Montezuma's DaughterHaggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
History
Montezuma's Daughter
Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
Mexico -- History -- Conquest, 1519-1540 -- Fiction
In all these fights I took my part, though it does not become me to
boast my prowess. Still the Spaniards knew me well and they had good
reason. Whenever they saw me they would greet me with revilings,
calling me “traitor and renegade,” and “Guatemoc’s white dog,” and
moreover, Cortes set a price upon my head, for he knew through his
spies that some of Guatemoc’s most successful attacks and stratagems
had been of my devising. But I took no heed even when their insults
pierced me like arrows, for though many of the Aztecs were my friends
and I hated the Spaniards, it was a shameful thing that a Christian man
should be warring on the side of cannibals who made human sacrifice. I
took no heed, since always I was seeking for my foe de Garcia. He was
there I knew, for I saw him many times, but I could never come at him.
Indeed, if I watched for him he also watched for me, but with another
purpose, to avoid me. For now as of old de Garcia feared me, now as of
old he believed that I should bring his death upon him.
It was the custom of warriors in the opposing armies to send challenges
to single combat, one to another, and many such duels were fought in
the sight of all, safe conduct being given to the combatants and their
seconds. Upon a day, despairing of meeting him face to face in battle,
I sent a challenge to de Garcia by a herald, under his false name of
Sarceda. In an hour the herald returned with this message written on
paper in Spanish:
“Christian men do not fight duels with renegade heathen dogs, white
worshippers of devils and eaters of human flesh. There is but one
weapon which such cannot defile, a rope, and it waits for you, Thomas
Wingfield.”
I tore the writing to pieces and stamped upon it in my rage, for now,
to all his other crimes against me, de Garcia had added the blackest
insult. But wrath availed me nothing, for I could never come near him,
though once, with ten of my Otomies, I charged into the heart of the
Spanish column after him.
From that rush I alone escaped alive, the ten Otomies were sacrificed
to my hate.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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