THOMAS IS DOOMED
At the words of Cortes two Spaniards came forward, and seizing me one
by either arm, they led me across the roof of the house towards the
stairway. Otomie had heard also, and though she did not understand the
words, she read the face of Cortes, and knew well that I was being
taken to imprisonment or death. As I passed her, she started forward, a
terror shining in her eyes. Fearing that she was about to throw herself
upon my breast, and thus to reveal herself as my wife, and bring my
fate upon her, I glanced at her warningly, then making pretence to
stumble, as though with fear and exhaustion, I fell at her feet. The
soldiers who led me laughed brutally, and one of them kicked me with
his heavy boot. But Otomie stooped down and held her hand to me to help
me rise, and as I did so, we spoke low and swiftly.
“Farewell, wife,” I said; “whatever happens, keep silent.”
“Farewell,” she answered; “if you must die, await me in the gates of
death, for I will join you there.”
“Nay, live on. Time shall bring comfort.”
“You are my life, beloved. With you time ends for me.” Now I was on my
feet again, and I think that none noted our whispered words, for all
were listening to Cortes, who rated the man that had kicked me.
“I bade you guard this traitor, not to kick him,” he said angrily in
Castilian. “Will you put us to open shame before these savages? Do so
once more, and you shall pay for it smartly. Learn a lesson in
gentleness from that woman; she is starving, yet she leaves her food to
help your prisoner to his feet. Now take him away to the camp, and see
that he comes to no harm, for he can tell me much.”
Then the soldiers led me away, grumbling as they went, and the last
thing that I saw was the despairing face of Otomie my wife, as she
gazed after me, faint with the secret agony of our parting. But when I
came to the head of the stairway, Guatemoc, who stood near, took my
hand and shook it.
“Farewell, my brother,” he said with a heavy smile; “the game we played
together is finished, and now it is time for us to rest. I thank you
for your valour and your aid.”
“Farewell, Guatemoc,” I answered. “You are fallen, but let this comfort
you, in your fall you have found immortal fame.”
“On, on!” growled the soldiers, and I went, little thinking how
Guatemoc and I should meet again.
They took me to a canoe, and we were paddled across the lake by
Tlascalans, till at length we came to the Spanish camp. All the journey
through, my guards, though they laid no hand on me, fearing the anger
of Cortes, mocked and taunted me, asking me how I liked the ways of the
heathen, and whether I ate the flesh of the sacrifices raw or cooked;
and many another such brutal jest they made at my expense. For a while
I bore it, for I had learned to be patient from the Indians, but at
last I answered them in few words and bitter.
“Peace, cowards,” I said; “remember that I am helpless, and that were I
before you strong and armed, either I should not live to listen to such
words, or you would not live to repeat them.”
Then they were silent, and I also was silent.
When we reached their camp I was led through it, followed by a throng
of fierce Tlascalans and others, who would have torn me limb from limb
had they not feared to do so. I saw some Spaniards also, but the most
of these were so drunk with _mescal_, and with joy at the tidings that
Tenoctitlan had fallen, and their labours were ended at last, that they
took no heed of me. Never did I see such madness as possessed them, for
these poor fools believed that henceforth they should eat their very
bread off plates of gold. It was for gold that they had followed
Cortes; for gold they had braved the altar of sacrifice and fought in a
hundred fights, and now, as they thought, they had won it.
The room of the stone house where they prisoned me had a window secured
by bars of wood, and through these bars I could see and hear the
revellings of the soldiers during the time of my confinement. All day
long, when they were not on duty, and most of the night also, they
gambled and drank, staking tens of pesos on a single throw, which the
loser must pay out of his share of the countless treasures of the
Aztecs. Little did they care if they won or lost, they were so sure of
plunder, but played on till drink overpowered them, and they rolled
senseless beneath the tables, or till they sprang up and danced wildly
to and fro, catching at the sunbeams and screaming “Gold! gold! gold!”
