IN WHICH DE SANCERRE HEARS NEWS OF THE GREAT SUN
The Count de Sancerre’s desire to come to an immediate decision
regarding a line of action that should lead him at once into the living
presence of Coyocop was not to be gratified. Noco’s sensitive ear,
acting as a thermometer to register the degree of excitement prevailing
outside her cabin, had heard an ominous murmur that had lost none of
its threatening significance because it had come from afar. She knew at
once that a crowd of gossiping sun-worshippers, inspired by some new
rumor, had gathered in the great square near the temple of the sun.
Hurrying to her grandson’s side, she said:
“Go forth at once, Cabanacte, and mingle with the throng outside.
There’s news abroad which makes the city talk. Return to us when you
have learned the meaning of the uproar in the square.”
The dark-hued colossus reluctantly arose and stood, for a moment,
listening to the increasing disturbance among his easily-excited
neighbors. Hurrying feet, making toward the temple of the sun and
the King’s cabin, echoed from the street just outside the hut. The
pattering footsteps of chattering women and children mingled with the
louder tread of stalwart men, aroused from their siesta by an epidemic
of distrust. Cabanacte, dismayed at the grim possibilities suggested by
this unwonted demonstration upon the part of a people little given to
activity at noonday, bent down to Noco before obeying her behest.
“Secrete the maiden where no prying eye can see her,” he murmured,
hoarsely, still gazing at Katonah. “I’ll join the rabble and return at
once. I dread the cruel fervor of our priests. But still they cannot
know that it was her brother whom they killed?”
“Stop not to make conjecture, Cabanacte,” scolded the old crone,
pushing her grandson toward the hut’s ignoble exit. “I say to you, ’tis
not Katonah who has made the city talk. ’Tis some calamity--I know not
what.”
Without more ado, the tall sun-worshipper crawled from the twilight
of the hut into the burning sunshine of the agitated street, and,
drawing himself erect, joined the gossiping throng which poured noisily
toward the great square. To Cabanacte’s great surprise and relief,
his appearance in the open caused no added excitement among the
bronze-faced, eager-eyed men and women who hurried by his side toward
the centre of the town. It became evident to him at once that the news
which awaited him beyond had nothing to do with the strangers whom he
had left in the hut behind him.
Meanwhile de Sancerre, vexed at the delay to which a mercurial
people had forced him to submit, gazed despondently now at Noco and
now at Katonah. French expletives, colored by a Spanish oath at
times, escaped from his erstwhile smiling mouth. Noco had stationed
herself at the entrance to the cabin, endeavoring to catch the echo
of some enlightening rumor as it flew back from the crowded square.
Katonah, watching the Frenchman with eyes which seemed to implore his
forgiveness, had withdrawn to a remote corner of the room and seated
herself wearily upon a wooden bench. If she had heard a menace to
herself in the uproar in the town, she gave no outward indication
of the dread that her heart might feel. With the proud shyness of a
sensitive girl, and the external stoicism of an Indian, she withdrew,
as far as was possible, from the presence of her companions and made
no further sign. Had Zenobe Membré known that at this ominous juncture
Katonah had murmured no prayer, no invocation to the saints, the
sanguine Franciscan would have marvelled, perhaps wept, at the mighty
gulf which stretched between the martyred Chatémuc, secure in Paradise,
and a melancholy maiden who had known the faith and lost it.
The chagrined Frenchman, fully realizing his own impotence at this
mysterious crisis, presently arose and began to pace the room with
impatient steps. He felt like a man to whom some unexpected and glowing
promise had been given by destiny, to be withdrawn almost at the
moment of its presentation. During the long, weary hour which followed
Cabanacte’s departure from the hut, de Sancerre’s mind vibrated between
hope and despair. Had he made the amazing discovery of Julia de
Aquilar’s presence in the City of the Sun only that it might mock him
for his lack of power? Could it be that fate had lured him in malice
within sound of her sweet voice to hurl him into the lonely silence
of the wilderness at last? And to himself he swore an oath that he
would never leave the City of the Sun alive unless the Spanish maiden
fled with him to the wilds. Death in the effort to save her from years
of hopeless captivity was preferable, a thousand times, to life and
freedom and a vain regret. How well he loved this woman de Sancerre had
never known before. For the first time this _mondain_, who had fondly
imagined that life had nothing new to give him, realized the might and
majesty of a great passion, and his soul grew sick with the fear that
its ecstasy might change to misery at last.
