CHAPTER IV.
For a few moments, the two walked together in silence, and at a slowpace, until the others were beyond earshot; when Villafana, suddenlystopping and casting his eyes upon Juan, said, with but little ceremony,
"Senor Juan Lerma, I am your friend; and by St. Peter, who was once afalse one, you need one that is both plain and true. Does your memorytax you with the commission of any act deserving death?"
To this abrupt demand, the young man answered, with an agitated voice,but without a moment's hesitation,
"It does. Thou knowest full well, and perhaps all others know, now, thatI have shed the blood of my friend, the son of my oldest and truestbenefactor."
"Pho!" cried Villafana, hastily; "I meant not _that_. Your friend,indeed? Come, you grieve too much for this. At the worst, it was themishap of a duel,--a fair duel; and, I am a witness, it was, in amanner, forced upon you. You should not think of this: there are but fewwho know of it, and none blame you. What I meant to ask, was this--areyou conscious of any crime worthy of death at the hands of Cortes?"
"I am not," said Lerma, firmly, though very sadly; "no, by mine honour,no! I am conscious, and it is a thing long since known to all, that Ihave entirely lost the favour with which he was used to befriend me.Nay, this was apparent to me, before I was sent from his presence. Ihoped that in the long period of my exile, something might occur to showhim his anger was unjust; and, with this hope, I looked this day, to endmy wanderings joyfully. I am deceived; everything goes to prove, thatneither my long sufferings, (and they were both long and many,) nor mysupposed death have made my appeal of innocence. But I will satisfy himof this: I will demand to know my crime. If it be indeed, as I think,the death of Hilario--"
"Pho! be wise. He counts not this against thee,--he has been himself aduellist. Say nothing of Hilario, neither; no, by the mass! nor be thouso mad as to question him of his anger. Thou art very sure, then--I mustbe free with thee, even to the dulness of repetition:--thou art verysure, thou hast done nothing to deserve death at his hands?"
"I call heaven to witness," said Juan, "that, save this unhappymischance in the matter of Hilario, which is itself deserving of death,I am ignorant of aught that should bring me under his displeasure."
"Enough," said Villafana: "But I would thou shouldst never more speak ofHilario. He is dead, heaven rest his soul! He was a knave too; peace,then, to his bones!--I am satisfied, thou hast done naught to Cortes,deserving death at his hand. I have but one more question to askyou:--Has Cortes done nothing to deserve death at thine?"
"Good heavens! what do you mean?" cried Juan, starting as much at thesinister tones as the surprising question of the Alguazil.
"Do you ask me? what, _you_?" said Villafana, "Come, I am your friend."
As the Alguazil pronounced these words, with an insinuating franknessand earnestness, he threw into his countenance an expression that seemedmeant to invite the confidence of the young man, and encourage him toexpose the mystery of his breast, by laying bare the secrets of his own.It was a transfiguration: the mean person was unchanged,--theinsignificant features did not alter their proportions,--but the smilethat had contorted them, was turned into a sneer of fiendish malignancy,and the peculiar sweetness that characterized his eyes, was lost in asudden glare of passion, so demoniacal, that it seemed as if the flamesof hell were blazing in their sockets. It was the look of but aninstant: it made Juan recoil with terror: but before he could express aword of this feeling, of curiosity, or of suspicion, it had vanished.The Alguazil touched his arm, and said quickly, though without anypeculiar emphasis,
"Judge for yourself: Heaven forbid I should breed ill-will where thereis none, or plant thorns in my friend's flower-garden. Judge foryourself, senor: if, being innocent of all crime, Cortes has yet doomedyou, basely and perfidiously, to death,--"
"To death!" exclaimed Juan, with a voice that reached the ears of hislate companions, and brought them to a sudden stand; "Heaven be my help!and do I come back but to die?"
"You went forth but to die!" said Villafana; "and, you may judge, withwhat justice. Come, senor,--the thing is said in a moment. Theexpedition was designed for your death-warrant."
"Villain!" exclaimed Juan; "dare you impute this horrible treachery toCortes?"
"Not,--no, not, if it appear at all doubtful to your own excellentpenetration," replied the Alguazil, with a laugh. "I do but repeat youthe belief of some half the army--had it been but before the NocheTriste, I might have said, _all_: but, in truth, we are now, more thanhalf of us, new men, who know but little of the matter."
