Heart of the World

Chapter XIV The City of the Heart

While it was yet dark on the following morning we were awakened by the voice of Zibalbay calling us.

"Arise," he said; "it is time to start upon our road."

"Are the litters here?" I asked.

"No, nor can be for some hours. I desire to reach the city this night, therefore we must push forward on foot to meet them."

Then we rose, and, having no choice, dressed ourselves as best we could in the garments of the country that had been given to us, for our own were but rags, in which we were ashamed to be seen. In the common room we found Zibalbay and the Lady Maya.

"Eat," said the old man, pointing to food that was ready, "and let us be going."

Ten minutes later we were outside the house. There was no wind, but at this great height the air is of so piercing a quality that we were glad to fold our serapes round us and walk briskly forward, Zibalbay leading the way. At first a grey gloom reigned, but presently snowy peaks shone through it, everywhere radiant with the hues of the unrisen sun, although the mountain sides beneath us were still wrapped in night. By degrees, as the light grew, we saw that the country at our feet was shaped like a bowl, whereof the mountain range upon which we stood formed the rim, and at the bottom of the bowl, fed by numberless streams that had their sources among the surrounding snows, lay the lake, the Holy Waters of this people. Of all this, however, we could as yet see little, since the vast expanse beneath us lay hidden in volumes of mist that moved and rolled like the face of ocean. Never before had we looked upon anything so strange as this dense garment of vapour while the light of heaven gathered upon its surface, tingeing it with lines and patches of colour. It seemed as though a map of the world was unrolled before us—continents, seas, islands, and cities formed themselves, only to disappear in quick succession, and assume new and endless shapes.

"It is beautiful, is it not?" said Maya. "But wait until the mist breaks. Look, it is beginning!"

As she spoke, of a sudden the sea of mist grew thin and opened in its centre, and through the gap thus formed showed first the pyramids and temple tops, and then the entire panorama of the city Heart of the World, floating, as it were, upon the face of the Holy Waters. It was far away, but, now that the night fog no longer thickened the air, so clear was the atmosphere and so high were we above it, that it seemed to be almost at our feet. The city, which appeared to be surrounded by a wall, was built of marble or some other snow–white stone, whereon the light gleamed and flashed. It stood upon a heart–shaped island, and round about the shores of this island, stretching further than the eye could reach, sparkled the blue waters of the Holy Lake. By degrees the ring of mist rolled up the sides of the mountains and vanished, and in place of it the round bowl of the valley was filled with the clear light of day. Now we could see the shores of the lake, with their green fringe of reeds; and above them grass lands threaded by silver streams; and above these again, upon the flanks of the mountains, great forests of oak and cedars rising almost to the snow line. To the right and left of us the huge, round–shouldered mountains stretched in a majestic sweep till they melted into the blue of the horizon, while here and there some tall, snow–robed peak, the cone of an extinct volcano, towered above us like a sentinel.

"There lies my country," said Maya, with a proud wave of her hand; "does it please you, white man?"

"It pleases me so well, Maya," he answered, "that now less than ever can I understand why you wish to leave it."

"Because, though lakes and mountains and cities full of wealth are fine things, it is not to these, but to the men and women among whom we live, that we must look for happiness."

"Some people might think otherwise, Maya. They might say that happiness must be sought for in ourselves. At least I could be happy in such a land as this."

"You think so now," she answered, meaningly, "but when you have been awhile in the city yonder, you will think otherwise. Oh!" she went on, passionately, "if, indeed, you care for me, we should never have crossed that mountain behind us. But you do not care for me—not truly; for all this time you have been half ashamed of your affection for an Indian girl whom you were obliged to become fond of, because she was pretty and you were so much with her, and she chanced to save your life. Yes, you would have been ashamed to marry me according to your customs, and to show me as your wife among the white people—me, the wandering Indian with a mad father whom you found in the hands of thieves. Here it will be different, for here at least I am a great lady, and you will see the people in the streets bow themselves to the ground before me; and if I say that a man shall die, you will see that man killed. Also here I have wealth more than any white woman, and you will be fond of me for that―"

"You are very unjust," he broke in, angrily; "it is shameful that you should speak to me thus for no cause."

