Roger the Bold: A Tale of the Conquest of Mexico

by F. S. Brereton

"Then they take us for enemies instead of friends," said Roger, quickly. "They think, perhaps, that we are Spaniards in Cortes's band, and therefore will be more than ever inclined to kill us."

"They say that we are a portion of these invaders, and that we must die. The man with whom I spoke told me that. He says that we may be summoned at any time, and that they will drag us to this war god. It is a horrible thought!"

Roger looked about him as if in a dream. He was stupefied and stunned by the awful news which Tamba had given him; for though he had by now met danger boldly and without flinching, and had risked his life in the encounters with the Spaniards, yet this cruel fate undermined his courage. He was ready to die when the time came, but to be held down, perhaps, and then slaughtered like a sheep, was too horrible. The thought unmanned him, and for a little while he sank on his knees, his face buried in his hands. Then he gradually recovered his composure and looked about him, his eye turning to the prisoners in the second cage. There were at least two hundred of them, and he was astounded to find that they were chatting contentedly together, some even laughing and joking. Was the same fate reserved for them? He turned and asked Tamba the question.

"The same, my lord," was the calm answer. "But these men look upon it in a different way. Thousands die here every year for the sake of the gods, and death in that manner is an honour. I have asked this man, and he said that their religion teaches them that to be sacrificed gives instant admission to the region of the sun, where they live happily afterwards. As to the death, it is swift and sure, and the deed is soon done. Fear not, master, for it may not come to that. Perhaps they will believe that you are no Spaniard."

It was poor consolation, but Roger had to make the most of it. He sat for a long while thinking the matter over, and when a few hours had gone, was himself again, prepared to face the executioners, should it come to that. But the native prisoners amazed him. True, all these Aztecs had a melancholy cast of countenance, but a glance at their faces showed that the doom awaiting them made little impression, and did not weigh on their minds. They were resigned and happy. Later on he learned that throughout the land of Mexico these sacrifices were carried on, and that at the lowest computation twenty thousand men died on the sacrificial altars during the year. The people were held fast in the chains of a cruel religious despotism, and bowed themselves in abject resignation. They saw their finest children, their sons and their firstborn torn from them, and acquiesced because their superstitions bade them do so. It was a horrible condition of affairs, and cruel though the Spaniards were, their coming was a boon to the country, though it broke up the Aztec races. However, we are anticipating, and will return to Roger.

Late in the afternoon there was a stir in the huge quadrangle in which the cages were built, and attendants came with food for the captives. Then a mass of people began to filter into the square, and amongst them some who were dressed in black robes, and wore their hair in long tangled wreaths about their necks and faces. They were ugly-looking fellows, and Roger shuddered as he looked at them.

"The priests," whispered Tamba, "and that"—pointing to one clad in scarlet—"is the head of all, the one who performs the sacrifice. They are coming towards us."

"Then we will fight till we are killed! Sooner that than be butchered. Let us look for a weapon, Tamba, and then we will set these fellows at defiance."

He sprang to his feet and searched the cage, but there was nothing to help him. He and Tamba had long since been deprived of their weapons, while the floor of the cage was bare, and it would have required an axe to sever one of the stout bars. Opposition was out of the question, and Roger promptly realized it. He faced round and watched the priests as they advanced, looking them unflinchingly in the face. Then his eye turned to some half-dozen other men who walked behind the men in black and scarlet, gorgeously dressed in feathered cloaks and light golden armour, while their heads were covered, some with carved wooden helmets, made to represent the heads of birds, while others had plumes in their hair. But all displayed many golden bangles and neck-chains, and their head-dress and many parts of their armour and their weapons were encrusted with jewels. Then the tale was true. Mexico was filled with riches! But Roger had no time to give a thought to that now, for the procession had reached the cage. It halted outside, and two of the priests entered and said something in soft tones.

"We don't understand," said Roger, in English. "We are not Spaniards, and we want to know why you have placed us in this cage. We are not wild beasts, and are ready to be friendly."