IN WHICH A WHITE ROBE FAILS TO PROTECT A BLACK HEART
Seated upon a low couch of plaited reeds, Julia de Aquilar, her white,
slender hands folded upon her lap, and her dark, eloquent eyes turned
upward as if they rested upon the Virgin Mother’s face, listened for
the footsteps of a worldling and a sceptic, whose irreverent tongue had
often in her hearing made sport of love itself. Her year in captivity
as a celestial guide and counsellor to a half-savage race had softened,
while preserving, the splendid coloring of her flawless complexion.
Paler than of old, her face had lost none of its marvellous symmetry,
and the warm hue of her curving lips bore witness to the triumph which
youth, in its abounding elasticity, had won over the allied forces of
loneliness and despair. The shadows beneath her expectant eyes had but
added to their glowing splendor. Long days and nights of revery and
introspection had changed the dominant expression of her face, somewhat
too haughty aforetime, and a gentle radiance seemed to emanate
from a countenance which had gained an added fascination from the
spiritualizing touches of a sorrow too deep for tears.
The room in which Doña Julia sat at this moment, watching and praying
for a rescuer whose advent had been made possible only through a
miracle vouchsafed by Mary and the saints, testified to the homage
which was paid by the sun-worshippers to the spirit, Coyocop. Bunches
of early spring flowers, borne to her cabin by devotees who had never
looked upon her face, were scattered in profusion upon the earthen
floor and along the wooden shelves fitted into the gray walls.
Offerings of dried fruits, and more substantial edibles, indicated the
anxiety of an afflicted people to propitiate the unseen powers in this
day of peril to their prostrate chief. Fabrics woven with commendable
skill in various colors, and bits of pottery showing artistic
possibilities in the makers thereof, added to the polychromatic
ensemble of Coyocop’s sacred retreat. At that very instant Doña Julia
could hear the murmurs of a group of devout sun-worshippers, who had
come from the budding forest to pile before her door great heaps of
magnolia blossoms to bear witness to their reverence for the beneficent
spirit of the sun, and to their hope that she would save them from
their threatening doom. The skull-bedecked temple of the sun stood for
all that was most savage in a cult demanding human blood. The hut of
Coyocop, wellnigh hidden from the noonday by sacrificial flowers, gave
forth a fragrant incense which arose from an altar built of loving
hearts.
It was the assurance, which had come to her in many ways, that she
possessed the reverential affection of thousands of men and women upon
whom she had never gazed that had lightened Doña Julia’s captivity,
and had vouchsafed to her lonely soul a source of inspiration without
which her faith in heaven might have lost its strength. Horrified to
find herself worshipped as a goddess, but fearful of the fate which
might befall her should she make denial of her divinity, she had
passed long months in silent misery, theoretically omnipotent, but
practically a helpless captive; used, for their own selfish purposes,
by a few schemers, and adored at a distance by priest-ridden thousands
who cherished, in their heart of hearts, the hope that Coyocop would
mitigate the cruel cult which stained their temple red.
The Great Sun came in state to visit her at times, and, more often,
Manatte, his nephew and heir-apparent, presuming upon his royal
prerogatives, would enter her cabin to feast his black eyes upon the
beauty of a countenance which he was bound to look upon as sacred from
the touch of human lips. The tall, dusky youth, whose handsome, wilful
face Doña Julia had grown to loathe, had never dared to rebel against
the restraints which Coyocop’s divine origin forced upon him, but his
restless eyes told the girl what was in his protesting heart, and she
would watch his reluctant steps, as he stole from her hut, with mingled
relief and dread. Well she knew that fear of the Brother of the Sun
and of the chief priest alone prevented Manatte from defying the Great
Spirit and making her his own.
The afternoon was growing old, and Doña Julia, with a bunch of white
flowers upon her bosom, relieving the black monotony of her sombre
garb, still awaited in loneliness the coming of Louis de Sancerre,
whose presence in that remote corner of the globe only the saints in
heaven could explain. That Coheyogo and Noco, who came to her daily
to play a solemn farce in which she had long ago lost all interest,
had not made their accustomed advent to her cabin filled her with
increasing alarm. The uproar in the city at noonday, the mournful
outcries of an agitated people, had aroused in Doña Julia’s soul a
dread foreboding which the subsequent silence which had fallen upon the
hysterical town had done nothing to relieve.
