Montezuma's Daughter

by H. Rider Haggard

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  THE SURRENDER

  Taking Otomie in my arms, I bore her to one of the storehouses attachedto the temple. Here many children had been placed for safety, among themmy own son.

  'What ails our mother, father?' said the boy. 'And why did she shutme in here with these children when it seems that there is fightingwithout?'

  'Your mother has fainted,' I answered, 'and doubtless she placed youhere to keep you safe. Now do you tend her till I return.'

  'I will do so,' answered the boy, 'but surely it would be better that I,who am almost a man, should be without, fighting the Spaniards at yourside rather than within, nursing sick women.'

  'Do as I bid you, son,' I said, 'and I charge you not to leave thisplace until I come for you again.'

  Now I passed out of the storehouse, shutting the door behind me. Aminute later I wished that I had stayed where I was, since on theplatform my eyes were greeted by a sight more dreadful than any thathad gone before. For there, advancing towards us, were the women dividedinto four great companies, some of them bearing infants in their arms.They came singing and leaping, many of them naked to the middle. Norwas this all, for in front of them ran the pabas and such of the womenthemselves as were persons in authority. These leaders, male and female,ran and leaped and sang, calling upon the names of their demon-gods,and celebrating the wickednesses of their forefathers, while after thempoured the howling troops of women.

  To and fro they rushed, now making obeisance to the statue of Huitzel,now prostrating themselves before his hideous sister, the goddess ofDeath, who sat beside him adorned with her carven necklace of men'sskulls and hands, now bowing around the stone of sacrifice, and nowthrusting their bare arms into the flames of the holy fire. For an houror more they celebrated this ghastly carnival, of which even I, versedas I was in the Indian customs, could not fully understand the meaning,and then, as though some single impulse had possessed them, theywithdrew to the centre of the open space, and, forming themselves into adouble circle, within which stood the pabas, of a sudden they burst intoa chant so wild and shrill that as I listened my blood curdled in myveins.

  Even now the burden of that chant with the vision of those who sang itsometimes haunts my sleep at night, but I will not write it here. Lethim who reads imagine all that is most cruel in the heart of man, andevery terror of the evillest dream, adding to these some horror-riddentale of murder, ghosts, and inhuman vengeance; then, if he can, let himshape the whole in words and, as in a glass darkly, perchance he maymirror the spirit of that last ancient song of the women of the Otomie,with its sobs, its cries of triumph, and its death wailings.

  Ever as they sang, step by step they drew backwards, and with them wentthe leaders of each company, their eyes fixed upon the statues of theirgods. Now they were but a segment of a circle, for they did not advancetowards the temple; backward and outward they went with a slow andsolemn tramp. There was but one line of them now, for those in thesecond ring filled the gaps in the first as it widened; still they drewon till at length they stood on the sheer edge of the platform. Thenthe priests and the women leaders took their place among them and for amoment there was silence, until at a signal one and all they bent thembackwards. Standing thus, their long hair waving on the wind, the lightof burning houses flaring upon their breasts and in their maddened eyes,they burst into the cry of:

  'SAVE US, HUITZEL! RECEIVE US, LORD GOD, OUR HOME!'

  Thrice they cried it, each time more shrilly than before, then suddenlythey were GONE, the women of the Otomie were no more!

  With their own self-slaughter they had consummated the last celebrationof the rites of sacrifice that ever shall be held in the City of Pines.The devil gods were dead and their worshippers with them.

  A low murmur ran round the lips of the men who watched, then one cried,and his voice rang strangely in the sudden silence: 'May our wives,the women of the Otomie, rest softly in the Houses of the Sun, for of asurety they teach us how to die.'

  'Ay,' I answered, 'but not thus. Let women do self-murder, our foes haveswords for the hearts of men.'

  I turned to go, and before me stood Otomie.

