Roger the Bold: A Tale of the Conquest of Mexico

by F. S. Brereton

Alvarez de Logas was spellbound. The highest flight of his imagination had never conjured up such a scene, such vast wealth as was displayed in the treasure chamber. He stood aghast, more perturbed by the sight of so much gold and so many jewels, than he had been at the thought of losing even a portion of the riches to be gained by coming to Mexico. He stood rooted to the spot, now inclined to fling himself upon the gems which sparkled in the light which came through the apertures in the walls, and a moment later scarcely resisting the inclination to rush upon the massive golden vessels with the shining orbs set into their sides. His hand went to his head, and he lifted his steel cap, while the fingers of his other hand passed through the wisp of hair which clung to his scalp.

"The treasure! At last the treasure!" he gasped. "Riches enough to make me the highest noble in all Spain, wealthier even than the king. Here is comfort for my old age, and honour, honour such as comes not even to men like Fernando Cortes, for wealth brings everything in its train. I will take the gems alone, for those I can carry. But no! I cannot leave the gold. To do so would be a sin. I have bearers in plenty. All shall be mine!"

The sound of his voice startled him, for in his excitement he raised his tones almost to a shriek. But now he was frightened. The old fears returned to him, and he stared back at the door, and then ran to it, peering through the narrow opening into the chamber beyond, where the guards stood, listening to the shrieks of the unfortunate Mexicans below, and to the triumphal shouts of the native allies as they slaughtered the unhappy people. They showed on their faces that they longed to be gone, while the scarlet-cloaked priest also looked steadily to the door, as if he were also listening and expecting something. A suspicion crossed the mind of Alvarez. He looked sharply at his captive, who had read the secret of the disc for him. Then his eye went back to the treasure, and that conquered. The sight of the glittering gems and of the piled-up gold drove all fear and suspicion from his mind. He recollected nothing beside the fact that he was actually in the treasure-house, wading in the riches for which he had sought so long, for which he had plotted and schemed, and for which he had not hesitated to risk his own life and to attempt to take that of another. Every night he had dreamed of this great day, and now—

"Mine!" he shouted. "All mine! I will look round. I will touch the wealth, and then I will devise how to take it away."

He fell on his knees beside the gems, and let them trickle through his fingers. He picked out the largest and the finest stones, held them to the light, and set them aside. Then he poured handful after handful within his cotton-padded jerkin.

"A fortune within my shirt!" he chuckled. "A fortune with which to buy position and power, even should the other treasure fail to come to hand. And now for the other riches."

He crawled on hands and knees round the chamber, oblivious of all that was passing outside, unmindful of the awful slaughter then taking place, and deaf to the shouts of the combatants and to the thunder of the guns. "Gold! Gold and gems! Riches! Power! Honour in his native land. Pride of family, where he had had none!" These words alone rang in his ears. He was intoxicated with success, and if he had reared golden castles in the air on former occasions since he had stolen the famous disc, they were studded with brilliants this time. They towered to the very heavens, and on every battlement and arch glittering flags blew out with those same words embroidered upon them. "Riches! Power beyond all the dreams of a rapacious avarice! Plenty for the future! No toil! But power! A position of command in place of the humble post he had filled in former days! Wealth sufficient to make him the friend and intimate of nobles and king!"

What wonder if this Spanish soldier went crazy at the astounding wealth set out at his feet! What wonder that he forgot the siege of Mexico, forgot in this supreme moment all his caution, the scheming and the cunning which he had been so careful to practise. All through he had thrown dust in the eyes of his comrades, just as he had deceived the English aboard the brigantine. Not once in his waking conscious moments had he let fall a syllable of his great secret. He had waited, silent and watchful, for the end of the siege, and only once had his caution been relaxed. He had been tried, and the native pulque pleased his palate. He had drunk deeply, and, roused by the potent drink, had whispered something which had aroused a suspicion, for it is only dead men who tell no tales. Alvarez in his cups was a live man, robbed of caution for the moment, and that moment was destined to be his ruin; for, outside, creeping up the stairway of the tower, came a Spaniard, that one who had overheard his drunken words. He followed his comrade, having gained news of his whereabouts. But he knew nothing of Roger, though, in a little while, when he rounded the next curve, and ascended a few more steps, the figure of the crouching giant would come into view.

Tap! Something fell on the tiled pavement on the summit of the tower, and Roger raised his head and started at the sound. His head shot up above the vase, and he peeped out.

"A crossbow bolt here!" he said to himself in astonishment. "And it is of our own manufacture. I can tell that by the bright colour of the feathers."