TLAHUICOL'S LAST BATTLE
The amphitheatre in which Tlahuicol was to make so desperate a
fight for his life was enclosed on three sides by low buildings,
having terraced roofs on which a vast number of spectators could be
accommodated. In its centre was an immense circular stone, like a
gigantic mill-stone, on the flat surface of which were fought all
gladiatorial combats. Late in the afternoon of the day of feasting,
when the thousands of spectators were weary of the brutal games by
which until that time they had been entertained, an expectant murmur
suddenly swept over the vast assemblage, and then broke into a roar
of applause. Six warriors of noble birth, wearing on their heads
golden casques in the likenesses of a dog, a fox, a wolf, a bear, an
ocelot, and a mountain-lion, with a carriage that bespoke their martial
training, had entered the amphitheatre, and were marching slowly around
the outer edge of the great stone. When they reached the point nearest
the pavilion in which, beneath a canopy of royal green, reclined the
king, surrounded by his attendant nobles, the six warriors prostrated
themselves until their foreheads touched the pavement. Then they
continued their measured march until they reached the side of the
amphitheatre opposite that by which they had entered.
Now, to the barbaric music of drums, attabals, and shells, there
entered a single figure between a double file of soldiers, and the
hurricane of applause by which he was greeted would have proclaimed his
identity even had not his name been heard on all sides.
"Tlahuicol the ocelot!" "Tlahuicol the wolf!" "Tlahuicol the
mountain-lion!" "Tlahuicol the terrible!" shouted the spectators, and
the eyes of the great warrior lighted with a momentary gleam of triumph
at these tributes from his enemies. He was conducted directly to the
centre of the great stone, where one of his ankles was tethered by
a short chain to a ring-bolt let into the unyielding rock. Then one
of his guards stripped the tilmatli from his shoulders, disclosing
the fact that he was naked, save for a cloth about his loins, and
unprotected by armor of any kind. At the same moment another soldier
handed the prisoner the maquahuitl with which he was to defend his life.
Tlahuicol balanced it for a moment in his hand, then suddenly snapped
its tough staff in two without apparent effort, and disdainfully flung
the pieces from him. Turning toward the king he cried, in a loud voice:
"It was but a toy! a child's plaything, and yet it was given me for
the defence of my life! Let me, I pray thee, O king, have my own good
sword. Then will I show thee a fight that may prove of interest."
The king nodded his assent. A soldier was despatched for the weapon,
and shortly returned, bearing in both hands a maquahuitl so huge that a
murmur of amazement arose from the spectators, who deemed it impossible
that any man could wield it. But Tlahuicol received it with a smile of
satisfaction, swung it lightly twice or thrice above his head, and then
leaned upon it with an expectant air as though inviting his enemies to
approach. No further invitation was needed, for no Aztec warrior worthy
of the name was ever lacking in bravery. The young noble who wore the
head of a fox sprang forward, and, with guarded movements, approached
the chained but still terrible champion.
Cautiously the fox circled about his adversary seeking an unguarded
point at which to strike. On account of his fettered leg Tlahuicol
could only turn half-way round, but he would then whirl about so
quickly that, in spite of his disadvantage, he presented no opening
for attack for some minutes. At length, wearying of such fruitless
play, he purposely made his movements slower, until the Fox, thinking
his opportunity had come, sprang forward to deliver a deadly blow. In
an instant his sword was struck from his hand. Broken and useless it
was sent spinning to the further side of the arena, and the Fox reeled
backward with the force of the blow. Recovering himself he sprang to a
soldier who stood near, snatched a javelin from his hand, and hurled
it with deadly aim at Tlahuicol's head. Without moving his body, the
Toltec bent his head to one side, caught the hurtling weapon in his
left hand, and, almost with the same motion, flung it back with such
terrible force that it passed completely through the body of the Aztec
and fell to the ground behind him. He staggered, fell, and was borne,
dying, from the scene.
Instantly two of his companions took his vacant place. Filled with rage
they advanced impetuously and somewhat incautiously. As their weapons
were raised to strike, the terrible maquahuitl of Tlahuicol crushed the
skull of one like an egg-shell, and then, with a fierce backward blow,
sent the other reeling a dozen paces away, so severely wounded that it
was doubtful if he might ever recover. Marvellous as this feat was, it
did not wholly save the Toltec from the descending sword of his third
enemy. The keen obsidian blade cut a frightful gash in his side, and he
was instantly bathed in his own blood.
