Montezuma's DaughterHaggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
History
Montezuma's Daughter
Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
Mexico -- History -- Conquest, 1519-1540 -- Fiction
“Nor I, wife. Death is better than the tender mercies of Cortes and his
minister, de Garcia. Is there any hope?”
“Yes, there is hope, beloved. Now the Otomie are cast down and they
remember that we led the flower of their land to death. But they are
brave and generous at heart, and if I can touch them there, all may yet
be well. Weariness, pain and memory make us weak, who should be full of
courage, having escaped so many ills. Sleep, my husband, and leave me
to think. All shall yet go well, for even misfortune has an end.”
So I slept, and woke in the morning somewhat refreshed and with a
happier mind, for who is there that is not bolder when the light shines
on him and he is renewed by rest?
When I opened my eyes the sun was already high, but Otomie had risen
with the dawn and she had not been idle during those three hours. For
one thing she had contrived to obtain food and fresh raiment more
befitting to our rank than the rags in which we were clothed. Also she
had brought together certain men of condition who were friendly and
loyal to her in misfortune, and these she sent about the city, letting
it be known that she would address the people at mid-day from the steps
of the palace, for as Otomie knew well, the heartstrings of a crowd are
touched more easily than those of cold and ancient counsellors.
“Will they come to listen?” I asked.
“Have no fear,” she answered. “The desire to look upon us who have
survived the siege, and to know the truth of what has happened, will
bring them. Moreover, some will be there seeking vengeance on us.”
Otomie was right, for as the morning drew on towards mid-day, I saw the
dwellers in the City of Pines gathering in thousands, till the space
between the steps of the palace and the face of the pyramid was black
with them. Now Otomie combed her curling hair and placed flowers in it,
and set a gleaming feather cloak about her shoulders, so that it hung
down over her white robes, and on her breast that splendid necklace of
emeralds which Guatemoc had given to me in the treasure chamber, and
which she had preserved safely through all our evil fortune, and a
golden girdle about her waist. In her hand also she took a little
sceptre of ebony tipped with gold, that was in the palace, with other
ornaments and emblems of rank, and thus attired, though she was worn
with travel and suffering, and grief had dimmed her beauty for a while,
she seemed the queenliest woman that my eyes have seen. Next she caused
me to be laid upon my rude litter, and when the hour of noon was come,
she commanded those soldiers who had borne me across the mountains to
carry me by her side. Thus we issued from the wide doorway of the
palace and took our stand upon the platform at the head of the steps.
As we came a great cry rose from the thousands of the people, a fierce
cry like that of wild beasts howling for their prey. Higher and higher
it rose, a sound to strike terror into the bravest heart, and by
degrees I caught its purport.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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