THE NAMING OF THE BRIDES
Now some months passed between the date of my naming as the god Tezcat
and the entry of the Spaniards into Mexico, and during all this space
the city was in a state of ferment. Again and again Montezuma sent
embassies to Cortes, bearing with them vast treasures of gold and gems
as presents, and at the same time praying him to withdraw, for this
foolish prince did not understand that by displaying so much wealth he
flew a lure which must surely bring the falcon on himself. To these
ambassadors Cortes returned courteous answers together with presents of
small value, and that was all.
Then the advance began and the emperor learned with dismay of the
conquest of the warlike tribe of the Tlascalans, who, though they were
Montezuma’s bitter and hereditary foes, yet made a stand against the
white man. Next came the tidings that from enemies the conquered
Tlascalans had become the allies and servants of the Spaniard, and that
thousands of their fiercest warriors were advancing with him upon the
sacred city of Cholula. A while passed and it was known that Cholula
also had been given to massacre, and that the holy, or rather the
unholy gods, had been torn from their shrines. Marvellous tales were
told of the Spaniards, of their courage and their might, of the armour
that they wore, the thunder that their weapons made in battle, and the
fierce beasts which they bestrode. Once two heads of white men taken in
a skirmish were sent to Montezuma, fierce-looking heads, great and
hairy, and with them the head of a horse. When Montezuma saw these
ghastly relics he almost fainted with fear, still he caused them to be
set up on pinnacles of the great temple and proclamation to be made
that this fate awaited every invader of the land.
Meanwhile all was confusion in his policies. Day by day councils were
held of the nobles, of high priests, and of neighbouring and friendly
kings. Some advised one thing, some another, and the end of it was
hesitation and folly. Ah! had Montezuma but listened to the voice of
that great man Guatemoc, Anahuac would not have been a Spanish fief
to-day. For Guatemoc prayed him again and yet again to put away his
fears and declare open war upon the Teules before it was too late; to
cease from making gifts and sending embassies, to gather his countless
armies and smite the foe in the mountain passes.
But Montezuma would answer, “To what end, nephew? How can I struggle
against these men when the gods themselves have declared for them?
Surely the gods can take their own parts if they wish it, and if they
will not, for myself and my own fate I do not care, but alas! for my
people, alas! for the women and the children, the aged and the weak.”
Then he would cover his face and moan and weep like a child, and
Guatemoc would pass from his presence dumb with fury at the folly of so
great a king, but helpless to remedy it. For like myself, Guatemoc
believed that Montezuma had been smitten with a madness sent from
heaven to bring the land to ruin.
Now it must be understood that though my place as a god gave me
opportunities of knowing all that passed, yet I, Thomas Wingfield, was
but a bubble on that great wave of events which swept over the world of
Anahuac two generations since. I was a bubble on the crest of the wave
indeed, but at that time I had no more power than the foam has over the
wave. Montezuma distrusted me as a spy, the priests looked on me as a
god and future victim and no more, only Guatemoc my friend, and Otomie
who loved me secretly, had any faith in me, and with these two I often
talked, showing them the true meaning of those things that were
happening before our eyes. But they also were strengthless, for though
his reason was no longer captain, still the unchecked power of
Montezuma guided the ship of state first this way and then that, just
as a rudder directs a vessel to its ruin when the helmsman has left it,
and it swings at the mercy of the wind and tide.
The people were distraught with fear of the future, but not the less on
that account, or perhaps because of it, they plunged with fervour into
pleasures, alternating them with religious ceremonies. In those days no
feast was neglected and no altar lacked its victim. Like a river that
quickens its flow as it draws near the precipice over which it must
fall, so the people of Mexico, foreseeing ruin, awoke as it were and
lived as they had never lived before. All day long the cries of victims
came from a hundred temple tops, and all night the sounds of revelry
were heard among the streets. “Let us eat and drink,” they said, “for
the gods of the sea are upon us and to-morrow we die.” Now women who
had been held virtuous proved themselves wantons, and men whose names
were honest showed themselves knaves, and none cried fie upon them; ay,
even children were seen drunken in the streets, which is an abomination
among the Aztecs.
