CHAPTER I.
A CAPTIVE WARRIOR
Night had fallen on the island-city of Tenochtitlan, the capital ofAnahuac, and the splendid metropolis of the Western world. The eveningair was heavy with the scent of myriads of flowers which the Aztecpeople loved so well, and which their religion bade them cultivate inlavish profusion. From every quarter came the sounds of feasting, oflaughter, and of music. The numerous canals of salt-water from thebroad lake that washed the foundations of the city on all sides, werealive with darting canoes filled with gay parties of light-heartedrevellers. In each canoe burned a torch of sweet-scented wood,that danced and flickered with the motions of the frail craft, itsreflection broken by the ripples from hundreds of dipping paddles. Evenfar out on the placid bosom of the lake, amid the fairy-like chinampas,or tiny floating islands, the twinkling canoe-lights flitted likegorgeous fire-flies, paling the silver reflection of the stars withtheir more ruddy glow.
In the streets of the city the dancing feet of flower-wreathed youthsand maidens tripped noiselessly over the smooth cemented pavements;while their elders watched them, with approving smiles, from theircurtained doorways, or the flat flower-gardened roofs, of their houses.Above all these scenes of peaceful merriment rose the gloomy pyramidsof many temples, ever-present reminders of the cruel and bloodyreligion with which the whole fair land was cursed.
Before the hideous idols, to which each of these was consecrated, layofferings of human hearts, torn from the living bodies of that day'svictims, and from the summit of each streamed the lurid flames ofnever-dying altar fires. By night and day they burned, supplied withfuel by an army of slaves who brought it on their backs over the longcauseways that connected the island-city with the mainland and itsdistant forests. These pillars of smoke by day, and ill-omened bannersof flame by night, were regarded with fear and hatred by many a dwellerin the mountains surrounding the Mexican valley. They were the symbolsof a power against which these had struggled in vain, of a tyranny sooppressive that it not only devoted them to lives of toil, hopeless ofreward, but to deaths of ignominy and torture whenever fresh victimswere demanded for its reeking altars. But while hatred thus burned,fierce and deep-seated, none dared openly to express it, for thepower of the all-conquering Aztec was supreme. Far across the loftymountains, to the great Mexican Gulf on the east, and westward to thebroad Pacific; from the parched deserts of the cliff-dwelling tribes onthe north, to the impenetrable Mayan forests on the south, the Aztecsway extended, and none might withstand the Aztec arms. If the imperialcity demanded tribute it must be promptly given, though nakednessand hunger should result. If its priests demanded victims for theirblood-stained altars, these must be yielded without a murmur, that thelives of whole tribes might not be sacrificed. Only one little mountainrepublic still held out, and defied the armies of the Aztec king, butof it we shall learn more hereafter.
So the mighty city of the lake drew to itself the best of all thingsfrom all quarters of the Western world, and was filled to overflowingwith the wealth of conquered peoples. Hither came all the gold andsilver and precious stones, the richest fabrics, and the first-fruitsof the soil. To its markets were driven long caravans of slaves,captured from distant provinces, and condemned to perform such menialtasks as the haughty Aztec disdained to undertake.
During the brilliant reign of the last Montezuma, the royal cityattained the summit of its greatness, and defied the world. Blindedby the glitter of its conquests, and secure in the protection of itsinvincible gods, it feared naught in the future, for what enemy couldharm it?
The evening with which this story opens was one of unusual rejoicingin Tenochtitlan, for the morrow was to mark one of the most notableevents of Montezuma's reign. The great Aztec calendar stone, the resultof years of ceaseless labor, had at length reached the inner courtof the principal temple. On the following day it was to be bathed inthe blood of victims, and dedicated by the priests. This huge mass ofshining porphyry, weighing more than fifty tons, and quarried from thedistant mountains beyond the lake of Chalco, had been subjected to theunremitting labors of the most famous astronomers and skilled artisansfor so long, that the king had almost despaired of living to witnessits completion. Finally, polished like a mirror and cunningly engravedwith a countless but orderly array of hieroglyphics, it started onits journey to the city, drawn by the united efforts of ten thousandslaves. Inch by inch, slowly and painfully, costing a thousand livesfor every mile of progress, it traversed leagues of rugged country.Even on the great causeway, when it had nearly reached its destination,where the iron-wood rollers ran smoothly and all difficulties seemedat an end, it had broken through a bridge and plunged into the lake,crushing a score of human beings beneath it. With infinite toil andhuman suffering it had been recovered from the waters, and, as thestraining slaves cringed under the biting lashes of their drivers, itstriumphal progress was resumed.
