men in the city will be gathered on this place to hear your father’s words, and to decide whether he or I shall rule. See, already they assemble in the temple square. Promise to be my wife, and in return I will yield to your father and he shall be master for his life’s days and have his way in all things. Refuse, and I will cling to power, and matters may go badly for him, for you, and—” he added threateningly, “for these strangers, your friends.”
“All this must befall as it chances,” she answered proudly, “I do not meddle with such questions, nor do your threats move me. If you are so base as to plot mischief against an old man who has poured benefits upon you, plot on, and in due time meet with your reward, but for myself I tell you that I have done with you, and that, come what may, I will never be your wife.”
“Perhaps you may yet live to take back those words, Lady,” he said in a quiet voice; then, with a low obeisance, he turned and went.
“You have made a dangerous enemy, Lady,” I said, when he was out of earshot.
“I do not fear him, Ignatio.”
“That is well,” I answered, “but for my part I do. I think that his plans are ready, and that before this day is done there will be trouble. Indeed, I shall be thankful if we live to see to-morrow’s light.”
By this time we had reached the others.
“Are you weary of waiting?” she said to the señor, giving him a sweet look as she spoke. “Well, I should have been happier here than I was yonder. Give me your hand and lead me down the stair, for I am tired. Ah, friend, did you but know it, I have just dared more for your sake than I should have done for my own.”
“What have you dared?” he asked.
“That you will learn in due time, if we live long enough, friend,” she answered, “but, oh! I would that we had never set foot within this city.”
Two hours had passed, and, following in the train of Zibalbay and Maya, who walked beside him, once more we found ourselves upon the summit of the pyramid. Now, however, it was no longer empty, for on it were collected men to the number of some thousands; indeed, all the adult male population of the city. On one side of the altar were seated Tikal, his bride Nahua, who was the only woman there, and some hundreds of nobles, all of whom, I noted, were armed and guarded by a body of soldiers that stood behind them. On the other side were many vacant places; and as Zibalbay, with Maya and all the great company of followers that he had gathered, advanced to take them, Tikal and every man present on the pyramid uncovered their heads and bowed in greeting to him.
After a few moments’ pause, two priests came forward from the watch-house behind the altar, and, having laid upon it an offering of fresh flowers, the elder of them, who was robed in pure white, uttered a short prayer to the Nameless god, the Heart of Heaven, asking that he would be pleased to accept the gift, and to send a blessing upon the deliberations of his people here assembled. Then Zibalbay rose to address the multitude, and I noted that his fierce face was pale and anxious, and that his hand shook, although his eyes flashed angrily:
“Nobles and people of the City of the Heart,” he began, “on this day a year ago, I, your hereditary ruler and cacique, and the high-priest of the Heart of Heaven, left this city on a certain mission. This was my mission: To find the severed portion of the sacred symbol that lies in the sanctuary of the temple, the portion that is called Day, which has been lost for many an age. You know that our race has fallen upon evil times, and that, year by year, our numbers dwindle, till at length the end of the people is in sight, seeing that within some few generations they must die out and be forgotten. You know also the ancient prophecy, that when once more the two halves of the Symbol of the Heart, Day and Night, are laid side by side, in their place upon the altar in the sanctuary, then, from that hour, this people shall grow great again; and you know how a voice spoke to me, in answer to my prayers, bidding me, Zibalbay, to wander forth from the country of the Heart, following the road to the sea, for there I should find that which was lost.
“Thither, then, having won the permission of my Council, the Brotherhood of the Heart, I have wandered alone with my daughter, the Lady Maya, suffering much hardship and danger in my journeyings, and lo! I have found that which was lost, and brought it back to you, for here it hangs upon the neck of this Ignatio, who has accompanied me from the lands beyond the desert.”
Now a murmur of astonishment went up from the multitude, and Zibalbay paused awhile.
“Of this matter of the finding of the symbol,” he continued, “I will speak more fully at the proper time, and to those who have a right to hear it, namely, to the elected Brotherhood of the Heart, in the holy Sanctuary, on the day of the Rising of Waters, being one of the eight days in each year on which it is lawful for the Council of the Heart to meet in the Sanctuary. But first in this hour I will deal with other questions.