But the wounded warrior had no time to consider his own condition, for,
almost before he realized that he had been struck, two fresh assailants
were upon him. One of these was cleft from casque to shoulders by
Tlahuicol's awful weapon, which seemed to the breathless spectators
like a thunderbolt in the hands of a god. Ere the Toltec could recover
himself, the other rushed in and bore him to the ground, where, falling
uppermost, the Aztec hoped to deal a fatal blow with his dagger. Before
he could accomplish his purpose the champion's arms had enfolded him
in an embrace so deadly that the breath was driven from his body with
a sound that might be heard in all parts of the amphitheatre, and his
ribs were crushed like pipe-stems. Leaping to his feet, amid thunders
of applause from the frenzied spectators, the Toltec flung the lifeless
body from him, and regained his ponderous sword just in time to meet
the onset of his sixth, and most powerful, assailant, he whose casque
was fashioned in the likeness of an ocelot.
Now the breath of the champion came in sobbing gasps, and he was
so weakened by loss of blood that it seemed impossible for him to
withstand the furious onslaught of this fresh adversary. For the space
of two minutes the exchange of blows was so rapid that there was but
one continuous crash of sound. Then the ocelot leaped back beyond
reach of his tethered opponent. The Toltec staggered and seemed about
to fall. Suddenly, rallying his failing strength, he hurled his heavy
weapon so truly, and with such mighty force, that the last of his
assailants was swept over the edge of the platform on which they had
fought, and rolled, to all appearance lifeless, to the base of the
royal pavilion.
For an instant there was a silence as of death in the vast
amphitheatre. Then it was broken by a thrilling cry in the Mayan tongue
of "Father! oh, Father! you have conquered! you are free!"
Tlahuicol, who had fallen to his knees with the force of his last
effort, lifted his drooping head and looked to where Huetzin struggled
in the grasp of two brawny priests. Then, very feebly, with his right
hand, he made a sign such as but two persons in that vast concourse
recognized. He touched his forehead, his breast, and both shoulders. It
was the sign of the God of the Four Winds, the almost forgotten symbol
of the Toltec faith. Huetzin knew it, and so did one of the priests who
held him.
With the making of this sacred symbol of his race, the mighty warrior
fell forward and lay prone on the bloody stone, unmindful of the wild
storm of plaudits by which his unprecedented victory was hailed.
Suddenly, while all was confusion, the fierce figure of Topil, the
chief priest, sprang to the platform, and, snatching the dread knife of
sacrifice from his girdle, bent over the prostrate man. The next moment
he rose, and with a savage cry of triumph held aloft the heart of the
bravest son of Anahuac. The cheering of the multitude sank into a
shuddering cry of horror at this dastardly act. Had another committed
it he would have been rent in pieces, but the person of the chief
priest was sacred.
Even the elements seemed aghast at the dreadful deed; for, though the
sun had not yet set, the sky was darkened by a veil of inky blackness,
and an ominous moaning filled the air.
Paying no heed to these portents, nor to the black looks of those about
him, Topil screamed to his fellows that the son should share the fate
of the father, and that the god was weary of waiting for the offering
of their hearts. Then, bidding them follow him with the prisoner, he
sprang up the steps of the great temple. With shrill cries the obedient
priests forced a passage through the surging multitude, and hurried
Huetzin in the same direction. Even the king had no power to stop them,
for in Tenochtitlan the chief priest was mightier than he.
So the compact body of white-robed priests mounted flight after flight
of steps, and swept around the four sides of the teocal along terrace
above terrace. Finally they gained the summit of the lofty pyramid, and
disappeared from the view of the silent throngs who gazed, as though
fascinated, after them.
Inevitable and awful as was the fate before him, Huetzin had but one
thought as he was dragged up those weary flights, and along those
interminable terraces. It was not for himself, but for his sister
Tiata, the dear one who, with his last words, the dead father had
entrusted to his care. Without father, mother, or brother, what
would be her fate? What would become of her? As they stripped him and
stretched his naked body on the dread stone of sacrifice, he cried
aloud in his agony:
"Tiata! sister! To the god of the Toltecs, our father's god and our
god, I commend thee!"