“How now?
A foe? What means this most unwelcome visit?”
KEMBLE.
By the time Olmedo and Beatriz had begun to retrace their steps to their
homes, Tolta’s hesitation had vanished, and he prepared to seize them.
If his anger had been aroused by the scene between Kiana and the maiden,
he was now furious with rage and jealousy at the discovery of the mutual
love of Olmedo and Beatriz. Of their motives and resolves he could
appreciate nothing. He saw only that they loved. Their devout prayer had
astonished him, but that over, his imagination acted as a slow-match to
explode his passions.
At a sign from him, his warriors stealthily encircled the two, and
stepping out suddenly from their retreat, seized and bound them before
they could either resist or effectually cry out. Tolta, unable to repress
his satisfaction, walked up to Olmedo and hissed in his ear, “Catholic
maidens are not kept solely for the dalliance of Catholic priests.
You shall soon see her fonder of an Aztec priest than she has been of
you, most chaste monk,” and he leered upon him with such a demoniacal
meaning, as for an instant to paralyze the speech of Olmedo, who almost
fancied the devil himself had bodily entrapped him.
Soon recognizing Tolta, he exclaimed, “What means this violence? Are you
mad? Release us, or evil will come upon you.”
“Not so fast, monk, we have a journey to make first. I wish to introduce
you to one who is as fond of Spanish blood as your countrymen are of
Mexican.”
“Do with me as you will, but send back Beatriz to her brother. She has
never injured you,” urged Olmedo.
“Beatriz is my prize, you are another’s,” said Tolta, with a look so full
of dark insinuation that his captive shuddered,—not for himself, but for
the maiden.
He would have again entreated, but Tolta fearing to lose time, ordered
his men to gag him and drive him before them, while he whispered to
Beatriz, “If you attempt an outcry, these infidels will kill Olmedo.
His sole hope is in your keeping quiet.” This he said with cunning
forethought, and it had the immediate effect he wished, to keep her
silent, for he dreaded the influence of her voice quite as much as he
feared any alarm she could give.
Compelling her to walk before him, the party passed in single file
through the forest in the direction of the mountain, till they reached
its outskirts, and came to the more scantily wooded uplands. Here they
were joined by another and larger band, bearing a “manele,” a sort
of palanquin, into which Beatriz was placed, and borne rapidly on by
four stout warriors, who were relieved each hour by others. In this
way allowing no intercourse between the captives, but hurrying on at a
dog trot by a circuitous course that took them away from the inhabited
portions of the country, they made rapid progress for several hours
without a halt or seeing any one.
Their course lay along the eastern and southern flank of Mauna Kea,
which was then a wilderness, much broken up by precipitous ravines and
irregular plains, dotted with groves of a beautiful species of laurel,
whose pendant branches, with small dark green leaves intermingled with
delicate white blossoms, all but swept the ground, affording by day a
shade impervious to the sun, and by night not an unwelcome shelter.
Not a word had been uttered by which either of the captives could get
a clue to their probable fate. Each was most anxious for the other. At
the same time both felt a certain degree of relief and even pleasure in
their mutual presence, and had the choice to be free and apart been given
to either, while thus uncertain as to their future, neither would have
accepted it. Beatriz alone had some suspicion as to the object of Tolta
in their abduction. Olmedo on the contrary, notwithstanding the dark
hints of the Mexican, could not persuade himself that any real danger
awaited either. Calm in his own soul-peace, he patiently bided a solution
of the mystery.
As night approached, Tolta gave orders to encamp under one of the
laurel groves. Being now beyond immediate danger of a recapture,
Olmedo’s gag was removed, and he was permitted to warm himself by the
fire, which, at that altitude, was agreeable even in July. He was kept
apart from Beatriz, each being under the charge of a distinct company
of warriors. They were fierce, athletic men, quite capable of executing
any orders their chief,—for such by the command of Pohaku, they now
considered the Mexican,—might give, but at the same time they regarded
their captives, especially Beatriz, more with curiosity than hostility.
Her quiet, resigned demeanor, had made some impression upon them, and
involuntarily they treated her with a degree of respect, that did not
pass unnoticed by their crafty leader. He was not at all satisfied with
himself, although his expedition promised such complete success. While
away from Beatriz, he could plot against her honor and her brother’s life
without compunction, but it was quite a different thing when she was
an unresisting captive in his power. Her apparent feebleness and moral
security were more formidable barriers than an armed defence. She had not
once appealed to him by voice, but her mournful look, excited rather at
his treachery than her danger, recalled to him those moments which, under
other auspices, had impelled him to peril his life for hers. Besides, he
thought of Pohaku, and feared the effect of her beauty on his sensual
appetite. He might claim the woman as well as the man, and how could he
resist.
