The Fair God; or, The Last of the 'Tzins. Lew Wallace
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but a pretence to cover your designs.”
“And what more, Io’?”
“They say you are taking soldiers into your pay; that you give money, and practise all manner of arts, to become popular in Tenochtitlan; and that your delay in entering the arena on the day of the combat had something to do with your conspiracy.”
For a moment the noble countenance of the ’tzin was disturbed.
“A lying catalogue! But is that all?”
“No,”—and Io’s voice trembled,—“I am a secret messenger from the queen Tecalco, my mother. She bade me say to you, that last night Iztlil’, the Tezcucan, had audience with the king, and asked Tula for his wife.”
Guatamozin sprang from his seat more pallid than ever in battle.
“And what said Montezuma?”
“This morning he came to the queen, my mother, and told her about it; on your account she objected; but he became angry, spoke harshly of you, and swore Tula should not wed with you; he would banish you first.”
Through the silent cell the ’tzin strode gloomily; the blow weakened him. Mualox was wrong; men cannot make themselves almost gods; by having many ills, and bearing them bravely, they can only become heroes. After a long struggle he resumed his calmness and seat.
“What more from the queen?”
“Only, that as she was helpless, she left everything to you. She dares not oppose the king.”
“I understand!” exclaimed the ’tzin, starting from the bench again. “The Tezcucan is my enemy. Crossing the lake, night before the combat, he told me he loved Tula, and charged me with designs against the Empire, and cursed the king and his crown. Next day he fought under my challenge. The malice of a mean soul cannot be allayed by kindness. But for me the tamanes would have buried him with the Tlascalans. I sent him to my house; my slaves tended him; yet his hate was only sharpened.”
He paced the floor to and fro, speaking vehemently.
“The ingrate charges me with aspiring to the throne. Judge me, holy gods! Judge how willingly I would lay down my life to keep the crown where it is! He says my palace has been open to men of the army. It was always so,—I am a warrior. I have consulted them about the Empire, but always as a subject, never for its ill. Such charges I laugh at; but that I sought to slay the king is too horrible for endurance. On the day of the combat, about the time of the assemblage, I went to the Cû of Quetzal’ for blessing. I saw no smoke or other sign of fire upon the tower. Mualox was gone, and I trembled lest the fire should be dead. I climbed up, and found only a few living embers. There were no fagots on the roof, nor in the court-yard; the shrine was abandoned, Mualox old. The desolation appealed to me. The god seemed to claim my service. I broke my spear and shield, and flung the fragments into the urn, then hastened to the palace, loaded some tamanes with wood, and went back to the Cû. I was not too late there; but, hurrying to the tianguez, I found myself almost dishonored. So was I kept from the arena; that service to the god is now helping my enemy as proof that I was waiting on a housetop to murder my king and kinsman! Alas! I have only slaves to bear witness to the holy work that kept me on the temple. Much I fear the gods are making the king blind for his ruin and the ruin of us all. He believes the strangers on the coast are from the Sun, when they are but men. Instead of war against them, he is thinking of embassies and presents. Now, more than ever, he needs the support of friends; but he divides his family against itself, and confers favors on enemies. I see the danger. Unfriendly gods are moving against us, not in the strangers, but in our own divisions. Remember the prophecy of Mualox, ‘The race of Azatlan is ended forever.’”
The speaker stopped his walking, and his voice became low and tremulous.
“Yet I love him; he has been kind; he gave me command; through his graciousness I have dwelt unmolested in this palace of my father. I am bound to him by love and law. As he has been my friend, I will be his; when his peril is greatest, I will be truest. Nothing but ill from him to Anahuac can make me his enemy. So, so,—let it pass. I trust the future to the gods.”
Then, as if seeking to rid himself of the bitter subject, he turned to Io’. “Did not some one come with you?”
The boy told what he knew of Hualpa.
“I take him to be no common fellow; he has some proud ideas. I think you would like him.”
“I will try your hunter, Io’. And if he is what you say of him, I will accept his service.”
And they went immediately to the antechamber, where Hualpa saluted the ’tzin. The latter surveyed his fine person approvingly, and said, “I am told you wish to enter my service. Were you ever in battle?”
The hunter told his story with his wonted modesty.
“Well, the chase is a good school for warriors. It trains the thews, teaches patience and endurance, and sharpens the spirit’s edge. Let us to the garden. A hand to retain skill must continue its practice; like a good memory, it is the better for exercise. Come, and I will show you how I keep prepared for every emergency of combat.” And so saying, the ’tzin led the visitors out.
They went to the garden, followed by the retainers lounging at the door. A short walk brought them to a space surrounded by a copse of orange-trees, strewn with sand, and broad enough for a mock battle; a few benches about the margin afforded accommodation to spectators; a stone house at the northern end served for armory, and was full of arms and armor. A glance assured the visitors that the place had been prepared expressly for training. Some score or more of warriors, in the military livery of the ’tzin, already occupied a portion of the field. Upon his appearance they quitted their games, and closed around him with respectful salutations.
“How now, my good Chinantlan!” he said, pleasantly. “Did I not award you a prize yesterday? There are few in the valley who can excel you in launching the spear.”
“The plume is mine no longer,” replied the warrior. “I was beaten last night. The winner, however, is a countryman.”
“A countryman! You Chinantlans seem born to the spear. Where is the man?”
The victor stepped forward, and drew up before the master, who regarded his brawny limbs, sinewy neck, and bold eyes with undisguised admiration; so an artist would regard a picture or a statue. Above the fellow’s helm floated a plume of scarlet feathers, the trophy of his superior skill.
“Get your spear,” said the ’tzin. “I bring you a competitor.”
The spear was brought, an ugly weapon in any hand. The head was of copper, and the shaft sixteen feet long. The rough Chinantlan handled it with a loving grip.
“Have you such in Tihuanco?” asked Guatamozin.
Hualpa balanced the weapon and laughed.
“We have only javelins,—mere reeds to this. Unless to hold an enemy at bay, I hardly know its use. Certainly, it is not for casting.”
“Set the mark, men. We will give the stranger a lesson. Set it to the farthest throw.”
A pine picket was then set up a hundred feet away, presenting a target of the height and breadth of a man, to which a shield was bolted breast-high from the sand.
“Now give the Chinantlan room!”
The wearer of the plume took his place; advancing one foot, he lifted the spear above his head with the right hand, poised it a moment, then hurled it from him, and struck the picket a palm’s breadth below the shield.
“Out, out!” cried the ’tzin. “Bring me the spear; I have a mind to wear the plume myself.”
When it was brought him, he cast it lightly as a child would toss a weed; yet the point drove clanging through the brazen base of the shield, and into the picket behind. Amid the applause of the sturdy warriors he said to Hualpa,—
“Get ready; the hunter must do something for the honor of his native hills.”
“I cannot use a spear in competition with Guatamozin,” said Hualpa, with