The emperor had moved his household from Chapoltepec to the palace in
the great square facing the temple, and this palace was a town in
itself, for every night more than a thousand human beings slept beneath
its roof, not to speak of the dwarfs and monsters, and the hundreds of
wild birds and beasts in cages. Here every day I feasted with whom I
would, and when I was weary of feasting it was my custom to sally out
into the streets playing on the lute, for by now I had in some degree
mastered that hateful instrument, dressed in shining apparel and
attended by a crowd of nobles and royal pages. Then the people would
rush from their houses shouting and doing me reverence, the children
pelted me with flowers, and the maidens danced before me, kissing my
hands and feet, till at length I was attended by a mob a thousand
strong. And I also danced and shouted like any village fool, for I
think that a kind of mad humour, or perhaps it was the drunkenness of
worship, entered into me in those days. Also I sought to forget my
griefs, I desired to forget that I was doomed to the sacrifice, and
that every day brought me nearer to the red knife of the priest.
I desired to forget, but alas! I could not. The fumes of the _mescal_
and the _pulque_ that I had drunk at feasts would pass from my brain,
the perfume of flowers, the sights of beauty and the adoration of the
people would cease to move me, and I could only brood heavily upon my
doom and think with longing of my distant love and home. In those days,
had it not been for the tender kindness of Otomie, I think that my
heart would have broken or I should have slain myself. But this great
and beauteous lady was ever at hand to cheer me in a thousand ways, and
now and again she would let fall some vague words of hope that set my
pulses bounding. It will be remembered that when first I came to the
court of Montezuma, I had found Otomie fair and my fancy turned towards
her. Now I still found her fair, but my heart was so full of terror
that there was no room in it for tender thoughts of her or of any other
woman. Indeed when I was not drunk with wine or adoration, I turned my
mind to the making of my peace with heaven, of which I had some need.
Still I talked much with Otomie, instructing her in the matters of my
faith and many other things, as I had done by Marina, who we now heard
was the mistress and interpreter of Cortes, the Spanish leader. She for
her part listened gravely, watching me the while with her tender eyes,
but no more, for of all women Otomie was the most modest, as she was
the proudest and most beautiful.
So matters went on until the Spaniards had left Cholula on their road
to Mexico. It was then that I chanced one morning to be sitting in the
gardens, my lute in hand, and having my attendant nobles and tutors
gathered at a respectful distance behind me. From where I sat I could
see the entrance to the court in which the emperor met his council
daily, and I noted that when the princes had gone the priests began to
come, and after them a number of very lovely girls attended by women of
middle age. Presently Guatemoc the prince, who now smiled but rarely,
came up to me smiling, and asked me if I knew what was doing yonder. I
replied that I knew nothing and cared less, but I supposed that
Montezuma was gathering a peculiar treasure to send to his masters the
Spaniards.
“Beware how you speak, Teule,” answered the prince haughtily. “Your
words may be true, and yet did I not love you, you should rue them even
though you hold the spirit of Tezcat. Alas!” he added, stamping on the
ground, “alas! that my uncle’s madness should make it possible that
such words can be spoken. Oh! were I emperor of Anahuac, in a single
week the head of every Teule in Cholula should deck a pinnacle of
yonder temple.”
“Beware how you speak, prince,” I answered mocking him, “for there are
those who did they hear, might cause _you_ to rue _your_ words. Still
one day you may be emperor, and then we shall see how you will deal
with the Teules, at least others will see though I shall not. But what
is it now? Does Montezuma choose new wives?”
“He chooses wives, but not for himself. You know, Teule, that your time
grows short. Montezuma and the priests name those who must be given to
you to wife.”