At length the huge stone had reached the end of its weary journey, andthe morrow was to witness the closing scenes of this great nationalundertaking. The feasting had already been kept up for a week, or eversince the mighty monolith entered the city. Scores of victims hadbeen sacrificed on the temple altars to insure the favor of the godsduring those last days of its progress. But all this was as nothingcompared with what would be witnessed on the morrow. For that daythe bravest warriors taken in battle had been reserved, and the mostbeautiful captives. The former would be made to fight against eachother under false promises that the lives of the victors should bespared. The latter--handsome youths, delicate maidens, and even littlechildren--would dance a dance of death with wild beasts and deadlyserpents, many cages of which had been brought from distant parts forthe purpose. Oh! it was truly to be a rare and enjoyable festival,and the hearts of the dwellers in Tenochtitlan thrilled high inanticipation of its pleasures.
And yet, despite the universal joy that reigned in every quarter ofthe crowded city, it contained at least two hearts that were heavywith the forebodings of sorrow. One was that of its mighty ruler, thepriest-warrior, Montezuma, and the other beat in the breast of one evenmore redoubtable as a warrior than the king himself, who, as a captive,was destined to fight for his life against overwhelming odds on themorrow.
In all that land of warriors there was none so famed as Tlahuicol.To all men he was known as the Tlascalan; but ever to himself andto Huetzin, his son, he whispered that he was Tlahuicol the Toltec.For years he had been the dreaded war-chief of the dauntless littlemountain republic of Tlascala, which, alone of all those now occupyingthe land of Anahuac, had resisted the all-conquering Aztec arms, andretained its freedom. In spite of this he was not a Tlascalan, buthad joined them in one of their times of sorest need, when it seemedas though their surrender to the swarming legions of Montezuma wasinevitable. Their army had been defeated, its leaders killed or takencaptive, and another day must have witnessed the overthrow of therepublic. That night Tlahuicol appeared among them, a young warriorin the first flush of manhood, and addressed them with such fervideloquence that their sinking spirits were again inflamed, and theygathered courage for one more desperate effort.
In the morning the young stranger led them to an attack against theAztecs, whose vigilance was relaxed in anticipation of an easy triumphover their enemies. So marvellous was his strength, so admirable hisskill, and so reckless his bravery, that the signal victory gainedby the Tlascalans that day was afterward said to have been won byTlahuicol alone. In their excess of gratitude and admiration his brave,but superstitious, followers hailed him as a god, declaring that neverin mortal were combined the qualities shown by him that day. From thattime forth the fortunes of this stranger were linked with those of theTlascalans, and all the honors at the disposal of the simple republicwere showered upon him. The position of war-chief was accorded to himwithout question, and for more than a score of years he led his hardymountaineers to victory in every battle that they fought against thecruel Aztecs. Very early in his new career he was wedded to a beautifulTlascalan maiden, an only daughter o
f the noble house of Titcala, thechief of which was the acknowledged head of the republic. The fruits ofthis marriage were two children: Huetzin, who inherited his father'sindomitable bravery, and Tiata, who, even as a child, gave promise thatall of her mother's great beauty was to be hers.
As the years rolled on Tlahuicol lost none of his popularity with histroops nor with the people at large; only with the priests was he everat enmity. He abhorred their bloody human sacrifices, and strove byevery means in his power to have them abated. In return, the priestscontinually strove for his overthrow and to wean the affections ofhis soldiers from him. For many years their efforts were in vain, butfinally their subtle craft gained them a few malcontent adherents.In the very heat of a fierce battle with an Aztec army, commanded byMontezuma in person, a cowardly blow, struck from behind, stretchedthe Tlascalan war-chief senseless on the ground. When he recoveredconsciousness he was a prisoner and being hurried toward the Azteccapital. Thither his devoted wife and her children followed him,resigning themselves to a willing captivity, that might even result indeath, for the sake of sharing his fortunes.
For more than a year, though every avenue of escape was closelyguarded, the noble prisoner was treated with the utmost consideration,and every effort was made to induce him to renounce his allegianceto Tlascala. Honors and riches were promised him if he would devotehis sword to the service of the Aztec monarch; but every offer wasdisdainfully refused, and at length Montezuma reluctantly yielded tothe cruel clamor of the priests, and condemned him to sacrifice.