“It is known to you that, when I went upon my mission, I left my nephew Tikal to sit in my place, it being agreed between us and the Council that if I should return no more within two years he should become cacique of the people. I have returned within one year, and I find this: That already he has allowed himself to be anointed cacique, and more, that he, who was affianced to my daughter, has taken another woman to be his wife. Last night with my own ears I heard him proclaim his treachery in the hall of the palace, and when I spoke out the bitterness that was in my heart, I, your lord, was met with threats, and told that Tikal, having been anointed, could not now be deposed. I use the saying against him. Nobles, have I not been anointed, and ruled over you and the people for many years, and can I then be deposed,—I, who am not a traitor to my master, nor a forswearer of my oaths, as is my nephew yonder?”
Again he paused, and some of the audience, with those who had accompanied Zibalbay, shouted “No;” but the most of them looked towards Tikal and were silent. Now Mattai rose from his place behind Tikal and spoke, saying:
“As one who had to do with the anointing of Tikal to be cacique when we believed you and the Lady Maya to be dead, I would ask you, Zibalbay, before we on this side of the altar answer you, to tell us openly what is the meaning of this journey that you have undertaken, and for what purpose you have brought these two strangers, who are named Ignatio and Son of the Sea, with you, in defiance of the ancient law, which says that he who brings a stranger across the mountains into the land of the City of the Heart shall die, together with the stranger.”
Now, when Zibalbay heard this question he started, for he had forgotten this law, and saw the cunning trap that Mattai had spread for his feet. Nevertheless he answered boldly, since it was his nature to be outspoken and straightforward.
“It becomes you ill, Mattai, to question me,—you who have proved yourself a plotter and a lying prophet, reading in the stars that I and my daughter were dead, while we still draw the breath of life beneath them. Yet I will answer you, and, scorning subterfuge or falsehood, set out the whole matter in the hearing of the people, that they may judge between me, your party, and your master. First, I will say that I had forgotten the law of which you speak, whereof I have broken the letter, or, if at any time I remembered it, my necessities caused me to disregard it. Learn, then, that the stranger Ignatio is of royal Indian blood, and the holder of that symbol which I went forth to seek, and that the white man whom you call Son of the Sea is as a brother to him, and that both of them are of the fellowship of the Heart, the Lord Ignatio being no less a man than the master of the order in yonder lands, as I am here. This Lord Ignatio I summoned to me, and he came. He came, and with his companion, Son of the Sea, saved me and my daughter from shame and death at the hands of certain murderers, white men. Then, when we had escaped, we tried each other, and laid the symbols side by side, and, lo! Day and Night came together and they were one. Then, also, I told him the story of how it happened that I was wandering far from my own place, and he told me what was his purpose and the desire of his life.
“This is his purpose—to break the yoke that the white man has set upon the neck of the Indians in the far lands, and to build up a mighty Indian nation stretching from sea to sea, whereof this city, Heart of the World, shall be the centre and the capital. Then we made a compact together, a compact that cannot be broken, and it was this: That the Lord Ignatio, with the white man, his companion, from whom he will not be separated, should accompany us here, where the symbols should be set in the appointed place, that the prophecy may be fulfilled and fortune return to us: That I should give to him so much as he may need of the treasures which lie useless in our storehouses, wherewith he may arm troops and bring about his ends, and that in return he should bring to us what we need far more than gold and gems—men and women with whom we may intermarry, so that our race, ceasing to dwindle, may once again multiply and grow great.
“Such, nobles, is our compact, and this is the path which the god who rules us has pointed out for our feet to tread. Accept it and grow great—refuse it and perish. For know that not for myself do I speak, who am old and near to death, but for you and your posterity for ever. Be not bewildered or amazed, for, though these things are new to you, it may well chance that after the Council of the Heart has been celebrated in the Sanctuary on the night of the Rising of Waters, the god whom we worship, the Nameless god under whose guidance all these things have come about, will reveal his purpose by the mouth of his oracle, and show what part these strangers and each of us shall play in the fate that is to be. Oh! nobles, and my people, let not your sight be dimmed nor your heart hardened, and put not away the fortune and the future that lie before you. I have dared much for your sake; dare a little for your own. Shut your ears and your gates and rise in rebellion against me, and I tell you that soon there shall remain of you and of your glorious home scarcely a memory; but be gentle and be guided by my wisdom and the will of your gods, and your fame and power shall cover the world; ay! you shall be to what you were as is the sun in all its glory to some faint and fading star. I have spoken—now choose.”