“Given me to wife!” I said starting to my feet; “to me whose bride is
death! What have I to do with love or marriage? I who in some few short
weeks must grace an altar? Ah! Guatemoc, you say you love me, and once
I saved you. Did you love me, surely you would save me now as you swore
to do.”
“I swore that I would give my life for yours, Teule, if it lay in my
power, and that oath I would keep, for all do not set so high a store
on life as you, my friend. But I cannot help you; you are dedicated to
the gods, and did I die a hundred times, it would not save you from
your fate. Nothing can save you except the hand of heaven if it wills.
Therefore, Teule, make merry while you may, and die bravely when you
must. Your case is no worse than mine and that of many others, for
death awaits us all. Farewell.”
When he had gone I rose, and leaving the gardens I passed into the
chamber where it was my custom to give audience to those who wished to
look upon the god Tezcat as they called me. Here I sat upon my golden
couch, inhaling the fumes of tobacco, and as it chanced I was alone,
for none dared to enter that room unless I gave them leave. Presently
the chief of my pages announced that one would speak with me, and I
bent my head, signifying that the person should enter, for I was weary
of my thoughts. The page withdrew, and presently a veiled woman stood
before me. I looked at her wondering, and bade her draw her veil and
speak. She obeyed, and I saw that my visitor was the princess Otomie.
Now I rose amazed, for it was not usual that she should visit me thus
alone. I guessed therefore that she had tidings, or was following some
custom of which I was ignorant.
“I pray you be seated,” she said confusedly; “it is not fitting that
you should stand before me.”
“Why not, princess?” I answered. “If I had no respect for rank, surely
beauty must claim it.”
“A truce to words,” she replied with a wave of her slim hand. “I come
here, O Tezcat, according to the ancient custom, because I am charged
with a message to you. Those whom you shall wed are chosen. I am the
bearer of their names.”
“Speak on, princess of the Otomie.”
“They are”—and she named three ladies whom I knew to be among the
loveliest in the land.
“I thought that there were four,” I said with a bitter laugh. “Am I to
be defrauded of the fourth?”
“There is a fourth,” she answered, and was silent.
“Give me her name,” I cried. “What other slut has been found to marry a
felon doomed to sacrifice?”
“One has been found, O Tezcat, who has borne other titles than this you
give her.”
Now I looked at her questioningly, and she spoke again in a low voice.
“I, Otomie, princess of the Otomie, Montezuma’s daughter, am the fourth
and the first.”
“You!” I said, sinking back upon my cushions. “_You!_”
“Yes, I. Listen: I was chosen by the priests as the most lovely in the
land, however unworthily. My father, the emperor, was angry and said
that whatever befell, I should never be the wife of a captive who must
die upon the altar of sacrifice. But the priests answered that this was
no time for him to claim exception for his blood, now when the gods
were wroth. Was the first lady in the land to be withheld from the god?
they asked. Then my father sighed and said that it should be as I
willed. And I said with the priests, that now in our sore distress the
proud must humble themselves to the dust, even to the marrying of a
captive slave who is named a god and doomed to sacrifice. So I,
princess of the Otomie, have consented to become your wife, O Tezcat,
though perchance had I known all that I read in your eyes this hour, I
should not have consented. It may happen that in this shame I hoped to
find love if only for one short hour, and that I purposed to vary the
custom of our people, and to complete my marriage by the side of the
victim on the altar, as, if I will, I have the right to do. But I see
well that I am not welcome, and though it is too late to go back upon
my word, have no fear. There are others, and I shall not trouble you. I
have given my message, is it your pleasure that I should go? The solemn
ceremony of wedlock will be on the twelfth day from now, O Tezcat.”
Now I rose from my seat and took her hand, saying:
“I thank you, Otomie, for your nobleness of mind. Had it not been for
the comfort and friendship which you and Guatemoc your cousin have
given me, I think that ere now I should be dead. So you desire to
comfort me to the last; it seems that you even purposed to die with me.
