The Fair God; or, The Last of the 'Tzins: A Tale of the Conquest of Mexico. Lew Wallace
never anything like his fortune. Listen now, I will tell you a secret which may be of value to you some time. The king is not as young as he used to be by quite forty summers.”
The hunter smiled at the caution with which the old man spoke of the monarch.
“You see,” the speaker continued, “time and palace life have changed him: he no longer leads the armies; his days are passed in the temples with the priests, or in the gardens with his women, of whom there are several hundreds; his most active amusement now is to cross the lake to his forests, and kill birds and rabbits by blowing little arrows at them through a reed. Thus changed, you can very well understand how he can be amused by songs and wit, and make favorites of those who best lighten his hours of satiety and indolence. In that way Maxtla rose—a marvellous courtier, but a very common soldier.”
The description amused the young man, but he said gravely, “You have spoken wisely, uncle, and I am satisfied you know the men well. Really, I had no intention of entering the suite of either of them: they are not of my ideal; but there is a cacique, if reports are to be credited, beyond all exception—learned and brave, honored alike by high and low.”
“Ah! you need not name him to me. I know him, as who does not?” And now the merchant spoke warmly. “A nobler than Guatamozin,[10]—or, as he is more commonly called, the ’tzin Guatamo—never dwelt in Anahuac. He is the people’s friend, and the Empire’s hope. His valor and wisdom—ah, you should see him, my son! Such a face! His manner is so full of sweet dignity! But I will give you other evidence.”
He clapped his hands three times, and a soldier sprang forward at the signal.
“Do you know the ’tzin Guatamo?” asked the merchant.
“I am an humble soldier, my master, and the ’tzin is the great king’s nephew; but I know him. When he was only a boy, I served under him in Tlascala. He is the best chief in Anahuac.”
“That will do.”
The man retired.
“So I might call up my tamanes,” the merchant resumed, “and not one but would speak of him in the same way.”
“Strange!” said the Tihuancan, in a low tone.
“No; if you allude to his popularity, it is not strange: if you mean the man himself, you are right. The gods seldom give the qualities that belong to him. He is more learned than Tlalac or the king; he is generous as becomes a prince; in action he is a hero. You have probably heard of the Tlascalan wall in the eastern valley;[11] few warriors ever passed it and lived; yet he did so when almost a boy. I myself have seen him send an arrow to the heart of an eagle in its flight. He has a palace and garden in Iztapalapan; in one of the halls stand the figures of three kings, two of Michuaca, and one of the Ottomies. He took them prisoners in battle, and now they hold torches at his feasts.”
“Enough, enough!” cried the hunter. “I have been dreaming of him while among the hills. I want no better leader.”
The merchant cast an admiring glance at his beaming countenance, and said, “You are right; enter his service.”
In such manner the conversation was continued, until the sun fast declined towards the western mountains. Meantime, they had passed through several hamlets and considerable towns. In nearly the whole progress, the way on either hand had been lined with plantations. Besides the presence of a busy, thriving population, they everywhere saw evidences of a cultivation and science, constituting the real superiority of the Aztecs over their neighbors. The country was thus preparing the stranger for the city, unrivalled in splendor and beauty. Casting a look toward the sun, he at length said, “Uncle, I have much to thank you for—you and your friends. But it is growing late, and I must hurry on, if I would see the tianguez before the market closes.”
“Very well,” returned the old trader. “We will be in the city to-morrow. The gods go with you!”
Whistling to his ocelot, the adventurer quickened his pace, and was soon far in the advance.
CHAPTER III.
A CHALLENGE.
In the valley of Anahuac, at the time I write, are four lakes—Xaltocan, Chalco, Xochichalco, and Tezcuco. The latter, besides being the largest, washed the walls of Tenochtitlan, and was the especial pride of the Aztecs, who, familiar with its ways as with the city, traversed them all the days of the year, and even the nights.
“Ho, there!” shouted a voyageur, in a voice that might have been heard a long distance over the calm expanse of the lake. “Ho, the canoe!”
The hail was answered.
“Is it Guatamozin?” asked the first speaker.
“Yes.”
“And going to Tenochtitlan?”
“The gods willing—yes.”
The canoes of the voyageurs—I use that term because it more nearly expresses the meaning of the word the Aztecs themselves were wont to apply to persons thus abroad—were, at the time, about the middle of the little sea. After the ’tzin’s reply, they were soon alongside, when lashings were applied, and together they swept on rapidly, for the slaves at the paddles vied in skill and discipline.
“Iztlil’, of Tezcuco!” said the ’tzin, lightly. “He is welcome; but had a messenger asked me where at this hour he would most likely be found, I should have bade him search the chinampas, especially those most notable for their perfume and music.”
The speech was courteous, yet the moment of reply was allowed to pass. The ’tzin waited until the delay excited his wonder.
“There is a rumor of a great battle with the Tlascalans,” he said again, this time with a direct question. “Has my friend heard of it?”
“The winds that carry rumors seldom come to me,” answered Iztlil’.
“Couriers from Tlascala pass directly through your capital—”
The Tezcucan laid his hand on the speaker’s shoulder.
“My capital!” he said. “Do you speak of the city of Tezcuco?”
The ’tzin dashed the hand away, and arose, saying, “Your meaning is dark in this dimness of stars.”
“Be seated,” said the other.
“If I sit, is it as friend or foe?”
“Hear me; then be yourself the judge.”
The Aztec folded his cloak about him and resumed his seat, very watchful.
“Montezuma, the king—”
“Beware! The great king is my kinsman, and I am his faithful subject.”
The Tezcucan continued. “In the valley the king is next to the gods; yet to his nephew I say I hate him, and will teach him that my hate is no idleness, like a passing love. ’Tzin, a hundred years ago our races were distinct and independent. The birds of the woods, the winds of the prairie, were not more free than the people of Tezcuco. We had our capital, our temples, our worship, and our gods; we celebrated our own festivals, our kings commanded their own armies, our priesthood prescribed their own sacrifices. But where now are king, country, and gods? Alas! you have seen the children of ’Hualpilli, of the blood of the Acolhuan, suppliants of Montezuma, the Aztec.” And, as if overcome by the recollection, he burst into apostrophe. “I mourn thee, O Tezcuco, garden of my childhood, palace of my fathers, inheritance of my right! Against me are thy gates closed. The stars may come, and as of old garland thy towers with their rays; but in thy echoing halls and princely courts never, never shall I be known again!”
The silence that ensued,