He ceased and for a while there was silence, the silence of amaze, for the nobles stared each on each, and such of the common people as were within earshot stood gaping at him with open mouths, since to them who did not meddle in matters of polity, and, indeed, thought little for themselves, his words had small meaning. Presently it was broken, and by Tikal, who sprang from his seat and cried aloud:
“Of a truth they were wise who said that this old man was mad. Have you heard and understood, O people of the Heart? This is what you must do to fulfil the will of Zibalbay: First, you must set him in his place again, giving him all power, and me you must condemn to death or chains; next, you must pardon him his breaches of the law,—the law that he of all men was bound to keep. Then you must hand over your treasures—the treasures hoarded by your forefathers for many a generation—to these wandering thieves whom he has brought with him; and, lastly, you must open your gates, which have been kept secret for a thousand years, to other thieves that they shall lead here, to whom, forsooth, you must give your women in marriage that the race may be increased. Say, will you do these things, children of the Heart?”
Now all the nobles who stood behind Tikal shouted “Never!” and the people beyond took up the cry with a voice of thunder, though the most of them understood little of what was passing.
Tikal held up his hand, and there was silence.
“You will not do them,” he said, “and base indeed were you had you answered otherwise. What, then, will you do? Tell me, first, whom do you choose as your ruler, my uncle, who now is mad and would bring you to shame and ruin; or me, who have sworn to preserve your ancient laws?”
“We choose you, Tikal, Tikal!” came the answer.
“I thank you,” he cried, “but what then shall be done with this old man, and those whom he has brought with him to spy out our secrets and to rob us?”
“Kill them before the altar!” they shouted, waving their swords.
Tikal thought for a moment, then pointed towards us and said,
“Seize these men.”
At his word a hundred or more of the nobles, who evidently had been instructed to execute his orders, rushed at us suddenly. As they came across the open space I saw the señor put his hand to his belt, and said to him:
“For the love of God! do not strike, for should you touch one of them they will certainly kill us.”
“That they will do in any case,—but as you wish,” he answered.
Then they broke on us. As they came, all those nobles who had followed Zibalbay to the crest of the pyramid gave way before their rush, leaving the three of us and the Lady Maya standing alone.
“Cowards!” said Zibalbay, glancing behind him. Then he drew his machete and with a shout cut down the foremost of those who assailed us—a great noble. In another instant the weapon was struck from him, and the señor and I were being dragged towards the altar, followed by Zibalbay and the Lady Maya, upon whom, however, our assailants laid no hand.
“What shall we do with these men?” cried Tikal again.
And again the nobles answered, “Kill them!”
So they threw us down, and men came at us with swords to make an end of us, which indeed they would have done quickly, had not the Lady Maya sprung forward, and, standing over the señor, cried, “Hold!” in so piercing a voice that they stayed their hands.
“Listen, people of the Heart,” she said, “would you do murder upon your own holy altar, staining it with the blood of innocent men? You talk of broken laws. Is there not a law in the city that none can be put to death except after trial before the cacique and his Council? Have these men been tried, and if so, by whom? You say that my father, your lawful ruler, is deposed. If that is so, not Tikal, but I, who am his heir, rule in his stead, and I have passed no judgment on them.”
Now at her words there was a murmur of mingled doubt and applause, but Tikal answered her, saying:
“Lady, the law you quote holds good for you, for your father, and for every citizen of the Heart, however humble; but in the case of these men it does not hold, for they are wandering strangers and spies, who can claim no protection from our justice, and therefore it is right that they should die.”
“It is not right that they should die,” she answered passionately. “You, Tikal, have usurped my father’s place, and now you would celebrate the beginning of your rule by a deed of the foulest murder. I tell you that these men are innocent of all offence. If any are guilty it is my father and I, and if any should suffer we should suffer. More,” she went on, with flashing eyes, “if these men to whom we have sworn safe-conduct must die, then for my part I will die with them, and whether I pass by your hands or by my own, may the curse of my blood rest upon you for ever and for ever.”
As she spoke she snatched a knife from her jewelled girdle, and stood before them, its bare blade glittering in the sunlight, looking so beautiful and fierce that the nobles fell back from her, and hundreds of the people applauded, saying:
“Hear the Lady Maya, and obey her. She is cacique, and no other.”
Now Zibalbay, who had covered his eyes with his hands, looked up and said:
“You are right, daughter. Since the people reject us, and we cannot even protect our guests, it is best that we should die with them,” and once more he covered his eyes with his hands.
Then there came a pause and a sound of whispering. I looked up between the sword-blades which were pointed at my throat, and saw that Nahua was standing at the side of her lord, and pleading with him. They were so close to me that my hearing, always keen, being sharpened moreover by the fear of instant death, enabled me to catch some of their talk.
“She will do what she says,” said Nahua, “and that will be your ruin; for if her father is hated, she is beloved, and many will arise to avenge her.”
