"Is it not natural that I should wish to destroy the child who is to supplant my child, and to break the heart of the woman who has broken my heart?" Nahua answered, sullenly. "Amongst many other things, I have learned, White Man, of that ceremony which is to take place to–morrow, whereat my husband is to be deposed and my child dishonoured, that they may make room for you and for your child—you, the white–wanderer, and your son, the Heaven–born, the Fore–ordained!"
"What have we to do with these things, O woman with the heart of a puma?" he asked. "If Tikal is to be driven from his place, it is because of his crimes."
"And if you and yours are to be set in it, White Man, without doubt it is because of your virtues; and yet, O black–hearted knave that you are, I tell you that I know all the truth. I know how you forged the writing, setting the false for the true within the holy symbol of the Heart. I know also that my father helped you to the deed, for although he is dead, he wrote down that tale before he died, and gave it to me, together with the ancient prophecy that you dared to steal from the holy Sanctuary. Yes, I have the proofs, and when needful I will show them. I did not come here to do murder, at least not upon the infant; but the sight of it sleeping in its cradle overcame me, and of a sudden I determined to wreak my wrongs upon it and upon its mother. In this I have failed, but when I denounce you to the Council, then I shall not fail; then you will be known for what you are, and die the death that you deserve."
"It comes into my mind, husband," said Maya coldly, "that if we would save our own lives we must rob this woman of hers. Such a doom she has richly earned, nor will any blame us when they learn what was her errand here."
Now when she heard these words, Nahua struggled in the señor's grasp, and opened her mouth as though to scream.
"Be silent," he said, "if you wish to keep your soul in you. Ignatio, close those doors and give me yonder shawl."
I did so, and with the shawl we bound Nahua's arms behind her, fastening it over her mouth so that she could make no sound. Then we took a leather girdle and strapped it about her knees, so that she could not move, but lay helpless on the floor, glaring at us with her fierce eyes.
"Now let us take counsel," I said.
"Yes," answered the señor, "let us take counsel, for we need it. One of two things we must do; kill that woman, or fly the city, for if she leaves this place alive we are certainly doomed to death before the altar, ay! and the child also."
"Fly!" said Maya, "how can we fly when I am still weak and the babe is so young and tender? Should we succeed in escaping from the city and across the lake, certainly we must perish among the snows of the mountains or in the deserts beyond. Also, we should be missed and overtaken."
"Then Nahua must die," said the señor.
"Could we not swear her to silence if we released her?" I asked, for I shrank from such a dreadful deed, however just and necessary it might be.
"Swear her to silence!" said Maya contemptuously, "as easily might you swear a snake not to use its fangs, if one should chance to tread on it. Do you not understand that this woman hates me bitterly, who she thinks has robbed her of her husband's love, that she would gladly die herself, if thereby she could bring about my death and that of those who are dear to me. So soon as she could leave her bed of sickness she came here to taunt me with the doom she had prepared, knowing that I was alone. Then she saw the child, and so great was her desire for revenge that she could not even wait till the law should wreak it for her. No, the issue is plain; if we cannot fly, either she must die or we must. Is it not so, Ignatio?"
"It seems that it is so," I answered sadly, "and yet the thing is awful."
"It is awful, but it must be done," said the señor, "and it falls on me to do it for the sake of my wife and child. Alas! that I was ever born, that I should live to stand face to face with such necessity. Could not another hand be found? No; for then we should confess ourselves as murderers. Give me a knife. Nay, my hands will serve, and this end will seem more natural, for I can say that when I found her in the act of murder, I seized her and killed her suddenly by my strength alone, not meaning it in my wrath."
Now he stepped to where Nahua lay, and knelt beside her, and we two drew away sick at heart and hid our faces in our hands.
Presently he was with us again.
"Is it done?" asked Maya hoarsely.
"No; nor will be by me," he answered, in a fierce voice, "sooner would I choke the breath out of my own body than strangle this defenceless woman, cruel–hearted murderess though she is. If she is to be killed, some other man must do the deed."
"Then it will remain undone," said Maya. "And now, since we have thus determined, let us think of flight, for the night draws on, and in flight is our only hope."
"What, then, is to be done with this woman?" I asked. "We cannot take her with us."
"No; but we can leave her here gagged and bound till they chance to find her," answered the señor. "Hearken, Nahua, we spare you, and to do it go forth to our own deaths. May your fierce heart learn a lesson of mercy from the deed. Farewell."
Two hours had gone by, and three figures, wrapped in rough serapes, such as the common people wore, one of whom, a woman, carried an infant in her arms, might have been seen cautiously descending the city wall by means of a wooden ladder that ran from its summit to a jetty built upon piers at the foot of it, which was used as a mooring–place for boats during the months of inundation. As was common at this season of the year, the lake was already rising, and floating in the shallow water at the end of the jetty lay a pleasure–skiff which the señor and I were accustomed to use for the purpose of fishing whenever we could escape for a few hours from our wearisome life in the city.
Into this skiff we entered, and, having hoisted the sail, set our course by the stars, steering for that village whence, a year before, we had embarked for the City of the Heart. The wind being favourable to us, our progress was rapid, and by the first grey light of dawn we caught sight of the village not a mile away. Here, however, we did not dare to land, for we should be seen and recognised; therefore we beached our boat behind the shelter of some dwarf water–palms three furlongs or more below the village, and, having hidden it as well as we were able, set out at once towards the mountains.
Passing round the back of the village without being seen, for as yet folk were scarcely astir, we began our dreadful journey. For a while Maya bore up well, but as the heat of the day increased she showed signs of tiring, which was little to be wondered at, seeing that she carried in her arms a child not three weeks old. At mid–day we halted that she might rest, hiding ourselves beneath a tree by the banks of a brook, and eating of such food as we had brought with us. In the early afternoon we started on again, and for the rest of that dreary day struggled forward as best we could, the señor and I carrying the infant alternately in addition to our other burdens.
At length the evening fell, and we camped for the night, if camping it can be called, to sleep beneath the shadow of a cedar–tree without fire and with little food, having no covering except our serapes. Towards morning the air grew cold, for already we were at some height above the lake, and the tender infant began to wail piteously—a wail that wrung our hearts. Still we rose with the sun and went on our way, for it seemed that there was nothing else to do. Throughout that day, with ever–wearying footsteps, we journeyed, till at sunset we reached the snow–line, and saw before us the hunter's rest–house where we had slept when first we entered the Country of the Heart.
"Let us go in," said Maya, "and find food and shelter for the night."
Now, our plan had been to avoid this house and gain the pass, where we proposed to stay till daybreak, and then to travel down the mountain slopes into the wilderness.