Having fully embarked in his career of deceit and revenge, Tolta saw at
a glance he had gone too far to withdraw, for the fiery Juan would never
forgive the insult to his sister, however lenient she might prove. The
future began already to wear a different and more problematical aspect
than it did when he first meditated his treachery. The apparent ease with
which he had done so much, but magnified what remained to be done. In
fact, his conflicting emotions all but paralyzed his evil energies, which
threatened to leave him midway in his career an imbecile villain, sure
to die like a torpid serpent from the blows of the first that discovered
him. This hesitation arose from the influence Beatriz exercised over him,
despite his jealousy, which at intervals somewhat cooled from having his
rival in his power. He was therefore, restless, suspicious and wavering.
While his captives slept peacefully on the rude couches of tapa and dried
leaves their guards had prepared for them, he sat apart gloomily brooding
over his projects.
It was clear star-light. Through the thick foliage an occasional bright
ray at times found its way, as if to hint to his troubled soul there
still was light for it if he would but look upward. But his eyes were
either bent upon the ground, or peered out between the pendulous branches
into the mysterious horizon around, out of which grew strange, spectral
shapes, with long arms sweeping the night-air. In the daytime they were
but common trees, like those under which he sat, but to him they now
became demon ambassadors from his terrible war-god to arouse him to
vengeance. Through the overhanging branches, the chill breeze sent hoarse
sounds as they chafed against each other, at times grinding heavily
with a dismal noise like the crushing of bones, while the more distant
trees responded with fitful shrieks or deep sighings as the winds by
turns rose or sunk in varying gusts; now wholly silent, then swelling
into a diapason that thrilled Tolta’s heart with horrible fancies. Owls
flapped their white wings, and lighted near by, hooting, with their great
staring eyes fixed on him. Then gathered about him a chorus of furies
that excited every passion to avenge his father, massacred by Cortez
at the foot of the altar, on which still reeked a human sacrifice; his
mother violated and slain by the savage allies of the inhuman Christian;
himself, wounded and senseless in her defence, mangled and taunted by
his Tezcucan foes,—but, but what? that _but_ for the instant exorcised
the vision, for it recalled to him that Juan, indignant at the wanton
barbarity, had rescued him from their hands, and that Beatriz had bound
up his wounds, and spoken to him the first words of kindness he had ever
heard from the lips of a Spaniard.
Could he have forgotten this, he would have gone straight on to his
revenge without a single soul-qualm. As it was, fortified by his
jealousy, and impelled by the gathering force of reawakened passions,
the struggle of personal gratitude became gradually weaker, until there
was nothing between him and his victims, except the love which he felt
for Beatriz, and which jealousy had now all but turned into hate. From
out of the gloom of nature around him, there spoke voices and issued
shapes, kindred to all the darker purposes of his soul. Guatimotzin,
his butchered sovereign, whose blood was in his own veins, called to
him from his bed of hot coals, not to forget his martyrdom. The spirits
of myriads of Mexicans slain by famine were waving their gaunt arms,
and clawing with feeble fingers at him, while hollow voices muttered,
“Avenge us, art thou not our kin?” and they pointed to the sleeping
Spaniards, and wound their dark limbs over them in a death embrace. The
flames of Mexico, once the pride and glory of the Aztec empire, now in
ashes, burst upon his vision. He once more saw her towers and palaces
glowing with heat and crumbling to the ground, while fire and smoke shut
out the bright heaven above, and settled like a hellish pall upon his
native city. His eye-balls became blood-shot as he strove to penetrate
the darkness to gainsay his vision. It was in vain. Far into the deep
shadow beyond, and high above him, there glowed a bright red spot growing
larger each minute, with flames and smoke intermingled, and ever and anon
there faintly reached him a crashing sound like the fall of heavy bodies
from a great elevation. There was a reality in the sight he could not
dissipate by reason, or by gazing. The longer he looked, the more true it
became. At last, tired out by his watchings, he too sunk into an uneasy
slumber, saying to himself as his original purpose, with renewed craft
returned to him, “Away with doubt; I will obey your call, my countrymen,
or join you in the dark abodes whence you urge me to vengeance,”—then
mingling with his patriotic frenzy his personal desires, he added, “I
will circumvent them all. The Spaniards shall be sacrificed, and Juan
slain. Kiana and Pohaku must perish in the coming war. Olmedo and Beatriz
shall believe that I have taken them away to save them. He shall die in
attempting to escape, and she shall be rescued by me. It will then be
time enough to use my opportunity, if she still resists my love. Alone!
whom else can she look to? Chiefs and people all curse Pohaku, brute that
he is. Many already hail me as their deliverer from his tyranny. Yes,
love and revenge are both sweet to an Aztec. My parents’ slaughter shall
be avenged, and these sacrilegious Spaniards shall learn that an Aztec’s
hate never dies.”