“Why should she kill herself because of a white wanderer?” he asked.
Nahua shrugged her shoulders, and smiled darkly, as she answered:
“Who can tell; he is her friend, and women have been known to give their lives for their friends. Do as you will, but if Maya dies I do not think that we shall live to see another dawn,” and, leaving his side, she sought her chair again.
Now Tikal looked at the señor, who was stretched upon the ground beside me, and seeing that there was hate in his eyes I trembled, thinking that the end had come, then turned my head aside, and began to commend my soul to the care of Heaven. As I prayed he spoke, addressing himself to Maya:
“Lady,” he said, “you have appealed to the law on behalf of these wanderers, of your father, and of yourself, and by the law you shall be dealt with. To-morrow the judges shall be chosen, and hold their court here before the people.”
“It cannot be, Tikal,” she answered calmly, “there is but one court which can try us four, all of whom are Brethren of the Heart, and that is the Council of the Heart sitting in the Sanctuary, which assembles on the eighth day from now, on the night of the Rising of Waters. Is it not so, nobles?”
“If you are of the number of the Brethren of the Heart, all of you, it is so,” they answered.
“So be it,” said Tikal; “but till then I must hold you in safe-keeping. Will it please you to follow Mattai, Lady, and you, my Lord Zibalbay. Guards, bring these men to the watch-house yonder, and keep them there till I come to you.”
Maya bowed, and, turning to the audience, she said in a clear voice, “Farewell, my people. If we are seen no more you will know that my father and I have been done to death by Tikal, who has usurped our place, and to you I leave it to take vengeance for our blood.”
Thankful enough was I to rise from the ground feeling my life whole in me.
“Death has been near to us,” said the señor with something between a sob and a laugh, as we followed Zibalbay and Maya into the guard-house.
“He is near to us still,” I answered, “but at least, unless Tikal changes his mind, we have won some days of respite.”
“Thanks to her,” he said, nodding towards Maya, and as he spoke we entered the guard-house, a small chamber with a massive door, somewhat roughly furnished.
So soon as we were in, the door was shut upon us, and we found ourselves alone. Zibalbay sat himself down, and, fixing his eyes upon the wall, stared at it as though it offered no hindrance to his sight, but the rest of us stood together near the door, listening to the turmoil of the multitude without. Clearly argument ran high among them, for we could hear the sound of angry voices, of shouting, and of the hurrying footfalls of the people leaving the pyramid by way of the great stair.
“You have saved our lives for a while, for which we owe you thanks,” said the señor to Maya presently, “but tell me, what will they do with us now?”
“I cannot say,” she answered, “but in this pyramid are chambers where we shall be hidden away until our day of trial. At the least I think so, for they dare not let us out among the people, lest we should cause a tumult in the city.”
Before the words had left her lips the door was opened, and through it came Tikal, Mattai, and other of the great lords who were hostile to Zibalbay.
“What is your pleasure with us?” asked Zibalbay, awaking from his dream.
“That you should follow me,” answered Tikal sternly, “you and the others,”—adding, with a low bow to Maya, “forgive me, Lady, that I must exercise this violence towards you and your father, but I have no other choice if I would save you from the vengeance of the people.”
“It is not the vengeance of the people that we have to fear, Tikal,” she answered quietly, “but rather your hate.”
“Which it is in your power to appease, lady,” he said in a low voice.
“It may be in my power, but it is not in my will,” she answered, setting her lips. “Come, cousin, take us to the dungeon that you have prepared for us.”
“As you wish,” he said; “follow me.” And he led the way across the guard-house, through a sleeping-chamber of the priests that lay behind it, to the further wall that was hidden by a curtain.
This curtain, on being drawn, revealed a small stone door, which Mattai, having first lit some lamps that stood ready in the chamber, unlocked with a key which hung at his girdle. One by one we passed through the door, Tikal preceding us, and Mattai, with others of the great lords, to the number of six, following after us. Beyond the door lay a flight of twenty steps, then came a gate of copper bars. On the further side of this gate were flight upon flight of steps, joined together by landings, and running, now in this direction now in that, into the bowels of the mighty pyramid. At length, when my limbs were weary of descending so many stairs, we found ourselves in front of other gates, larger and more beautifully worked than those that we had already passed. Presently they clanged behind us, and we stood in a vast apartment or hall that was built in the heart of the pyramid. It would seem that this hall had been made ready for our coming, for it was lighted with many silver lamps, and in one part of it rugs were laid and on them stood tables and seats. So great was the place that the light of the lamps shone in it only as stars shine in the sky, still, as we passed down it, we saw that its roof was vaulted, and that its walls and floor were of white marble finely polished. Once, as we learned afterwards, it had served as the assembly-rooms for the priests of the temple, but now that they were so few it was not used, except from time to time as a prison for offenders of high rank. At intervals along its length were doors leading to sleeping and other chambers. Some of the doors were open, and as we passed them Mattai told us that these were to be our bed-chambers. Then, having announced that food would be brought to us, the nobles, headed by Tikal, withdrew, and we heard the copper gates clash and the echo of their footsteps die into nothingness upon the endless stairs.
