“Are ye ready?” asked Alvarado, closing his visor.
“Ready, Señor.”
“Axes, then! Follow me. Forward! Christo y Santiago!”
At the last word, the riders loosed reins, and standing in their stirrups bent forward over the saddle-bow, as well to guard the horse as to discover points of attack; each poised his shield to protect his breast and left side,—the axe and right arm would take care of the right side; each took up the cry, Christo y Santiago; then, like pillars of iron on steeds of iron, they charged. From the infidels one answering yell, and down they sank, each upon his knee; and thereupon, the spears, planted on the ground, presented a front so bristling that leader less reckless than Alvarado would have stopped in mid-career. Forward, foremost in the charge, he drove, right upon the brazen points, a score or more of which rattled against his mail or that of his steed, and glanced harmlessly, or were dashed aside by the axe whirled from right to left with wonderful strength and skill. Something similar happened to each of his followers. A moment of confusion,—man and beast in furious action, clang of blows, splintering of wood, and battle-cries,—then two results: the Christians were repulsed, and that before the second infidel rank had been reached; and while they were in amongst the long spears, fencing and striking, clear above the medley of the mêlée they heard a shout, Al-a-lala! Al-a-lala! Alvarado looked that way; looked through the yellow shafts and brazen points. Brief time had he; yet he beheld and recognized the opposing leader. Behind the kneeling ranks he stood, without trappings, without a shield even; a maquahuitl, edged with flint, sharp as glass, hard as steel, was his only weapon; behind him appeared an irregular mass of probably half a thousand men, unarmed and almost naked. Even as the good captain looked, the horde sprang forward, and by pressing between the files of spearmen, or leaping panther-like over their shoulders, gained the front. There they rushed upon the horsemen, entangled amidst the spears,—to capture, not slay them; for, by the Aztec code of honor, the measure of a warrior’s greatness was the number of prisoners he brought out of battle, a present to the gods, not the number of foemen he slew. The rush was like that of wolves upon a herd of deer. First to encounter a Christian was the chief. The exchange of blows was incredibly quick. The horse reared, plunged blindly, then rolled upon the ground; the flinty maquahuitl, surer than the axe, had broken its leg. A cry, sharpened by mortal terror,—a Spanish cry for help, in the Mother’s name. Christians and infidels looked that way, and from the latter burst a jubilant yell,—
“The ’tzin! The ’tzin!”
The successful leader stooped, and wrenched the shield from the fallen man; then he swung the maquahuitl twice, and brought it down on the mailed head of the horse: the weapon broke in pieces; the steed lay still forever.
Now, Alvarado was not the man to let the cry of a comrade go unheeded.
“Turn, gentlemen! One of us is down; hear ye not the name of Christ and the Mother? To the rescue! Charge! Christo y Santiago!”
Forward the brave men spurred; the spears closed around them as before, while the unarmed foe, encouraged by the ’tzin’s achievement, redoubled their efforts to drag them from their saddles. In disregard of blows, given fast as skilled hands could rise and fall, some flung themselves upon the legs and necks of the horses, where they seemed to cling after the axe had spattered their brains or the hoofs crushed their bones; some caught the bridle-reins, and hung to them full weight; others struggled with the riders directly, hauling at them, leaping behind them, catching sword-arm and shield; and so did the peril finally grow that the Christians were forced to give up the rescue, the better to take care of themselves.
“God’s curses upon the dogs!” shouted Alvarado, in fury at sight of the Spaniard dragged away. “Back, some of ye, who can, to Serrano! Bid him advance. Quick, or we, too, are lost!”