In order to make plain certain things which have come under our notice
in the last two chapters, it will be necessary for us to go back to
Tezcot's, and the hermit's cave, and note the doings of our mountain
friends in the interim between the departure from there of Euetzin and
Cacami and the holding of the tournament at Tlacopan.
Mitla became a changed girl. She had lived to learn that older hearts
than Oxie's were liable to impressions that wound, and that to fall in
love with a noble was, indeed, a serious matter for a mere mountain
girl to do. Her formerly bright and joyous life was clouded. She went
about her duties with a half-heartedness, and seemed most contented
when alone. Her parents and sister divined the cause of the great
change in her disposition, and left her to occupy the time as best
suited her. Knowing so well her generous nature, and how deep was her
gratitude to the tzin for her rescue from the rascally Tepanec
soldiers, they were not surprised that her feelings toward him had
become those of a consuming passion. They treated her with true
sympathy, deeply regretting the circumstances which had led to her
unfortunate condition of mind.
Tezcot became an almost constant companion of the prince and Ix, and
appeared to have lost all interest in his hunting exploits.
The management of the surveillance over the hermitage, which had been
established for the protection of the prince, had been intrusted to
Menke, who performed the duty faithfully, securing the vicinity of the
cavern-retreat from intrusion.
The prince, on being introduced to the hermitage, thought he saw
something familiar about its mysterious occupant, and, becoming
interested, finally discovered who he was. He was at a loss to
understand why the hermit, for several days, persistently avoided all
allusions to himself, unless it was to satisfy a whim. The fact of the
matter was that Ix wished to fathom the character and disposition of
the prince before openly declaring himself. When he found Hualcoyotl to
be a worthy son of his illustrious father, the hermit gave him his
cordial adherence and valuable counsel.
It is true that Ix gave the prince and tzin his invaluable assistance
on the occasion of the latter's first visit to the hermitage; and it
was he that inserted certain signs and language in the document which
Euetzin bore away with him, that assured the king of Tlacopan of its
genuineness, and secured his confidence in the bearer. Of this,
however, the prince and tzin were not aware at the time.
Though only a boy, with no particular interest in government affairs,
when his father's sovereignty was so suddenly and disastrously
terminated, the prince remembered Ixtlilchoatl as a person who stood
high in the councils of the king. His discovery of so wise and
experienced an adherent was highly gratifying to him, for he felt that
he needed just such a man to give him counsel. So, after due
consideration, he decided to make him his supervisor of military
affairs, which, subsequently, led to his being placed in command of the
allied armies.
Tezcot was taken into the secret of Ix's identity, which brought an
acknowledgment from him as to his own nativity. He was a descendant of
the Acolhuans, whose gentle nature he inherited, though not a born
Tezcucan. The prince and Ix welcomed him to their councils, and he
became an almost daily participant in their deliberations.
Hualcoyotl had always been of a thoughtful turn of mind, and, as an
occupant of a lonely hermit's cave, could scarcely have been expected
to put aside a habit which had become a characteristic. In the hours of
restraint which he was compelled to endure he might have been found
often in a state of abstraction, when visions of future weal, and,
perhaps, exaltation to the high position which his royal ancestors had
filled, would occupy his thoughts. In these absent moods, which were
only waking dreams, it was natural that his favorites should be brought
into an imaginary existence, to give to his fancies a semblance of
reality. Who but Itlza, of Zelmonco, could have shared his dreamings as
a queen, the partner of his fancied exaltation, since the affectionate
regard of his boyhood for her had, through a later contact, suddenly
developed into a passionate desire to possess her for his own. And now
that there was reason to hope for the early restoration of Tezcuco to
her former place among the nations of Anahuac, this desire was further
strengthened by the possibilities to which such a state of affairs
would give rise.
On the occasion of his brief stop at Zelmonco villa, while journeying
toward the mountains, he resolved, as may be remembered, that, should
the circumstances warranting it ever obtain, she should become his
queen; and the resolution had lost none of its force, but, on the other
hand, had become a fixed purpose. So it happened that the drifting of
events, and the conditions attending them, pointed to the wrecking of
somebody's hopes, which, apparently, only waited a convenient season
for their realization.
* * * * *
Successful beyond his most sanguine expectations in the achievements
which crowned his second visit to Macua, King of Tlacopan, on which
occasion he found himself a conspicuous figure in the midst of an
assembly of men high in authority, who only required the encouragement
of a promise of success to make them the determined allies of Tezcuco
in a war with Maxtla, Euetzin's first impulse was to go immediately and
communicate the good news to the prince; but, after calmly weighing the
matter, changed his mind, and proceeded first to arrange for the
massing and equipping of the secret councils of Tezcuco preparatory to
their joining the allied army. When this work was about completed he
left the chiefs of councils to finish it, and, with Cacami and a strong
guard of Tlacopan soldiers, set out with a view to escorting Hualcoyotl
in from the mountains. At the same time he carried an urgent request
from Macua, the King, for the prince to repair to his palace, to remain
the guest of his majesty until the beginning of hostilities, when he
could take his proper position at the head of the army.