For a while we stood staring at each other in silence. It was Zibalbay who broke it, and his voice rang strangely in the vaulted place.
“It is his hour now,” he said, shaking his fists towards the stair by which Tikal had left us, “but let him pray that mine may never come,” and suddenly he turned and, walking to a couch, flung himself upon it and buried his face in his hands.
Maya followed him and, bending down, strove to comfort him, but he waved her away and she came back to us.
“This is a gloomy place,” said the señor, in a half whisper, for here one scarcely dared to speak aloud because of the echoes that ran about the walls, “but, dark though it is, it seems safer than the summit of the pyramid, where sword-points are so many,” and he pointed to a little cut upon his throat.
“It is safe enough,” Maya answered, with a bitter laugh, “and safely will it keep our bones till the world’s end, for through those gates and the men that guard them there is no escape, and the death that threatened us in the sunshine shall overtake us in the shadow. Did I not warn you against this mad quest and the seeking of the city of my people? I warned you both, and you would not listen, and now the trouble is at hand and your lives will pay the forfeit for your folly and my father’s.”
“What must be, must be,” answered the señor with a sigh, “but for my part I hope that the worst is past and that they will not kill us. It was your father’s rashness which brought these evils on us, and perhaps misfortune may teach him wisdom.”
“Never,” she answered, shaking her head, “for they are right; on this matter he is mad, as you, Ignatio, are mad also. Come, let us look at our prison, for I have not seen it till this hour,” and, taking one of the hand-lamps that stood near, she walked down the length of the hall. At its further end were gates similar to those by which we had entered, and through them came a draught of air.
“Where do they lead?” I asked.
“I do not know,” she answered, “perhaps to the Sanctuary by a secret way. At least the pyramid is full of these chambers, that in old days were used for many things, such as the storage of corn and weapons, and the burying-places of priests, thousands of whom are at rest within it. Now they are empty and deserted.”
As we walked back again I stopped before a wooden door that stood ajar, leading into one of the chambers of which I have spoken.
“Let us go in,” said Maya, pushing it open, and we entered, to find ourselves in a small room lined with shelves. On these shelves, each of which was numbered, lay hundreds of rolls thickly covered with dust. Maya took up one of them at a hazard and unrolled the parchment, revealing a manuscript beautifully executed in the picture-painting of the Indians.
“This must be nearly a thousand years old,” she said; “I know it by the style of the painting. Well, we shall not lack history to read while we sojourn here,” and she threw the priceless roll back on to its shelf and left the chamber.
A few steps further on we came to another room of which the door was closed, but so rotten was the woodwork with age that a push freed it from its fastenings, and we entered. Here also there were shelves, packed some of them with yellow and some with white bars of metal.
“Copper and lead,” said the señor glancing at them.
“Not so,” answered Maya with a laugh, “but that which you white men covet, gold and silver. Look what is painted above the shelves,” and she held up the lamp and read: “Pure metal from the southern mines, set apart for the service of the Temple of the Heart, and of the Temples of the East and West. Of gold—such a weight; of silver—such a weight.”
I stared and my eyes grew greedy, for here in this one room, neglected and forgotten, was enough wealth to carry out my purpose three times over, stored there by the forefathers of this strange rust-eaten race. Ah, if only I could see one half of it safe across the mountains, how great might be my future and that of the people which I lived to serve.
“Perhaps you may win it after all, Ignatio,” said Maya, interpreting my thoughts, “but, to be frank, I fear that you will gain nothing except a sepulchre in these gloomy vaults.”
After this we visited several chambers that were empty, or filled only with the wreck of moth-eaten tapestries and curious furnitures, till at length we came to a room, or rather a large cupboard, piled from floor to ceiling with golden vessels of the most quaint and ancient workmanship, which had been discarded by the priests and cast aside as worthless,—why, I do not know. In front of this gleaming pile stood a chest, unlocked, that the señor opened. It was packed with priestly ornaments of gold, set with great emeralds. Maya picked out a belt from the box and gave it to me, saying:
“Take it, Ignatio, since you love such trinkets. It will set off that robe of yours.”
