From a deep slumber, that seemed, indeed, death, for it was dreamless,
the cavalier, at last, awoke, somewhat confused, but no longer
delirious; and, though greatly enfeebled, entirely free from fever. A
yellow sunbeam,--the first or the last glimmering of day, he knew not
which,--played through a narrow casement, faintly illuminating the
apartment, and falling especially upon a low table at his side, whereon,
among painted and gilded vessels of strange form, he perceived his
helmet, and other pieces of armour as well as a lute, of not less
remembered workmanship. He raised his eyes to the attendant, who sat
musing, hard by, and, with a thrill and exclamation of joy, beheld the
Moorish page, Jacinto.
"Is it thou, indeed, my dear knave Jacinto! whom I thought in the maws
of infidels?" he cried, starting up. "And how art thou; and how is thy
lord, Don Gabriel, to-day? Tell me, where hast thou been, these two
troubled days? and how didst thou return? By my faith, this last bout
was somewhat hard, and I have slept long!"
"Leave not thy couch, and speak not too loud, noble master," said the
page, kneeling, and kissing his hand,--"for thou art sick and wounded,
and here only art thou safe."
"Ay, now indeed!" said Don Amador, with a sudden and painful
consciousness of his situation, "I remember me. I was struck down, and
made a prisoner. What good angel brought me into thy company? Thanks be
to heaven! for my hurts are not much; and I will rescue thee from
captivity."
"I am not a captive, senor," said the boy, gently.
"Are we, then, in the palace?--Where are our friends?--Am I not a
prisoner?"
"Senor, we are far from the palace of Axajacatl. But grieve not; for
here thou art with thy servants."
"Thou speakest to me in riddles," said the novice, with a disturbed and
bewildered countenance. "Have I been dreaming? Am I enchanted? Am I
living, and in my senses?"
"The saints be praised, thou art indeed," said the page, fervently;
"though, both nights, and all day, till the blessed potion set thee
asleep, I had no hopes thou wouldst ever recover."
"Both nights!" echoed Don Amador, fixing his eyes inquiringly on the
boy; "Has a night--have two nights passed over me, and wert thou, then,
with me, during it all?--Ha! Was it thine acts of sorcery, which brought
me those strange and melancholy visions? Didst _thou_ conjure up to me
the image of Leila?--That priestess, that very supernatural
prophetess--By heaven! as I see thee, so saw I her standing at my
bed-side, in some magical light, which straightway turned to darkness.
Didst thou not see her? Tell me boy, art thou indeed an enchanter?
Prepare me thy spells again, reveal me her fate, and let me look on the
face of Leila!"
As the cavalier spoke, he strove in his eagerness to rise from the
couch.
"Senor," said the page, a little pleasantly, "if thou wilt have me
satisfy thy questions, thou must learn to acknowledge me as thy
physician and jailor; and give me such obedience as thou wouldst,
formerly, have claimed of me. Rise not up, speak not aloud, and give not
way to the fancies of fever; for here are no priestesses, and no Leilas.
I will sing to thee, if that will content thee with bondage. But now
thou must remain in quiet, and be healed of thy wounds."
"I tell thee, my boy Jacinto," went on the cavalier, "wounds or no
wounds, jailed or not jailed, I am in a perplexity of mind, which, if
thou art able, I must command, or, what is the same thing, beseech thee
to remove. First, therefore, what house is this? and where is it?
(whether on the isle Mexico, the lake side, the new world, or the old,
or, indeed, in any part of the earth at all?) Secondly, how got'st thou
into it? Thirdly, how came I hither myself?--and especially, what good
Christian did snatch my body out of the paws of those roaring lions, the
Mexicans, when I was hit that foul and assassin-like blow by--by----"
"Senor," said the page, not doubting but that his patron had paused for
want of breath, "to answer all these questions, is more than I am
allowed. All that I can say, is, that if prudent and obedient, (I say
obedient, noble and dear master," continued the boy archly, "for now you
are my prisoner,) you are safer in this dungeon than are your Spanish
friends in their fortress,--reduced to captivity, indeed, but preserved
from destruction----"
"By the false, traitorous, and most ungrateful knave, Abdalla, thy
father!" exclaimed the neophyte, with a loud and stern voice; for just
as he had hesitated to wound the ears of the boy, he beheld, slowly
stalking into the apartment, and eyeing him over Jacinto's shoulder, the
Almogavar himself; and the epithets of indignation burst at once from
his lips. Jacinto started back, alarmed; but Abdalla approached, and
regarding the wounded cavalier with an unmoved countenance, motioned the
boy to retire.--In an instant the Moor of Barbary and the Spaniard of
Castile were left alone together.
