Roger the Bold: A Tale of the Conquest of Mexico

by F. S. Brereton

"He will die if need be," was the answer.

"And if resistance becomes no longer possible he will fly."

"That is due to him," replied the priest. "He is not of our blood. He came as a prisoner, and we treated him harshly. He has shown devotion to us, and if our cause be lost it will be right that he and his comrades should fly. They have homes of their own, no doubt. They have a right to return to them."

"And we owe them all. This Roger the cacique is the heart of the defence. His reward should be certain. Cannot you find this treasure and hand it to him now, so that it may be safe in his keeping?"

"Impossible," was the short answer. "He deserves all and more than we possess, that I acknowledge freely. But I cannot disclose its whereabouts till the disc comes to my hand. Would that I had never made the error of sending it away. But the mistake was made, and nothing but the return of the disc can set the matter right. With that before me I can read the secret, and hand this reward to the cacique. If it does not come, he must fly, rich in the memory of the gallantry he has shown."

It was useless to argue further, and the king, who, like his predecessors, was completely in the hands of the priesthood, was compelled to be satisfied with the assurance he had received. If the disc was discovered, then this Roger de Luce, for whom he had conceived a great affection, would receive reward, would have his pick of gold and gems which, to a Mexican, were of little or no value, but which to these white men were better than life itself, else why should the Spaniards fight so fiercely for their possession, sacrificing thereby so many thousands of innocent people, and bringing misery into so many homes?

But it was no time for soliloquizing, for down in the streets below the turmoil of the battle rose even louder. Flushed with their success the enemy were pushing forward, and were now within a little way of the rendezvous, where the two forces were to meet. They could hear one another's cannon, and even their comrades' shouts. They were spurred to even greater efforts, and forgetting the caution which their leader had impressed upon them they raced on, forgetful of the chasms left gaping behind, of the thousands of Mexicans concealed beneath the streets and in the side canals, forgetful of all save the mad desire to conquer, to end the siege, to reach this market square, than which there was none so fine in the whole of Spain, or even in Europe, and reach the goal before their comrades. It was a race, and a costly one it proved.

"The time has come. The cage door should be shut," said the king of Mexico, solemnly. "There is Roger the cacique. I see him plainly, and he waves to me. I will sound the signal which will set the dogs loose on them, and will drive them from the city."

He raised a huge horn to his lips and took in a deep breath. Then he sounded a long, deep, mournful note, which penetrated to every corner. Once more he sent it floating across the city. Then he threw the horn down, and raced to the streets below; for this king was a gallant young fellow, kind and gentle when not roused, but a plucky fighter, possessed of unusual courage.

What a change there was! The sound of the horn had roused the Mexicans to a frenzy, for it was a well-known signal, and signified some special danger threatening their king, and the people of this city, one and all, would gladly have died on his behalf. But on this particular day it meant more. It meant that a well-thought-out plan was to be accomplished. That this retreat, so carefully managed, was, after all, but a part of the plan, and that now that its purpose was accomplished, and the enemy lured into the city, the time had come to turn upon them. Never before had the Spaniards heard such demoniacal shouts, such whistling, and such terrible calls. The air was filled with them, while from every side swarmed Mexicans, who rushed in upon the swords, eager to die, eager to give their lives if only they could strike one blow for king and city. But their rush was organized. A leader sprang before each party. Every street had its force and its commander, while in the very centre the gigantic figure of the white cacique of Roger the Bold led the lines of fighters, hurled himself with resistless valour into the ranks of the enemy, and bore them back alone. No wonder that the Mexicans went mad, that the Spaniards quailed, and rushed back towards their camp, and that the fatal gap, which had not been filled by one of the parties, proved a death-trap to the men. Even Cortes was well-nigh taken, while huge numbers of allies and Spaniards were killed. Indeed, quite sixty of the invaders fell captive or died—a serious loss to Cortes.