I took it and put it on, not over my robe, but beneath it. My friend, it is the clasp of that belt, which now is yours, that I showed you a while ago, and with the price of the other gems in it I bought this hacienda and all its lands.
Wearied at length by the sight of so much useless treasure, we returned to Zibalbay, who was seated as we had left him, lost in thought.
At this moment the gates of our prison were opened, and men came through them, escorted by captains of the guard, bringing with them food in plenty, which they set upon the table, waiting on us while we ate, but speaking no word, good or bad. Our meal finished, they cleared away the fragments, and, having replenished the lamps and prepared the chambers for us to sleep in, they bowed and left us. For a while we sat round the table, Zibalbay and I in silence, and Maya and the señor talking together in a low voice, till at length the dreariness of the place overcame us, and, as though by a common impulse, we rose and sought the sleeping-vaults, there to rest, if we might.
We slept, and woke, and rose again, though whether it was night or day here, where no light came, we could not tell; indeed, as time went on, our only means of distinguishing the one from the other was by the visits of those who brought our food and waited on us.
I think it must have been in the early afternoon of the day following that on which we were imprisoned, that Tikal visited us, accompanied only by four guards.
“A small band,” said the señor as he watched them advance, “but enough to put us to death, who are unarmed” (for all our weapons had been taken from us), “if such should be their will.”
“Have no fear, friend,” said Maya, “they will not do murder so openly.”
By now Tikal stood before us, bowing, and Zibalbay, who as usual was seated brooding at the table, looked up and saw him.
“What do you seek, traitor?” he asked angrily, the blood flushing beneath his withered skin. “Would you kill us? If so, slay on, for thus shall I come the sooner to the bosom of that god whose vengeance I call down upon you.”
“I am no murderer, Zibalbay,” answered Tikal with dignity. “If you die, it will be by the command of the law that you have broken, and not by mine. I am here to speak with you, if you will come apart with me.”
“Then speak on before these others, or leave your words unsaid,” he answered, “for not one step will I stir with you, who doubtless seek some opportunity to stab me in the back.”
“Yet it is necessary that you should hear what I have to say, Zibalbay.”
“Say on then, traitor, or go.”
Tikal thought for a while, looking doubtfully at Maya, from whose fair face, indeed, he rarely took his eyes.
“Is it your wish that I should withdraw?” she asked shortly.
“It is not mine,” said Zibalbay; “stay where you are, daughter.”
Now Tikal hesitated no longer, but, bidding the guards who had accompanied him to fall back out of earshot, he said:
“Listen, Zibalbay; yesterday, before the gathering on the pyramid, I saw your daughter, the Lady Maya, and spoke with her, telling her that now, as always, I loved her, although, believing her to be dead, for reasons of state I had taken another woman to be my wife. Then I made her this offer: That if she would consent to become my wife I would put away Nahua, whom I had married. Moreover, I added this, that I would give up my place as cacique to you, Zibalbay, whose it is by right, to hold for so long as you should live, and would not oppose you or your policy in any matter. I told her, on the other hand, that if she refused to become my wife, I would surrender nothing, but would put out my strength to crush you and her and these strangers, your friends. She answered me with contempt, saying that I might do my worst, but she would have naught to say to me. What happened afterwards you know, Zibalbay, and you know also the danger in which you stand to-day, now that power has left you, and your very life trembles in the balance.”
He paused, and Zibalbay, who had been listening to his words amazed, turned to Maya and said sternly:
“Does this man speak lies, daughter?”
As she was about to answer,—though what she meant to say I do not know,—Tikal broke in:
“What is the use of asking her, Zibalbay? Is it to be thought that she will answer you truly, though that I speak truth this wanderer who stands at your side can bear witness, for he was present and heard my words. This offer I made to her, and, that it may be put beyond a doubt, now I make it to her and to you again. If she will take me in marriage, for her sake I will put away Nahua; I will lay down my rule and set you in your place again, with liberty, so long as you shall live, to work such follies as the gods may suffer. All these things I will do because I love her to whom I have been affianced from my youth up, better than them all, because she is as the light to mine eyes and the breath to my nostrils, and without her I have no joy in life, as I have had none since I believed her to be dead.”
