Calavar; or, The Knight of The Conquest, A Romance of Mexico

"It all comes of my music," said the page: "for that is a talent which matures faster than any other, and drags others along with it; besides giving one great skill in touching hearts. Your worship remembers how soon young David gained the love of the Jewish king, and how he would have cured him of his melancholy, but that Saul had a bad heart. Now, my lord seems, to me, to have, like this king, an evil spirit troubling him; and perhaps, if he will let me, I can sing it away, with the ballad of the Knight and the Page; for my lord's heart is good."

"The Knight and the Page? I have never heard thee sing that," said Don Amador, somewhat indifferently. "What is it about?"

"It is about a brave cavalier, that loved a noble lady, who loved him; but being made to believe her false to her vows, he went to the wars to die, followed by a little page, whom he thought the only true friend he had left in the world."

"By my faith," said Don Amador, regarding the boy kindly, "in this respect, methinks, I am, at present, somewhat like that knight; for thou, that art, likewise, a little page, seemest to be the only friend I have left in the world – that is, in this city, – that is to say, in this part of it; for I have much confidence in the love of several at the palace, notwithstanding that I think some others were a little backward in supporting me, when beset, that evil day, by the barbarians. – Was he a Spanish knight? and of what parts?"

"Of the Sierra Morena, at some place where the Jucar washes its foot."

"In good truth!" cried the cavalier, "that is the very river that rolls by Cuenza; and herein, again, is there another parallel. – But I should inform thee, that, when the mountain reaches so far as the Jucar, and runs up along its course, it is then called the Sierra of Cuenza, and not Morena. But this is a small matter. I shall be as glad to hear of the knight of Jucar, as of one of my ancestors."

"He resembled my lord still more," said the page, "for he had fallen, fighting the infidel, very grievously wounded; and his little page remained at his side, to share his fate."

"That I have, in a manner, fallen, and, as I may say, fighting the infidel, is true; but by no means can it be said, that I am grievously wounded. These cuts, that I have on my body, are but such scratches as one might make with a thorn; and, were it not for my head, which doth ever and anon ring much like to a bell, and ache somewhat immoderately, I should think myself well able to go out fighting again; not at all regarding my feebleness, which is not much, and my stiff joints, which a little exercise would greatly reduce into suppleness."

"It was the resemblance of my lord's situation to the knight of Jucar's, that reminded me of the roundelay," said Jacinto, taking up his lute, and stringing it into accord; "and now your worship shall represent the wounded knight, and I the young page that followed him. – But your worship should suppose me, instead of being a boy, to be a woman in disguise."

"A woman in disguise!" said the cavalier: "Is the page, then, the false mistress? There should be very good cause to put a woman in disguise; for, besides that it robs her, to appearance, if not absolutely, of the natural delicacy of her sex, it forces her to be a hypocrite. A deceitful woman is still more odious than a double-faced man."

"But this lady had great cause," said Jacinto, "seeing that love and sorrow, together, forced her into the henchman's habit, as my lord will presently see."

So saying, with a pleasant smile, the minstrel struck the lute, and sang the following little

ROMANCE OF THE KNIGHT AND THE PAGE1A Christian knight, in the Paynim land,Lay bleeding on the plain;The fight was done, and the field was won,But not by the Christian train:The cross had vail'd to the crescent,The Moorish shouts rose high, —'Lelilee! Lelilee!' – but the Christian knightSent up a sadder cry."My castle lies on Morena's top,Jucar is far away: —My lady will rue for her vows untrueBut God be good for aye! —Young page! thou followest well;These dog-howls heed not thou." —'Lelilee! Lelilee!' —"Get thee hence to my lady now.Tell her this blood, that pours a flood,My heart's true faith doth prove —My corse to earth, my sighs to thee, —My heart to my lady love!"2The page, he knelt at the Christian's side,And sorely sobb'd he then:"The faithless love can truer proveThan hosts of faithful men.The cross has vail'd to the crescent,The Moorish shouts are high," —'Lelilee! Lelilee!' – "but the love untrueHath yet another cry.Thy castle lies on Morena's top,Jucar is far away;But dies the bride at her true lord's side, —Now God be good for aye!The page that followeth well,Repeats the unbroken vow" —'Lelilee! Lelilee!' —"Oh, look on thy lady now!For now this blood, that pours a flood,Doth show her true love's plight. —My soul to God, my blood to thine —My life for my dying knight."

