“As you will,” said Maya, with a sigh; and presently they went.
That evening the señor and I attended a feast at the house of one of the great nobles, whence we returned somewhat late. Having dismissed those who had escorted us, I walked with him as far as the door of his private chambers, purposing to leave him there; but he bade me enter, for he wished to talk with me about the events of the day and this forthcoming ceremony of the anointing of the child. Accordingly I did so, and, passing through the first chamber, we came to the second, beyond which lay his sleeping-rooms. Here we halted by the open window, and I approached a lamp, for I wished to smoke and had no light. As I bent over it, something caught my ear, and I listened, since it seemed to me that through the massive doors of the bedchamber I heard the sound of a woman’s voice crying for help. Instantly I flung them open and rushed thither by way of an ante-room, calling to the señor as I went.
I did not arrive too soon, for in the bedchamber itself a strange sight met my eyes. At the foot of the bed stood a cradle, in which lay the child, and near to it two women struggled. One of these—in whom I knew Nahua, the wife of Tikal—held a copper knife in her hand, and the other, Maya, gripped her round the body and arms from behind, so that, strive as she would, she could not free herself to use it. Still, of the two women, Nahua was the heavier and the more strong, and, though slowly, she dragged the other closer to the cradle. Indeed, as I reached the room, she wrenched her right arm loose and raised it to strike at the infant with the knife. But here the matter ended, for at that moment I caught her round the waist and threw her back, so that she fell heavily on the floor, letting drop the knife in her effort to save herself. She sprang to her feet and ran towards the door, there to be met by the señor, who seized her and held her fast.
CHAPTER XXIII.
OUR FLIGHT, AND HOW IT ENDED
“How came this lady here, Maya, and what does she seek!” the señor asked.
“I do not know how she came,” gasped his wife. “My waiting-women were gone, and I had begun to prepare myself for sleep, when, looking into yonder mirror, I saw her behind me, having in her hand a naked knife, and searching the room with her eyes. Presently they fell upon the cradle, and, lifting the knife, she took a step towards it. Then I turned and gripped her, holding her as well as I was able; but she was too strong for me and dragged me forward, so that had it not been for Ignatio here, by now she would have made an end of our son.”
“Is this true?” said the señor to Nahua.
“It is true, White Man,” she answered.
“Why do you desire to kill one so innocent?” he asked again.
“Is it not natural that I should wish to destroy the child who is to supplant my child, and to break the heart of the woman who has broken my heart?” Nahua answered, sullenly. “Amongst many other things, I have learned, White Man, of that ceremony which is to take place to-morrow, whereat my husband is to be deposed and my child dishonoured, that they may make room for you and for your child,—you, the white wanderer, and your son, the Heaven-born, the Fore-ordained!”