Listening at this window also I gathered some of the tidings of the
camp. I learned that Cortes had come back, bringing Guatemoc and
several of the princes with him, together with many of the noble Aztec
ladies. Indeed I saw and heard the soldiers gambling for these women
when they were weary of their play for money, a description of each of
them being written on a piece of paper. One of these ladies answered
well to Otomie, my wife, and she was put up to auction by the brute who
won her in the gamble, and sold to a common soldier for a hundred
pesos. For these men never doubted but that the women and the gold
would be handed over to them.
Thus things went for several days, during which I sat and slept in my
prison untroubled by any, except the native woman who waited on me and
brought me food in plenty. During those days I ate as I have never
eaten before or since, and I slept much, for my sorrows could not rid
my body of its appetites and commanding need for food and rest. Indeed
I verily believe that at the end of a week, I had increased in weight
by a full half; also my weariness was conquered at length, and I was
strong again.
But when I was neither sleeping nor eating I watched at my window,
hoping, though in vain, to catch some sight of Otomie or of Guatemoc.
If I might not see my friends, however, at least I saw my foe, for one
evening de Garcia came and stared at my prison. He could not see me,
but I saw him, and the devilish smile that flickered on his face as he
went away like a wolf, made me shiver with a presage of woes to come.
For ten minutes or more he stood gazing at my window hungrily, as a cat
gazes at a caged bird, and I felt that he was waiting for the door to
be opened, and _knew_ that it would soon be opened.
This happened on the eve of the day upon which I was put to torture.
Meanwhile, as time went on, I noticed that a change came over the
temper of the camp. The soldiers ceased to gamble for untold wealth,
they even ceased from drinking to excess and from their riotous joy,
but took to hanging together in knots discussing fiercely I could not
learn of what. On the day when de Garcia came to look at my prison
there was a great gathering in the square opposite my prison, to which
I saw Cortes ride up on a white horse and richly dressed. The meeting
was too far away for me to overhear what passed, but I noted that
several officers addressed Cortes angrily, and that their speeches were
loudly cheered by the soldiers. At length the great captain answered
them at some length, and they broke up in silence. Next morning after I
had breakfasted, four soldiers came into my prison and ordered me to
accompany them.
“Whither?” I asked.
“To the captain, traitor,” their leader answered.
“It has come at last,” I thought to myself, but I said only:
“It is well. Any change from this hole is one for the better.”
“Certainly,” he replied; “and it is your last shift.”
Then I knew that the man believed that I was going to my death. In five
minutes I was standing before Cortes in his private house. At his side
was Marina and around him were several of his companions in arms. The
great man looked at me for a while, then spoke.
“Your name is Wingfield; you are of mixed blood, half English and half
Spanish. You were cast away in the Tobasco River and taken to
Tenoctitlan. There you were doomed to personate the Aztec god Tezcat,
and were rescued by us when we captured the great _teocalli_.
Subsequently you joined the Aztecs and took part in the attack and
slaughter of the _noche triste_. You were afterwards the friend and
counsellor of Guatemoc, and assisted him in his defence of Tenoctitlan.
Is this true, prisoner?”
“It is all true, general,” I answered.
“Good. You are now our prisoner, and had you a thousand lives, you have
forfeited them all because of your treachery to your race and blood.
Into the circumstances that led you to commit this horrible treason I
cannot enter; the fact remains. You have slain many of the Spaniards
and their allies; that is, being in a state of treason you have
murdered them. Wingfield, your life is forfeit and I condemn you to die
by hanging as a traitor and an apostate.”
“Then there is nothing more to be said,” I answered quietly, though a
cold fear froze my blood.
“There is something,” answered Cortes. “Though your crimes have been so
many, I am ready to give you your life and freedom upon a condition. I
am ready to do more, to find you a passage to Europe on the first
occasion, where you may perchance escape the echoes of your infamy if
God is good to you. The condition is this. We have reason to believe
that you are acquainted with the hiding place of the gold of Montezuma,
which was unlawfully stolen from us on the night of the _noche triste_.