"Is that all?" said the cavalier, when Jacinto had warbled out the last line. "There should have been another stanza, to explain what was the cause of separation, as well as how it happened that the lady came to follow the knight, as a servant; neither of which circumstances is very manifest."

"Señor," said Jacinto, "if all the story had been told, it would have made a book. It is clear, that an evil destiny separated the pair, and that love sent the lady after her lord."

"Be thou a conjuror or not," said Don Amador, musingly, "thou hast the knack ever to hit upon subjects, as well in thy songs as in thy stories, which both provoke my curiosity, and revive my melancholy. My castle, as I may say, doth 'lie on Morena's top,' – that is to say, on the ridge of Cuenza; – and Jucar is, indeed, 'far away;' but heaven hath left me no lady-love, either to die with me among the infidels, by whom I am made to bleed, or to lament me at home. An evil destiny (how evil I know not, and yet do I dread, more dark than that which prevails with a jealous heart,) hath separated me from one whom I loved, – and, doubtless, hath separated me for ever." The cavalier sighed deeply, bent his eyes for a moment on the ground, and then raising them, with a solemn look, to the page, said abruptly, "I have come to be persuaded, altogether beyond the contradiction of my reason, that thou hast, somehow, and, perhaps, by magical arts, obtained a knowledge of the history of my past life. If thou knowest aught of the fate of Leila, the lamented maid of Almeria, I adjure thee to reveal thy knowledge, and without delay! Thou shakest thy head. – Wherefore didst thou refuse to finish the story of her who bore her name, and who dwelt in the same city?"

"My lord will be angry with me," said the page, rising in some perturbation, – "I have deceived him!"

"I am sorry to know thou couldst be, in any way, guilty of deceit, though I do readily forgive thee; charging thee, however, at all times, to remember, that any deceitfulness is but a form of mendacity, and therefore as mean and degrading as it is sinful. – In what hast thou deceived me?"

"When I told my lord the story of Leila, and perceived how it disturbed him," said Jacinto, with a faltering voice, "I repented me, and told him a thing that was not true, to appease him. The Leila of whom I spoke, had dwelt in Almeria within a year past; and, perhaps, she was the maid that my lord remembered."

As the page made this confession, Don Amador sprang eagerly to his feet, and, as he seized the speaker's arm, cried, with much agitation, —

"Dost thou tell me the truth? and does she live? God be praised for ever! doth the maiden live?"

"She lived, when my father brought me from Barbary – "

"Heaven be thanked! I will ransom her from the infidels, though I give myself up to captivity as the price!"

"Señor," said the page, sorrowfully, "you forget that you are now a prisoner in another world."

The cavalier smote his breast, crying, "It is true! and the revealment comes too late! – Silly boy!" he continued, reproachfully, "why didst thou delay telling me this, until this time, when it can only add to my griefs? Why didst thou not speak it, at Tlascala, that I might have departed forthwith from the land, to her rescue?"

"My lord would not have deserted his kinsman, Don Gabriel?"

"True again!" exclaimed Don Amador, with a pang. "I could not have left my knight, even at the call of Leila. But now will I go to Don Gabriel, and confessing to him my sorrow, will prevail upon him straightway to depart with me; for here, it must be plain to him, as it is to me, that God is not with us.

"Alas! señor," said the page, "it is not possible that you should go to Don Gabriel, nor that you should ever more leave this heathen land."

"Dost thou confess, then," demanded the novice, "that Abdalla has deceived me, and that I am held to perpetual captivity?"

"Señor," said the boy, clasping his hands, and weeping bitterly, "we shall never more see Spain, nor any land but this. The fate of Don Hernan, and of all his men, is written; they are in a net from which they cannot escape; and we, who are spared, obtain our lives only at the price of expatriation. My father remembered his protector, – my lord is saved; but he shares our exile!"

At this confirmation of his worst suspicions, the countenance of Don Amador darkened with despair and horror.

"And Abdalla, thy father, has plotted this foul, traitorous, and most bloody catastrophe? And he thinks, that, for my life's sake, I will divide with him the dishonour and guilt of my preservation?"

"My lord knows not the wrongs of my father," said Jacinto, mournfully, "or he would not speak of him so harshly."

