For a few moments, the two walked together in silence, and at a slow
pace, until the others were beyond earshot; when Villafana, suddenly
stopping and casting his eyes upon Juan, said, with but little ceremony,
"Senor Juan Lerma, I am your friend; and by St. Peter, who was once a
false one, you need one that is both plain and true. Does your memory
tax you with the commission of any act deserving death?"
To this abrupt demand, the young man answered, with an agitated voice,
but without a moment's hesitation,
"It does. Thou knowest full well, and perhaps all others know, now, that
I have shed the blood of my friend, the son of my oldest and truest
benefactor."
"Pho!" cried Villafana, hastily; "I meant not _that_. Your friend,
indeed? Come, you grieve too much for this. At the worst, it was the
mishap of a duel,--a fair duel; and, I am a witness, it was, in a
manner, forced upon you. You should not think of this: there are but few
who know of it, and none blame you. What I meant to ask, was this--are
you conscious of any crime worthy of death at the hands of Cortes?"
"I am not," said Lerma, firmly, though very sadly; "no, by mine honour,
no! I am conscious, and it is a thing long since known to all, that I
have entirely lost the favour with which he was used to befriend me.
Nay, this was apparent to me, before I was sent from his presence. I
hoped that in the long period of my exile, something might occur to show
him his anger was unjust; and, with this hope, I looked this day, to end
my wanderings joyfully. I am deceived; everything goes to prove, that
neither my long sufferings, (and they were both long and many,) nor my
supposed death have made my appeal of innocence. But I will satisfy him
of this: I will demand to know my crime. If it be indeed, as I think,
the death of Hilario--"
"Pho! be wise. He counts not this against thee,--he has been himself a
duellist. Say nothing of Hilario, neither; no, by the mass! nor be thou
so mad as to question him of his anger. Thou art very sure, then--I must
be free with thee, even to the dulness of repetition:--thou art very
sure, thou hast done nothing to deserve death at his hands?"
"I call heaven to witness," said Juan, "that, save this unhappy
mischance in the matter of Hilario, which is itself deserving of death,
I am ignorant of aught that should bring me under his displeasure."
"Enough," said Villafana: "But I would thou shouldst never more speak of
Hilario. He is dead, heaven rest his soul! He was a knave too; peace,
then, to his bones!--I am satisfied, thou hast done naught to Cortes,
deserving death at his hand. I have but one more question to ask
you:--Has Cortes done nothing to deserve death at thine?"
"Good heavens! what do you mean?" cried Juan, starting as much at the
sinister tones as the surprising question of the Alguazil.
"Do you ask me? what, _you_?" said Villafana, "Come, I am your friend."
As the Alguazil pronounced these words, with an insinuating frankness
and earnestness, he threw into his countenance an expression that seemed
meant to invite the confidence of the young man, and encourage him to
expose the mystery of his breast, by laying bare the secrets of his own.
It was a transfiguration: the mean person was unchanged,--the
insignificant features did not alter their proportions,--but the smile
that had contorted them, was turned into a sneer of fiendish malignancy,
and the peculiar sweetness that characterized his eyes, was lost in a
sudden glare of passion, so demoniacal, that it seemed as if the flames
of hell were blazing in their sockets. It was the look of but an
instant: it made Juan recoil with terror: but before he could express a
word of this feeling, of curiosity, or of suspicion, it had vanished.
The Alguazil touched his arm, and said quickly, though without any
peculiar emphasis,
"Judge for yourself: Heaven forbid I should breed ill-will where there
is none, or plant thorns in my friend's flower-garden. Judge for
yourself, senor: if, being innocent of all crime, Cortes has yet doomed
you, basely and perfidiously, to death,--"
"To death!" exclaimed Juan, with a voice that reached the ears of his
late companions, and brought them to a sudden stand; "Heaven be my help!
and do I come back but to die?"
"You went forth but to die!" said Villafana; "and, you may judge, with
what justice. Come, senor,--the thing is said in a moment. The
expedition was designed for your death-warrant."
"Villain!" exclaimed Juan; "dare you impute this horrible treachery to
Cortes?"
"Not,--no, not, if it appear at all doubtful to your own excellent
penetration," replied the Alguazil, with a laugh. "I do but repeat you
the belief of some half the army--had it been but before the Noche
Triste, I might have said, _all_: but, in truth, we are now, more than
half of us, new men, who know but little of the matter."