Nay, we know that this is so, for you were seen to go with the canoes
that were laden with it. Choose now, apostate, between a shameful death
and the revealing to us of the secret of this treasure.”
For a moment I wavered. On the one hand was the loss of honour with
life and liberty and the hope of home, on the other a dreadful end.
Then I remembered my oath and Otomie, and what she would think of me
living or dead, if I did this thing, and I wavered no more.
“I know nothing of the treasure, general,” I answered coldly. “Send me
to my death.”
“You mean that you will say nothing of it, traitor. Think again. If you
have sworn any oaths they are broken by God. The empire of the Aztecs
is at an end, their king is my prisoner, their great city is a ruin.
The true God has triumphed over these devils by my hand. Their wealth
is my lawful spoil, and I must have it to pay my gallant comrades who
cannot grow rich on desolation. Think again.”
“I know nothing of this treasure, general.”
“Yet memory sometimes wakens, traitor. I have said that you shall die
if yours should fail you, and so you shall to be sure. But death is not
always swift. There are means, doubtless you who have lived in Spain
have heard of them,” and he arched his brows and glared at me
meaningly, “by which a man may die and yet live for many weeks. Now,
loth as I am to do it, it seems that if your memory still sleeps, I
must find some such means to rouse it—before you die.”
“I am in your power, general,” I answered. “You call me traitor again
and again. I am no traitor. I am a subject of the King of England, not
of the King of Spain. I came hither following a villain who has wrought
me and mine bitter wrong, one of your company named de Garcia or
Sarceda. To find him and for other reasons I joined the Aztecs. They
are conquered and I am your prisoner. At the least deal with me as a
brave man deals with a fallen enemy. I know nothing of the treasure;
kill me and make an end.”
“As a man I might wish to do this, Wingfield, but I am more than a man,
I am the hand of the Church here in Anahuac. You have partaken with the
worshippers of idols, you have seen your fellow Christians sacrificed
and devoured by your brute comrades. For this alone you deserve to be
tortured eternally, and doubtless that will be so after we have done
with you. As for the hidalgo Don Sarceda, I know him only as a brave
companion in arms, and certainly I shall not listen to tales told
against him by a wandering apostate. It is, however, unlucky for you,”
and here a gleam of light shot across the face of Cortes, “that there
should be any old feud between you, seeing that it is to his charge
that I am about to confide you. Now for the last time I say choose.
Will you reveal the hiding place of the treasure and go free, or will
you be handed over to the care of Don Sarceda till such time as he
shall find means to make you speak?”
Now a great faintness seized me, for I knew that I was condemned to be
tortured, and that de Garcia was to be the torturer. What mercy had I
to expect from his cruel heart when I, his deadliest foe, lay in his
power to wreak his vengeance on? But still my will and my honour
prevailed against my terrors, and I answered:
“I have told you, general, that I know nothing of this treasure. Do
your worst, and may God forgive you for your cruelty.”
“Dare not to speak that holy Name, apostate and worshipper of idols,
eater of human flesh. Let Sarceda be summoned.”
A messenger went out, and for a while there was silence. I caught
Marina’s glance and saw pity in her gentle eyes. But she could not help
me here, for Cortes was mad because no gold had been found, and the
clamour of the soldiers for reward had worn him out and brought him to
this shameful remedy, he who was not cruel by nature. Still she strove
to plead for me with him, whispering earnestly in his ear. For a while
Cortes listened, then he pushed her from him roughly.
“Peace, Marina,” he said. “What, shall I spare this English dog some
pangs, when my command, and perchance my very life, hangs upon the
finding of the gold? Nay, he knows well where it lies hid; you said it
yourself when I would have hung him for a traitor, and certainly he was
one of those whom the spy saw go out with it upon the lake. Our friend
was with them also, but he came back no more; doubtless they murdered
him. What is this man to you that you should plead for him? Cease to
trouble me, Marina, am I not troubled enough already?” and Cortes put
his hands to his face and remained lost in thought. As for Marina, she
looked at me sadly and sighed as though to say, “I have done my best,”
and I thanked her with my eyes.
