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Some two hours after nightfall, as the unhappy
Lerma lay in darkness and solitude, (for Befo was
no longer permitted to be his companion,) the door
of the prison opened, and the Alguazil, Villafana,
entered, bearing a lantern, which emitted just sufficient
light to allow his features to be distinguished,
together with what seemed a flask of wine—a luxury
now to be occasionally obtained, since vessels
arrived not unfrequently from the islands.

“How now, what cheer, señor?” he exclaimed,
setting down the flask upon the table, and turning
the light full upon Juan's face; “are you saying
your prayers? Here's that shall give you better
comfort,—something from the vineyards of Xeres
de la Frontera,—stout Sherry, that shall make your
heart bounce, were it broken twice over.—Come,
faith, it will make you merry.”

“I shall never be merry more,” said Juan; “and
why should I? It is better I should not. I thank
you for your good-will, Villafana; but I would that,
instead of this wine, if it be not contrary to your
duty, you would fetch me the good father Olmedo,
to finish the confession, begun upon the block, and
so abruptly interrupted, this morning.”

“Pho, be not in such a hurry: you have time
enough. The priest is busy, and knowing he must
shrive you to-morrow, he will be ill inclined to
trouble himself superfluously to-night. Come, sit
up, drink, laugh, and curse thy foes. Come, now,

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—a merry God's blessing! may you live a thousand
years!—Dzoog! bah! dzoog!—Now could I fight
seven tigers!”

“It is better thou shouldst drink it than I,” said
Juan, observing the strong and somewhat fantastic
gestures with which the Alguazil expressed his approbation,
after having taken a hearty draught of
the liquor; “yet bethink thee, Villafana,—”

“'Slid!” interrupted the jailer, “bethink thyself!
and bethink thee that this will make thee a good
fellow of a warhorse mettle, whereas, now, thou art
but a sick lambkin. What makes a beggar a king,
hah? a tailor's 'prentice a Cid Ruy Diaz of Castile,—
a doughty Campeador? Pho, there is more of
this, and to-morrow it will flow: Dost thou not
know, Don Demonios, our king, has invited us to a
banquet to-morrow? Thou shalt hear this banquet
spoken of for a thousand years. Ah, the good ship!
the good ship! there is a better thing she brings us
than wine.—But that is neither here nor there.
Why dost thou not drink?”

“Am I not condemned to death for the infraction
of a decree?” said Juan, somewhat sternly, for he
thought he perceived in Villafana's levity a symptom
of undue excitement; “and dost thou not remember
that there is a decree also against drunkenness?
Thou hast suffered somewhat from this
already.”

“Dost thou suppose there is a hell?” said Villafana,
with some such look as that which had appalled
Juan, when he walked with him over the
meadows beyond the city: “For, if thou dost,
know then, that I make my promise to the infernal
fiend, to broil with him seven times seven thousand
years, if I do not, with a stab for every lash, make
up my reckoning with the man who degraded me!
Ojala and Amen!—So now, there's enough to keep
thee quiet.—Hast thou any gall any where but in
thy liver?”

“Thou art besotted, or insane, I think,” said

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Juan, angrily. “I am a dying man: begone, and
suffer me to make my peace with heaven.”

“Come, you think I am drunk,” said Villafana,
somewhat more rationally. “I grant you; but it is
with a stuff stronger than strong drink;—ay, faith,
for, to-morrow, I see my way to heaven!—Answer
me, truly: have you no thirst for vengeance on
those who have brought you to this pass?—You
see I am sober, hah? One would not die like a
sheep.—You may play the wolf yet. What if you
had an opportunity—”

“Tempt me not, knave,” said Juan, turning
away his face—“Avoid thee, Satan!”

“What if I should knock open thy doors, and put
a sword into thy hand?” said Villafana, bending
over, so as to whisper into his ear; “what wouldst
thou do with it?”

“Break it,” replied the prisoner, wrapping his
mantle about his head, as if to shut out all further
temptation.