  'What has befallen?' she said. 'Where are my sisters? Oh! surely I havedreamed an evil dream. I dreamed that the gods of my forefathers werestrong once more, and that once more they drank the blood of men.'

  'Your ill dream has a worse awakening, Otomie,' I answered. 'The gods ofhell are still strong indeed in this accursed land, and they have takenyour sisters into their keeping.'

  'Is it so?' she said softly, 'yet in my dream it seemed to me that thiswas their last strength ere they sink into death unending. Look yonder!'and she pointed toward the snowy crest of the volcan Xaca.

  I looked, but whether I saw the sight of which I am about to tell orwhether it was but an imagining born of the horrors of that most hideousnight, in truth I cannot say. At the least I seemed to see this, andafterwards there were some among the Spaniards who swore that they hadwitnessed it also.

  On Xaca's lofty summit, now as always stood a pillar of fiery smoke, andwhile I gazed, to my vision the smoke and the fire separated themselves.Out of the fire was fashioned a cross of flame, that shone likelightning and stretched for many a rod across the heavens, its baseresting on the mountain top. At its foot rolled the clouds of smoke, andnow these too took forms vast and terrifying, such forms indeed asthose that sat in stone within the temple behind me, but magnified ahundredfold.

  'See,' said Otomie again, 'the cross of your God shines above the shapesof mine, the lost gods whom to-night I worshipped though not of my ownwill.' Then she turned and went.

  For some few moments I stood very much afraid, gazing upon the visionon Xaca's snow, then suddenly the rays of the rising sun smote it and itwas gone.

  Now for three days more we held out against the Spaniards, for theycould not come at us and their shot swept over our heads harmlessly.During these days I had no talk with Otomie, for we shrank from oneanother. Hour by hour she would sit in the storehouse of the temple avery picture of desolation. Twice I tried to speak with her, my heartbeing moved to pity by the dumb torment in her eyes, but she turned herhead from me and made no answer.

  Soon it came to the knowledge of the Spaniards that we had enough foodand water upon the teocalli to enable us to live there for a month ormore, and seeing that there was no hope of capturing the place by forceof arms, they called a parley with us.

  I went down to the breach in the roadway and spoke with their envoy,who stood upon the path below. At first the terms offered were that weshould surrender at discretion. To this I answered that sooner than doso we would die where we were. Their reply was that if we would giveover all who had any part in the human sacrifice, the rest of us mightgo free. To this I said that the sacrifice had been carried out by womenand some few men, and that all of these were dead by their own hands.They asked if Otomie was also dead. I told them no, but that I wouldnever surrender unless they swore that neither she nor her son shouldbe harmed, but rather that together with myself they should be given asafe-conduct to go whither we willed. This was refused, but in the endI won the day, and a parchment was thrown up to me on the point of alance. This parchment, which was signed by the Captain Bernal Diaz, setout that in consideration of the part that I and some men of the Otomiehad played in rescuing the Spanish captives from death by sacrifice, apardon was granted to me, my wife and child, and all upon the teocalli,with liberty to go whither-soever we would unharmed, our lands andwealth being however declared forfeit to the viceroy.

  With these terms I was well content, indeed I had never hoped to win anythat would leave us our lives and liberty.

  And yet for my part death had been almost as welcome, for now Otomiehad built a wall between us that I could never climb, and I was boundto her, to a woman who, willingly or no, had stained her hands withsacrifice. Well, my son was left to me and with him I must be satisfied;at the least he knew nothing of his mother's shame. Oh! I thought tomyself as
I climbed the teocalli, oh! that I could but escape far fromthis accursed land and bear him with me to the English shores, ay, andOtomie also, for there she might forget that once she had been a savage.Alas! it could scarcely be!

  Coming to the temple, I and those with me told the good tidings to ourcompanions, who received it silently. Men of a white race would haverejoiced thus to escape, for when death is near all other loss seems asnothing. But with these Indian people it is not so, since when fortunefrowns upon them they do not cling to life. These men of the Otomie hadlost their country, their wives, their wealth, their brethren, and theirhomes; therefore life, with freedom to wander whither they would, seemedno great thing to them. So they met the boon that I had won from themercy of our foes, as had matters gone otherwise they would have met thebane, in sullen silence.

