THE SACRILEGE
Now Maya bent over the form of her father and took the talisman from
his neck.
“I feel like one who robs the dead,” she said.
“Remember that it is to save the living, and be comforted,” answered
Mattai. “Come, let us be going, for the night draws on.”
“Take a lamp, each of you,” he said presently, when we had reached the
further end of the great hall, where he unlocked the copper gates with
a key from the bunch that hung at his girdle. We passed through, and,
turning, he almost closed the gate, but not quite.
“Why do you leave the gates ajar?” I asked.
“Because there are none to follow us,” he answered, “and who knows
what may happen. Should we be forced to fly the Sanctuary, open doors
are easier to pass than those that are shut.”
“Who or what could force us to fly the Sanctuary?” I asked.
Mattai shrugged his shoulders and went on without answering. Now we
passed down many stairs, along passages, and through secret doors,
each of which Mattai left open behind us, till at length we came to a
blank wall of marble. On this wall Mattai felt with his thumb, till he
found a spot that, being pressed, slid back, revealing a keyhole into
which he inserted a small silver key. Then again he pressed upon the
marble, and a panel moved that might have been two feet wide by six in
height, and we saw that light streamed through the opening. Beckoning
to us he walked through the gap in the wall, and one by one we
followed him into the Sanctuary of the Nameless god, and stood on the
further side of the wall, huddled together and clasping each other’s
hands, for the place was awesome, and its utter silence and solemnity
filled us with fear.
The first thing that caught our eyes, as was natural, for it was built
into the wall opposite to us, and through it streamed the light that
filled the chamber, was the most wonderful and mystic effigy in the
City of the Heart. That effigy was a colossal mask of singular and
fearful beauty, fashioned from polished jade, and similar in design to
those which are to be found in the ruins of Palenque and other
deserted Indian cities, whereof no man knows the age. This huge green
mask was placed above the narrow door that gave entrance to the
Sanctuary, and had been carved to represent the countenance of a being
that, although its features were human, resembled neither man nor
woman in its unearthly dignity and its stamp of cruel calm. The thick
lips were curved with a contemptuous smile, and between them gleamed
teeth made of white enamel; the nose was aquiline, with widespread
nostrils that seemed to inhale the incense of worship; and the
forehead, in whose centre appeared the impress of a woman’s hand
soaked in some scarlet dye, was broad, low, and retreating. Beneath
the solemn and contracted brows were jewelled eyes. Through these
eyes, and, indeed, from the entire surface of the mask, streamed
light, making the face visible as though it were limned in phosphorus,
for the jade was transparent as the thinnest alabaster, and behind it
burned two great lamps that were named after the Sun and Moon.
Such was the effigy of the Nameless spirit that we now beheld for the
first time, who had face but no form; the spirit, Mouth of the Heart,
to whom every lesser god was subject, Utterer of the thoughts of the
Heart of Heaven, Lord of power, Dweller in the darkness behind the
Sun, Searcher of the secrets of death. Without pity was this god of
theirs, and without wrath, who, clothed in eternal calm, so these
people fabled, rested in a home of darkness, watching the shadow of
events celestial and terrestrial in his mirror of the moon, and
telling of them to the Heart which was his soul. The seal of the
woman’s blood-stained hand was set upon his brow because woman is a
symbol of life renewed, the hand is the sign of purpose and the
strength to do it, and by blood and anguish must every purpose be
accomplished. But the Nameless one executed no purpose,--that was the
work of lesser gods. In the beginning the Heart thought, and the Mouth
blew with his breath, giving life to the earth, and causing it to roll
forward among the spheres, and now the Eyes watched, ever smiling,
while it and those upon it work out our doom, till at length its
primal force grows faint and fails when, so said the priests, Heart
and Mouth and Eyes will think and speak and search, and at their
command a new world shall arise from the corpse of the old, and a new
life from the lives of those who dwelt upon it.
Therefore it was, though now faith waned among them with their waning
energies, that this people, knowing no better creed, worshipped the
threefold Fate without a name, whom they held to be master of gods and
men. Therefore, also, long generations since, in this spot which we
came to violate,--to them the most holy on the earth,--they set up
effigies of a Heart, a Mouth, and Eyes, as symbols of his attributes.
