So the word went abroad, and in the Castilian camp, Don Diego gave fervent thanks. He was none too well pleased that to secure records for the “Relaciones” it might be necessary to carry a spear against the heathen. It had been plainly understood in far off Mexico that the people to be visited were not a hostile people. They were to be found waiting for salvation, and with good gold to pay for it!
The offer of the padre to give aid in battle to their Indian brethren, had been but a courteous pleasantry when uttered. It was a different matter when scouts were sent abroad by the pagan Ruler to seek trouble and bring it home to all of them!
Trouble enough was he brewing by that gift to the padre of the sacred sun symbol. The pariah who brought it was under the curse medicine of Tahn-té. Before their eyes he sat dumb, and the Castilians crossed themselves with dread as they looked on him. He was the visible warning of a doom awaiting any other who dared speak!
Not alone could he lift water to his own lips. The trembling of his hand was now the trembling of his entire body. By order of Tahn-té he was to be taken to one of the little cliff dwellings at the foot of the mesa. Each seven suns, an old man and a group of boys were to have the task of carrying to him food and water, and each visit the boys were to be told by the Ancient why the medicine had been put upon the outcast. Thus all youth would know that the Great Mystery sent power against traitors.
In vain Padre Vicente tried to scoff at the reality of it, or the continuance of it. The men pointed to the palsied man, and prayers were remembered by many who were not pious. Indian witchcraft was not to their liking!
“Paracelsus with his necromancy has done nothing worse!” declared Don Diego. “This barbarian priest lacks bowels in his devilish art! Had he not sent the gift of gold, the aggravation would have 247 been less pointed. That insult from the heretic is not to be endured.”
“Yet the saints do give us strength for the endurance, Señor,” replied the secretary, “and Don Ruy paces apart, and keeps key on his thoughts since that council. Think you he fears magic of the Po-Ahtun-ho?”
“A good thing were it true!” decided Don Diego––“overmuch is he inclined to countenance their pagan practices, and find likeness in their mummeries to the mysteries of the Greek––and even the Egyptian of ancient days! The sorcerer has snared him with that ungodly learning of books. But while we see it, and know it, Chico my son, it is as well that the thought enters not into the ‘Relaciones.’ Don Ruy in the desert is a good comrade, but his Excellency in Madrid could nip any book in the bud––even the most stupendous.”
“He is so great in power?”