  I came to Otomie, and to her also I told the news.

  'I had hoped to die here where I am,' she answered. 'But so be it; deathis always to be found.'

  Only my son rejoiced, because he knew that God had saved us all fromdeath by sword or hunger.

  'Father,' he said, 'the Spaniards have given us life, but they take ourcountry and drive us out of it. Where then shall we go?'

  'I do not know, my son,' I answered.

  'Father,' the lad said again, 'let us leave this land of Anahuac wherethere is nothing but Spaniards and sorrow. Let us find a ship and sailacross the seas to England, our own country.'

  The boy spoke my very thought and my heart leapt at his words, though Ihad no plan to bring the matter about. I pondered a moment, looking atOtomie.

  'The thought is good, Teule,' she said, answering my unspoken question;'for you and for our son there is no better, but for myself I willanswer in the proverb of my people, "The earth that bears us lieslightest on our bones."'

  Then she turned, making ready to quit the storehouse of the temple wherewe had been lodged during the siege, and no more was said about thematter.

  Before the sun set a weary throng of men, with some few women andchildren, were marching across the courtyard that surrounded thepyramid, for a bridge of timbers taken from the temple had been madeover the breach in the roadway that wound about its side.

  At the gates the Spaniards were waiting to receive us. Some of themcursed us, some mocked, but those of the nobler sort said nothing, forthey pitied our plight and respected us for the courage we had shownin the last struggle. Their Indian allies were there also, and thesegrinned like unfed pumas, snarling and whimpering for our lives, tilltheir masters kicked them to silence. The last act of the fall ofAnahuac was as the first had been, dog still ate dog, leaving the goodlyspoil to the lion who watched.

  At the gates we were sorted out; the men of small condition, togetherwith the children, were taken from the ruined city by an escort andturned loose upon the mountains, while those of note were brought to theSpanish camp, to be questioned there before they were set free. I, withmy wife and son, was led to the palace, our old home, there to learn thewill of the Captain Diaz.

  It is but a little way to go, and yet there was something to be seenin the path. For as we walked I looked up, and before me, standingwith folded arms and apart from all men, was de Garcia. I had scarcelythought of him for some days, so full had my mind been of other matters,but at the sight of his evil face I remembered that while this manlived, sorrow and danger must be my bedfellows.

  He watched us pass, taking note of all, then he called to me who walkedlast:

  'Farewell, Cousin Wingfield. You have lived through this bout also andwon a free pardon, you, your woman and your brat together. If the oldwar-horse who is set over us as a captain had listened to me you shouldhave been burned at the stake, every one of you, but so it is. Farewellfor a while, friend. I am away to Mexico to report these matters to theviceroy, who may have a word to say.'

  I made no answer, but asked of our conductor, that same Spaniard whom Ihad saved from the sacrifice, what the senor meant by his words.

  'This, Teule; that there has been a quarrel between our comrade Sarcedaand our captain. The former would have granted you no terms, or failingthis would have decoyed you from your stronghold with false promises,and then have put you to the sword as infidels with whom no oath isbinding. But the captain would not have it so, for he said that faithmust be kept even with the heathen, and we whom you had saved criedshame on him. And so words ran high, and in the end the Senor Sarceda,who is third in command among us, declared that he would be no party tothis peacemaking, but would be gone to Mexico with his servants, thereto report to the viceroy. Then the Captain Diaz bade him begone to hellif he wished and report to the devil, saying that he had always believedthat he had escaped thence by mistake, and they parted in wrath who,since the day of noche triste, never loved each other much; the endof it being that Sarceda rides for Mexico within an hour, to make whatmischief he can at the viceroy's court, and I think that you are wellrid of him.'