But while de Sancerre’s mind dwelt fondly upon the joy of an
all-absorbing love, it endeavored, at the same time, to make an
inventory of the actual and the possible dangers which he would be
compelled to confront before he could indulge the hope that the love he
welcomed would ever fulfil the promise which it held within itself.
Weeks must pass before de la Salle could return from his voyage to the
gulf. Even then the explorer had at his command no force with which to
overcome these martial and stalwart sun-worshippers. De Sancerre’s only
hope lay in diplomacy and craft. It was essential to the success of his
scheme, whose general outlines were already forming in his mind, that
the superstitious tendencies of the people surrounding him be used as
a tool for forging his escape. But their fanaticism was a double-edged
instrument which must be handled with the nicest care or it would turn
within his hands and destroy him at a blow.
Coyocop? How far could he trust her quickness and discretion? That she
possessed both of these qualities he was inclined to believe. One of
her greatest charms in the blithesome days at Versailles had consisted
in her ready responsiveness to his changing moods, in the keenness of a
mind which shone to advantage even in that centre of the great world’s
sharpest wit. As for her discretion, had it not been proved by the
fact that she had maintained for many months her alien authority over
these fickle, jealous, sharp-eyed people? Furthermore--and de Sancerre
lingered over the mystery with much concern--she had, during that same
period, managed to conceal from the keen-witted and revengeful Noco the
fact that her origin was Spanish, not divine. How well the girl must
have played a most exacting part to deceive the eccentric old hag, de
Sancerre fully realized. That in Julia de Aquilar he would find an ally
well-fitted to play the rôle which he had in mind for her, her skill in
blinding Noco gave good proof. But, at the best, de Sancerre’s growing
project must win the full fruition of success much more by chance than
by design. Even before he took initial steps, he must learn what new
excitement had aroused the lazy town at noon.
“_Peste!_” he exclaimed, fretfully. “It was no victory to outrun
Cabanacte. His heavy limbs are slower than a Prussian’s wits.”
At that very instant the hole beside which Noco lurked was darkened
by her grandson’s stooping form. Drawing himself erect, after he had
pulled his long limbs into the hut, Cabanacte glanced searchingly
around the room until his black eyes lighted upon the self-absorbed
Katonah. Then, followed by Noco, he strode toward de Sancerre.
“There is no danger to the girl,” muttered the giant, as he seated
himself upon a bench, which groaned in protest beneath his weight. “But
I bring to you bad news.”
“_Ma foi_, you look it!” exclaimed de Sancerre to himself, scanning the
troubled countenance of the dusky youth.
Turning to Noco, Cabanacte poured forth rapidly in his native tongue
the sombre story which he had heard abroad, and then stood erect,
gazing at Katonah.
“The Great Sun lies dying!” exclaimed the old woman, excitedly, turning
from her grandson to her guest. “In perfect health at sunrise, he fell
near noonday, and none can make him speak.”
De Sancerre had sprung to his feet and was glancing alternately down at
Noco and up at Cabanacte. The menacing significance of the misfortune
which had fallen upon the King appeared to him at once. Had evil come
to the Great Sun in some way not readily explainable, the crafty
sun-priests would lay his sickness to the blighting influence of the
stranger’s magic, the fatal witchery brought with him from the moon.
“He’s dying, do you say? There is no hope?” gasped the Frenchman,
looking into Noco’s eyes for a ray of encouragement.
“He’s dying as his mother died,” muttered the old crone, musingly,
seemingly forgetful of de Sancerre’s presence. “But, even then, he had
long years to live. And yesterday he looked no older than my Cabanacte
there.”
“He’s dying, do you say?” repeated the Frenchman, mechanically.