The roof of the Sanctuary, which was of no great size, was
vault-shaped, in imitation of the arching sky, and in it appeared a
golden sun, a silver crescent moon, and the stars of heaven. Its walls
were lined throughout with polished blocks of the beautiful stone
known as Mexican onyx, fretted over to the height of a man with a
border of hieroglyphics and effigies of the lesser gods in attitudes
of adoration, all of them cast in gold and set flush with the face of
the wall. The furniture was very simple, consisting only of stools cut
from rich woods heavily gilded in quaint designs, and a small table
whereon lay sheets of paper made of bark, together with brushes of
reed fibre and pots of pigment, such as were used in the
picture-writing of this people. Lastly, at that end by which we had
entered the chamber, stood an altar of black marble written around
with letters shaped in gold, and upon this altar lay something covered
with a silken cloth.
For a minute or more we remained silent, contemplating these wonders;
then, with a gesture of impatience, Mattai spoke in a whisper, saying:
“Let that be done which we have come to do, for now the sacrilege is
committed and it is too late for doubts.”
Speaking thus, he stepped to the altar and lifted the silken cloth
that lay over the object which was upon it, revealing the image of a
human heart fashioned in blood-stone and veined with arteries of gold.
In the centre of this heart appeared a small and shallow hole that had
been hollowed in its substance.
“This is the tradition,” said Mattai, still speaking in a whisper,
“that when the two halves of a certain talisman are placed in this
hollow, the symbol will open and reveal that which has been set within
it since it was fashioned by Cucumatz thousands of years ago, and
there is this in favour of the truth of the tale that golden hinges
appear upon the sides of the symbol. Now one-half of the talisman has
rested here for many generations, till Zibalbay took it with him
indeed, when he went out to seek for the other half, and yet the
symbol has never opened; still, I am sure that it will open when the
whole talisman is set in its place. In this matter, however, there is
something more to fear than the vengeance of the gods, for, as I can
read well--it is written in those letters that encircle the altar--an
ancient tradition tells us that if the symbol be stirred from the
place where it has lain for so many ages, the flood-gate will roll
back and the waters of the lake will pour in upon the city, destroying
it and its inhabitants.”
“Yet the flood-gate cannot roll back when it is not shut, nor can the
waters flow in during the dry season, when they are not on a level
with the walls,” answered Maya.
“They cannot, Lady, and yet other things may happen. Why was the Heart
set thus? Was it not that in the utmost need of its worshippers they
might choose death rather than defeat and slavery? And was this choice
given to them in the wet months only? Be sure that if at this moment
any despairing or impious hand tore yonder symbol from its altar,
either the waters would rush up through the bed of the city, or
subterranean fires would break loose and burn it. Still, though there
is something, I think that we have little to fear, seeing that the
writing says that, in order to bring about so terrible a doom, the
symbol must be torn from its altar with might. And now to our task.
Stranger, give to the Lady Maya your half of the ancient talisman,
that she may set it, together with the half she bears, in the place
prepared in the symbol.”
Now with a sigh, seeing that it was too late to draw back, I undid the
emerald from my neck and gave it to Maya, who laid it side by side
with its counterpart upon the palm of her trembling hand, and stepped
with it to the altar. Here she stood for a moment, then whispered in a
faint voice:
“Terror has taken hold of me, and I fear to do this thing.”
“Yet it must be done, and not by me,” said Mattai, “or we shall have
come on a fool’s errand, and go back, some of us, to a fool’s death,”
and he looked towards me.
“I will not do it,” I said, answering his look, “not because I fear
your gods, but my own conscience I do fear.”
“Then I will,” said the señor boldly, “for I fear neither. Give me
that trinket, Maya.”
She obeyed, and presently he had caused the two halves of the talisman
to fall into their ancient and appointed bed in the symbol. In the
great silence I remember the sound they made, as they tinkled against
the stone, struck my ear so sharply that I started.