"Perhaps I am unjust," she answered with a sob, "but there are so many troubles before us. First there is Tikal―"

"What does Tikal want?" asked the señor.

"He wants to marry me, or to become cacique of the city in my right, which is the same thing; at least he will not give me up without a struggle. Then there is my father, who serves two masters only—his gods and his country—and who will use me like a piece in a game if it suits his purpose—yes, and you too. Our good days are done with, the evil ones have to come, and after them—the night. Henceforward we shall find few opportunities of speaking, even, for I shall be surrounded by officers and waiting–ladies who will watch my every action and hear my every word, and my father will watch me also."

"Now I begin to be sorry that I did not take your advice and stop on the further side of the mountain," answered the señor. "Do you think that we could escape there?"

"No, it is too late—they would track us down; we must go on now and meet our fate, whatever it may be. Only swear to me by my gods, or your own, or whatever you hold dear, that you will cleave to me till I am dead, as I will cleave to you." And, taking his hand in hers, she looked up appealingly into his face.

At this moment Zibalbay, who was walking in front, lost in his own thoughts, chanced to turn and see them.

"Come hither, daughter, and you, White Man," he said, in a stern voice. "Listen, both of you—I am old, but my sight and hearing are still keen, though yonder in the wilderness I took no heed of much that I saw and heard. Here in my own land it is otherwise. Learn, White Man, that the Lady of the Heart is set far above you, and there I think she will remain. Do you understand my meaning?"

"Perfectly," answered the señor, striving to control his anger; "but, Chief, it is a pity that you did not see well to tell me this before. Had it not been for what we and one dead were able to do to save you, to–day your bones would have been whitening in the forest. Why did you not tell me there that I was no fit company for your daughter?"

"Because you were sent by the gods to do me service, and because there I had need of you, White Man," answered Zibalbay quietly, "as may be I shall have need of you again. Had it not been for that chance, we should have parted company on the further side of the mountain."

"In truth I wish that we had!" exclaimed the señor.

"I may come to wish it, too," said the old man grimly. "But you are here and not there, perhaps for so long as you shall live, and I would have you remember that you are in my power. A word from me will set you high or lay you low beneath the earth; therefore be warned and take with gratitude that which it shall please me to give you. No, do not look behind you—escape is impossible. Submit yourself to my will in this and everything, and all shall be well with you; struggle against it and I will crush you. I have spoken: be pleased to walk in front of me, and do you, my daughter, walk behind."

Now I saw that the señor's rage was great, and that he was about to answer angrily, and lifted my hand in warning, while Maya looked at him entreatingly. He saw, and checked himself.

"I hear your words, Chief," he said, in a forced voice. "You are right, I am in your power, and it is useless for me to answer you," and he took his place in front as he had been commanded, while Maya fell behind.

As I walked on, side by side with Zibalbay, I spoke to him, saying:

"You use sharp words towards him who is my brother, Chief, and therefore towards me."

"I speak as I must," he answered, coldly. "Many troubles await me at the city. Did you not hear what that knave said last night—that Tikal, my nephew, whom I left in charge, rules in my stead? Well, this girl of mine, who is affianced to him, and through whom he hopes to govern in after years, may be the only bait that will tempt him from his place, for he looks upon me as one dead, and it will not please him to lay down the rod of power. How should it please him then, and those who follow him, to see a white stranger holding that daughter's hand, and whispering in her ear. Ignatio, I tell you that such a sight would provoke a war against me, and therefore it is that I spoke sharply while there is yet time, and therefore you will do well to drive the nail home, seeing that if I fall your plans will come to nothing, and your life be forfeit."

I made no answer, for at that moment we turned a corner, and came face to face with the bearers of the litters whom Zibalbay had summoned to meet us.