"Does any one charge this upon the general?" said Juan, with a look of
horror.
"Ay,--if you call them not 'villains,'" replied the soldier.
"I will know the truth," said Juan. "I will find who has belied me."
"You will find that of any one but Don Hernan. Senor Don Juan, I pity
you. You have returned at an evil moment; your presence will chill old
friends, and sharpen ancient enemies."
"If he seek my life, it is his: but, by heaven, the man who has wronged
me,--"
"Get thy horse and arms first. Wilt thou be wise? Thou shalt have
friends to back thee. Listen: A month since, there came for thee, in a
ship from the islands, two very noble horses, and a suit of goodly
armour, sent, as was said, by some benevolent friend, whom thou mayst be
quicker at remembering than myself."
"Sent by heaven, I think," said Lerma, "for I know not what earthly
friend would so supply my necessities."
"Oh, then," said Villafana, "the rumour is, they were sent thee by the
lady Catalina, our general's wife."
"May heaven bless her!" exclaimed Juan; "for she is mine only friend:
and this bounty I have not deserved."
"In this matter," said Villafana, dryly, "she will prove rather thine
enemy; that is, if thou art resolute to demand the restoration of her
gifts."
"The restoration!"
"In good truth, they were distributed among thine heirs; the horse
Bobadil, thought by many to be the best in the army, falling to the
share of thy good friend Guzman."
"To Guzman?" cried Juan, angrily. "Could they find no better friend to
give him to? I will have him back again; yea, by St. Juan, he shall ride
no steed of mine!"
"Right!" exclaimed Villafana; "for if thou hast an enemy, he is the man.
Thou didst well, to refuse his hand. He offered it not in love, but in
treachery. Thou wilt ask Cortes for thy maligner? It needs not: remember
Don Francisco."
"I will do so," said Juan, with a sigh. "I thought, in my captivity,
when I despaired of ever more looking upon a Christian face, that I had
forgiven my enemies. I deceived myself,--I hate Don Francisco. I will
proclaim him before the whole army, if he refuse to do me reparation."
"I tell thee, thou shalt have friends," said the Alguazil, with an
insinuating voice, "to back thee in this matter, as well as in all
others wherein thou hast been wronged. But thou must be ruled. Speak not
to Cortes in complaint: he will do thee no justice. Send no defiance of
battle to Guzman, for this has been proclaimed a sin against God and the
king, to be punished with loss of arms, degradation, and whipping with
rods,--sometimes with the loss of the right hand. You stare! Oh, senor
Juan Lerma, you will find we have a master now,--a master by the king's
patent,--who makes his own laws, beats and dishonours, and gives us to
the gallows, when the fit moves him, without any necessity of cozening
us to death in expeditions to the gold mines, or the South Seas."
"Senor Villafana," said Juan, firmly, "I do not believe that, in this
thing, Cortes designed me any wrong; nor will I permit myself to think
of it any more. You seem to have something to say to me. Gaspar and the
Indian are beyond hearing. If you will advise me as a friend, in what
manner I shall conduct myself in this difficult conjuncture, I will
listen to you with gratitude; and with thanks more hearty still, if you
make me acquainted with a way to redeem my honour and faith in the eyes
of the general."
"I have but two things to counsel you: Make your report of adventures,
good and bad, to the general, without words of complaint or suspicion;
and, this done, demand of him, and care not how boldly, the restoration
of your horses and armour."
"If they be the gifts of his lady," said Juan, with hesitation,
"methinks, it will not become me to press this demand on him; but rather
to leave it to his own honour and generosity."
The Alguazil gave the youth a piercing look; but seeing in his visage no
embarrassment beyond that of a man who is debating a question of mere
delicacy, replied, coolly,--
"Ask him, then. It is not certainly known that these horses came from
Dona Catalina; and, perhaps, they do not. Yet it will be but courteous
in thee to say, thou hast been so informed, and that thou dost so
believe. Get thy horses, by all means: but again I say to thee, do
nothing to incense the general. If he provoke thee, show not thy
displeasure; at least, show it not now. I will give thee more reasons
for what I counsel, as we walk through the city."
By this time the speakers had reached the gates of the city, where
Gaspar and the Ottomi stood in waiting for them.