“Aye, dying, señor,” hissed the beldame, spitefully. “And now the
temple priests prepare the cords with which they’ll choke his servants
and his wives to death. No Great Sun goes alone into the land beyond!
What sights my eyes have seen! King follows king into the spirit-world,
and with them go the best and noblest of our weeping race. Aye,
señor, the Great Sun’s dying and the city mourns. When he has passed,
his household follows him. The sight you saw but yesternight was
child’s-play for the priests. ’Tis when a Great Sun dies they have
man’s sport with death.”
The mocking, angry tones in Noco’s guttural voice made the broken
Spanish in which she spoke impress the Frenchman’s ears as a most
repellent tongue. De Sancerre was striving feverishly to grasp the full
significance of her grim words, to weigh in all its bearings the new
exigency which had increased a hundredfold the peril in which he stood.
But the thought beset him, with tyrannical persistence, that he had no
time to lose. Should the Great Sun die at once, de Sancerre would be
powerless against any revenge which the sun-priests might, in their
crafty cruelty, seek to take. How far the homage which they paid to
Coyocop could be trusted to save him in the crisis which would follow
the King’s death he could not determine, but he had begun to fear that
not only the priests but the people at large would hold him responsible
for the sudden and mysterious blow which had fallen upon the throne.
With little time at his disposal in which to examine the crisis from
many points of view, de Sancerre came quickly to the conclusion that
his doom was sealed unless he acted with boldness, decision, and
rapidity. Satisfied of the loyalty of Noco and Cabanacte, although he
marvelled somewhat at their good-will, he drew himself up to his full
height, and, putting up his hand to command silence, said:
“Go forth at once, Cabanacte, and tell the people of this afflicted
town that it was the insult cast upon me by the temple priests which
brought down the wrath of Heaven upon the Great Sun’s head. Tell this
to the rabble. Then go to the chief priest and say to him that he, too,
shall fall with suddenness before his fire unless he heeds the words
that I shall speak. Bid him be silent ’til I come to him, and to keep
his priests at prayer. _Nom de Dieu_, my Cabanacte, have you lost your
ears? Stop staring at me and go forth at once, or, with the ease with
which my legs outran you, I’ll strike you dead with this!”
Waving his rapier threateningly at the giant’s panting breast, de
Sancerre drove the startled athlete through the entrance to the street,
and then turned back to seize the trembling Noco by the arm.
“I have a message which you must take to Coyocop! If you should fail to
gain her ear, the City of the Sun is doomed. Say this to her, that when
I send a priest to summon her she must be quick to join me at the Great
Sun’s lodge. Repeat my words, señora.”
Shaking the old crone roughly by the arm, de Sancerre bent down to
catch her gasping voice.
“_Bien!_” he cried, “you’ve conned your lesson well! Go, now, señora,
and make no mistake! If you would save your dying king, see Coyocop and
tell her what I say.”
In another instant the panting Noco, grumbling but overawed, had left
the hut upon a mission for which she had no hungry heart.
De Sancerre drew back from the entrance, and dropped limply upon
a bench. He had put into operation a hastily-formed plan with an
impetuosity which, in its rebound, left him faint and dazed. Suddenly
a warm pressure upon his cold hands aroused him from his momentary
submission to this enervating reaction. Looking down, he saw that
Katonah was gazing up at him with sympathetic apprehension.
“I have placed you in great danger by my return!” she exclaimed. “I am
going now. I will not come back.”
She had arisen and was about to leave the hut. Seizing her hand, de
Sancerre drew her to his side.
“No, _ma petite_! You are not at fault! Don’t leave me--but do not
speak! I must think--I must think! But my mind’s in a whirl. _Courage_,
Katonah! There, do not tremble so! _Ma foi_, little one, ’tis a hard
nut we have to crack! There, do not move! Let me take your hand.
_Bien!_ Now, let me think!”
Silence, intense, unbroken, reigned within the hut; while, outside,
the hot sun beat down upon a city in which rumor itself had become
voiceless in growing dread of a fatal word.