There were forty of these men or more; for the most part they were tall and well shaped, with regular features, and, like Zibalbay and Maya, very fair for Indians, but the look upon their faces was different from any that I have seen among my people. It was not stupid or brutal, or even empty; rather did it suggest great weariness. The youngest man there, notwithstanding his rounded cheeks and eyes full of health, seemed as though he were weighed down by the memories of many years. Weariness was the master, not of their bodies, for they were very strong and active, but of their minds; and, looking at them, I could understand what Zibalbay meant when he said that his race was outworn. Even the sight of the white face of the señor, strange as it must have been to them, did not seem to move them. They stared indeed, muttering something to each other as to the length and colour of his beard, and that was all.

But to Zibalbay they said, in low, guttural tones, "Father, we salute you," then, at a signal given by their captain, they cast themselves on the ground before him, and lay there with outstretched arms as though they were dead.

"Rise, my children," said Zibalbay. Then, summoning the captain of the bearers, he talked to him while his companions ate food that they had brought with them, and I noted that what he heard seemed to give him little pleasure. Next he ordered us to enter the litters, which were of rude make, being constructed of chairs without curtains, lashed between two poles, and carried, each of them, by eight bearers, for the road was very steep and rough.

We started forward down the mountain, and in an hour we had left the region of snow behind, and entered the cedar forests. These great trees grew in groups, which were separated by glades of turf, the home of herds of deer. So thick was their foliage that a twilight reigned beneath them, while from each branch hung a fringe of grey Spanish moss that swayed to and fro in the draught of the mountain breeze. Everywhere stretched vistas that brought to my mind memories of the dimly–lighted nave of the great cathedral at Mexico, roofed by the impenetrable boughs of these cedars, whereof the trunks might have been supporting columns and the scent of their leaves the odour of incense.

After the cedar belt came the oak groves, and then miles of beautiful turf slopes, clothed in rich grass starred with flowers. Truly it was a lovely land. It was late in the afternoon before we descended the last of these slopes and entered the tract of alluvial soil that lay between them and the lake, where the climate was much warmer. It was easy to see by the irrigation ditches and other signs that this belt of country had always supplied the inhabitants of the City of the Heart with corn and all necessary crops. Here grew great groves of sugar–cane, and cocoa–bushes laden with their purple pods, together with many varieties of fruit–trees planted in separate orchards. Soon it became clear to us that the greater part of these ancient orchards were untended, since their fruit rotted in heaps upon the ground. Evidently they had been planted in more prosperous days, and now their supply exceeded the wants of the population.

At length, as the evening began to fall, we entered the village of corn–growers, a half–ruined place of which the houses were for the most part built of adobe or mud bricks, and roofed with a concrete of white lime. In the centre of the village was a plaza, planted round with trees, and having in its midst a fountain, near to which stood a simple altar, piled with fruit and flowers. Close to this altar the inhabitants of the village, to the number of a hundred or so, were gathered to meet us. Most of the men had but just come in from their labours, for their garments and feet were stained with fresh earth, and they held copper hoes and reaping–hooks in their hands. All these men wore upon their faces the same look of weariness of mind which we had noticed in the bearers. So monotonous were their countenances, indeed, that I turned my eyes impatiently to the group of women who were standing behind them. Like their husbands and brothers, these women were very fair for Indians, and handsome in person, but they also had been stamped with melancholy. The sight of the señor's white skin and chestnut–coloured beard seemed for some few moments to rouse them from their attitude of listless indifference. Soon, however, they fell into it again, and began to chat idly, or to play with and pull to pieces the flowers that every one of them wore at her girdle. There were hardly any children among the crowd, and it was strange to observe how great was the resemblance of the individuals composing it to each other. Indeed, had they all been members of a single family it would not have been more marked, seeing that it was difficult for a stranger to distinguish one woman from another of about the same age.

When Zibalbay descended from his litter, all those present prostrated themselves, and remained thus till, followed by some of the headmen, he had passed into a house which was made ready for his use, leaving us without.

"Do all your people look so sad?" I asked the Lady Maya.

"Yes," she answered, "that is, all the common people who labour. It is otherwise with the nobles, who are of a different blood. Here, Don Ignatio, there are two classes, the lords and the people, and of the people each family is forced to work for three months in the year, the other nine being given to them for rest. The fruits of their labour are gathered into storehouses and distributed among all the Children of the Heart, but the temples, the cacique, and many of the nobles have their own serfs who have served them from father to son."

"And what happens if they will not work?" asked the señor.

"Then they must starve, for nothing is served out to them or their families from the common store, and when they grow hungry they are set to the heaviest tasks."

Now we understood why these people looked so weary and listless. What could be expected from men and women without ambition or responsibility, the gain of whose toil was placed to the public credit and doled out to them in rations? In my old age I have heard that there are teachers who advocate such a system for all mankind, but of this I am sure, that had they dwelt among the People of the Heart, where it had been in force for many centuries, they would cease to preach this doctrine, for there, at least, it did not promote the welfare of the race.

Presently a messenger came from Zibalbay to summon us into the house, where we found an ample meal prepared, consisting chiefly of fish from the lake, baked wild–fowl, and many sorts of fruit. By the time we had finished eating and had drunk the chocolate that was served to us in cups of hammered silver, the night had fallen completely. I asked Zibalbay if we should sleep there, to which he replied shortly that we were about to start for the city. Accordingly we set out by the light of the moon and were guided to a little harbour in the shore of the lake, where a large canoe, fitted with a mast and sail, and manned by ten Indians, was waiting for us. We embarked, and, the wind being off land, hoisted the sail and started towards the Island of the Heart, which stood at a distance of about fifteen miles from the mainland.

The breeze was light, but after the cold of the mountains the air was so soft and balmy, and the scene so new and strange, that I, for one, did not regret our slow progress. Nobody spoke in the boat, for all of us were lost in our own reflections, and the Indians were awed to silence by the presence of their lord, who alone seemed impatient, since from time to time he pulled his beard and muttered to himself. So we glided across the blue lake, whose quiet was broken only by the whistling wings of the wild–fowl travelling to their feeding grounds, by the sudden leaps of great fish rising in pursuit of some night–fly, and by the lapping of the water against the wooden sides of the canoe. Before us, luminous and unearthly in the perfect moonlight, shone the walls and temples of the mysterious city which we had travelled so far to reach. We watched them growing more and more distinct minute by minute, and, as we watched, strange hopes and fears took possession of our hearts. This was no dream: before us lay the fabled golden town we had so longed to see; soon our feet would pass its white walls and our eyes behold its ancient civilisation.

"What waits us there?" whispered the señor, and he looked at Maya. She heard his words and shook her head sadly. There was no hope in her eyes, which were dimmed with tears. Then he turned to me as though for comfort, and the easy fires of enthusiasm burnt up within me and I answered:

"Fear not, the goal is won, and we shall overcome all difficulty and danger. The useless wealth of yonder Golden City will be ours, and by its help I shall wreak the stored–up vengeance of ages upon the oppressors of my race, and create a great Indian Dominion stretching from sea to sea, whereof this city shall be the heart."

He heard and smiled, answering:

"It may be so; for your sake, I trust that it will be so; but we seek different ends, Ignatio," and he looked again at the Lady Maya.

On we glided, through the moonlight and the silence, for from the town came no sound, save the cry of the watchmen, calling the hours, as they kept their guard along the ancient walls, till at length we entered the shadow of the Holy City lying dark upon the waters, and the Indians, getting out their paddles (for the wind no longer served us), rowed the canoe up a stone–embanked canal that led to a watergate.

Now we halted in front of the gate, where there was no man to be seen. In an impatient voice, Zibalbay bade the captain hail the guardian of the gate, and presently a man came down the steps yawning, and inquired who was there.

"I, the cacique," said Zibalbay. "Open."

"Indeed! That is strange," answered the man, "seeing that this night the cacique holds his marriage–feast at the palace yonder, and there is but one cacique of the People of the Heart! Get back to the mainland, wanderers, and return in the day–time, when the gates stand wide."

Now when Zibalbay heard these words, he cursed aloud in his anger, but Maya started as though with joy.

"I tell you that I am Zibalbay, come home again, your lord, and no other," he cried, "and you will be wise to do my bidding."

