The feelings of Juan Lerma were throughout, strange, bewildering and overwhelming; and he gazed upon the three combats, each fought and finished in an inconceivably short space of time, in a species of trance or stupefaction. Great, and doubtless just, as was his detestation of Guzman, there was something both noble and afflicting in the courage with which the unfortunate man bore himself in the midst of savage foes, who, if they awarded him a shout of approbation for every valiant blow, yet screamed with a more cordial delight, at every wound inflicted by an antagonist. Even while Juan doubted not that Guzman's skill and fortitude would insure him a full triumph, and final liberation, he could not but be struck with horror, at beholding a Christian man bound to a stone, and baited like a muzzled bear. How much more overpowering, then, were his feelings, when he perceived, from the complexion given to events by the last contest, that it must end, and perhaps soon, in the destruction of the prisoner.
His emotions became indeed irresistible, when he looked up at the third shout of the multitude,—for he had closed his eyes with dread, while Guzman despatched his third foe,—and saw him, bleeding at three different wounds, and staggering with dizziness, extend his macana, now almost reduced by the fracture of the blades, to a mere bludgeon, towards the king, and exclaim, bitterly and despairingly,
"King of Mexico, if thou knowest either honour or God, give me a fresh sword!"
His words ran through Juan's spirit like sharp knives, and he was seized with a faintiness, so that he could scarce maintain himself on his feet. But while his brain whirled and his eyes swam, he beheld a fourth warrior spring upon the mound, and, yelling as he rose, dart, without a moment's pause, against the captive.
It was now apparent to all, and to none more than the miserable victim himself, that his situation was become wholly desperate. His skill could avail him nothing, while he was so insufficiently armed; his strength was wasting away with his blood; his courage could not long maintain itself against all hope; and even the pride that uplifted him so far above his barbarous antagonists, only exasperated him into frenzy, when he perceived, that, despised as they were, he was in their power, and must soon expire under their blows. His rage was like that of the gallant puma, knotted in the lazo of a hunter, and torn to pieces by dogs, which, were he at liberty, would be but as grass and dust under the might of his talons.
Hopeless of any relief from the king, and maddened by the exulting shouts with which the infidels hailed every symptom of his defeat, he turned furiously upon his new opponent; but not until the Mexican, more skilful or more lucky than his predecessors, had struck him a violent blow upon the side, which he followed up, at intervals, with others, while running round the stone, in imitation of his less fortunate countryman. His success was rewarded by the spectators with screams of delight, which he re-echoed with his own wild outcries.
Yet Guzman was not altogether subdued. Wretched as was his weapon, he handled it with some effect, and struck his assailant two or three such blows as would have ended the combat, had they been inflicted by a better. With one, he staggered the pagan; with a second, he struck him down to his knee; and with a third, he snapped off the last blade of obsidian, upon the scales of the Indian helmet, and now brandished a harmless wooden wand.
At that moment, a Spanish sword, thrown by an unseen hand; fell at his feet,—but fell in vain. Badly aimed, it struck short upon the stone, and rolled back to the mound; and the infidel, recovering his feet, though still staggering, uttered his war-cry, and raised his macana, to strike down the defenceless Christian.
Human nature could withstand the scene of butchery no longer. Juan Lerma forgot that the captive was his foe and destroyer, and the unprincipled oppressor of all he held dear. He saw a man of his own country and faith cruelly assassinated before his eyes, among thousands of pitiless and rejoicing barbarians. He thought not of the impossibility of affording him any real relief, nor of the fate to himself that must follow an attempt so full of folly. His brain burned, his eyes flamed as if in sockets of fire; and obeying an impulse that converted him for a moment into a madman, he rushed through the few nobles who separated him from the mound, and in an instant was at the side of the victim.
To snatch up the weapon he had so vainly cast, to spurn the exhausted warrior from his prey, and to cut the thong that bound Guzman to the stone, were all the work of a second. Almost before the idea had entered the mind of the Mexicans, that the combat was interrupted, so lightning-like were his motions, he had leaped with Guzman from the platform, and, grasping his hand, made his way over the narrow and unoccupied portion of the square, which led to the garden. Even then, the Mexicans stood for awhile dumb with surprise and consternation; for the act was so unexpected, so entirely inexplicable upon any of their principles of action, that they scarce knew if it might not be their Mexitli himself, who thus snatched a victim from the stone of battle.