Montezuma's DaughterHaggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
History
Montezuma's Daughter
Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
Mexico -- History -- Conquest, 1519-1540 -- Fiction
Now all this while my life went on as before, save that I was not
allowed to go outside the walls of the palace, for it was feared lest I
should find some means of intercourse with the Spaniards, who did not
know that a man of white blood was confined there and doomed to
sacrifice. Also in these days I saw little of the princess Otomie, the
chief of my destined brides, who since our strange love scene had
avoided me, and when we met at feasts or in the gardens spoke to me
only on indifferent matters, or of the affairs of state. At length came
the day of my marriage. It was, I remember, the night before the
massacre of the six hundred Aztec nobles on the occasion of the
festival of Huitzel.
On this my wedding day I was treated with great circumstance and
worshipped like a god by the highest in the city, who came in to do me
reverence and burned incense before me, till I was weary of the smell
of it, for though such sorrow was on the land, the priests would abate
no jot of their ceremonies or cruelties, and great hopes were held that
I being of the race of Teules, my sacrifice would avert the anger of
the gods. At sunset I was entertained with a splendid feast that lasted
two hours or more, and at its end all the company rose and shouted as
with one voice:
“Glory to thee, O Tezcat! Happy art thou here on earth, happy mayst
thou be in the Houses of the Sun. When thou comest thither, remember
that we dealt well by thee, giving thee of our best, and intercede for
us that our sins may be forgiven. Glory to thee, O Tezcat!”
Then two of the chief nobles came forward, and taking torches led me to
a magnificent chamber that I had never seen before. Here they changed
my apparel, investing me in robes which were still more splendid than
any that I had worn hitherto, being made of the finest embroidered
cotton and of the glittering feathers of the humming bird. On my head
they set wreaths of flowers, and about my neck and wrists emeralds of
vast size and value, and a sorry popinjay I looked in this attire, that
seemed more suited to a woman’s beauty than to me.
When I was arrayed, suddenly the torches were extinguished and for a
while there was silence. Then in the distance I heard women’s voices
singing a bridal song that was beautiful enough after its fashion,
though I forbear to write it down. The singing ceased and there came a
sound of rustling robes and of low whispering. Then a man’s voice
spoke, saying:
“Are ye there, ye chosen of heaven?”
And a woman’s voice, I thought it was that of Otomie, answered:
“We are here.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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