Hardly had de Sancerre ceased to speak when through an opening in the throng made by the courteous sun-worshippers came toward the throne the gray-frocked friar, Zenobe Membré, followed by Katonah and Chatémuc, side by side. The Franciscan, chanting in a light but well-rounded voice a Latin hymn, bore aloft before him a rudely-carved wooden crucifix. With his large gray eyes raised to heaven, and his face radiant with the religious ecstasy which filled his soul, he looked, at that moment, to the eyes of the overwrought sun-worshippers, like a man created of shadows and moonbeams, bearing toward their sovereign a mystic symbol potent for good or ill.

The effect of the friar’s dramatic approach upon the impressionable Brother of the Sun served de Sancerre’s purpose well. Unobserved by the King, whose eyes were fixed upon the chanting priest, the Frenchman seized this opportunity to draw Noco aside. Removing from his breast the piece of mulberry bark upon which was scrawled the name of Julia de Aquilar, he asked, in a whisper which did not disguise his excitement:

“Who wrote this name? Tell me, Doña Noco, for the love of God!”

“Coyocop,” muttered the hag, in a voice indicating the fear that she felt of the Frenchman’s impetuosity. Her answer conveyed no meaning to the straining ear of de Sancerre.

“Tell me more, good Noco,” he implored, glancing furtively at the Brother of the Sun, who had arisen to greet the oncoming Franciscan.

“I dare not—now,” whispered Noco, nervously. “Anon, perhaps, if the chance should come.”

With this unsatisfactory promise the interpreter returned to resume her duties at her sovereign’s side, and de Sancerre, mystified and morose, turned to watch the efforts of Zenobe Membré to dethrone the deified sun in favor of the true God.

CHAPTER XII
IN WHICH CHATÉMUC FINDS THE INSPIRATION WHICH
HE LACKED

“’Twas as I said it would be, my Chatémuc,” exclaimed Membré, mournfully, as the friar and his convert retired from the immediate presence of royalty. “As long as yonder temple protects its hellish fire, the ears of this great monarch will be deaf to words of mine. Mother of God, ’tis sad! He has a noble face! I would that I might live to shrive him of the many sins his haughty pride begets!”

Chatémuc gave vent to what might have been a pious groan, though it sounded to a listening group of sun-worshippers like the grunt of an ill-tempered man. The half-civilized Mohican had good reasons for his discontented mood. His unexpected discovery of a race of native Americans taller, better proportioned, and seemingly more muscular than his kinsmen of the North, had touched his sullen pride. Furthermore, Chatémuc felt that he had been made a victim, at the very foot of the throne, of a cleverly designed conspiracy. De Sancerre had spoken a few words to Noco, and the latter had addressed the King himself. In his native tongue the Great Sun had issued an order which had been translated by Noco into Spanish, and which de Sancerre had turned into French for the benefit—or, rather, for the disturbance—of Chatémuc. The royal behest had been uncompromising in its curt simplicity. The Brother of the Sun had ordered Noco to act as hostess to Katonah during the latter’s sojourn within his domain. Annoyed as the Mohican had been at this command, he had reluctantly recognized the futility of an open protest against the disposition made, without his consent, of his sister. He had retired with the Franciscan from the group surrounding the King’s litter, with a burning desire in his heart to make mischief. Quick to read the mind of Chatémuc, the gray friar, whose open zeal as a proselyter had been changed, by the Great Sun’s stubborn indifference to the awful significance of the crucifix, into the craft of a schemer, was now pouring into the Mohican’s ears words emphasizing the glories of martyrdom, and picturing the bliss which awaited those who perished for the cause of Mother Church. The Franciscan and his convert had withdrawn to a sunny slope a few yards to the eastward of the flower-strewn hillock upon which the Brother of the Sun maintained the pomp of royalty.