"Shall I repeat my words, thou base and cut-throat infidel?" cried Don
Amador, rising so far as to place his feet on the floor, though still
sitting on the platform which supported his mattress, and speaking with
the most cutting anger. "Was it not enough, that thou wert a renegade to
the rest, but thou must raise thy Judas-hand against thy benefactor?"
"My benefactor indeed!" said Abdoul calmly, and with the most musical
utterance of his voice. "Though I wear the livery of the pagans;" (He
had on an armed tunic, somewhat similar to that of Quauhtimotzin, though
without a plume to his head, and looked not unlike to a Mexican warrior
of high degree;) "and though I am, by birth, the natural enemy of thee
and thine, yet have I not forgot that thou _art_ my benefactor! I
remember, that, when a brutal soldier struck at me with his lance, thy
hand was raised to protect me from the shame; I remember, when a
thousand weapons were darting at my prostrate body on the pyramid of
Zempoala, that thou didst not disdain to preserve me; I remember, that,
when I fled from the anger of Don Hernan, thou offeredst me thine
intercession. Senor, I have forgotten none of this; nor have I
forgotten," he went on, with earnest gratitude, "that, to these favours,
thou didst add the greater ones, of shielding my feeble child from
stripes, from ruin, and perhaps from death. This have I not forgotten,
this can I never forget! The name of Spaniard is a curse on my ears; I
hate thy people, and, when God gives me help, I will slay, even to the
last man! but I remember, that thou art my benefactor, and the
benefactor of my child."
"And dost thou think," said the neophyte, "that these oily words will
blind me to thy baseness? or that they can deceive me into belief, when
thy actions have so foully belied them? Cursed art thou, misbelieving
Moor! an ingrate and apostate; and, had I no cause, in mine own person,
to know thy perfidy, it should be enough to blazon thy villany, that
thou hast, on thine own confession, deserted the standard of Christ, and
the arms of Spain, to enlist in the ranks of their pagan foes!"
"The standard of Christ," said the Moor, with emphasis, "waves not over
the heads of the Spaniards, but the banner of a fiend, bloody, unjust,
and accursed, whom they call by His holy name, and who bids them to
defile and destroy; while the Redeemer proclaimeth only good-will and
peace to all men. Have thy good heart and thy strong mind been so
deluded? Canst thou, in truth, believe, that these oppressors of a
harmless people, these slayers, who raise the cross of heaven on the
place of blood, and call to God for approval, when their hands are
smoking with the blood of his creatures, are the followers of Christ the
peaceful, Christ the just, Christ the holy? These friends whom thou hast
followed, are not Christians; and God, whom they traduce and belie in
all their actions, has given them over to the punishment of hypocrites
and blasphemers, to sufferings miserable and unparalleled, to deaths
dreadful and memorable! May it be accomplished,--Amen!"
"Dost thou speak this to _me_, vile Almogavar! of my friends and
countrymen? Dost thou curse them thus in my presence, most unworthy
apostate?"
"Sorrowful be their doom, and quickly may it come upon them!" cried
Abdalla, with ferocious fervour, "for what are they, that it should not
be just? and what am I, that I should not pray that it be accomplished?
I remember the days of Granada! I remember the sack of the Alhambra! I
remember the slaughter of the Alpujarras! and I have not forgotten the
mourning exiles, driven from those green hills, to die among the sands
of Africa, the clime of their fathers, but to them a land of strangers!
I remember me how the lowly were given to the scourge, and the princely
to the fires of Inquisitors,--our children to spears, our wives to
ravishers and murderers!--Cursed be they that did these things, even to
the last generation!"
The cavalier was amazed and confounded at the vehement and lofty
indignation of the Morisco; and as the form of Abdoul-al-Sidi swelled
with wrath, and his countenance darkened under the gloomy recollection,
he seemed to Don Amador rather like one of those mountain princes, who
had defied the conquerors, to the last, among the Alpujarras, than a
poor herdsman of Fez, deriving his knowledge, and his fury, only from
the incitations of exiles. His embarrassment was also increased by a
secret consciousness, that the Moor had cause for his hate and his
denunciations. He answered him, however, with a severe voice:--
"In these ills and sufferings, _thou_ hadst no part, unless thou hast
lied to me; having been a child of the desert, afar from the sufferers
of Granada."
"I _lied_ to thee, then," said Abdalla, elevating his figure, and
regarding the cavalier with proud tranquillity. "From the beginning to
the end, was I a chief among the mourners and rebels,--the first to
strike, as I am now the last to curse, the oppressor,--a child of the
desert, only when I had no more to suffer among the Alpujarras; and thou
mayst know, now, that my fury is as deep as it is just,--for the poor
Abdalla is no Almogavar of Barbary, but a Zegri of Granada!"