“Thou art a fool,” said the Alguazil, with a
growl, and left the apartment.

Juan heard his retreating steps, followed by the
clanking of the chain, which, with a strong padlock,
on the outside, secured the door of the prison; yet
he neither raised his head, nor removed the mantle
from his face, but endeavoured to drive from his
heart the thoughts of passion, excited by the words
of the tempter. From this gloomy task he was
roused by a soft voice, murmuring, as it seemed to
him from the air, for he was not aware of the
presence of any human being in the apartment,—

“Does the Great Eagle fear the face of his
friend?”

He started to his feet, and beheld in the light of
the lantern, which Villafana had left on the table,
the figure of an ancient Indian, standing hard
by.

“Techeechee!” he exclaimed—“But no; thy

[figure description] Page 210.[end figure description]

speech is pure, thy tongue is another's. Who art
thou, gray-head of Mexico?”

“To-day, Cojotl, the cunning fox of scribes,—
yesterday, Olin, the tongue of nobles,—but before,
and hereafter, Guatimozin, the friend of the Great
Eagle,” replied the Indian, and as he spoke, he
exchanged the decrepit stoop of age for the lofty
demeanour of youth, and parted the gray locks
which had hitherto almost concealed his countenance.

“Rash prince,” said Juan, “will you yet wear
the chains of Montezuma? Why dost thou again
entrust thyself among Spaniards?”

“How came the Great Eagle into the place of
Guatimozin?” demanded the young Mexican, expressively:
“Shall he die for Guatimozin, and
Guatimozin stand afar off?”

“Alas, prince,” said Juan, “thy friendship is
noble, but can do me no good. Leave this place,
where thou art in great danger, and think of me
no more. I am beyond the reach of help. Think
of thyself,—of thy people, (for, surely, it is thy
duty to protect them,) and depart while thou
canst.”

“And what am I, that I should do this thing?”
said Guatimozin. “Listen to me, son of the dayspring:
the children of Spain are wolves and reptiles;
the iztli is sharp for them, and it must not
spare. But thou, the young Eagle, shalt remain
the friend of Guatimozin. Has not Malintzin eaten
of thy blood? is he not like the big tiger that takes
by the throat? and who shall draw him away?
Canst thou remain, and smile on another sunset?
I bring thee liberty.”

“How!” said Juan; “is Villafana this traitor,
that he will permit me to escape?”

“He is a rat with two faces,” said the prince,
significantly; “he fears the wrath of Malintzin; he
loves gold, but he says thou shalt not go till

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to-morrow, and to-morrow thou wilt be in Mictlan,
the world of caves. But Guatimozin can do what
the traitor Christian will not. The Eagle is very
brave: he shall kill his foe.”

As Guatimozin spoke, he drew from his cloak a
Spanish dagger, long, sharp and exceedingly bright,—
a relic of the spoils won from the invaders in the
Night of Sorrow,—and offered it to the prisoner,
adding,

“When I depart, a soldier will fasten the door.
If thou art strong-hearted, thou canst rush by,
dealing him a blow. At the water's edge, by the
broken wall, thou wilt find a friend with a canoe;
it is Techeechee. Is not Tenochtitlan hard by?
Guatimozin, the king of Mexico, will make his friend
welcome.”

“Prince,” said Juan, sadly, “this thing cannot
be. Why should I strike down the poor sentinel?
He has done me no wrong. What would become
of thee? Thou couldst not escape. What would
become of Villafana, who, knave though he be, has
yet done much to serve me? And what, to conclude,
would become of me, escaping from Christians,
to take refuge among thy unbelieving people?
I can die, prince, but I can be neither renegade nor
apostate.”

“Is there nothing in Tenochtitlan, that dwells
in the thoughts of the captive? I will be very
good to thee; and thou shalt drink the blood of
thy foe.”

“Prince,” said Juan, firmly, “thine eye cannot
search the soul of a Christian. Malintzin has
done me a great wrong, yet would I not harm a
hair of his head; no, heaven is my witness! I can
forgive him even my death, however unjust and
cruel.”

