Heart of the World

by H. Rider Haggard

“Would it be wonderful, husband,” she answered, “if I should wish to save myself and my child? That I have loved you and love you, you know; yet is there any love in the grave? While I live, at least I have my memories; if I die, even these may be taken from me. Go back, husband, go back wealthy to your own people and your old life, and choose some other woman to be your companion. Do not forget me, indeed; but let me become as a dream to you, seeing that for all our sakes this is the best. To you also, Ignatio, I say ‘go.’ Our fellowship has brought you little luck; may its severing be more fortunate, and may you at last attain your ends. Tikal, give me your hand, and let us swear the oath.”

He stepped towards her,—his eyes glowing with triumph; but as their fingers touched she glanced sideways and upwards, and saw the doubt and agony written on her husband’s face. With a little scream, she sprang to him and threw herself into his arms, saying:

“Forgive me; I have tried my best, but this is more than I can do. Oh! weak and foolish that I am, I cannot part from you, no, not even to save your life. Surely you did not think that I should have fulfilled this oath and given myself to him in marriage. No, no,—it is to death that I should have given myself when you were gone. But I cannot part with you,—I cannot part with you,—though my selfishness is your doom.”

“I rejoice to hear it,” said the señor. “Listen you, Tikal, if you are a man, give me a sword and let us settle this matter face to face. So shall one of us at least be rid of his doubts and troubles.”

“Surely, White Man,” answered Tikal, “you must be a fool as well as a rogue, otherwise you would scarcely ask me to risk my life against yours, which is already forfeit to the law. Farewell, Maya; long have you fooled and tormented me; to-night I will repay you all,”—and he went.

It might be thought that, after Tikal was gone, we should have spoken together of what had passed, and of the dangers before us. But this was not so. I think we felt—all of us—that there was nothing more to be said. It is useless to fight against Fate, and it is still more useless to be afraid of him, seeing that whatever we do or leave undone, he has his will of us at last. So we sat and chatted on indifferent things,—of our life at the mine at Cumarvo, of that night which we spent in the hacienda at Santa Cruz, of the death of our brave companion, Molas, and I know not what besides. Presently the child awoke, and its parents occupied themselves with it, finding resemblance to each other in its tiny features, while I walked up and down the hall, counting the lamps, smoking, and wondering where I should be by this time on the morrow.

At length the gates opened, for now it was almost the middle of the night, and there came through them Dimas and a guard of priests. The old man bowed before us and said that the time had come to lead us before the Council in the Sanctuary, but that we were to have no fear, seeing that, from all that he had been able to learn, our offence would be leniently dealt with. Maya asked what was to become of the infant, which could not be left alone, and he replied that she must bring it with her, whereon she began to wrap it in a serape.

“Your care is needless,” said Dimas. “There is a secret way to the Sanctuary from this place, by which I propose to lead you in order that the child, our lord, shall not be exposed to the raw cold of the night.”

Then he took a bunch of keys from his girdle, and, handing them to one who accompanied him,—a fellow-priest and a member of the Council,—he commanded him to go forward with several of the escort, to open the doors and light lamps in the passages that lay between us and the Sanctuary. The priest went, and, having waited awhile, we followed him, to find him standing by the marble wall which separated the passages from the Sanctuary. On seeing us approach, he gave the signs, which were answered from within; next he opened the false door with a silver key, leaving the key and the bunch to which it was attached fixed in the lock, for Dimas to take as he passed. This, however, the old priest did not do, for he thought that we should all return by this passage, and as we stepped into the Sanctuary he contented himself with closing the door without locking it.

Now once more we stood within the dim and holy place, there to take our trial for offences committed against the laws of the City of the Heart. There was a full gathering of the Council, and Tikal, its high-priest and president, sat in his seat behind the altar, but I noted, with a thrill of hope, that Nahua his wife was not by his side, nor was she to be found among the members of the Council. We took seats that had been prepared for us in the open space before the altar, Maya being placed in the centre, and the señor and myself on either side of her. Next the Priest of the Records rose and announced that the first business before the Council was the trial of three of its members, namely, Maya, Lady of the Heart, her husband, the white man, Son of the Sea, and Ignatio, the Wanderer, a lord of the Heart from beyond the mountains, upon the charge of having broken their oaths which they took as members of the Council. Having read this formal accusation, the priest set out the case against us clearly but briefly: