Surely Marina would depart and leave us to our doom.
But it was not so.
Indeed, she shrank and trembled before Otomie’s contempt.
They were a strange contrast in their different loveliness as they stood face to face in the torture den, and it was strange also to see the spirit of the lady of royal blood, threatened as she was with a shameful death, or still more shameful life, triumph over the Indian girl whom to-day fortune had set as far above her as the stars.
‘Say, royal lady,’ asked Marina in her gentle voice, ‘for what cause did you, if tales are true, lie by the side of yonder white man upon the stone of sacrifice?’
‘Because I love him, Marina.’
‘And for this same cause have I, Marina, laid my honour upon a different altar, for this same cause I have striven against the children of my people, because I love another such as he.
It is for love of Cortes that I have aided Cortes, therefore despise me not, but let your love plead for mine, seeing that, to us women, love is all. I have sinned, I know, but doubtless in its season my sin shall find a fitting punishment.’
‘It had need be sharp,’ answered Otomie.
‘My love has harmed none, see before you but one grain of the countless harvest of your own.
In yonder chair Guatemoc your king was this day tortured by your master Cortes, who swore to treat him with all honour.
By his side sat Teule, my husband and your friend; him Cortes gave over to has private enemy, de Garcia, whom you name Sarceda.
See how he has left him.
Nay, do not shudder, gentle lady; look now at his wounds!
Consider to what a pass we are driven when you find us about to die thus like dogs, he, my husband, that he may not live to see me handled as he has been, and I with him, because a princess of the Otomie and of Montezuma’s blood cannot submit to such a shame while death has one door through which to creep.
It is but a single grain of your harvest, outcast and traitress, the harvest of misery and death that is stored yonder in the ruins of Tenoctitlan.
Had I my will, I tell you that I had sooner die a score of times than take help from a hand so stained with the blood of my people and of yours—I—’
‘Oh! cease, lady, cease,’ groaned Marina, covering her eyes with her hand, as though the sight of Otomie were dreadful to her.
‘What is done is done; do not add to my remorse.
What did you say, that you, the lady Otomie, were brought here to be tortured?’
‘Even so, and before my husband’s eyes.
Why should Montezuma’s daughter and the princess of the Otomie escape the fate of the emperor of the Aztecs?
If her womanhood does not protect her, has she anything to hope of her lost rank?’
‘Cortes knows nothing of this, I swear it,’ said Marina.
‘To the rest he has been driven by the clamour of the soldiers, who taunt him with stealing treasure that he has never found.
But of this last wickedness he is innocent.’
‘Then let him ask his tool Sarceda of it.’
‘As for Sarceda, I promise you, princess, that if I can I will avenge this threat upon him.
But time is short, I am come here with the knowledge of Cortes, to see if I can win the secret of the treasure from Teule, your husband, and for my friendship’s sake I am about to betray my trust and help him and you to fly.
Do you refuse my aid?’
Otomie said nothing, but I spoke for the first time.
‘Nay, Marina, I have no love for this thief’s fate if I can escape it, but how is it to be done?’
‘The chance is poor enough, Teule, but I bethought me that once out of this prison you might slip away disguised.
Few will be stirring at dawn, and of them the most will not be keen to notice men or things.
See, I have brought you the dress of a Spanish soldier; your skin is dark, and in the half light you might pass as one; and for the princess your wife, I have brought another dress, indeed I am ashamed to offer it, but it is the only one that will not be noted at this hour; also, Teule, I bring you a sword, that which was taken from you, though I think that once it had another owner.’
Now while she spoke Marina undid her bundle, and there in it were the dresses and the sword, the same that I had taken from the Spaniard Diaz in the massacre of the noche triste.
First she drew out the woman’s robe and handed it to Otomie, and I saw that it was such a robe as among the Indians is worn by the women who follow camps, a robe with red and yellow in it.
Otomie saw it also and drew back.
‘Surely, girl, you have brought a garment of your own in error,’ she said quietly, but in such a fashion as showed more of the savage heart that is native to her race than she often suffered to be seen; ‘at the least I cannot wear such robes.’
‘It seems that I must bear too much,’ answered Marina, growing wroth at last, and striving to keep back the tears that started to her eyes.
‘I will away and leave you;’ and she began to roll up her bundle.
‘Forgive her, Marina,’ I said hastily, for the desire to escape grew on me every minute; ‘sorrow has set an edge upon her tongue.’
Then turning to Otomie I added,
‘I pray you be more gentle, wife, for my sake if not for your own.
Marina is our only hope.’
‘Would that she had left us to die in peace, husband.
Well, so be it, for your sake I will put on these garments of a drab.
But how shall we escape out of this place and the camp?
Will the door be opened to us, and the guards removed, and if we pass them, can you walk, husband?’
‘The doors will not be opened, lady,’ said Marina, ‘for those wait without, who will see that they are locked when I have passed them.