For some seconds, perhaps twenty, we stood still, watching the altar
with eager eyes, but the symbol never stirred. Then I said:
“It seems, Mattai, that you must hide your lying writing elsewhere,
since yonder heart will not open, or, if it will, we have not found
the key.”
“Wait a little,” broke in the señor, “perhaps the springs are
rusted.” And before any of us could interfere to stop him, he placed
his thumb upon the halves of the emerald and pressed so hard that the
symbol trembled on its marble stand.
“Beware!” cried Mattai, and as the echoes of his voice died away all
of us started in astonishment, for lo! the heart was opening like a
flower.
Slowly it opened, till the severed talisman fell from it, and its two
halves lay back on the marble of the altar, revealing something hidden
in its centre that shone like an ember in the lamplight. We crept
forward and looked, then stood silent and half afraid, for in the
hollow of the heart, laid upon a square plate of gold which was
covered with picture-writing, glared a red jewel shaped like a human
eye, that seemed to answer stare with stare.
“If we stand like this we shall grow frightened,” said the señor
roughly, glancing round him as he spoke, “there is nothing to fear in
a red stone cut like an eye.”
“If you think so, White Man,” answered Mattai in a voice that shook a
little, strive as he would to command it, “lift up the holy thing and
give me the writing that is beneath it. Stay, first take this, set it
in the symbol, replacing the eye upon it,” and he handed him the
forged tablet.
The señor obeyed, nor did any wonder come to pass when he lifted that
dreadful-looking jewel, and changed the true for the false.
“Read it,” said Maya, as the tablet was passed to Mattai, “you have
knowledge of the ancient writings.”
“Perhaps it were best left unread,” he said, doubtfully.
“Nay,” she answered, “let us know the worst. Read it, I bid you.”
Then he read these strange words in a slow and solemn voice:
“_The Eye that has slept and is awakened sees the heart and purpose of
the wicked. I say that in the hour of the desolation of my city not
all the waters of the Holy Lake shall wash away their sin._”
Now the faces of us who heard turned grey in the lamplight, for though
the gods of this people were false, we felt that the voice of a true
prophet spoke to us from that accusing tablet, and that we had called
down upon our heads a vengeance which we could not measure.
“Did I not tell you that it were wiser to leave the writing unread,”
gasped Mattai, letting the tablet fall from his hand as though it were
a snake.
The clatter of it as it struck the marble floor seemed to wake us from
our evil dream, for the señor turned on him, and said fiercely:
“What does it matter what the thing says, rogue, seeing that you
forged it as you have forged the other.”
“Ah! would that I had,” answered Mattai; “but when doom overtakes you
and all of us, then shall you learn whether I forged that ancient
writing;” and he lifted it from the floor, and, hiding it in his robe,
added, “Close the heart, White Man, and give back the severed jewel to
those who wear it.”
The señor obeyed, replacing the silken cloth over the symbol, so that
the altar seemed to be as it had been.
“Now let us be going,” said Mattai, “and rejoice, that if yonder eye
has seen our wickedness, at least it is hidden from the sight of man.
Doubtless the vengeance of the gods is sure, but that of men is
swift.”
As he spoke we turned to leave the Sanctuary, and of a sudden Maya
screamed, and would have fallen had not the señor caught her. Well
might she scream, for there in the narrow niche of the secret door by
which we had entered, framed in it as a corpse is framed in its
coffin, stood a white figure which at first I took to be that of some
avenging ghost, so ghostlike were the wrappings, the snowy beard and
hair, and the thin, fierce face. Another instant, and I saw that
indeed it was a ghost, the ghost of Zibalbay, or rather his body come
back from the boundaries of death to spy upon our sacrilege before it
crossed them for ever.
[image: img_265.jpg
caption: It was ... Zibalbay ... come back from the boundaries of
death.]
Yes, it was Zibalbay, for while he had seemed to be unconscious upon
the bed in the chamber, his senses were awake, and oh! what must he
have suffered when he, the high priest of the Nameless god, heard us
plan our fraud upon his Sanctuary. Then, after we had left him, fury
and despair unfettered the limbs that had been bound so fast and gave
him strength to follow us, though they could not unlock his frozen
tongue. He had followed; painfully he had crept down the stairs, along
the passages, and through the open door, for the path was known to him
even in the dark, till at length he came to the secret entrance of the
Sanctuary. Here once more his force deserted him; here, unable to
speak or stir, he had leaned against the wall and seen and heard all
that was done and said.
Oh! never shall I forget the rage of his quivering face, or the agony
and horror of his tormented eyes as they met our own. No curse could
have been so awful as that look which he let fall upon his daughter,
and no outraged deity or demon could have seemed more terrible to the
human sight than was the tall figure of this dying man, striving even
in death to protect the honour of his gods, which we had violated in
their most ancient holy of holies. Never have I seen such a dreadful
sight, and I pray that never again may I do so either in this world or
the next.
The dying Zibalbay saw our fear, and with a last effort he staggered
forward towards his daughter, his clenched hands held above his head.
For a moment he stood before her as she lay upon her lover’s arm
staring up at him like a bird at a snake, while he swayed to and fro
above her like the snake about to strike. Then, of a sudden, foam
mingled with blood burst from his lips, and he sank down at her feet
dead, dying in a silence that was more awful than any sound.
Of all that followed I need not write. Indeed, I cannot do so, for so
great was my horror at this scene, and so intense the strain which was
put upon my vital force during these hours, that I have little memory
of what chanced after Zibalbay’s death, till I found myself lying
exhausted upon the bed in my prison cell.
Somehow we calmed and silenced Maya; somehow we escaped from that
hateful Sanctuary, and by slow degrees brought her and the dead body
of her father up the narrow stairs and passages to the hall above,
where we laid the corpse upon its bed. Then Mattai left us, and I
remember no more till the next morning when nobles and leeches came to
watch by the body of the dead _cacique_, and to embalm it in readiness
for the tomb.
The next two days went heavily for the three of us, oppressed as we
were by the silent gloom of our prison and the memories of that
dreadful night. The love between Maya and her father had never been
deep, for they were out of tune with each other; still, now that he
was dead she mourned him, the more perhaps because he had died hating
and cursing her. By degrees she recovered from her superstitious
fears, born of the writing in the symbol; but her father’s
maledictions she never could forget, and though she was willing to
earn and to bear these for the sake of her love for the señor, I
think that their memory lay between them like a shadow.
“Oh! why did I ever love you?” she would say. “What have you to do
with me, whom race and law and fate have set apart from me?” And yet
she went on loving him even more dearly.
I, also, was unhappy, for though I put little faith in these omens, or
in the vapourings of dead prophets and the tricks of living
charlatans, I felt that the ill-luck which had clung to me in the past
was with me still. Things had gone cross with me; Zibalbay was dead,
and Woman, the inevitable, had drawn away the heart of my friend and
dragged me and my plans into the whirlpool of her passion, whence, if
at all, they must emerge ruined and shapeless. Still, summoning the
patience of my race to my aid, I bore these secret troubles as I
might, giving counsel and comfort to the lovers, who, lost in their
own doubts and difficulties, thought, as was natural, little of me and
my lost ambitions.
At length they carried away the corpse of Zibalbay to be wrapped in
its winding-sheet of gold and set with all ancient pomp and ceremony
by those of its forefathers in the Hall of the Dead. Maya wept indeed,
but I for my part was glad to see the last of him, and so, I think,
was the señor, whose spirits had begun to fail him in the presence of
so much remorse and grief.
That day--it was the day previous to the night of the Rising of
Waters, on which we were to appear before the Council of the Heart in
the Sanctuary--Tikal came to visit us. To Maya he bowed low, but on
the señor and myself he looked with an angry eye,--with the eye,
indeed, of one who would have killed us if he dared. First, with many
fine words and empty compliments, he offered her his sympathy upon the
death of her father. For this she returned her thanks, quoting,
however, with a flash of her old spirit, a certain proverb of her own
people, of which the meaning is that the death of one man is the
breath of another.
“My father was your foe, Tikal,” she added, “and now that he is gone
you will be able to sleep and reign in peace.”