"A Zegri of Granada!" cried Don Amador, with surprise.
"A Zegri of Granada, and a prince among Zegris!" said the Moor, with a
more stately look, though with a voice of the deepest sorrow; "one whose
fathers have given kings to the Alhambra, but who hath lived to see his
child a menial in the house of his foe, and both child and father
leagued with, and lost among, the infidels of a strange land, in a world
unknown!"
"I thought, by heaven!" said the cavalier, eyeing the apostate with a
look almost of respect, "that that courage of thine in the pirate rover,
did argue thee to be somewhat above the stamp of a common boor; and
therefore, but more especially in regard of thy boy, did I give thee
consideration myself, and enforce it, as well as I could, to be yielded
by others. But, by the faith which thou professest, sir Zegri! be thou
ignoble or regal in thy condition, I have not forgotten that, by the
blow which has made me (as it seems to me, I am,) thy prisoner, thou
hast shown thyself unworthy of nobility; and I tell thee again, with
disgust and indignation, that thou hast done the act of a base and most
villanous caitiff!"
"Dost thou still say so?" replied the Zegri, mildly. "I have
acknowledged, that no gratitude can repay thy benefactions; this do I
still confess; and yet have I done all to requite thee. Thou lookest on
me with amazement. What is my crime, noble benefactor?"
"What is thy crime? Art _thou_ bewitched, too?--Slave of an ingrate,
didst thou not, when I was already overpowered, smite me down with thine
own weapon?"
"I did,--heaven be thanked!" said the Moor, devoutly.
"Dost thou acknowledge it, and thank heaven too?" said the incensed
cavalier.
"I acknowledge it, and I thank heaven!" said Abdalla, firmly. "Thou
saidst, thou wert already overpowered. Wert thou not in the hands of the
Mexicans, beyond all hope of rescue?"
"Doubtless, I was," replied the neophyte; "for Cortes was afar, and
Alvarado full three spears' length behind. Nevertheless, I did not
despair of maintaining the fight, until my friends came up to my
relief."
"Thou wert a captive!" cried the Zegri, impetuously,--"a living captive
in the hands of Mexicans! Dost thou know the fate of a prisoner in such
hands?"
"By my faith," said Don Amador, "I have heard, they put their prisoners
to the torture."
"They sacrifice them to the gods!" cried the Moor. "And the death," he
continued, his swarthy visage whitening with horror, "the death is of
such torment and terror as thou canst not conceive; but _I_ can, for I
have seen it! Now hear me: I saw my benefactor a captive, and I knew his
life would end on the stone of sacrifice, offered up, like that of a
beast, to false and fiendish gods! I say, I saw thee thus; I knew this
should be thy doom; and I did all that my gratitude taught me, to save
thee. I struck thee down, knowing, that if I slew thee, the blow would
be that of a true friend, and that thou shouldst die like a soldier, not
like a fatted sheep. Heaven, however, gave me all that I had dared to
hope: I harmed thee not; and yet the Mexicans believed that death had
robbed them of a victim. I harmed thee not; and the heathens suffered me
to drag away what seemed a corse; but which lived, and was _my
benefactor_,--the saviour of myself, and the protector of my child!"
As Abdalla concluded these words, spoken with much emphasis and feeling,
a tear glistened in his eye; and the neophyte, starting up and eagerly
grasping his hand, exclaimed,--
"Now, by heaven! I see all the wisdom and truth of thy friendship; and I
beg thy pardon for whatever insulting words my folly has caused me to
speak. And, now that I know the blow was struck for such a purpose, I
confess to thee, as thou saidst thyself, it would have been true
gratitude and love, though it had killed me outright."
"I have done thee even more service than this," said the Zegri, calmly;
"but, before I speak it, I must demand of thee, as a Christian and
honourable soldier, to confess thyself my just and true captive."
"Thy captive!" cried Don Amador. "Dost thou hold me then as a prisoner,
and not as a guest and friend? Dost thou check my thankfulness in the
bud, and cancel thy services, by making me thy thrall?"
"I will not answer thy demands," said Abdalla. "I call upon thee, as a
noble and knightly soldier, fairly captured, in open war, by my hands,
to acknowledge thyself my captive; and, as such, in all things, justly
at my disposition."
"If thou dost exact it of me," said the cavalier, regarding him with
much surprise and sorrow, "I must, as a man of honour, so acknowledge
myself. But I began to think better of thee, Abdalla!"
"And, as a prisoner, to whose honour is confided the charge of his own
keeping, thou engagest to remain in captivity, without abusing the
confidence which allows such license, by any efforts to escape?"