"Thy father is a most traitor-like and backsliding villain," said Don Amador, "and this baseness in him should entirely cancel in thee the bonds of affection and duty; for thou art not of his nature. Hark thee, then, boy: it is my purpose straightway to depart from this house, and this durance. I desire to save thee from the fate of a pagan's slave. Better will it be for thee, if thou shouldst die with me, in the attempt to reach the palace, (and I swear to thee, I will protect thee to the last moment of my life,) than remain in Tenochtitlan, after thy Christian friends have left it, or after they are slain. It is my hope, and, indeed, my belief, that, when the valiant general, Don Hernan, comes to be persuaded of his true condition, he will, immediately, and at any cost, cut his way out of this most accursed city. In this manner will we escape, and thou shall find, in me, a father who will love thee not less truly, and more in fashion of a Christian, than the apostate Zegri."

"If my lord could but protect my father from the anger of Don Hernan, and prevail upon him to return with my lord!" said Jacinto, eagerly.

"I have already proposed this to him, and, in his fury, he denies me."

"Heaven help us then!" cried Jacinto, "for there is no other hope; and we must dwell with the barbarians!"

"Dost thou think, that I will rest here, when they are murdering Don Gabriel? – Hark thee! what knave has stolen away my sword? – Know, that I will straightway make my escape, and carry thee along with me; for God would not forgive me, did I leave thee abandoned to barbarians, to the eternal loss and perdition of thy soul. I say to thee again, thou shalt accompany me."

"I will remain with my father!" said the boy, stepping back, and assuming some of that dignity and decision, which the neophyte had so lately witnessed in Abdalla; "and so will my lord, likewise; for my lord has given him a pledge, which he cannot forfeit."

"Miserable wretch that I am!" said the cavalier; – "in either case, I am overwhelmed with dishonour. My gage was sinful, and the infraction of it will be shame. Bring me hither Abdalla; I will revoke my promise to him in person; and, after that, I can depart, without disgrace."

"Thou canst not escape, without shedding blood, at least," said the boy, with a pale and yet determined countenance, "for, first, thou must slay my father, who saved thee from the death of sacrifice. If thou goest, in his absence, then must my lord strike down the son; – for with what strength I have, I will prevent him!"

The amazement with which the warlike cavalier heard these words, and beheld the stripling throw himself manfully before the door of the apartment, entirely disconcerted him for a moment. Before he could find words to express his anger, or perhaps derision, the page, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, ran from the door, and flinging himself at his patron's feet, embraced his knees, weeping and exclaiming, with much passion,

"O my dear master! be not incensed with me: for I am but weak and silly, and I have no friends but my father and thee! If thou takest me from my father, then shall he be left childless, to live and to die alone; if thou goest without us, we shall be deserted to perish without a friend; for no one has smiled on us but my lord; and if thou goest while my father is absent, he will curse me, and I will curse myself, – for thou must needs die in the streets!"

The novice was touched, not so much by the last and undeniable assurance, as by the pathetic appeal of the Morisco.

"Be comforted, Jacinto," he cried; "for now, indeed, it appears to me, that, whether I had passed my gage or not, I could not take advantage of the weakness of such a jailor, and fly, without the greatest shame. And, in addition, it seems to me inhuman and unjust, that I should think of escaping, without doing my best to snatch thee and thy father also, (whose sinfulness does, in this case, at least, spring from affection,) out of thraldom. Be thou therefore content: I will remain thy patient prisoner, until such time as Abdalla returns; hoping that I can, then, advance such remonstrance and argument, as shall convert him from his purpose, and cause him to repent what wrongs he has already done Don Hernan, and to accept his mercy, which I do again avow myself ready to secure with my life, and even with my honour. But I warn thee, that I can by no means remain a captive, while my friends are given up to destruction."

"Señor," said Jacinto, rising, "there is a hope they will be spared, if the king should recover; for greatly have the Mexicans mourned the rage which wounded their monarch. If he live, and again command peace, there will be peace; and all of us may yet be happy."

"God grant that this may be so!" said the cavalier, catching at the hope. "I will therefore remain with thee a little; for if my friends be not starved outright, I have no fear but that they can easily maintain themselves a week in the palace."

"And besides, señor," said the page, returning to his playful manner, "if you were to leave me, how should you hear more of the maid of Almeria?"