“It is a dove of Cholula that speaks in the voice
of my friend,” said the infidel, struck with as much
disdain as surprise at the want of spirit, which his

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barbarous code of honour discovered in a lack of
vindictiveness: “Is a man a worm that he should
be trampled on?”

“No,” said Juan, bitterly,—for he could not resist
his feelings of indignation, when he suffered
himself to consider his degradation in this light.
“Had I resisted him in his first anger, had I resented
his first injustice, had I provoked him by
any complaint, then might I think of his course with
submission. But I have not; I have been, indeed,
as thou sayest, a worm, at all times helpless, at all
times unresisting. Others have complained, some
have defied him, but they passed unpunished. I, who
have yielded, like a woman, escape not: I creep
from the path of his anger, but his foot follows me,—
turn which way I will, it crushes me. Even
Befo will show his teeth sometimes—I have seen
him growl when Cortes struck him—and by mine
nonour, I think he struck him, because he was
once mine!”

How far, by indulging such thoughts, he might
have wrought himself into the very spirit which
Guatimozin was surprised to find absent, we will
not venture to say. He was interrupted by the
sudden re-entrance of Villafana, who immediately
exclaimed,

“Will you have my brother Najara diving in
upon you? Pho, you talk too loud: 'tis well you
were gabbling in Mexican. Hark ye, Olin, you
knave, get you gone! to your den, sirrah!—Pray,
señor Juan, tell this rascal, in his own gibberish,
that he cannot remain a moment longer from his
lock-up, without being discovered.—Come, fellow,
come: you shall have more talk to-morrow.”

So saying, the Alguazil conducted the Mexican
away. A few moments after, he returned alone.
Juan, still disordered and brooding over his wrongs,
paced to and fro over the narrow limits of his cell.

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His agitation increased with each step, and, at last,
finding that Villafana did not speak, he exclaimed,

“Come, Villafana,—I know what thou wilt say,—
am I not used dog-like? He disdained even to
sit upon the trial, to ask me what I had to urge in
excuse of my folly; but left this to judges, who
were content to ask `Didst thou this?' and `Didst
thou that?' without permitting me a word of defence.
Surely, I had much provocation in the matter
of Guzman; and as for the decree, it should
have been remembered, that I was come into the
camp too short a time to have made it as fast in my
mind as others, who had heard it daily proclaimed
for months. I must die for this!—die like a hunted
assassin!—my hand stuck against the prison-door,
my body given, perhaps, to fatten the lean hogs
that will fatten my judges! Oh, by heaven, this is
intolerable to think on!”

“Thou wilt believe, now, that thou wert sent to
the South Sea for no good?”

“Ay, I will believe anything,” said Juan, in increasing
excitement. “And this too! scarce an hour
returned from my sufferings, endured for him,—
endured to regain his good-will! Ay, and before I
had done speaking, he would have sent me to
Mexico, to be sacrificed there!—before I had eaten
and drunk! before I had rested my wearied body,
before I had recruited my exhausted strength!—
Tell me, Villafana! was it not by his design I was
entrapped into giving shelter to—But, no! that
could not be; in that, at least, he must be innocent.
But, in the rest, it is oppression, grinding, intolerable
oppression!”

“Well, I marvel he did not let thee off with a
scourging,” said Villafana, swallowing another
draught from the neglected flask. “Come, drink,
and we will discourse together.”

“A scourging!” said Juan, seizing the Alguazil's

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arm with a grasp which showed that imprisonment
and sorrow had not altogether robbed him of
strength; “dare you talk to me of scourging?”

“Ay, marry,” said Villafana, whose object seemed
to be to excite the slumbering fury of the young
man, and who now, in the effect of a word used for
another purpose, discovered a point on which his
equanimity was not impregnable; “ay, faith; for
the whole army cries out upon his barbarity, saying
that he is murdering you; so that he already talks
of letting you off with a scourging.—He was as
good with me.”

“By the saints of heaven!” cried Juan, snatching
up the dagger which Guatimozin had left, and striking
it into the table with a fury which split the
plank in twain, “were it his own, I would drive this
steel into the breast of the man that designed me
such dishonour. Scourge me! Thanks be to heaven,
that sends this weapon!”

“Oho, señor!” said Villafana, with counterfeited
indignation, “you will resist, will you! Hah! and
you have a dagger, too! Come, señor, give it up.”

“Fool,” said the prisoner, “thy bitter words have
unchained me at last, and driven me to desperation.
I will not yield this weapon but with my life. Wo
betide him that comes to me with a scourge, were
it Don Hernan himself!”

“You will resist him then?—Why now you are
a man again! Sit down; fear not: you shall
have a better weapon. Come, let us drink a
little: 'tis a raw night, and rainy. Here's success
to our vengeance—a quart of blood apiece! Methinks,
you are more wronged than myself—Therefore,
you shall strike the first blow. I give you
this privilege, out of friendship. The second is
mine.”

While Villafana held forth in these extraordinary
terms, Juan, shocked into composure, became
aware that the wine, which the Alguazil plied with

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characteristic infatuation, had already made serious
inroads upon his brain. He ogled and smiled, with
a stupid contortion of countenance, which was
meant to be significant; his articulation was impeded,
and his expressions coarser than usual; and
without being positively drunk, he was reduced to
that condition in which the natural propensities get
the better of all artificial qualities. Hence, he became
fierce and bloody-minded, without displaying
any of the subtle cautiousness and cunning inquisitiveness,
that were common to him in his sober
hours. It was for this reason that he proceeded to
unfold the secrets of his breast, without being in
any degree abashed by the looks of horror, with
which Juan heard him.

“Know then, brother Juan,” said he, “that thou
shalt lap the blood of Don Demonios to-morrow
morning, at the banquet-table; and afterwards
hang up Guzman with thine own hands. Thou art
too white-livered, or thou shouldst have known of
the matter earlier. Also, thou shalt have thy fair
nun again, as before:—that is, upon condition she
likes thee better than me; which may be, or may
not, for who can tell whether the star will shoot
into the marsh, or fall upon the mountain?—Bah!
it is a pity I brought thee not another flagon. Busta!
I will drink no more; for this is no time to be
thick-witted.—Know then, Juanito querido, we have
brought our conspiracy to a head; and out of the
nine hundred Christians in this town there are two
hundred and forty sworn on dirk, buckler, and crucifix,
to our whole game,—three hundred, who will
wink and stand by, till the play is over,—three hundred
who will swear faith to the devil himself, when
Don Demonios lies hid in his pocket,—and as for
the rest, why we must e'en have some hanging and
stabbing.”

“In heaven's name,” said Juan, “what dost thou

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mean? Art thou really mad? Bethink thee what
thou art saying!”

“Hah!” cried Villafana, “wilt thou skulk backwards,
after all? Dost thou pretend to oppose us?
We had some thoughts of making thee one of the
three chief captains. This Olea stands to; for he
swears thou art the best leader in the camp.”

“Is Gaspar sworn among you?” said Juan, with
a faint voice, his detestation of the bloody scheme
arousing him to the necessity of sifting it to the
bottom—for he forgot his captivity, and thought
only of arresting the progress of a treason so fearful.

“Ay,” returned the Alguazil; “and better men
than he. Come, clap thy name to the paper, and
I swear thou shalt have a command among us,
though I should kill thy rival-candidate Gil Gonzales,
with my own hand. Dost thou not know these
fellows? We have hidalgos among us.”