"Does any one charge this upon the general?" said Juan, with a look ofhorror.
"Ay,--if you call them not 'villains,'" replied the soldier.
"I will know the truth," said Juan. "I will find who has belied me."
"You will find that of any one but Don Hernan. Senor Don Juan, I pityyou. You have returned at an evil moment; your presence will chill oldfriends, and sharpen ancient enemies."
"If he seek my life, it is his: but, by heaven, the man who has wrongedme,--"
"Get thy horse and arms first. Wilt thou be wise? Thou shalt havefriends to back thee. Listen: A month since, there came for thee, in aship from the islands, two very noble horses, and a suit of goodlyarmour, sent, as was said, by some benevolent friend, whom thou mayst bequicker at remembering than myself."
"Sent by heaven, I think," said Lerma, "for I know not what earthlyfriend would so supply my necessities."
"Oh, then," said Villafana, "the rumour is, they were sent thee by thelady Catalina, our general's wife."
"May heaven bless her!" exclaimed Juan; "for she is mine only friend:and this bounty I have not deserved."
"In this matter," said Villafana, dryly, "she will prove rather thineenemy; that is, if thou art resolute to demand the restoration of hergifts."
"The restoration!"
"In good truth, they were distributed among thine heirs; the horseBobadil, thought by many to be the best in the army, falling to theshare of thy good friend Guzman."
"To Guzman?" cried Juan, angrily. "Could they find no better friend togive him to? I will have him back again; yea, by St. Juan, he shall rideno steed of mine!"
"Right!" exclaimed Villafana; "for if thou hast an enemy, he is the man.Thou didst well, to refuse his hand. He offered it not in love, but intreachery. Thou wilt ask Cortes for thy maligner? It needs not: rememberDon Francisco."
"I will do so," said Juan, with a sigh. "I thought, in my captivity,when I despaired of ever more looking upon a Christian face, that I hadforgiven my enemies. I deceived myself,--I hate Don Francisco. I willproclaim him before the whole army, if he refuse to do me reparation."
"I tell thee, thou shalt have friends," said the Alguazil, with aninsinuating voice, "to back thee in this matter, as well as in allothers wherein thou hast been wronged. But thou must be ruled. Speak notto Cortes in complaint: he will do thee no justice. Send no defiance ofbattle to Guzman, for this has been proclaimed a sin against God and theking, to be punished with loss of arms, degradation, and whipping withrods,--sometimes with the loss of the right hand. You stare! Oh, senorJuan Lerma, you will find we have a master now,--a master by the king'spatent,--who makes his own laws, beats and dishonours, and gives us tothe gallows, when the fit moves him, without any necessity of cozeningus to death in expeditions to the gold mines, or the South Seas."
"Senor Villafana," said Juan, firmly, "I do not believe that, in thisthing, Cortes designed me any wrong; nor will I permit myself to thinkof it any more. You seem to have something to say to me. Gaspar and theIndian are beyond hearing. If you will advise me as a friend, in whatmanner I shall conduct myself in this difficult conjuncture, I willlisten to you with gratitude; and with thanks more hearty still, if youmake me acquainted with a way to redeem my honour and faith in the eyesof the general."
"I have but two things to counsel you: Make your report of adventures,good and bad, to the general, without words of complaint or suspicion;and,
this done, demand of him, and care not how boldly, the restorationof your horses and armour."
"If they be the gifts of his lady," said Juan, with hesitation,"methinks, it will not become me to press this demand on him; but ratherto leave it to his own honour and generosity."
The Alguazil gave the youth a piercing look; but seeing in his visage noembarrassment beyond that of a man who is debating a question of meredelicacy, replied, coolly,--
"Ask him, then. It is not certainly known that these horses came fromDona Catalina; and, perhaps, they do not. Yet it will be but courteousin thee to say, thou hast been so informed, and that thou dost sobelieve. Get thy horses, by all means: but again I say to thee, donothing to incense the general. If he provoke thee, show not thydispleasure; at least, show it not now. I will give thee more reasonsfor what I counsel, as we walk through the city."
By this time the speakers had reached the gates of the city, whereGaspar and the Ottomi stood in waiting for them.