"Of Leila?" cried the cavalier, forgetting at once his honour and his friends; "now do I remember me, that you have not yet told me how you acquired your most blessed and blissful knowledge. Heaven forgive me! I did not think it possible, – but, I believe, I had entirely forgotten her! How comest thou to know aught of her? Answer me quickly, and be still more quick to tell me all you know."

"Will not my lord be satisfied with my knowledge, without seeking after the means of acquiring it?" demanded the page, hesitatingly.

"If, indeed," said Don Amador, solemnly, "thou hast obtained it by the practice of that land of magic which is forbidden, though my curiosity will not permit me to eschew its revelations, yet must I caution thee, from this time henceforth, to employ it no more; for, herein, dost thou peril thy soul. But, if it be by those arts, which are not in themselves sinful, thou shouldst not be ashamed to confess them; for the habit of concealment is the first step in the path of deception; and I have already assured thee, that a deceiver is, as one may say, a lie in the face of his Maker. But of this I will instruct thee more fully hereafter: at present, I burn with an unconquerable desire to hear thee speak of Leila."

"But how know I," said the page, again hesitating, "that she of whom I speak, is the Leila after whom it pleases my lord to inquire? – And why indeed, now that I think of it, should my lord inquire at all after one of a persecuted and despised race?"

"Wilt thou still torment me? Have I not told thee that I forgot her origin, and loved her?"

"And did she love my lord back again?"

"Thou askest me what I cannot with certainty answer," replied the cavalier, "for she was snatched away from me, before I had yet overcome the natural scruples of my pride to discourse of love to one who seemed so much beneath the dignity of my birth and fortunes."

"And my lord gave her no cause to think she had obtained favour in his eyes?"

"In this thou dost not err; for, saving some gifts, which were, indeed, more the boons of a patron than the tribute of a lover, I did nothing to address me to her affections. In all things, as I may say, I did rather assume the character of one who would befriend and protect her from wrong, than of a man seeking after her love."

"But, if she accepted my lord's gifts, she must have loved him," said Jacinto.

"They were very trifles," rejoined the cavalier, "saving only one, indeed, which, as she must have perceived, could not have been more properly bestowed than upon one so innocent and friendless as herself. This was a very antique and blessed jewel, – a cross of rubies, – fetched by mine ancestor, Don Rodrigo of Arragon, more than three hundred years ago, from the Holy Land, after having been consecrated upon the Sepulchre itself. It was thought to be a talisman of such heavenly efficacy, in the hands of an unspotted virgin, that no harm could ever come to her, who wore it upon her neck. For mine own part, though I could tell thee divers stories of its virtue, recorded in our house, yet was I ever inclined to think, that a natural purity of heart was, in all cases, a much better protection of innocence than even a holy talisman. Nevertheless, when I beheld this orphan Moor, I bethought me of the imputed virtues of those rubies; and I put them upon her neck, as thinking her friendless condition gave her the strongest claim to all such blessed protection."

"A cross of rubies!" cried the page; "it is she!"

"And thou canst tell me of her resting-place? and of her present condition?" cried the overjoyed cavalier. "I remember, that, at the temple of Tlascala, thou didst aver, that, notwithstanding the apparent baseness of her origin, it had been discovered that she was descended of very noble parentage!"

"What I can tell thee, and what I will," said Jacinto, gravely, "will depend upon thine own actions. If thou leavest this place, without my father's consent, hope not that thou shalt know any thing more than has been spoken. If thou art content to remain a little time in captivity, and to yield me the obedience which I demand, thou shalt find, that a child of a contemned race may possess wisdom unknown to men of happier degrees. Thou hast acknowledged thyself the captive of my father; wilt thou promise obedience to me?"

Don Amador surveyed the boy with a bewildered stare:

"It is possible," said he, "that I am yet dreaming, for it seemeth to me very absurd, that thou, who art a boy, and wert but yesterday a servant, shouldst make such a demand of subjection to a man and a cavalier, and, as I may say, also, thy master."

"My lord will not think I would have him become a servant," said Jacinto. "The subjection I require, is for the purpose of securing him that gratification of his curiosity, which he has sought, – and thus only can he obtain it. In all other respects, I remain myself the slave of my lord."