Zibalbay heard, and, rising, lifted his hand to the vault above him, and said:
“I thank thee, O god, who, in answer to my prayers, hast shown me a way of escape from the troubles that beset me. Tikal, it shall be as you wish, and we will swear our peace upon the altar of the Heart. Doubtless there will be trouble with Mattai and some of his following, but if we stand together they can be overcome. Rejoice with me, Ignatio, my friend, for now the seed that we have planted with so much labour shall bring forth golden fruit.”
Here I heard the señor groan with doubt and wrath behind me, and knew that, like so many others, this vision which filled my mind with glory must be brought to nothing because of the fancy of a woman.
“Your pardon, Zibalbay,” I interrupted, “the Lady Maya has not spoken.”
“Spoken!” he exclaimed. “Why, what should she say?”
“What I said to my cousin Tikal yesterday,” she answered, setting her lips, and speaking very low,—“that I will have nothing to do with him.”
“Nothing to do with him, girl! Nothing to do with him! Why he is your affianced; you do not understand?”
“I understand well, father, but for naught that can be offered to me upon the earth will I give myself in marriage to a man who has treated you and me as my cousin Tikal has done,—a man who could not keep his oath to you, or wait for me one single year.”
“Cease to be foolish,” said Zibalbay. “Tikal has erred, no doubt; but now he would make atonement for his error, and if I can forgive him, so can you. Think no more of the girl’s folly, Tikal, but send for ink and parchment and let us set down our contract, for I am old and have little time to lose; and perhaps, before another year is gone, that which you would have snatched by force shall come to you by right.”
“I have the paper here, lord,” said Tikal, drawing a roll from his breast; “but, pardon me, does the Lady Maya consent?”
“Aye, aye, she consents.”
“I do not consent, father, and if you drag me to the altar with yonder man, I will cry out to the people to protect me, or, failing their aid, I will seek refuge in death,—by my own hand if need be.”
Now Zibalbay turned upon his daughter, trembling with rage, but, checking himself of a sudden, he said:
“Tikal, for the moment this girl of mine is mad; leave us, and come back in some few hours, when you shall find her of another mind. Go now, I pray, before words are said that cannot be forgotten.”
Tikal turned and went, and, until the gates at the far end of the hall had clashed behind him and his guards, there was silence.
Then Zibalbay spoke to his daughter.
“Girl,” he said, “I know your heart and that your lips spoke a lie, when you told us that it was because of Tikal’s forgetfulness of his vow and troth that you will not marry him. There is another reason of which you have not spoken. This white man, who in his own country is named James Strickland, is the reason. You have suffered yourself to look on him with longing, and you cannot pluck his image from your breast. Do I not speak truth?”
“You speak truth, father,” she answered, placing her hand in that of the señor as she said the words. “To you, at least, I will not lie.”
“I thank you, daughter. Now, hear me; I am sorry for your plight and for that of the white man, if indeed he would make of you anything more than his toy, but here your wishes must give way to the common good. Who and what are you that your whims should stand between me and the fulfilment of my lifelong desire, between your people and their redemption? Must all these things come to nothing because of the fancies of a love-sick girl, whose poor beauty, as it chances by favour of the gods, can avail to bring them about?”
“It seems so, father,” she said, “seeing that in this matter my duty to myself and to him who loves me, and whom I love, is higher than my duty to you and to your scheme. Everything else you, who are my father, may require of me, even to my life, but my honour is my own.”
“What shall I say to this headstrong girl?” gasped Zibalbay. “Speak, White Man, and tell me that you renounce her, for surely your heart is not so wicked that it will lead you to consent to this folly, and to your own undoing to stand between her and her destiny.”
Now all eyes were fixed upon the señor, who turned pale in the lamplight and answered slowly:
“Zibalbay, I grieve to vex you, but your daughter’s destiny and mine are one, nor can I command her to forsake me and give herself in marriage to a man she hates.”
“Yet it seems that you could command her to break her plighted troth for your sake, O most honourable White Man,” said Zibalbay with a bitter laugh. “Hearken, friend Ignatio, for you at least are not in love, tell your brother there and this rebellious girl which way their duty lies. Teach them that we are sent here to dwell upon the earth for higher ends than the satisfying of our own desires. Stay, before you speak, remember that with this matter your own fate is interwoven. Remember how you have suffered and striven for many years, remember all you have undergone to win what to-day lies in your grasp, the wealth that shall enable you to carry out your purposes. There, in those vaults, it lies to your hand, and if that be not enough I will give you more. Take it, Ignatio, take it to bribe your enemies and pay your armies, and become a king, a righteous king, crowned by heaven to complete the destinies of our race. Say such words as shall bend this girl and her lover to our will, and triumph; or fail to say them, and some few days hence meet the end of a thief at the hands of Tikal. Now speak.”