The man stared, and hesitated, till the captain of the boat spoke to him, saying:

"Fool, would you become food for fishes? This is the Lord Zibalbay, returned from the dead."

Then he hastened to open the gate, as fast as his fear would let him.

"Pardon, father, pardon," he cried, prostrating himself, "but the Lord Tikal, who rules in your place, has given it out that you were dead in the wilderness, and commanded that your name should be spoken no more in the city."

Zibalbay swept by him without a word. When he had passed up the marble steps, and through the water–way, pierced in the thickness of the frowning walls, he halted, and, addressing the captain of the boatmen, said:

"Let that man be scourged to–morrow at noon in the market–place, that henceforth he may learn not to sleep at his post!"

On the further side of the wall ran a wide street, bordered by splendid homes built of white stone, which led to the central square of the city, a mile or more away. Up this street we walked swiftly and in silence, and as we went I noticed that much of it was grass–grown, and that many of the great houses seemed to be deserted; indeed, though light came from some of the latticed window–places, I could see no sign of any human being.

"Here is the city," whispered the señor to me, "but where are the people?"

"Doubtless they celebrate the wedding–feast in the great square," I answered. "Hark, I hear them."

As I spoke the wind turned a little, and a sound of singing floated down it, that grew momentarily clearer as we approached the square. Another five minutes passed and we were entering it. It was a wide place, covering not less than thirty acres of ground, and in its centre, rising three hundred feet into the air, gleamed the pyramid of the Temple of the Heart, crowned by the star of holy fire that flickered eternally upon its summit. In the open space between the walls of the inclosure of this pyramid and the great buildings that formed the sides of the square, the inhabitants of the city were gathered for their midnight feast. All were dressed in white robes, while many wore glittering feather capes upon their shoulders and were crowned with wreaths of flowers. Some of them were dancing, some of them were singing, while others watched the tricks of jugglers and buffoons. But the most of their number were seated round little tables eating, drinking, smoking, and making love, and we noticed that at these tables the children seemed the most honourable guests, and that everybody petted them and waited on their words. Nothing could be more beautiful or stranger to our eyes than this innocent festival celebrated beneath the open sky and lighted by the moon. Yet the sight of it did not please Zibalbay.

Along the side of the square ran an avenue of trees bearing white flowers with a heavy scent, and Zibalbay motioned to us to follow him into their shadow. Many of the tables were placed just beyond the spread of these trees, so that he was able to stop from time to time and, unseen himself, to listen to the talk that was passing at them. Presently he halted thus opposite to a table at which sat a man of middle age and a woman young and pretty. What they said interested him, and we who were close by his side understood it, for the difference between the dialect of these people and the Maya tongue is so small that even the señor had little difficulty in following their talk.

"The feast is merry to–night," said the man.

"Yes, husband," answered his companion, "and so it should be, seeing that yesterday the Lord Tikal was elected cacique by the Council of the Heart, and to–day he was wedded in the presence of the people to Nahua the Beautiful, child of the Lord Mattai."

"It was a fine sight," said the man, "though for my part I think it early to proclaim him cacique. Zibalbay might yet come back, and then―"

"Zibalbay will never come back, husband, or the Lady Maya either. They have perished in the wilderness long ago. For her I am sorry, because she was so lovely and different from other great ladies; but I do not grieve much for him, for he was a hard taskmaster to us common people; also he was stingy. Why, Tikal has given more feasts during the last ten months than Zibalbay gave in as many years; moreover, he has relaxed the laws so that we poor women may now wear ornaments like our betters;" and she glanced at a gold bracelet upon her wrist.

"It is easy to be generous with the goods of others," answered the man. "Zibalbay was the bee who stored; Tikal is the wasp who eats. They say that the old fellow was mad, but I do not believe it. I think that he was a greater man than the rest of us, that is all, who saw the wasting of the people and desired to find a means to stop it."

