‘It may be so,’ said Guatemoc, ‘but at least I shall not die betraying my trust;’ and he went.
Now I must tell that, as I believed, this was my last day on earth, for on the morrow my year of godhead expired, and I, Thomas Wingfield, should be led out to sacrifice.
Notwithstanding all the tumult in the city, the mourning for the dead and the fear that hung over it like a cloud, the ceremonies of religion and its feasts were still celebrated strictly, more strictly indeed than ever before.
Thus on this night a festival was held in my honour, and I must sit at the feast crowned with flowers and surrounded by my wives, while those nobles who remained alive in the city did me homage, and with them Cuitlahua, who, if Montezuma were dead, would now be emperor.
It was a dreary meal enough, for I could scarcely be gay though I strove to drown my woes in drink, and as for the guests, they had little jollity left in them.
Hundreds of their relatives were dead and with them thousands of the people; the Spaniards still held their own in the fortress, and that day they had seen their emperor, who to them was a god, smitten down by one of their own number, and above all they felt that doom was upon themselves.
What wonder that they were not merry?
Indeed no funeral feast could have been more sad, for flowers and wine and fair women do not make pleasure, and after all it was a funeral feast—for me.
At length it came to an end and I fled to my own apartments, whither my three wives followed me, for Otomie did not come, calling me most happy and blessed who to-morrow should be with myself, that is with my own godhead, in heaven.
But I did not call them blessed, for, rising in wrath, I drove them away, saying that I had but one comfort left, and it was that wherever I might go I should leave them behind.
Then I cast myself upon the cushions of my bed and mourned in my fear and bitterness of heart.
This was the end of the vengeance which I had sworn to wreak on de Garcia, that I myself must have my heart torn from my breast and offered to a devil.
Truly Fonseca, my benefactor, had spoken words of wisdom when he counselled me to take my fortune and forget my oath.
Had I done so, to-day I might have been my betrothed’s husband and happy in her love at home in peaceful England, instead of what I was, a lost soul in the power of fiends and about to be offered to a fiend.
In the bitterness of the thought and the extremity of my anguish I wept aloud and prayed to my Maker that I might be delivered from this cruel death, or at the least that my sins should be forgiven me, so that to-morrow night I might rest at peace in heaven.
Thus weeping and praying I sank into a half sleep, and dreamed that I walked on the hillside near the church path that runs through the garden of the Lodge at Ditchingham.
The whispers of the wind were in the trees which clothe the bank of the Vineyard Hills, the scent of the sweet English flowers was in my nostrils and the balmy air of June blew on my brow.
It was night in this dream of mine, and I thought that the moon shone sweetly on the meadows and the river, while from every side came the music of the nightingale.
But I was not thinking of these delightful sights and sounds, though they were present in my mind, for my eyes watched the church path which goes up the hill at the back of the house, and my heart listened for a footstep that I longed to hear.
Then there came a sound of singing from beyond the hill, and the words of the song were sad, for they told of one who had sailed away and returned no more, and presently between the apple trees I saw a white figure on its crest.
Slowly it came towards me and I knew that it was she for whom I waited, Lily my beloved.
Now she ceased to sing, but drew on gently and her face seemed very sad.
Moreover it was the face of a woman in middle life, but still most beautiful, more beautiful indeed than it had been in the bloom of youth.
She had reached the foot of the hill and was turning towards the little garden gate, when I came forward from the shadow of the trees, and stood before her.
Back she started with a cry of fear, then grew silent and gazed into my face.
‘So changed,’ she murmured; ‘can it be the same? Thomas, is it you come back to me from the dead, or is this but a vision?’ and slowly and doubtingly the dream wraith stretched out her arms as though to clasp me.
Then I awoke.
I awoke and lo! before me stood a fair woman clothed in white, on whom the moonlight shone as in my dream, and her arms were stretched towards me lovingly.
‘It is I, beloved, and no vision,’ I cried, springing from my bed and clasping her to my breast to kiss her.
But before my lips touched hers I saw my error, for she whom I embraced was not Lily Bozard, my betrothed, but Otomie, princess of the Otomie, who was called my wife.
Then I knew that this was the saddest and the most bitter of dreams that had been sent to mock me, for all the truth rushed into my mind.
Losing my hold of Otomie, I fell back upon the bed and groaned aloud, and as I fell I saw the flush of shame upon her brow and breast. For this woman loved me, and thus my act and words were an insult to her, who could guess well what prompted them.
Still she spoke gently.
‘Pardon me, Teule, I came but to watch and not to waken you.
I came also that I may see you alone before the daybreak, hoping that I might be of service, or at the least, of comfort to you, for the end draws near.
Say then, in your sleep did you mistake me for some other woman dearer and fairer than I am, that you would have embraced me?’
‘I dreamed that you were my betrothed whom I love, and who is far away across the sea,’ I answered heavily.
‘But enough of love and such matters.
What have I to do with them who go down into darkness?’
‘In truth I cannot tell, Teule, still I have heard wise men say that if love is to be found anywhere, it is in this same darkness of death, that is light indeed.
Grieve not, for if there is truth in the faith of which you have told me or in our own, either on this earth or beyond it, with the eyes of the spirit you will see your dear before another sun is set, and I pray that you may find her faithful to you.
Tell me now, how much does she love you?
Would SHE have lain by your side on the bed of sacrifice as, had things gone otherwise between us, Teule, it was my hope to do?’
‘No,’ I answered, ‘it is not the custom of our women to kill themselves because their husbands chance to die.’
‘Perhaps they think it better to live and wed again,’ answered Otomie very quietly, but I saw her eyes flash and her breast heave in the moonlight as she spoke.
‘Enough of this foolish talk,’ I said.
‘Listen, Otomie; if you had cared for me truly, surely you would have saved me from this dreadful doom, or prevailed on Guatemoc to save me.
You are Montezuma’s daughter, could you not have brought it about during all these months that he issued his royal mandate, commanding that I should be spared?’
‘Do you, then, take me for so poor a friend, Teule?’ she answered hotly.
‘Know that for all these months, by day and by night, I have worked and striven to find a means to rescue you.