As he spoke, he pulled from his bosom a paper,
on which Juan read with affright the names of several
men of rank, mingled with those of common
soldiers, with many of which he was familiar. His
first thought was to secure this dreadful list, and
calling to the guards about the prison, arrest the
Alguazil upon the spot. A moment's consideration
determined him to take further advantage of the
communicativeness of the traitor, until made acquainted
with all the details of the conspiracy.
He bridled his anger, therefore, and concealing his
horror under an appearance of doubt and hesitation,
to which his trembling agitation gave no little
force, he said,

“How is this? Are these names good and
true?”—

“See you not Barba Roxa's sign-manual, near
the bottom of the list? He subscribed it last night.
He draws the figure of a knife well, as one who

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knows how to use it. But as for thee, niño mio,
thou art able to write thy signature in full.”

“Stay,” cried Juan. “What are you to do?
You spoke of a banquet, and the morning. Assassination,
hah?”

“Did I not tell thee before? Look,” said the
Alguazil, with a harsh laugh, displaying a letter,
well seeured with wax and fillet, on which was
written the name of the Captain-General. “Know,
that this letter, written carefully on the outside, by
mine own hand, (for there is nothing within,) comes
from the señor's sire, old Don Martin, whom the
devil take to his rest, for fathering so ill-tempered
a son. This letter, thou must know,” he went on
with a chuckle of self-approving craft, “came in
the ship of Seville that brought this good wine,
and was, by an evil accident, detained on the way.
Know, sirrah, and this is my device: The general
hath forgotten to invite me to his feast to-morrow,
in honour of his saint-day, or some other thing—
Quien sabe? It is very rude. But he has invited
all my caballeros on this paper, and some four
score soldiers, who are down likewise. The rest
will take their ease in the vestibule, and on the
square, to be ready. What do I then? Marry, this:
I break in upon the revel with the letter in my hand,
and a dagger in my sleeve; the others crowd
round with congratulations, and I strike him under
the ribs—Pho! I forgot; thou canst not have the
first blow, as I promised thee; but thou shalt follow,
cloaked up to the eyes, and be free to take the
second.—What dost thou think of my plot, hah,
dear devil? Hah!—”

“That it is the most damnable and dastardly
ever devised by villain, and shall bring thee to a
villain's death. Rogue! didst thou think thou
couldst tell this to me, and live? I have thy treason
in my hand, and will use it as it becomes an

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honourable man and Christian. What ho, guards!
treason, treason!”

Greatly astounded as Villafana was by this unexpected
defection, the shock served rather to sober
than affright him. He gave the prisoner a look of
unspeakable malice, and whipping out his sword
and calling for help as clamorously as Juan, he
assaulted him with the utmost fury. At the same
time, five or six of the guardsmen rushed in, and
to Juan's utter dismay, instead of aiding him to
secure the Alguazil, rushed upon him, some with
their spears, to transfix him against the wall, while
others, springing behind him, secured him in their
arms, and hurled him upon the floor. In an instant,
he had lost both the fatal list and the dagger of
Guatimozin, and was at the mercy of Villafana,
who knelt upon his breast, and shortened his
sword, to despatch him with a thrust. But at the
very moment when he had given up all hope, and
was commending his soul to his Maker, the savage
and exulting laugh with which the Alguazil aimed
at his throat, was changed to an exclamation of
alarm and pain. Up started the assassin, and Juan,
springing also to his feet, he beheld, with surprise,
the figure of La Monjonaza standing betwixt him
and the assailants. The gray mantle had fallen
from her head and shoulders, revealing a form of
the finest symmetry, and a countenance convulsed
into beauty, such as might have become a warring
Bellona; to whom she might have been well
compared, only that in place of the whip and torch
which a moralizing mythology has put into the
hands of the goddess, she held an emblem equally
expressive, in a short dagger, gleaming with blood
from the shoulder of Villafana.

“Villain!” she cried, after looking as if she
would have repeated the blow, “art thou not yet
requited? Begone!”

[figure description] Page 219.[end figure description]

And the discomfited traitor, scowling and pointing
at the blood trickling from his arm, and yet
obviously quailing before her stern frown, left the
prison, followed by the guards, who seemed even
more terrified than himself.

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