On arriving in the vicinity of Tezcot's, a suitable spot was found for
an encampment, and the soldiers were left to occupy it, while the tzin
and his companion went on to the hunter's alone.
The friends arrived at the mountaineer's house in the afternoon, and,
as luck would have it, found the hunter at home. They were received in
a very friendly manner by the family, and made to feel that they were
most welcome. Mitla was not so demonstrative as the others, but not
less happy that such was the case. She could suppress all outward
exhibition of her feelings, but could not obscure the passionate light
which shone from her dark eyes as they rested on him whom she loved to
the verge of idolatry. Euetzin saw the expression of gladness, intense
in its fervidness, which greeted him, and, while Cacami occupied the
attention of the rest of the family, found opportunity to say:
"I read my welcome in your eyes, Mitla, which are wonderfully bright
to-day, and full of gladness. Their language is better than words, for
words are sometimes deceptive."
"My eyes would always betray my feelings, yet I do not care now, for I
would have you know how truly glad I am that you are here," she
replied, the expression of pleasure deepening, if possible, in its
intensity.
"I am glad if I bring you pleasure. It is worth a longer journey than
we have made to see you looking so happy," he returned.
"I wish that words were not sometimes deceptive," she replied, putting
a marked stress on the expression which she borrowed from him, "then
would I, indeed, be happy at hearing you say that."
"You do not doubt my sincerity, Mitla?" he questioned, slightly
confused at having his own words applied to himself.
"No, I do not doubt your sincerity; at least, not your desire to be
so--that would be ungenerous; yet I can not help feeling that your
desire to give me pleasure causes you to say what your mind, not your
heart, suggests." This was said, accompanied by an appealing look which
the tzin could not fail to observe. He said, feelingly:
"I am very, very sorry that you feel so, for nothing that I can say
will make you feel differently." These words were true, and yet not
true. Doubting, as he did, the character of the sentiment which her
presence ever inspired, honor still forbade the utterance of the
declaration which would have made them untrue, yet the declaration
might have been consistently made. It was doubt alone, then, which made
them true.
"I am sure you speak truly, and that you will be generous in your
thoughts, forgiving a feeling in me which is beyond my control," she
said, giving him a look at once tristful and yearning.
"I shall not try to controvert your feelings, for they may be just," he
answered, kindly. "But, Mitla, I must be about my business. Our stay
must be very short on the mountains; the time allowed us for coming and
returning will not admit of an hour's extension. However, I will try to
find a little time in which to talk with you before we go away." Her
answer to this was an approving smile; and the tzin turned to Tezcot
and informed him as to the object of their mission, and the necessity
of its hasty accomplishment. The hunter was quick to appreciate the
situation, and immediately set about getting ready to accompany them to
the hermit's cave.
Passing over the explanations which followed the party's arrival at the
cavern, and the arrangements which led up to the situation as we left
it at Tlacopan, except to say that Euetzin and Cacami learned with
astonishment and pleasure the true character of the hermit, and
rejoiced with Hualcoyotl in view of the prospective restoration to
Tezcuco of her great general.
All saw the importance of Ix's presence, and as well that of the
prince, at Tlacopan, and not a moment was lost in getting ready to
leave the hermitage.
Ix was loth to part from his friend Tezcot, who had done him uncounted
acts of kindness, and relieved many of his lonely hours with his
presence. He conceived the idea of forming a bodyguard for himself, and
proposed that his friend should be made its chief. The project was
warmly seconded by the prince and tzin, and pressed so earnestly by
all, that the hunter finally yielded, with the proviso, however, that
his friends, the mountaineers, should be asked to form the guard. This
was agreed to, which resulted in the acquiescence of the hunters, and
their appearance with the army, as we have seen.
The friends left the hermitage with varied emotions, which we will not
try to interpret. They went slowly down the side of the mountain into
the long ravine, thence out upon a more cheerful lay of the ground,
where they found the walking more to their liking. They were in no
hurry to reach the hunter's home; for darkness, they decided, should
cover their entrance to it.
A half hour after the arrival of the party at Tezcot's found Cacami on
his way to the camp of the soldiers to inform them of the intended
early departure for the valley on the morrow; and also to make a detail
of men to be at the hunter's at an early hour in the morning, to bear
the palanquin in which the hermit was to make the journey. At the same
time Euetzin and Mitla were out for a quiet talk. They were just
approaching the little knoll where their last meeting occurred some
weeks before, and he was saying:
"This spot would presently become memorable to us if our meetings on it
should be continued."
"Yes, and you might add, for me, at least, not less endeared than
memorable," she replied.
"I shall take pleasure in looking back to it, be assured, Mitla, and
will try to imagine that I see you seated upon it in quiet happiness,"
he said, as they were sitting down. "And I am going to ask that you
will permit your thoughts to occasionally dwell upon this hour, and
that other; for, Mitla, I wish to be remembered."
"Can it be, tzin Euet, that you deem it possible for me to forget you,
though a cycle in years were added to my natural life? How little do
you understand the heart of woman, especially mine, so full of undying
gratitude," returned the stricken maiden, her voice suddenly subsiding
in a hush of sadness; for his words told her that the door of his heart
was still shut against her.