“Not altogether so, Lady,” he answered, “seeing that he has left
behind him a more dangerous rival to my power, namely, yourself. I
will not hide from you, Maya, what you soon must learn, that a large
portion of the people, and with them many of the nobles, accusing me
of your father’s murder, clamour that I should be deposed, and that
you should be set in my place as _cacique_ of the City of the Heart.
Some few days ago I might have stilled their outcry by commanding you
to be put to death, but now it is too late, for, since then, Time has
fought for you, and doubtless your end would be followed by my own.
When last we met, cousin, I asked you a certain question, to which you
promised me an answer when your father was dead or recovered, and
to-day I have come to hear that answer. While Zibalbay lived I had
much to offer him and you in exchange for your hand, and I offered it
freely. So high a value did I place upon it when it seemed lost to me,
that I was prepared to lay down my power, to suffer your father to
violate the laws, and to incur the eternal hate and active enmity of
Mattai, his daughter, and his party. Now I must make you a lower bid:
that of equal power for yourself; and for your friends here, whatever
they may desire. Should you refuse me, this is the alternative: civil
war in the city till one of us is destroyed, and instant death as the
portion of these strangers.
“But, Maya, I pray you not to refuse me, for I have something more to
offer you--my undying love. From a child I always loved you, Maya,
although you have treated me coldly enough, and now day by day I love
you more. Indeed I believed that you and your father were dead yonder
in the wilderness, for then I had faith in Mattai, whom now I know to
be a rogue, and Mattai swore that it was written in the stars. Even so
I would not have wed another woman, for my heart bled at the loss of
you, had not Mattai made this marriage the price of his support,
without which I could not hope to be anointed _cacique_, seeing that I
have many jealous enemies. It was ambition that led me to consent, and
bitterly have I regretted my folly ever since; for if she who is
called my wife loves me, I hate her, and by this means or by that I
will be rid of her. Forgive me, then, my sin against you, remembering
only that I have loved and served you in the past as I will love and
serve you in the future, and that it was you who brought about these
troubles because, though I prayed you to stay and did all in my power
to prevent you, you determined to accompany your father upon his mad
journey into the wilderness. Now I have spoken, and I thank you for
the courtesy with which you have listened to me.”
“You have spoken, cousin,” she answered, “and your words have been
gentle; yet, if I understand you right, some few days since you were
in doubt as to whether it would not be better to murder me here in
this darksome hole where you have placed us.”
“If policy put any such thought into my mind, Maya, love drove it out
again,” he answered, with confusion.
“So you admit that this was so,” she said. “Well, a day may come when
policy might breed the thought, and love, grown weary, prove not warm
enough to wither it. Also it seems that even now you threaten these my
companions with death, should I refuse you your desire.”
“If you should refuse me my desire, Maya, perhaps it will be for a
secret reason of your own,”--and he scowled at the señor angrily,--“a
reason that the death of these men, or of one of them, will remove.”
“Be sure of one thing, Tikal,” she broke in sharply, “that such a
wicked deed would put an end for ever to your hopes of making me your
wife. Now, listen. I have heard your words, and they have touched me
somewhat, for I think that although you have broken your oath to my
father, and your troth with me, at heart you are honest in your love.
Still, I can give you no answer now, and for this reason, that the
answer does not lie with me, but rather with the gods. To-morrow night
we appear before the high Court of the Council of the Heart, and you
yourself shall set the severed portions of the talisman that we have
travelled so far to seek in the place prepared to receive it, in the
symbol that is on the altar of the Sanctuary. Then, as my dead father
believed,--and he was gifted with wisdom from above,--the god shall
declare his purpose in this way or in that, showing his servants why
all these things have come about, and what they must do to fulfil his
will. By that will, cousin, and not by my own, I shall be guided in
this and in all other things.”
Now, Tikal thought awhile, and answered:
“And if nothing follows this ceremony, and the oracles of the god are
silent, what then?”
“Then, Tikal,” she said softly, “you may ask me again if I will become
your wife, and perhaps, if the Council suffers it, I shall not say you
nay. Now, farewell, for grief still shadows me, and I can talk no
more.”