Presently there was a sound of footsteps and I looked up to see de
Garcia standing before me. Time and hardship had touched him lightly,
and the lines of silver in his curling hair and peaked beard did but
add dignity to his noble presence. Indeed, when I looked at him in his
dark Spanish beauty, his rich garments decked with chains of gold, as
he bowed before Cortes hat in hand, I was fain to confess that I had
never seen a more gallant cavalier, or one whose aspect gave the lie so
wholly to the black heart within. But knowing him for what he was, my
very blood quivered with hate at the sight of him, and when I thought
of my own impotence and of the errand on which he had come, I ground my
teeth and cursed the day that I was born. As for de Garcia, he greeted
me with a little cruel smile, then spoke to Cortes.
“Your pleasure, general?”
“Greeting to you, comrade,” answered Cortes. “You know this renegade?”
“But too well, general. Three times he has striven to murder me.”
“Well, you have escaped and it is your hour now, Sarceda. He says that
he has a quarrel with you; what is it?”
De Garcia hesitated, stroking his peaked beard, then answered: “I am
loth to tell it because it is a tale of error for which I have often
sorrowed and done penance. Yet I will speak for fear you should think
worse of me than I deserve. This man has some cause to mislike me,
since to be frank, when I was younger than I am to-day and given to the
follies of youth, it chanced that in England I met his mother, a
beautiful Spanish lady who by ill fortune was wedded to an Englishman,
this man’s father and a clown of clowns, who maltreated her. I will be
short; the lady learned to love me and I worsted her husband in a duel.
Hence this traitor’s hate of me.”
I heard and thought that my heart must burst with fury. To all his
wickedness and offences against me, de Garcia now had added slander of
my dead mother’s honour.
“You lie, murderer,” I gasped, tearing at the ropes that bound me.
“I must ask you to protect me from such insult, general,” de Garcia
answered coldly. “Were the prisoner worthy of my sword, I would ask
further that his bonds should be loosed for a little space, but my
honour would be tarnished for ever were I to fight with such as he.”
“Dare to speak thus once more to a gentleman of Spain,” said Cortes
coldly, “and, you heathen dog, your tongue shall be dragged from you
with red-hot pincers. For you, Sarceda, I thank you for your
confidence. If you have no worse crime than a love affair upon your
soul, I think that our good chaplain Olmedo will frank you through the
purgatorial fires. But we waste words and time. This man has the secret
of the treasure of Guatemoc and of Montezuma. If Guatemoc and his
nobles will not tell it, he at least may be forced to speak, for the
torments that an Indian can endure without a groan will soon bring
truth bubbling from the lips of this white heathen. Take him, Sarceda,
and hearken, let him be your especial care. First let him suffer with
the others, and afterwards, should he prove obdurate, alone. The method
I leave to you. Should he confess, summon me.”
“Pardon me, general, but this is no task for an hidalgo of Spain. I
have been more wont to pierce my enemies with the sword than to tear
them with pincers,” said de Garcia, but as he spoke I saw a gleam of
triumph shine in his black eyes, and heard the ring of triumph through
the mock anger of his voice.
“I know it, comrade. But this must be done; though I hate it, it must
be done, there is no other way. The gold is necessary to me—by the
Mother of God! the knaves say that I have stolen it!—and I doubt these
stubborn Indian dogs will ever speak, however great their agony. This
man knows and I give him over to you because you are acquainted with
his wickedness, and that knowledge will steel your heart against all
pity. Spare not, comrade; remember that he must be forced to speak.”
“It is your command, Cortes, and I will obey it, though I love the task
little; with one proviso, however, that you give me your warrant in
writing.”
“It shall be made out at once,” answered the general. “And now away
with him.”
“Where to?”
“To the prison that he has left. All is ready and there he will find
his comrades.”
Then a guard was summoned and I was dragged back to my own place, de
Garcia saying as I went that he would be with me presently.