Генри Хаггард - Heart of the World

"All these matters you can lay before the Council, lady," answered Dimas, "and if Nahua is what you say, without a doubt she must suffer for her crime. Yet her evil–doing cannot pay for yours, for when you found yourself in danger, you should have claimed protection from those who could give it, and not have betaken yourselves to flight like thieves in terror of the watch. Come, enter the litter that is prepared for you, and let us be going."

"As you will," she said; "but one thing I pray of you, let this man, my cousin, Tikal the cacique , be kept away from me, for the sight of him is hateful to me, seeing that, not content with plotting to kill my husband and my child, he puts me to shame continually by the offer of his love."

"It shall be as you wish, Lady. Your husband and your friend can travel by your side, and guards shall surround your litter to see that none molest you."

Then we started. Of our journey back there is nothing to tell, unless it be to say that after its own fashion it was even more wretched than that which we had just accomplished. Then, indeed, we were footsore, hungry, and racked with fears, but at least the hope of freedom shone before us like a guiding–star, whereas now, although we travelled in comfort, it was to find shame, exposure, and death awaiting us at last. For my part, indeed, this thought did not move me very much, seeing that hope had left me, and without hope I no longer wished to live. You, my friend, for whom I write this history, may think my saying strange, but had you stood where I stood that day you would not wonder at it. Even now I sometimes dream that I am back in the City of the Heart, and wake cold with fear as a man wakes from some haunted sleep. True, there I had place and power and luxury, but oh! sooner would I have earned my livelihood herding cattle in the wilderness than fret away my life within that golden cage. What to me were their banquets and their empty pleasures, or their petty strivings for rank and title—to me who all my days had followed the star of my high aim, that star which now was setting. Maya and the señor had each other and their child to console them; but I had nothing except such friendship as they chose to spare me, the memory of my many failures, the clinging bitterness of conscience, the fear of vengeance to be wreaked, and the hope of peace beyond the end. Therefore I, an outworn and disappointed man, was prepared to welcome the doom that awaited me, but how would it be with the others who were still full of love and youth?

Late that night we reached the city and were led, not to the palace where we lived, but towards the enclosure of the pyramid.

"How is this?" asked Maya of the captain of the guard. "Our road lies yonder."

"No, lady," he answered, "my orders are to take you up the stairway of the pyramid."

Now Maya pressed her face against the face of her child and sobbed, for she knew that once more we must inhabit the darksome vault where her father had been taken to die. They led us up the stair and down the narrow way, till we stood in the lamp–lit hall, and heard our prison gates clash behind us. Then they gave us food and left us alone.

Never did I pass a more evil night; for, strive as I would to win it, sleep fled from me, and I tossed upon my couch, wondering where my bed would be on the morrow, after we had stood before the Council in the Sanctuary of the Heart, and Nahua had borne witness against us. I remembered that shaft before the altar, and seemed to hear the murmur of the water in its depths! Well, as I have said, I did not fear to die, for God is merciful to sinners; but oh! it was dreadful to meet this liar's doom, and to remember that it was I who brought the señor here to share it.

As I mused thus, even through the massive walls of the vault I heard a woman scream, and, springing from my bed, I ran into the central hall, where the lamps burned always. Here I met Maya, clad in her night–dress only, and speeding down the hall, her wide eyes filled with terror.

"What has happened?" I said, stopping her; and, as I spoke, the señor came up.

"Oh! I have dreamed," she gasped. "I have dreamed a fearful dream. I dreamed that my father came to me, and—I cannot tell it—the child—the child―" and she broke down utterly, and could say no more.

"This place is full of evil memories, and her strength is shattered," said the señor, when we had calmed her somewhat. "Come back, wife, and sleep."

"Sleep!" she answered. "I do not think that I shall ever sleep again; and yet, unless I sleep, I shall go mad. Oh! that vision! Truly the curse of Mattai has taken hold of me."

Some few hours later we met again in the great hall, but Maya said nothing of her dream, nor did I ask her to tell it, though I could see from her face that it was not forgotten. We ate, or made pretence to eat, and sat for a while in silence, till at length the gates opened, and through them came Dimas and some companion priests. Bidding these to stand back, he advanced alone and greeted us kindly.

"I am grieved," he said, "that you should again be called upon to occupy this gloomy lodging; but I had no choice in the matter, since I am but the servant of the Council, and its commands were strict. It was feared lest the infant might be spirited away, were you left at liberty."

"It will soon be spirited away, indeed, Dimas," said Maya, "if it be kept here in the darkness. Already the child pines—within a week he will be dead."

"Have no fear, lady; your imprisonment is not for long, for this very night, the night of the Rising of Waters, you will all of you be put upon your trial before the Council in the Sanctuary, and charged with the crime of attempting to escape the land."

"Is there no other charge?" asked Maya.

"None, lady, that I have heard of. What other charge should there be?"

"And what will be the verdict of the Council?"

"I cannot say, lady, but I know that none wish to deal harshly with you, and if that charge which you bring against the Lady Nahua can be proved, it will go in your favour. The crime you have attempted is a great one, both in our eyes and still more in the eyes of the people, for now they talk day and night of this Deliverer who has been born to them, and they will not easily forgive those who strove to take him from them. Still, I think that upon certain terms the anger of your judges may be appeased."

"What terms?" asked Maya.

Now Dimas hesitated, and answered:

"By the strict letter of the law, if your offence is proved against you, you are worthy of death, every one, unless you yourself are held inviolate because of your hereditary rank as Lady of the Heart. But it may be that the Council will not exact the extreme penalty. It may be that it will satisfy itself with driving these strangers from our borders instead of driving them from the land of life."

"Yet one of them is my husband, Dimas."

"True, lady, but the child is born!"

"I cannot be parted from my husband. Better that we should die together than that we should be parted. If the people have no need of him, neither have they any need of me; let us bid them farewell and go free together. I am weary of this land, Dimas, for here murder dogs our steps and I am in terror of my life. I desire nothing from my people save liberty to leave them."

"But, Lady, your people desire something from you; they desire the child. Of these strangers they would be rid by death or otherwise, and you—though of this I am not sure—they may allow to accompany them; but with your child they will never part, for he is their heaven–sent king, the Son of prophecy. It comes to this, then, that if the Council should exercise its prerogative of mercy—as it will do if I and my party have sufficient weight—at the best you must choose between the loss of your husband or of your son."