Presently the overwrought girl, from whose lips the cup of hope seemed
to have been snatched just as she was about to drink deep of its
grateful draught, fell upon her knees beside her bed and breathed a
fervent prayer to the Mother of Christ for strength in this hour of
doubt and discouragement. Soothed by her devotions, she arose and,
standing erect, listened for the sound of a footstep which should
precede an answer to her supplication; but an ominous silence reigned
outside her hut. Readjusting the flowers upon her breast, and smoothing
her rebellious, raven hair with a trembling hand, Doña Julia, cold
with a sense of loneliness which had fallen upon her heart, moved
hesitatingly toward the hole which served as a clumsy entrance to
the room. Bending down, her hungry eyes eagerly scanned the deserted
square, upon which the sun was shining as if in search of its secreted
worshippers. To the overpowering sweetness of the spring blossoms,
lying in heaps outside the doorway, she gave no heed, as she sought in
vain for signs of life in a city upon which the blight of a great fear
had recently descended. Suddenly, as Doña Julia gazed in consternation
at this lonely centre of a populous town, a tall form issued from the
cabin of the Great Sun. Drawing himself up to his full height, the
man, glancing in all directions, as if to assure himself that he was
unobserved, made straight toward the hole in the sun-baked wall through
which the girl was peering. The white feathers in his hair bore witness
to his royal rank, and as he came into the full glare of the sunlight
just beyond her cabin Doña Julia saw that her approaching visitor was
Manatte. To rush forth into the square and arouse the city by her cries
was her first impulse, but before she could give way to it the youth
had cut off her escape.
“Coyocop!” he exclaimed, as he stood erect, after he had crawled
through the entrance, driving her back in affright toward the centre of
the flower-bedecked room. “Coyocop!”
There were in his voice passion, triumph, desperation; an appeal to the
woman and a defiance to the gods. The Great Sun lay dying. Even the
chief priest would hesitate to offend him--Manatte, who would soon be
king!
“Coyocop!” he repeated more gently, holding forth to her a hand, like a
beggar asking alms, while his eyes rested upon the white flowers which
rose and fell upon her throbbing bosom.
But, though her body trembled, there was no flinching in Doña Julia’s
glance. Hopeless, as she was, for she realized that sacrilege such as
this could spring only from an opportunity in which Manatte could find
no peril, her eyes gazed into his with a proud scorn which left no
need for words. With head thrown back, she strove to conquer the brute
nature of the youth by the mere force of her strong will and the purity
of her virgin soul. But she knew full well that the silent prayers
which she offered up to God would reach His throne too late.
For a moment they stood thus confronting one another; Purity attired
in black, and License enrobed in spotless white. Never afterward could
Julia de Aquilar sense the sweet, haunting odor of magnolia blossoms
without a sinking of the heart which made her breath protest. No sound
broke the intense stillness save the twittering of birds which wooed
the flowers outside the hut and the stifled words which Manatte strove
to speak. Suddenly he sprang toward her and seized her wrists, while
his bronze face burned her cold, white cheeks.
“Coyocop,” he muttered, in a tongue which she could not understand,
“you shall be mine, ’though every star the midnight sky reveals should
send a god to save you from my love!”
A maiden’s despairing cry startled the silent town.
“Mother of God, have mercy! Help! O Christ, save me!”
A light, nervous footfall echoed from the square, and the entrance
to the hut was darkened for an instant. Rapier in hand, de Sancerre
sprang into the centre of the room. As Manatte, with an oath upon his
swollen lips, turned upon the intruder, the Frenchman drove his sword
straight through a snow-white robe into a black heart. Without a groan,
the evil scion of a royal race fell dead upon the ground.
“Thank God, I came in time!” exclaimed de Sancerre, as he withdrew
his rapier from Manatte’s breast and turned toward Doña Julia, who,
faint and breathless, leaned against the wall facing him. “Doña Julia
de Aquilar,” he cried, tossing his dripping sword to the ground and
crossing the room at a stride, “I kiss your hand.” Falling upon one
knee the courtier pressed his lips to the cold, trembling fingers in
his grasp.
“Mother of Mary, I thank thee for thy care,” murmured Doña Julia
raising her eyes to heaven from the smiling, upturned face of de
Sancerre.
It was upon a tableau which might have suggested, to other eyes, a
worldling praying to a saint for pardon for the murder of a giant that
Coheyogo, followed by Noco and Cabanacte, gazed as he entered the hut
and attempted to read the story of the grim picture by which he was
confronted. De Sancerre, who had doffed his white robes in the Great
Sun’s cabin, still knelt at the feet of the pale and agitated girl.
Near the centre of the room lay the bleeding, motionless body of the
sacrilegious sun-worshipper. Thrown from a shelf by the recent tumult
in the room, a great bunch of magnolia blossoms lay scattered close to
Manatte’s head, a floral halo of which death itself still left him most
unworthy.
Springing to his feet and pointing toward the youth he had slain, de
Sancerre said, calmly, to Noco:
“Tell the chief priest this, that yonder scoundrel insulted the spirit
of the sun. For this he died. It was this sword,” he went on, picking
up his rapier and wiping the blood from the blade with a handful of
flowers, “which saved Coyocop from his polluting kiss. I know not who
he is, but were he ten thousand times a son of suns he well deserved
his death.”
