“He’ll shake it in the noose should the Great Sun die,” muttered the chief priest, with cruel emphasis. “What boots his boasted skill if he fails us when we need him most? But, hark! Our brothers have returned.”
Filing into the temple like a procession of white ghosts with charred faces, the priests of the sun grouped themselves in a circle behind their chief, and stood awaiting in silence the outcome of a crisis which might, at its worst, satisfy their ever-present craving for human sacrifices to offer to their god, the innocent and genial orb of day. That the cruel and crafty Coheyogo dreaded the news of the Great Sun’s death more keenly than they, in their love for an inhuman custom, desired it, they had no means of knowing. But they were to learn presently that there was a new force at work in their city with which they had never before been called upon to deal. As they stood there silent, eager-eyed, remorseless, longing for a continuance of the thrilling sport for which the death of Chatémuc had but whetted their appetites, the sound of light, dainty footsteps approaching the entrance to the temple reached their quick ears. Turning toward the doorway at the further end of the hall, Coheyogo and his motionless and noiseless brood gazed upon an approaching figure which, in spite of its lack of size, was most impressive at that fateful moment. De Sancerre had donned a flowing garment of white mulberry bark, which hid his gay velvets from view and fell in graceful lines from his neck to his feet. His head was bare, and his hair, a picturesque mixture of black and gray, emphasized the pleasing contour of his pale, clean-cut face.
With drawn rapier, the symbol of his dreaded moon-magic, the French aristocrat, his eyes fixed upon the chief priest, strode solemnly toward the sacred fire, followed at a distance by Noco and her long-limbed grandson. As he came to a halt in front of Coheyogo, de Sancerre raised the hilt of his sword to his chin and made a graceful, sweeping salute with the weapon. Turning to Noco, who had now reached his side, he said to her:
“Say to the chief priest that I come to him in amity or in defiance, as he may choose. Tell him that the Brother of the Moon makes no idle boasts, but that ’tis safer for the City of the Sun to win his friendship than to arouse his wrath.”
“COOL, MOTIONLESS, WITH UNFLINCHING EYES, THE FRENCHMAN STOOD
WATCHING THE CHIEF PRIEST”
Coheyogo, with a face which none could read, listened attentively to the old crone’s defiant words. His black eyes held the Frenchman’s gaze to his. There was something in the latter’s glance that exercised upon the sun-worshipper a potent fascination, an influence more effective than the impression made upon him by Noco’s speech. The lower type of man succumbed, in spite of his physical superiority, to the will-power of a higher and more complicated intellect than his own. Even had Coheyogo considered it expedient at that moment to wreak summary vengeance upon his white-faced, smiling challenger, it is to be doubted that his tongue could have uttered the words which would have sent de Sancerre to his doom. Cool, motionless, with unflinching eyes and a mouth which wore the outlines of a derisive smile, the undersized Frenchman stood watching the chief priest, outwardly as self-confident as if he had possessed, in reality, the destructive power of which he boasted. Presently Coheyogo turned to Noco, whose wrinkled countenance was twitching with excitement in the fitful glow of the sacred fire.
“The Chief Priest of the Sun has no quarrel with the Brother of the Moon,” said the old hag, addressing de Sancerre a moment later. “But he says to him that the Great Sun, in health and strength at sunrise, now lies tossing in peril of his life. Is it true, he asks, that you have threatened to bring down the same strange sickness upon the temple priests?”
“Not if they do the bidding of Coyocop, the spirit of the sun,” answered de Sancerre, curtly, closely scanning Coheyogo’s face as Noco repeated his words. Then he turned to the interpreter and went on:
“Let the chief priest understand that the spirit of the sun and the spirit of the moon go hand in hand, to the greater glory of the God of gods. Say to him that together Coyocop and I can make a nation great or destroy it at a word. Disobedience to us is impiety to God. If he, Coheyogo, would know this truth, he must be docile, patient, and abide my time. If in his mind the shadow of a doubt remains that what I say is true, let him recall the legends of his race, the promises and prophecies which your fathers told their sons.”