  'Father,' said my son to me, 'who is that Spaniard who looks so cruellyupon us?'

  'That is he of whom I have told you, son, de Garcia, who has been thecurse of our race for two generations, who betrayed your grandfather tothe Holy Office, and murdered your grandmother, who put me to torture,and whose ill deeds are not done with yet. Beware of him, son, now andever, I beseech you.'

  Now we were come to the palace, almost the only house that was leftstanding in the City of Pines. Here an apartment was given to us at theend of the long building, and presently a command was brought to us thatI and my wife should wait upon the Spanish captain Diaz.

  So we went, though Otomie desired to stay behind, leaving our son alonein the chamber where food had been brought to him. I remember that Ikissed him before I left, though I do not know what moved me to do so,unless it was because I thought that he might be asleep when I returned.The Captain Diaz had his quarters at the other end of the palace,some two hundred paces away. Presently we stood before him. He was arough-looking, thick-set man well on in years, with bright eyes and anugly honest face, like the face of a peasant who has toiled a lifetimein all weathers, only the fields that Diaz tilled were fields of war,and his harvest had been the lives of men. Just then he was joking withsome common soldiers in a strain scarcely suited to nice ears, but sosoon as he saw us he ceased and came forward. I saluted him after theIndian fashion by touching the earth with my hand, for what was I but anIndian captive?

  'Your sword,' he said briefly, as he scanned me with his quick eyes.

  I unbuckled it from my side and handed it to him, saying in Spanish:

  'Take it, Captain, for you have conquered, also it does but come backto its owner.' For this was the same sword that I had captured from oneBernal Diaz in the fray of the noche triste.

  He looked at it, then swore a great oath and said:

  'I thought that it could be no other man. And so we meet again thusafter so many years. Well, you gave me my life once, and I am glad thatI have lived to pay the debt. Had I not been sure that it was you, youhad not won such easy terms, friend. How are you named? Nay, I know whatthe Indians call you.'

  'I am named Wingfield.'

  'Friend Wingfield then. For I tell you that I would have sat beneathyonder devil's house,' and he nodded towards the teocalli, 'till youstarved upon its top. Nay, friend Wingfield, take back the sword. Isuited myself with another many years ago, and you have used this onegallantly; never have I seen Indians make a better fight. And so that isOtomie, Montezuma's daughter and your wife, still handsome and royal,I see. Lord! Lord! it is many years ago, and yet it seems but yesterdaythat I saw her father die, a Christian-hearted man, though no Christian,and one whom we dealt ill with. May God forgive us all! Well, Madam,none can say that YOU have a Christian heart. If a certain tale that Ihave heard of what passed yonder, some three nights since, is true. Butwe will speak no more of it, for the savage blood will show, and youare pardoned for your husband's sake who saved my comrades from thesacrifice.'

  To all this Otomie listened, standing still like a st
atue, but she neveranswered a word. Indeed she had spoken very rarely since that dreadfulnight of her unspeakable shame.

  'And now, friend Wingfield,' went on the Captain Diaz, 'what is yourpurpose? You are free to go where you will, whither then will you go?'

  'I do not know,' I answered. 'Years ago, when the Aztec emperor gave memy life and this princess my wife in marriage, I swore to be faithfulto him and his cause, and to fight for them till Popo ceased to vomitsmoke, till there was no king in Tenoctitlan, and the people of Anahuacwere no more a people.'

  'Then you are quit of your oath, friend, for all these things have comeabout, and there has been no smoke on Popo for these two years. Now, ifyou will be advised by me, you will turn Christian again and enterthe service of Spain. But come, let us to supper, we can talk of thesematters afterwards.'

  So we sat down to eat by the light of torches in the banqueting hallwith Bernal Diaz and some other of the Spaniards. Otomie would have leftus, and though the captain bade her stay she ate nothing, and presentlyslipped away from the chamber.