"You say truly, Mitla; I am, indeed, incapable of understanding the
heart of woman, or I would not be continually saying things which
should be left unsaid. I know very well that for either of us to forget
is an impossibility; for, to do so, it would be necessary to forget an
incident, the terrible circumstances of which are indelibly fixed upon
each of our memories. You must forgive my blundering, and believe me
truly regretful, Mitla, that I am so thoughtless of speech," said he,
contritely.
"There is nothing to forgive. I am foolishly sensitive, that is all,"
she answered, with a sigh. "Forget it."
"No, Mitla, I shall not forget it," he replied, "but will only let it
pass, to be a reminder, in the future, that I must guard my tongue."
"As you please, but, pray, do not allow it to annoy you," she returned,
with an effort at cheerfulness.
Seeing the effort, and thinking to encourage it, the tzin said:
"Now you appear more like yourself--more like the Mitla I first knew.
Cheerfulness is natural to you, and you should continually court its
presence, for its absence leaves you a loser."
"I am sorry if it does, for I fear it has forever gone from me," she
answered, falling into the same sad vein again.
"I can tell you, Mitla, what will restore your cheerfulness," suddenly
spoke the tzin, as if a happy thought had just then come to him, which
caused her to look up expectantly. "Come with your father to Tlacopan,
and shoot for the archers' prize, which the king has offered."
"On what occasion is the prize to be awarded? I am not informed," she
questioned.
"That is true; you could hardly have heard it. There is to be a great
tournament soon, at Tlacopan, in which women will contest with bow and
arrow for a beautiful prize. Your father and others are going, and you
can come with them. It will do you good to be there and become
interested in the contest."
"It would be very foolish of me to think of winning a prize in a
contest with archers who have had experience in the arena," she
replied, dubiously.
"I do not think so. Your arrow is as true as any that will be there on
that day. Your success would depend on the deliberation with which your
shooting is done. If you are able to compose yourself, under such
circumstances, I think you could win the prize," he said, persuasively.
"Would it please you to have me go and shoot for the prize?" she asked,
artlessly.
"It would, indeed, please me, Mitla; and I am sure your chances for
winning it are as good as the best," he replied, with a sincerity
equaling her simplicity. His answer decided the matter in her mind, for
to please, and, at the same time, be near him, she would have done
anything in reason. She said, by way of acquiescence:
"If my father will not object, I will go, if only in obedience to your
wish."
"I am grateful for your consideration of my wishes, Mitla, and shall
hold it an honor to have been instrumental in bringing into the arena
an archer who, I am certain, will do credit to herself and her friends.
I will obtain your father's consent; so you may consider it settled
that I shall have the pleasure of seeing you shoot at the tourney."
She answered smilingly, and with evident satisfaction:
"I hope you will not be disappointed in your debutante."
"I am sure I shall not be, even should she fail to win," he rejoined,
pleased at the happy change the idea had produced in her.
After some little time spent in explanations and talk about the
tournament they were interrupted by Cacami coming along, on his return
from the soldiers' camp. They joined him, and together went into the
house.
The next morning found the hunter's house a scene of lively
preparations for the departure of the tzin and his party. A rude
palanquin had been hastily constructed in which to transport the
hermit, who was not considered equal to the accomplishment of the
journey on foot. Hualcoyotl had been furnished by the tzin with a
Tlacopan warrior's outfit, which would secure him from detection.
The soldiers who had been detailed to bear the palanquin were early on
the ground, and everything was in readiness for moving.
Mitla was sadly disappointed in the result of her meeting with the
tzin; there appeared to be no cause for hope in a requital of her great
love by a return of his. When the moment came for parting she would
have slipped away to hide the signs of her despair, which she felt must
be apparent; but the tzin prevented it by insisting on her going a
short distance with him. So it happened, when the cortege moved away
from the house, she was walking at his side; while Oxie, vivacious and
happy, walked and talked with the prince.
The opportunity for the development of Oxie's suddenly acquired
admiration for Hualcoyotl into a stronger sentiment had not been
afforded, as in the case of Mitla for Euetzin; she was, therefore,
under no restraint, though in that peculiar mental condition which
would have required but little encouragement to arouse a passionate
sentiment which was only slumbering, and not profoundly either.
The tzin had secured the hunter's promise that Mitla should accompany
friends to Tlacopan, to be present at the tourney and contest for the
king's prize. On learning this she became quite cheerful, in view of
the fact that she would soon see him again, and the parting, as a
consequence, had comparatively little of sadness in it for her.
Good-byes were said, and the hunter and his daughters returned to their
home, feeling that sense of loneliness which ever follows the breaking
up of associations that have become dear to the heart.
The prince bade adieu to the mountains, in the fastnesses of which he
had suffered so much, with no feelings of regret. Ix had learned to
love the solitude of his hermitage, and, while rejoicing in the
prospect of being restored to his people and country, felt a tinge of
sadness as he cast his eyes for the last time toward the mountain which
had given him security for eight long years.