There was among the many kinswomen of Montezuma, who shared his captivity, (for the policy of the general had reduced nearly all the royal blood to bonds,) a certain young maiden, a daughter of the lord of Colhuacan, and therefore a niece of the king; who, in the general partition which the nobler of the cavaliers had, in prospective, made of the Indian princesses, had fallen to the lot of Alvarado. In those days of legitimacy, there was some degree of divinity allowed to hedge the person of even a barbaric monarch; and happy was the hidalgo, who, by obtaining a royal maid for his wife, could rank himself, in imaginary dignity, with the princes of Christendom. At the present moment, the companions of Cortes had rather made their selections, than endeavoured to commend themselves to the favour of their mistresses;—dropping, thereby, so much of their reverence for royalty, as not to suppose the existence of any will, or opposition, in the objects of their desire. The Doña Engracia, (her native title has entirely escaped the historians,) was, therefore, beloved by Don Pedro; but, not having been made acquainted with the hidalgo's flame, she stooped, at the first promptings of affection, to a destiny less brilliant and lofty. Her heart melted at the handsome visage of the young Fabueno; and the secretary, flattered by the love of so noble a maiden, and emboldened by his success in arms, did not scruple to become the rival of the Tonatiuh. The rage of Don Pedro would have chastised, in blood, the presumption of such a competitor; but De Morla, remembering the novice, did not hesitate, for his sake, to befriend his servant; and, when he avowed himself the champion of Lorenzo, he dreamed that he was about to avenge the fall of his brother-in-arms.
The result of this opposition to the humours of Alvarado, was a quarrel, so fierce and unappeasable, that, as has been said, all which the general could effect, was a postponement of conflict; and when Don Pedro surrendered the princess to her plebeian lover, it was with the assurance, that, as soon as the army had left the city and lake, he should reckon her ransom out of the life-blood of his companion.
The discovery of the unfaithfulness of his betrothed, (for, in this light did the cavaliers regard the captive princesses,) had been made the preceding evening; and the angry contest of the cavaliers, and the arrangements for combat, occurred at the moment while Don Amador was lamenting the backwardness of his friends to support him, when he became a captive.
To allay the heart-burnings of his officers, who had arrayed themselves, according to their friendships, on either side, the general caused his trumpets to sound, and bade all to prepare for an expedition of peril. He had, all along, eyed the great pyramid, frowning over his fortress, with peculiar anxiety. This was caused, in part, by his consciousness of the advantage it would give his enemies, as soon as they should dare to profane its sanctity, by making it the theatre of conflict. This very morning, it was made apparent, by the presence of many barbarians thronging up its sides, and by an occasional arrow or stone discharged from its top, that the Mexicans were aware of its usefulness. In addition to this cause for attempting to gain possession of it, the leader was moved by a vague hope, that, once master of the holiest of temples, he might obtain the same advantages, through the superstition of his foes, which he had lately possessed, in the person of Montezuma, through their reverence for the king. He meditated an assault, and resolved to attempt it, before the pyramid should be covered with Mexicans.
The strength of the army, both horse and foot, was straightway displayed upon the square; and the war-worn Christians once more marched against the triumphing infidel.
The knight of Calavar, sitting on his sable steed, with an air of more life than was ordinary, appeared in this band; and the three serving-men, with the secretary, followed at his back.
CHAPTER L.
In his sleep, the wounded cavalier was no longer a captive. Memory and imagination, acting together, bore him to the shores of the Mediterranean; and as he trode the smooth beach, his eye wandered, with transport, to the blue Alpujarras, stretching dimly in the interior. But not long did he gaze on those mountains, which intercepted the view of his distant castle. He stepped joyously along over the sands, obeying the voices and gestures of his conductors; for, it seemed to him, that his hands were grasped, the one by the page Jacinto, the other by the priestess of Mexico, both of whom urged him on with smiles, while pointing to a group of palm-trees, under which reclined the long-lost maid of Almeria. The cross of rubies shone upon her breast, and her downcast eyes regarded it with a gaze of sadness; but, ever and anon, as the cavalier vainly strove to approach, and called to her with his voice, they were raised upon him in tears; and the hand of Leila was uplifted, with a melancholy gesture, towards heaven. With such a vision, repeated many times in his brain, varied only by changes of place, (for now the scene was transferred to the deserts of Barbary, now the fair vales of Rhodes, and now the verdant borders of Tezcuco,) he struggled through many hours of torture; and, at last, awoke, as a peal of thunder, bursting on the scene, drove, terrified away, as well his guides as the maid of his memory.
As he started from his couch, confused and bewildered, the thunder seemed still to roll, with distant murmurs, over the city. His practised ear detected, in these peals, the explosions of artillery, mingled with volleys of musketry; but for awhile, in his disorder, he was unable to account for them; and in a few moments they ceased.—Night had succeeded to day; no taper burned on the table, and scarcely enough light shone through the narrow casement into the apartment, to show him that he occupied it alone.