"Dost thou demand this much of me?" said Don Amador, with mortified and
dejected looks. "If thou art thyself resolved to remain in the
indulgence of thy treason, thou surely wilt not think to keep me from my
friends, in their difficulties? and especially from my poor kinsman; who
is now greatly disordered, and chiefly, I think, because thou hast
robbed him of Jacinto."
"This am I not called upon to answer," said Abdalla, gravely. "I only
demand of thee, what thou knowest thou canst not honourably refuse,--thy
knightly gage, to observe the rules of captivity, until such time as I
may think proper to absolve and free thee."
"Sir Almogavar, or sir Zegri, or whatsoever thou art," said the
cavalier, folding his arms, and surveying his jailor sternly, "use the
powers which thou hast, thy chains, and thy magical arts; for I believe
thou dealest with the devil;--get me ready thy fetters, and thy dungeon.
Thou hast the right so to use me, and I consent to the same; but I will
gage thee no word to keep in bonds, inglorious and at ease, while my
friends are in peril. However great the service thou hast done to me, I
perceive thou art a traitor. I command thee, therefore, that thou have
me chained and immured forthwith; for, with God's will and help, I will
escape from thee as soon as possible, and especially, whensoever my
friends come to assist me."
"I grant thee this privilege, when thy friends come near to us," said
Abdalla, coolly, "whether thou art chained or not. It is not possible
thou canst escape, otherwise, at all. Thou art far from the palace,
ignorant of the way, and, besides, divided from it by a wall of
Mexicans, who cannot be numbered. What I ask thee, is for thy good, and
for the good of myself, and Jacinto. If thou leave this house, thou wilt
be immediately seized, and carried to the stone of sacrifice."
Don Amador shuddered, but said,--
"I trust in God! and the thought of this fate shall not deter me."
"Go then, if thou wilt," said the Zegri, haughtily. "The service I have
done thee, has not yet released me from thy debt; and thou canst yet
command me. Begone, if thou art resolute: the door is open; I oppose
thee not. Preserve thy life, if thou canst; and when thou art safe at
the garrison, remember, that Abdoul-al-Sidi, and the boy Jacinto, have
taken thy place on the altar of victims."
"What dost thou mean? I understand thee not.--What meanest thou?"
"Even that thou canst not escape, without the same being made known to
the Mexicans; and that it cannot be made known to this vindictive
people, that I have robbed them of their prey, without the penalty of my
own life, and that of Jacinto, being immediately executed. When thou
fliest, the father and the son perish."
"Dost thou speak me this in good faith?" said the cavalier, greatly
troubled. "God forbid I should bring harm to thee, and especially to the
boy. If I give thee my gage,--thou wilt not hold me bound to refrain
from joining my friends, should I be so fortunate as to see them pass
by, and am persuaded, the Mexicans will not discover thou hast harboured
me?"
"If they pass by, I will myself open the doors," said Abdalla; "for I
protest to thee, I keep thee here only to ensure thy security."
"Hark'ee, sir Moor--Don Hernan is about to retreat. Dost thou intend I
shall remain in captivity--a single victim among the barbarians--while
my countrymen are flying afar, perhaps returning to Christendom?"
"I swear to thee, senor," said the Zegri, earnestly, "that, when the
Spaniards fly from this city, thou shalt be free to fly with them. I
repeat, I make thee a prisoner, to prevent thy becoming a victim."
"And what hinders that we do not fly together to the palace? Thy
knowledge may conduct us through the streets by night; and, with my
head, I will engage thee a free pardon, and friendly reception."
"God hath commissioned me to the work, and it shall go on!" said the
Moor, with solemn emphasis. "I know that thou couldst not save me from
the fury of Don Hernan: he would grant thee my life at midnight, and, on
the morrow, thou wouldst find me dead in the court-yard. Fly, if thou
wilt, and leave me to perish by the hands of Mexicans: Spaniards shall
drink my blood no more!"
"I give thee my gage," said the cavalier, "with this understanding,
then, that I am free to fly, whenever I may do so without perilling thy
life, and the life of Jacinto."
"And thou wilt hold to this pledge, like a true cavalier?" demanded
Abdalla, quickly.
"Surely, I cannot break my plighted word!"
"God be thanked!" cried the Zegri, grasping the hand of the cavalier,
"for, by this promise, thou hast saved thy life! Remain here; Jacinto
shall be thy jailor, thy companion, thy servant. Be content with thy
lot, and thank God; for thou art the only brand plucked out of the
burning, while all the rest shall perish.--God be praised!--I save my
benefactor!"
With these exclamations of satisfaction, Abdalla departed from the
chamber.