"Provided thou wilt demand me nothing dishonourable nor irreligious, (and now, that I know, from thy father's confession, that thou art of noble descent, I can scarcely apprehend in thee any meanness,) I will make thee such a promise," said Don Amador. "But I must beseech thee, not to torment me with delay."

"My lord shall not repent his goodness," said the page, with a happy countenance; "for when he thinks not of it, his wishes shall be gratified. But, at present, let him be at peace, and sleep; for the time has not yet come. I claim, now, the first proof of my lord's obedience. Let him eat of this medicinal confection, and, by a little rest, dispel the heats of fever, which are again returning to him."

"I declare to thee," said Don Amador, "I am very well; and this fever is caused by suspense, and not disease."

"Thou must obey," said the page. "While thou art sleeping, I will inquire for thee the fate of Leila; for it is yet wrapped in darkness, and it cannot be discovered but by great efforts."

The cavalier obeyed the injunctions of his young jailer, ate of the confection, and, Jacinto leaving the apartment, he yielded to exhaustion and drowsiness, and notwithstanding his eager and tormenting curiosity, soon fell fast asleep.

CHAPTER XLIX

Gloom and fear still beset the garrison at the palace of Axajacatl; and the mutiny of soldiers, and fierce feuds among the cavaliers, were added to other circumstances of distress. Those ancient veterans, who had followed Don Hernan, from the first day of invasion, and who had shared with him so many privations and perils, were, in general, still true to their oaths of obedience, and preserved through all trials, an apparent, if not a real composure of spirit, as well as a firm reliance on the wisdom of their leader. But the followers of Narvaez, uninured to combat, and but lately acquainted with suffering – their sanguine expectations of conquest without danger, and of wealth without labour, changed to a mere hope of disgraceful escape, and that hope, as they all felt, founded, not in reason, but imagination, – turned their murmurs into the most bitter execrations, and these again into menaces. The officers, too, rendered peevish by discontent, and reckoning each the discomfiture of his neighbour as the evidence of feebleness or fear, spoke to one another with sarcasms, and even sometimes to Don Hernan himself with disrespect. The self-command of the general, however, never deserted him; he rebuked insult with tranquil indignation, and so far prevailed over his fiery subordinates, as to compose most of their quarrels, without suffering them to be submitted to the ordeal of honour. One feud had arisen, nevertheless, which his skill could not allay; and all that he could effect by remonstrance, and even supplication, was an agreement of the parties to postpone its final arbitrement, until such time as the providence of heaven should conduct them afar from Tenochtitlan. The wrath engendered in the bosom of the Tonatiuh, by the angry reproaches of De Morla, after their return from the battle of the Manta, had been inflamed by a new circumstance, which, though of a trivial nature, the pride of Alvarado and the resentment of his opponent had converted into an affair of importance.

There was among the many kinswomen of Montezuma, who shared his captivity, (for the policy of the general had reduced nearly all the royal blood to bonds,) a certain young maiden, a daughter of the lord of Colhuacan, and therefore a niece of the king; who, in the general partition which the nobler of the cavaliers had, in prospective, made of the Indian princesses, had fallen to the lot of Alvarado. In those days of legitimacy, there was some degree of divinity allowed to hedge the person of even a barbaric monarch; and happy was the hidalgo, who, by obtaining a royal maid for his wife, could rank himself, in imaginary dignity, with the princes of Christendom. At the present moment, the companions of Cortes had rather made their selections, than endeavoured to commend themselves to the favour of their mistresses; – dropping, thereby, so much of their reverence for royalty, as not to suppose the existence of any will, or opposition, in the objects of their desire. The Doña Engracia, (her native title has entirely escaped the historians,) was, therefore, beloved by Don Pedro; but, not having been made acquainted with the hidalgo's flame, she stooped, at the first promptings of affection, to a destiny less brilliant and lofty. Her heart melted at the handsome visage of the young Fabueno; and the secretary, flattered by the love of so noble a maiden, and emboldened by his success in arms, did not scruple to become the rival of the Tonatiuh. The rage of Don Pedro would have chastised, in blood, the presumption of such a competitor; but De Morla, remembering the novice, did not hesitate, for his sake, to befriend his servant; and, when he avowed himself the champion of Lorenzo, he dreamed that he was about to avenge the fall of his brother-in-arms.