Chapter XXXVIII: The Downfall of an Empire

The fate of the young commander of the garrison of Vera Cruz, and of poor Morla, effected a speedy change in the sentiments of the whole of the Spaniards towards their Mexican entertainers.

"When the Tlascalans entered upon hostilities with us," said Juan de Cabrera, with a grim laugh, "they fed us up as men feed fowls, to make them fatter eating for themselves; but then, like sturdy, blunt warriors as they are, they told us so, whereas--"

"Ay," interrupted that hot-headed Velasquez, "whereas these smooth-spoken scoundrels here fill our mouths with one hand, only that our eyes may be covered while they give us a dose of itztli with the other."

"Well, well," said Hernan Cortes himself, rather gravely, "it may be so; and verily I hope it is, for I confess I would fain believe that we are but about to meet treachery with treachery, and not true-hearted generosity with cruelty."

The two officers glanced at one another significantly as they moved away out of hearing, and Velasquez remarked irritably to his companion--

"Talk of true hearts, indeed! That Diego yonder is making the General well-nigh as soft-hearted as himself. What is a soldier, i' faith, if he sets up to have feelings for his foes?"

"I will tell thee," said the calm, clear voice of Montoro unexpectedly. "I will tell thee, friend Leon. He is then a true knight, such a knight as our Cid would have called comrades with, and not a rascal. But the General is calling for us. Father Olmedo waits to say mass, and to bless us ere we start."

"Finish your sentence, Toro," said Cabrera quietly, and with a smile, as he passed on with him to the chapel they had fitted up for their own services.

Montoro looked round at his companion with some slight surprise.

"What finish wouldst have to my sentence, Juan? I understand thee not."

The other laughed as he answered in low tones--

"Mind me not, my dear friend Long-face; but thou knowest well that thy tongue ached to say--'ere we start on our kidnapping expedition.' Ah!" with another low, merry laugh, "said I not truly? Thy face betrays thee."

It was indeed true that Montoro de Diego regarded the present intentions of his companions in anything but a favourable light, although, unless they would retreat, he knew well enough that some strong measure was needful under present circumstances.

All he could do now he did. Whilst Fathers Olmedo and Juan Diaz were engaged in the celebration of mass, he offered up the most fervent, heartfelt prayers that the Father of all would have pity upon all His children, that the Almighty Lord of the universe would so order all things that they should further His kingdom upon earth, and His glory.

The mass ended, Cortes at once set out for the palace of Montezuma, accompanied by a trusty band of his officers--the inflexible, sunny-haired Alvarado, the fiery Velasquez de Leon, the intrepid and upright Sandoval, the wary Lugo, Davila, ready-handed, careless and fearless Juan de Cabrera, and the calm, keen-eyed, dependable, noble Montoro de Diego.

Montoro did not, could not, approve of the new, stern step about to be attempted for the conquest of Mexico. Nevertheless, when he unobtrusively placed himself by the General's side, Cortes knew well enough that, should the matter on hand come to bloodshed, Montoro de Diego would die before his General suffered hurt.

Arrived at the palace, the unsuspecting monarch gave his usual gracious and ready assent to his guests' demand for an audience. His oracles of old had foretold the coming of white-faces as gods, or the messengers of the gods, and so he ever treated them with a singular reverential courtesy, even when he had learnt to recognize them as scourges of evil, rather than the bright angels of mercy, teaching and blessing, he had been led to look for and to await with eager hopefulness.

Stationed cautiously, at various intervals between their barracks and the royal residence, were companies of the Spanish soldiers, armed to the teeth, ready to support their General and their officers in case of need. The guns were loaded, and pointed at the palace. Every preparation and precaution was attended to that prudence or foresight could dictate, and with that consciousness Cortes advanced to the undertaking with his usual air of bold, calm confidence.

The poor Emperor was in a specially bright, gay humour. He entered into a cheerful conversation, through the interpreters, with the young Spanish knights, and to prove his brotherly attachment to 'Malinche,' offered him one of his daughters for a wife. He pleased his own generous love of giving, and his guests' love of receiving, by lavishing costly and elegant little gifts upon them after his usual fashion.

Cabrera caught sight suddenly of Montoro de Diego's scornful, curling lip, and eyes flashing with indignation, as Velasquez de Leon bent his head to have a gold chain hung about his neck.

"What is it now, good Long-face?" he muttered, in some slight surprise. "Methought that thou wouldst be well satisfied with this interval of amity."

Montoro turned upon his friend with the fierceness of his ungovernable boyhood.

"I would that yon poor monarch's gifts could burn ye all!" he exclaimed passionately. "The base love of gold hath turned Spaniards into a crew of the meanest hounds that walk the earth. Even a cat would not accept a gift from the mouse it meant to kill."

But Montoro's generous wrath acted as the unintentional signal for the consummation of the proposed act of treachery. His angry words and looks startled the Emperor, and Cortes took advantage of his anxious queries to reply to them in his own way. Suddenly dropping the mask of smiles from his face, he exclaimed sternly--

"Can it surprise you, Montezuma, that my followers should show some tokens of indignation, when their well-loved comrades have been slain by your generals, during the very hours when you have made pretence to grasp their hands as brothers?"

