Struck by these words, yet incapable of fathoming their signification, Juan looked up to the young monarch, and would even have ascended the scaffold, had not the sudden appearance of the captive engaged his whole attention. A wild and frantic cry burst from the mob, and looking round, he beheld a body of ten or twelve priests, with their black robes, and long plaited, rope-like hair, leading the prisoner towards the platform. His arms were bound behind him, and his only garment was a coarse cloth wrapped round the loins.
Juan's heart sickened; he would have sunk to the earth, or buried his head in his tilmaltli, to avoid looking upon the spectacle of a Christian and countryman, thus brought forth to be slaughtered. But the fiery spirit displayed by the victim, as soon as he was lifted upon the mound and set upon his feet, drew another shout from the admiring infidels, which caused him to steal one look at the scene; and that look left him without the power of withdrawing his eyes. The captive, as soon as he was on the mound, leaped, of his own accord, upon the stone, as if to testify not only his knowledge of the purpose for which he was brought there, but his willingness to engage in the combat. He then turned his face towards the king, and, at that moment,
Juan Lerma lifting his eyes, beheld the only man he had ever learned to hate—It was Don Francisco de Guzman.
Noble, compassionate, and truly unvindictive, as was Lerma's spirit, he did not make this discovery without a thrill of fierce exultation. There is a touch of the wild beast in the hearts of us all; and so long as man is capable of anger, he will, at some moment, and for some brief space of time, yield to thoughts and wishes, that he himself must, a moment after, esteem diabolic. Religion and moral culture make us the masters of our malign propensities; but man is naturally a vengeful animal.
It was but the weakness of a moment with Juan Lerma; perhaps, too, it was caused by the thrill of joy at the proof thus rendered, that Guzman, at least, exercised no control over the fate of the princess of Mexico; and if he did not instantly commiserate the condition of an enemy justly abhorred, but now so fallen, so wretched, and about to expiate his evil deeds by a punishment so fearfully retributive, he was able to banish all unworthy elation from his mind, and look on with feelings more becoming a man and Christian.
He could not indeed but admire the fearless intrepidity, or rather audacity, with which Guzman (more oppressed by a sense of humiliation, at being made a spectacle among a crew so despised and abhorred, than by any other feeling,) looked around him upon the pagans, and extended his foot to the ligature, with which it was to be secured to the stone. Whatever were his faults, it could not be denied, that Don Francisco was a man of unflinching courage, which was indeed a constitutional trait. His presence on the stone of battle indicated that he had been captured after a heroic resistance. His resolution was, in this case, kept up by a knowledge of the nature of the ordeal through which he was to pass, and by full confidence in his ability to win all the privileges it conferred upon him. He had some little acquaintance with the Mexican tongue, and was by no means ignorant of the more remarkable institutions of the country. A victory over six awkward and half-starved barbarians, was an exploit not to be despaired of by a well-trained cavalier, even when denied any advantage of weapons, and defensive armour. Yet it was a curious circumstance, that he, who had not often kept faith himself, when his interest called upon him to break it, should rest with such perfect reliance upon the willingness of the Mexicans to liberate him, in the event of his prevailing over their champions. But he knew, that never but once had a tribe of all the broad regions of Anahuac broken its pledged faith to a successful gladiator; and that tribe was, for that reason, ever after held infamous. It was the tribe of Huexotzinco; and Cortes himself placed the circumstance on record.
As soon as his foot was properly secured, his arms were unbound, and a noble, who stood upon the scaffold in the character of a herald, addressed him in the following official terms:
"This is the law of Mexico, and let the people hear: 'The prisoner who is brave, the gods honour. If he kill six strong men upon the stone Temalacatl, he shall be set free.' This is the law."
"This is the law, then," repeated Guzman, in imperfect Mexican, turning his eyes upon Guatimozin, as if he disdained to hold converse with any meaner infidel: "Is it a law that will be remembered, when the prisoner is a Spaniard?"
"He who is a prisoner, has no name and no country," replied the prince. "He is neither Tlascalan nor Castilian, but a man who kills or dies."