How am I to interpret this, Otomie? In our land a woman would need to
love a man after no common fashion before she consented to share such a
bed as awaits me on yonder pyramid. And yet I may scarcely think that
you whom kings have sued for can place your heart so low. How am I to
read the writing of your words, princess of the Otomie?”
“Read it with your heart,” she whispered low, and I felt her hand
tremble in my own.
I looked at her beauty, it was great; I thought of her devotion, a
devotion that did not shrink from the most horrible of deaths, and a
wind of feeling which was akin to love swept through my soul. But even
as I looked and thought, I remembered the English garden and the
English maid from whom I had parted beneath the beech at Ditchingham,
and the words that we had spoken then. Doubtless she still lived and
was true to me; while I lived should I not keep true at heart to her?
If I must wed these Indian girls, I must wed them, but if once I told
Otomie that I loved her, then I broke my troth, and with nothing less
would she be satisfied. As yet, though I was deeply moved and the
temptation was great, I had not come to this.
“Be seated, Otomie,” I said, “and listen to me. You see this golden
token,” and I drew Lily’s posy ring from my hand, “and you see the
writing within it.”
She bent her head but did not speak, and I saw that there was fear in
her eyes.
“I will read you the words, Otomie,” and I translated into the Aztec
tongue the quaint couplet:
Heart to heart,
Though far apart.
Then at last she spoke. “What does the writing mean?” she said. “I can
only read in pictures, Teule.”
“It means, Otomie, that in the far land whence I come, there is a woman
who loves me, and who is my love.”
“Is she your wife then?”
“She is not my wife, Otomie, but she is vowed to me in marriage.”
“She is vowed to you in marriage,” she answered bitterly: “why, then we
are equal, for so am I, Teule. But there is this difference between us;
you love her, and me you do not love. That is what you would make clear
to me. Spare me more words, I understand all. Still it seems that if I
have lost, she is also in the path of loss. Great seas roll between you
and this love of yours, Teule, seas of water, and the altar of
sacrifice, and the nothingness of death. Now let me go. Your wife I
must be, for there is no escape, but I shall not trouble you over much,
and it will soon be done with. Then you may seek your desire in the
Houses of the Stars whither you must wander, and it is my prayer that
you shall win it. All these months I have been planning to find hope
for you, and I thought that I had found it. But it was built upon a
false belief, and it is ended. Had you been able to say from your heart
that you loved me, it might have been well for both of us; should you
be able to say it before the end, it may still be well. But I do not
ask you to say it, and beware how you tell me a lie. I leave you,
Teule, but before I go I will say that I honour you more in this hour
than I have honoured you before, because you have dared to speak the
truth to me, Montezuma’s daughter, when a lie had been so easy and so
safe. That woman beyond the seas should be grateful to you, but though
I bear her no ill will, between me and her there is a struggle to the
death. We are strangers to each other, and strangers we shall remain,
but she has touched your hand as I touch it now; you link us together
and are our bond of enmity. Farewell my husband that is to be. We shall
meet no more till that sorry day when a ‘slut’ shall be given to a
‘felon’ in marriage. I use your own words, Teule!”
Then rising, Otomie cast her veil about her face and passed slowly from
the chamber, leaving me much disturbed. It was a bold deed to have
rejected the proffered love of this queen among women, and now that I
had done so I was not altogether glad. Would Lily, I wondered, have
offered to descend from such state, to cast off the purple of her royal
rank that she might lie at my side on the red stone of sacrifice?
Perhaps not, for this fierce fidelity is only to be found in women of
another breed. These daughters of the Sun love wholly when they love at
all, and as they love they hate. They ask no priest to consecrate their
vows, nor if these become hateful, will they be bound by them for
duty’s sake. Their own desire is their law, but while it rules them
they follow it unflinchingly, and if need be, they seek its
consummation in the gates of death, or failing that, forgetfulness.