The Emperor's face paled somewhat.

"It has been no pretence, Malinche. I have learnt to love and trust you."

"Then prove your words," cried Cortes, with a rapid glance round at his Spanish officers, who gathered instantly close up about him and the Emperor,--that poor Emperor, who had already, one would think, sufficiently proved his trust by dismissing all his own faithful guards and attendants from the apartment where he entertained his treacherous visitors. "Then prove your words," exclaimed Cortes a second time, striding a step nearer to the trembling monarch. "Trust yourself to our care for awhile. We have been your guests; now be our guest in our quarters, until you have proved your innocence of this cruel slaughter of our comrades. So only will we credit what you say."

Montezuma rose from his pile of cushions, and grasping the embroidered hangings of the wall behind him for support, he replied, with a brave effort at self-command, and with returning dignity--

"Nay, ye white-faces, as messengers from the gods have I received you; but you, as a culprit prisoner would hold me in your power."

"Not would, but will, or as a corpse," exclaimed that hot-brained Velasquez de Leon; and, drawing his sword with unforeseen speed, he had it already touching the Emperor's breast, before Montoro could spring forward and dash it down again.

But the rash, discourteous act had pushed matters to an extremity beyond recall. Even had Hernando Cortes felt any inclination to repent of his harsh purpose, it would now truly have been impossible. After suffering such a gross indignity Montezuma must have consulted his high estate by destroying, or expelling, the handful of foreigners who had dared to inflict it, were he able. Even he seemed conscious of this new aspect of the affair.

"Do you desire to have me in your power that you may kill me?" he asked at length, with a tone of calm despair that touched even Cortes' heart.

He answered eagerly--

"Nay, verily. You profess affection for me; I swear to it for you. But I cannot let my followers be slain with impunity. I have their lives to answer for to my sovereign."

"That may well be," was the answer. "But now they are slain; and although, on my kingly word I declare, without my will or knowledge, I yet profess my deepest grief for the mischance. What would you more, Malinche?"

"That you should come with us now," was the ready answer. "Not as a prisoner, as you put it, but as an honoured guest, surrounded by your own attendants, and free of access to all your subjects as you are here in your own palace."

"And for how long to remain such a guest?" asked Montezuma. He was beginning to waver, not indeed from inward conviction of the truth of the plausible words, but from a growing knowledge that they covered an iron, inflexible resolve; and that he would be allowed no power to summon any of his subjects to his aid from this snare, but at the peril of instant death from that circle of ready, flashing swords. "How long would you that I should thus abide amongst you, Malinche?"

"Until Guanhpopoea and his warriors shall have obeyed your summons hither, to answer for their crimes."

"Crimes," repeated the Emperor. "Their crime, it is but one, Malinche."

"Not so," was the stern, cold answer, while Hernando's piercing eyes fixed themselves with a full gaze upon the monarch's face. "Not so, your Majesty. For one crime, there is the unprovoked slaughter of our brethren. That is for us to avenge. For the other crime, there is the presumptuous warfare waged by your general against those with whom you are at peace, and without your will or knowledge. That is the act of a rebel. That is for you to avenge, that insult to your supreme authority. And it merits--death!"

Before that look, and at that word, Montezuma blanched, as before a fatal blow, and he grew pale as death himself. Even Montoro, in his secret heart, asked himself whether a faithful general were not about to suffer, not for presumption, but for too great fidelity to one who knew the arts of treachery, and of wearing a double face, almost as well as did his Spanish brethren themselves.

One more feeble effort Montezuma made to maintain the dignity of his sovereignty.

"My people will never submit to such an indignity for me, as that I should quit my own royal domain to take up my dwelling with a handful of needy strangers, who have to be dependent on our bounty even for the food they eat."

But this last remonstrance was as vain as all the others had been.

"Your word is law with your people," said Cortes. "Give your orders, and you will be obeyed. I, on my part, swear to you, by St. Jago, that nought now or ever, on the part of myself or my followers, shall lower you in the eyes of your subjects."

And so far, to the letter, Cortes did at least keep his word. From the outward show of respect and deference towards the unhappy monarch he never permitted his rough soldiers to depart, when that golden litter, and the Aztec nobles, had for the second time borne the once all-powerful Emperor of Mexico to those Spanish quarters, which were henceforth to be his sad prison during the short remainder of his life.

Montezuma had been in his gilded bondage but a few days when the noble chieftain Guanhpopoea, his son, and fifteen lesser Aztec chiefs, arrived in proud obedience to the summons, and in like proud, speechless submission suffered the cruel punishment decreed them by Cortes, of being burnt alive. They had but done their duty in trying to rid their sovereign of encroaching strangers, who refused all requests to leave a country to which they had not been invited.

The chiefs were burnt alive in the courtyard of the Spaniards' palace; Montezuma sat manacled in an apartment above, mute with a despair only to be equalled by the shame and grief with which the heart of Montoro de Diego felt bowed to the very dust.

He had saved ere now many an Indian from his threatened fate. This time he was powerless.