"Certainly he was mad," answered the woman. "How could he stop the wasting of the people by taking his daughter to wander in the wilderness till they died of starvation, both of them. If anybody dwells out yonder it is a folk of white devils of whom we have heard, who kill and enslave the Indians, that they may rob them of their wealth, and we do not desire that such should be shown the way to our city. Also, what does it matter to us if the people do waste away? We have all things that we wish, those who come after must see to it."

"Yet, wife, I have heard you say that you desired children."

Suddenly the woman's face grew sad.

"Ah!" she answered, "if Zibalbay will give me a child I will take back all my words about him, and proclaim him the wisest of men, instead of what he is, or rather was—an old fool gone crazy with vanity and too much praying. But he is dead, and if he were not he could never do this; that is beyond the power of the gods themselves, if indeed the gods are anything but a dream. So what is the use of talking about him; let me enjoy the feast that Tikal gives us, husband, and do not speak of children, lest I should weep, and learn to hate those of my sisters who have been blest with them."

Then at a sign from Zibalbay we moved on, but Maya, hanging back for a moment, whispered:

"Look at my father's face. Never have I seen him so angry. Yet these tidings are not altogether ill," and she glanced at the señor.

Now Zibalbay walked on swiftly, pulling at his beard and muttering to himself, till we came to a great archway where two soldiers armed with copper spears stood on guard, chatting with women in the crowd that gathered round the open door, and eating sweetmeats which they offered them. Zibalbay covered his face with the corner of his robe, and, bidding us do likewise, began to walk through the archway, whereupon the two soldiers, crossing their spears, demanded his name and title.

"By whose orders do you ask?" said Zibalbay.

"By order of our lord, the cacique, who celebrates his marriage–feast with the nobles his guests," answered one of them. "Say, are you of their number who come so late?"

Then Zibalbay uncovered his face and said:

"Look at me, man. Did I command you to shut my own doors against me?"

He looked and gasped: "It is the cacique come home again!"

"How, then, do you say that you keep the doors by order of the cacique? Can there be two caciques in the City of the Heart?" asked Zibalbay in a bitter voice, and, without waiting for an answer, he walked on, followed by the three of us, into the plaza or courtyard of the palace, where many fountains splashed upon the marble pavement.

Passing beneath a colonnade and through an open doorway whence light flowed, of a sudden we found ourselves in a great and wonderful chamber, a hundred feet or more in length, having a roof of panelled cedar, supported by a double row of wooden columns exquisitely carved, between which were set tables laden with fruit and flowers, drinking–vessels, and other ornaments of gold. The walls also were cedar–panelled, and hung over with tapestries worked in silver, and ranged along them stood grotesque images of dwarfs and monkeys, fashioned in solid gold, each of which held in its hand a silver lamp. At the far end of this place was a small table, and behind it, seated upon throne–like chairs, were a man and a woman, having an armed guard on either side of them.

The man was magnificently dressed in a white robe, broidered with the symbol of the Heart, and a glittering feather cloak. Upon his brow was a circlet of gold, from which rose a panache, or plume, of green feathers, and in his hand he held a little golden sceptre tipped with an emerald. He was of middle height, very stoutly built, and about five–and–thirty years of age, having straight black hair that hung down upon his shoulders. In face he was handsome, but forbidding, for his dark eyes shone with a strange fire beneath the beetling brows, and his powerful mouth and chin wore a sullen look that did not leave them even when he smiled. The lady at his side was also beautifully attired in white bridal robes, broidered with silver, and having the royal Heart worked upon her breast, while on her brow, arms, and bosom shone strings of emeralds. She was young and tall, with splendid eyes and a proud, handsome face, somewhat marred, however, by the heaviness of the mouth, and it was easy to see that she loved the husband at her side, for all her looks were towards him.

Between us and this royal pair stretched the length of the great hall, filled with people—for the most of the feasters had left their seats—so splendidly attired and so bright with the flash of gems and gold that for a few moments our eyes were dazzled. The company, who may have numbered two or three hundred, stood in groups with their backs towards us, leaving a clear space at the far end of the chamber, where beautiful women, in filmy, silken robes adorned with flowers and turquoises, were singing and dancing to the sound of pipes before the bride and bridegroom on the throne.