But there will be nothing to fear from the guard, trust to me for it.
See, the bars of this window are but of wood, that sword will soon sever them, and if you are seen you must play the part of a drunken soldier being guided to his quarters by a woman.
For the rest I know nothing, save that I run great risk for your sakes, since if it is discovered that I have aided you, then I shall find it hard to soften the rage of Cortes, who, the war being won,’ and she sighed, ‘does not need me now so much as once he did.’
‘I can make shift to hop on my right foot,’ I said, ‘and for the rest we must trust to fortune.
It can give us no worse gifts than those we have already.’
‘So be it, Teule, and now farewell, for I dare stay no longer.
I can do nothing more.
May your good star shine on you and lead you hence in safety; and Teule, if we never meet again, I pray you think of me kindly, for there are many in the world who will do otherwise in the days to come.’
‘Farewell, Marina,’ I said, and she was gone.
We heard the doors close behind her, and the distant voices of those who bore her litter, then all was silence.
Otomie listened at the window for a while, but the guards seemed to be gone, where or why I do not know to this hour, and the only sound was that of distant revelry from the camp.
‘And now to the work,’ I said to Otomie.
‘As you wish, husband, but I fear it will be profitless.
I do not trust that woman.
Faithless in all, without doubt she betrays us.
Still at the worst you have the sword, and can use it.’
‘It matters little,’ I answered.
‘Our plight cannot be worse than it is now; life has no greater evils than torment and death, and they are with us already.’
Then I sat upon the stool, and my arms being left sound and strong, I hacked with the sharp sword at the wooden bars of the window, severing them one by one till there was a space big enough for us to creep through.
This being done and no one having appeared to disturb us, Otomie clad me in the clothes of a Spanish soldier which Marina had brought, for I could not dress myself.
What I suffered in the donning of those garments, and more especially in the pulling of the long boot on to my burnt foot, can never be told, but more than once I stopped, pondering whether it would not be better to die rather than to endure such agonies.
At last it was done, and Otomie must put on the red and yellow robe, a garb of shame such as many honest Indian women would die sooner than be seen in, and I think that as she did this, her agony was greater than mine, though of another sort, for to her proud heart, that dress was a very shirt of Nessus.
Presently she was clad, and minced before me with savage mockery, saying:
‘Prithee, soldier, do I look my part?’
‘A peace to such fooling,’ I answered; ‘our lives are at stake, what does it matter how we disguise ourselves?’
‘It matters much, husband, but how can you understand, who are a man and a foreigner?
Now I will clamber through the window, and you must follow me if you can, if not I will return to you and we will end this masquerade.’
Then she passed through the hole swiftly, for Otomie was agile and strong as an ocelot, and mounting the stool I made shift to follow her as well as my hurts would allow.
In the end I was able to throw myself upon the sill of the window, and there I was stretched out like a dead cat till she drew me across it, and I fell with her to the ground on the further side, and lay groaning.
She lifted me to my feet, or rather to my foot, for I could use but one of them, and we stared round us.
No one was to be seen, and the sound of revelry had died away, for the crest of Popo was already red with the sunlight and the dawn grew in the valley.
‘Where to?’ I said.
Now Otomie had been allowed to walk in the camp with her sister, the wife of Guatemoc, and other Aztec ladies, and she had this gift in common with most Indians, that where she had once passed there she could pass again, even in the darkest night.
‘To the south gate,’ she whispered; ‘perhaps it is unguarded now that the war is done, at the least I know the road thither.’
So we started, I leaning on her shoulder and hopping on my right foot, and thus very painfully we traversed some three hundred yards meeting nobody. But now our good luck failed us, for passing round the corner of some buildings, we came face to face with three soldiers returning to their huts from a midnight revel, and with them some native servants.
‘Whom have we here?’ said the first of these.
‘Your name, comrade?’
‘Good-night, brother, good-night,’ I answered in Spanish, speaking with the thick voice of drunkenness.
‘Good morning, you mean,’ he said, for the dawn was breaking.
‘Your name.
I don’t know your face, though it seems that you have been in the wars,’ and he laughed.
‘You mustn’t ask a comrade his name,’ I said solemnly and swinging to and fro.
‘The captain might send for me and he’s a temperate man.
Your arm, girl; it is time to go to sleep, the sun sets.’
They laughed, but one of them addressed Otomie, saying:
‘Leave the sot, my pretty, and come and walk with us,’ and he caught her by the arm. But she turned on him with so fierce a look that he let her go again astonished, and we staggered on till the corner of another house hid us from their view.
Here I sank to the ground overcome with pain, for while the soldiers were in sight, I was obliged to use my wounded foot lest they should suspect.
But Otomie pulled me up, saying:
‘Alas! beloved, we must pass on or perish.’
I rose groaning, and by what efforts I reached the south gate I cannot describe, though I thought that I must die before I came there.