I heard him, and my heart stood still within me. Alas! his words were true, and now was the turning-point of my fate. If the girl would give herself to Tikal, who was mad with love of her, all would be well, and within three years the dream of my race might be fulfilled, and the vengeance of generations accomplished upon the spawn of the accursed Spaniard. There in those vaults, useless and forgotten, lay the treasures that I needed, and yonder in Mexico were men in thousands who by their means might be armed and led; but between me and them stood the desire of this woman and the folly of my friend. Oh! truly had my heart warned me against her when first I learned to know her lovely face, having foreknowledge of the evil that she should bring upon me. With her I could do nothing, for who can turn a woman from her love or hate? But with my friend it was otherwise; he would listen to me if I pleaded with him, seeing that not only my hopes but my very life hung upon his answer, and no true man has the right to bring others to their death in order that he may fulfil the wishes of his heart. Also, it would be better that he should be separated from this girl, who was not of his blood and colour, and whose love soon or late would be his undoing. Surely I should do well to pray him to let her go to the man whose affianced she had been, and he would do well to hearken to me. Almost the entreaty was upon my lips when Maya, reading my thought, touched me on the arm and whispered:
“Remember your oath, Ignatio.” Then I called to mind what I had promised yonder in the desert, when by her courage she had saved her lover’s life, and knew that once again a woman must be my ruin, since it is better to lose all than to break such vows as this.
“Zibalbay,” I said, “I cannot plead your cause and mine, though not to do so be our destruction, seeing that I have sworn that, come what may, I will not stand between these two. To-day, for the second time in my life, my plans are brought to nothing by the passion of a woman. Well, so it is fated, and so let it be!”
Zibalbay did not answer me, but, turning to the señor, he said:
“White Man, you have heard from your friend words that should touch you more deeply than any prayer. Will you still cling to your purpose, and take advantage of my daughter’s madness? If so, know that your triumph shall be short, for when, in some few hours, Tikal comes again, I will tell him all and give you over to his keeping to deal with as he wishes. Then Heaven help you, wanderer, for he is vengeful by nature, nor is that life likely to be long which bars the way between a ruler of men and the woman he would wed. Answer then, and for the last time: Do you choose life or death?”
“I choose death,” he said, boldly, “if the price of life be the breaking of my troth and the surrender of my bride to another man. I am sorry for you, Zibalbay; and for you, Ignatio, my friend, I am still more sorry: but it is fate and not I that has brought these evils on you. If Ignatio here cannot forget his oath, how much less can I forget mine, which I have sworn with this lady. Moreover, worse fortune even than to-day’s would come upon us if I did, seeing that such cowardice could breed no luck. Therefore, till the Lady Maya renounces me, for good or for evil, in death or in life, I will cleave to her.”
“And in death or in life I will cleave to you, beloved,” she said. “Take such vengeance as you wish upon us, my father, yes, if you wish, give over this man, to whom my heart drew me across the mountains and the desert, to die at the hands of Tikal; but know that he will hold me faster dead than he did while he was alive, for into the valley of death I shall follow him swiftly.”
Now at last the rage of Zibalbay broke loose, and it was terrible. Rising from his seat he shook his clenched hands above his daughter’s head and cursed her, till in her fear she shrank away from him to her lover’s breast.
“As with my last breath,” he cried, “I pray that the curse of your gods, of your country, of your ancestors, and of me, your father, may rest upon you and your children. May your desire turn to ashes in your mouth, and may death rob you of its fruit; may your heart break by inches for remorse and sorrow, and your name become a hissing and a shame. Oh! I seem to see the future, and I tell you, daughter, that you shall win him for whose sake you brought your father to death and ruin. By fraud shall you win him, and for a while he shall lie at your side, and this is the price that shall be asked of you, and that you shall pay,—the doom of your race, and its destruction at your hands—”
He paused, gasping for breath, and Maya fell at his knees, sobbing:
“Oh! father, unsay those words and spare me. Have you no pity for a woman’s heart?”
“Ay!” he said, “so much pity as you have for my sorrows and grey hair. Why should I spare you, girl, who have not spared me, your father. My curse is spoken, and I will add this to it, that it shall break your heart at last, ay! and the heart of that man who has robbed me of your duty and your love.”
Then suddenly he ceased speaking, his eyes grew empty, he stretched out his arms and fell heavily to the floor.