Coheyogo stood gazing down at the set face of Manatte as Noco repeated
to him the Frenchman’s words.
“Stand at the entrance outside the hut,” said the chief priest, curtly,
to Cabanacte, “and bid no one enter upon pain of death. Of what has
happened here, breathe not a word. Go!”
Crawling through the entrance, Cabanacte drew himself erect in the
sunlight, a sentry against whose behests none of the chattering
sun-worshippers, who had poured into the square to learn the meaning of
the cry which had echoed from Coyocop’s abode, dared protest.
“Say to the Brother of the Moon that what he did was well done,”
went on Coheyogo to Noco. “If the draught which he made for the
Great Sun gives life as surely as his silver wand brings death, then
shall the shadow pass from our weeping race. Go, then, Noco, to the
temple quickly, and bid four priests to hasten to me here. Answer no
questions, but, as you go, inform the people that Coyocop has destroyed
with flowers, brought to her cabin by the faithful, the evil spirit
which strove to kill our king and bring destruction upon the City of
the Sun. Say to them further, if they should whisper the name of yonder
chief, that Manatte has gone to the foot-hills to offer prayers for the
Great Sun’s life. Go at once, for the day grows old and we have much to
do.”
Turning toward de Sancerre, who had been whispering to Doña Julia words
of hope and cheer, Coheyogo pointed to the feet of the dead sun-prince,
and then strode to the head of the corpse. The Frenchman and the
chief priest raised the heavy body and placed it upon Doña Julia’s
reed-plaited bed. With armfuls of magnolia blossoms Coheyogo covered
Manatte’s face and shoulders, while de Sancerre, comprehending vaguely
the scheme which the chief priest had in mind, strewed flowers upon the
trunk of his sword’s gigantic prey.
“May God defend us!” he muttered. “I fear the keenness of this crafty
priest! He has an agile mind. He turns a nightmare to a dream of spring
with most exquisite skill. And, for some reason which I cannot find, he
takes great pleasure in this gay youth’s death. I trust that Doña Julia
has learned to read his mind. I dread him either as an ally or a foe!”
Before de Sancerre could find an opportunity for holding further
converse with the Spanish maiden, whose presence in the City of the Sun
had wellnigh restored his boyhood’s faith in miracles, Noco, followed
by four silent elders from the temple of the sacred fire, had entered
the hut. A few moments later the voiceless, expectant throng in the
great square gazed with awe and wonder upon a picturesque procession
which moved with slow and solemn tread from Coyocop’s abode to the
outskirts of the town, beyond which point a word from the temple
priests prevented the dusky crowd from following it.
At the head of the cortège walked the chief priest, accompanied by de
Sancerre, whose drawn rapier gleamed like a sword of fire as the red
rays of the setting sun made a plaything of the blade. Behind them
came four white-robed bearers carrying a plaited bier, upon which lay
the body of a tall man concealed from view by a trembling shroud
of fragrant flowers. Following this strange funeral, upon which the
sun-worshippers gazed with awe-stricken eyes, as if they looked upon a
marvel wrought by spirits, hobbled the aged Noco, mumbling to herself
as she grinned at a people for whose blind superstition she had no
respect. Cabanacte had remained as sentry at Coyocop’s abode, to chafe
under the useless task consigned to him; for to him it seemed more
fitting that he should guard Katonah than stand as sentinel before a
cabin upon which high heaven smiled.
When the cortège had reached the twilight shadows outside the city, the
chief priest gave a few simple directions to the bearers of the corpse
and, accompanied by de Sancerre and Noco, turned back toward the temple
of the sun.
“Come with me, señora!” cried the Frenchman, when they had reached
the square, pointing toward the Great Sun’s cabin. “Say to the chief
priest, Doña Noco, that you and I must watch by the good King’s side
to-night.”
“It is well,” answered Coheyogo, as he listened to the old crone’s
words. “May the great spirit grant you the skill to save his life. ’Tis
best for you that he should live.”
With this significant hint, the chief priest strode through the dusk
toward the temple of the sacred fire.
Before de Sancerre and Noco had reached the cabin in which the Brother
of the Sun lay tossing upon a feverish couch, the Frenchman, whose mind
was filled with the vision of a pale, dark-eyed woman, garbed in black,
with spring flowers upon her breast, recalled, for an instant, another
face which seemed to accuse him in the twilight there of strange
forgetfulness.
“Wait, señora,” exclaimed de Sancerre, seizing Noco by the arm at the
very entrance to the royal hut. “Katonah! It is not well to leave her
all alone. Go to your home and bring her here at once. This town’s a
seething cesspool of dark-brown, white-robed treachery! _Peste!_ If
harm should come to her, I dare not look into the saintly Membré’s good
gray eyes again. Come back at once. The Great Sun needs your care.”
With these words de Sancerre bent down to enter the royal cabin, while
Noco hurried away to rescue Katonah from a lonely night.