CHAPTER XXXVII
VENGEANCE
During that meal Bernal Diaz spoke of our first meeting on the
causeway, and of how I had gone near to killing him in error,
thinking that he was Sarceda, and then he asked me what was my
quarrel with Sarceda.
In as few words as possible I told him the story of my life, of all
the evil that de Garcia or Sarceda had worked upon me and mine, and
of how it was through him that I was in this land that day. He
listened amazed.
'Holy Mother!' he said at length, 'I always knew him for a villain,
but that, if you do not lie, friend Wingfield, he could be such a
man as this, I did not know. Now by my word, had I heard this tale
an hour ago, Sarceda should not have left this camp till he had
answered it or cleared himself by combat with you. But I fear it
is too late; he was to leave for Mexico at the rising of the moon,
to stir up mischief against me because I granted you terms--not
that I fear him there, where his repute is small.'
'I do not lie indeed,' I answered. 'Much of this tale I can prove
if need be, and I tell you that I would give half the life that is
left to me to stand face to face in open fight with him again.
Ever he has escaped me, and the score between us is long.'
Now as I spoke thus it seemed to me that a cold and dreadful air
played upon my hands and brow and a warning sense of present evil
crept into my soul, overcoming me so that I could not stir or speak
for a while.
'Let us go and see if he has gone,' said Diaz presently, and
summoning a guard, he was about to leave the chamber. It was at
this moment that I chanced to look up and see a woman standing in
the doorway. Her hand rested on the doorpost; her head, from which
the long hair streamed, was thrown back, and on her face was a look
of such anguish that at first, so much was she changed, I did not
know her for Otomie. When I knew her, I knew all; one thing only
could conjure up the terror and agony that shone in her deep eyes.
'What has chanced to our son?' I asked.
'DEAD, DEAD!' she answered in a whisper that seemed to pierce my
marrow.
I said nothing, for my heart told me what had happened, but Diaz
asked, 'Dead--why, what has killed him?'
'De Garcia! I saw him go,' replied Otomie; then she tossed her
arms high, and without another sound fell backwards to the earth.
In that moment I think that my heart broke--at least I know that
nothing has had the power to move me greatly since, though this
memory moves me day by day and hour by hour, till I die and go to
seek my son.
'Say, Bernal Diaz,' I cried, with a hoarse laugh, 'did I lie to you
concerning this comrade of yours?'
Then, springing over Otomie's body I left the chamber, followed by
Bernal Diaz and the others.
Without the door I turned to the left towards the camp. I had not
gone a hundred paces when, in the moonlight, I saw a small troop of
horsemen riding towards us. It was de Garcia and his servants, and
they headed towards the mountain pass on their road to Mexico. I
was not too late.
'Halt!' cried Bernal Diaz.
'Who commands me to halt?' said the voice of de Garcia.
'I, your captain,' roared Diaz. 'Halt, you devil, you murderer, or
you shall be cut down.'
I saw him start and turn pale.
'These are strange manners, senor,' he said. 'Of your grace I ask--"
At this moment de Garcia caught sight of me for the first time, for
I had broken from the hold of Diaz who clutched my arm, and was
moving towards him. I said nothing, but there was something in my
face which told him that I knew all, and warned him of his doom.
He looked past me, but the narrow road was blocked with men. I
drew near, but he did not wait for me. Once he put his hand on the
hilt of the sword, then suddenly he wheeled his horse round and
fled down the street of Xaca.
De Garcia fled, and I followed after him, running fast and low like
a hound. At first he gained on me, but soon the road grew rough,
and he could not gallop over it. We were clear of the town now, or
rather of its ruins, and travelling along a little path which the
Indians used to bring down snow from Xaca in the hot weather.
Perhaps there are some five miles of this path before the snow line
is reached, beyond which no Indian dared to set his foot, for the
ground above was holy. Along this path he went, and I was content
to see it, for I knew well that the traveller cannot leave it,
since on either side lie water-courses and cliffs. Mile after mile
de Garcia followed it, looking now to the left, now to the right,
and now ahead at the great dome of snow crowned with fire that
towered above him. But he never looked behind him; he knew what
was there--death in the shape of a man!
I came on doggedly, saving my strength. I was sure that I must
catch him at last, it did not matter when.
At length he reached the snow-line where the path ended, and for
the first time he looked back. There I was some two hundred paces
behind him. I, his death, was behind him, and in front of him
shone the snow. For a moment he hesitated, and I heard the heavy
breathing of his horse in the great stillness. Then he turned and
faced the slope, driving his spurs into the brute's sides. The
snow was hard, for here the frost bit sharply, and for a while,
though it was so steep, the horse travelled over it better than he
had done along the pathway. Now, as before, there was only one
road that he could take, for we passed up the crest of a ridge, a
pleat as it were in the garment of the mountain, and on either side
were steeps of snow on which neither horse nor man might keep his
footing. For two hours or more we followed that ridge, and as we
went through the silence of the haunted volcan, and the loneliness
of its eternal snows, it seemed to me that my spirit entered into
the spirit of my quarry, and that with its eyes I saw all that was
passing in his heart. To a man so wronged the dream was pleasant
even if it were not true, for I read there such agony, such black
despair, such haunting memories, such terror of advancing death and
of what lay beyond it, that no revenge of man's could surpass their
torment. And it was true--I knew that it was true; he suffered all
this and more, for if he had no conscience, at least he had fear
and imagination to quicken and multiply the fear.
Now the snow grew steeper, and the horse was almost spent, for he
could scarcely breathe at so great a height. In vain did de Garcia
drive his spurs into its sides, the gallant beast could do no more.
Suddenly it fell down. Surely, I thought, he will await me now.
But even I had not fathomed the depth of his terrors, for de Garcia
disengaged himself from the fallen horse, looked towards me, then
fled forward on his feet, casting away his armour as he went that
he might travel more lightly.
By this time we had passed the snow and were come to the edge of
the ice cap that is made by the melting of the snow with the heat
of the inner fires, or perhaps by that of the sun in hot seasons, I
know not, and its freezing in the winter months or in the cold of
the nights. At least there is such a cap on Xaca, measuring nearly
a mile in depth, which lies between the snow and the black rim of
the crater. Up this ice climbed de Garcia, and the task is not of
the easiest, even for one of untroubled mind, for a man must step
from crack to crack or needle to needle of rough ice, that stand
upon the smooth surface like the bristles on a hog's back, and woe
to him if one break or if he slip, for then, as he falls, very
shortly the flesh will be filed from his bones by the thousands of
sword-like points over which he must pass in his descent towards
the snow. Indeed, many times I feared greatly lest this should
chance to de Garcia, for I did not desire to lose my vengeance
thus. Therefore twice when I saw him in danger I shouted to him,
telling him where to put his feet, for now I was within twenty
paces of him, and, strange to say, he obeyed me without question,
forgetting everything in his terror of instant death. But for
myself I had no fear, for I knew that I should not fall, though the
place was one which I had surely shrunk from climbing at any other
time.
All this while we had been travelling towards Xaca's fiery crest by
the bright moonlight, but now the dawn broke suddenly on the
mountain top, and the flame died away in the heart of the pillar of
smoke. It was wonderful to see the red glory that shone upon the
ice-cap, and on us two men who crept like flies across it, while
the mountain's breast and the world below were plunged in the
shadows of night.
'Now we have a better light to climb by, comrade!' I called to de
Garcia, and my voice rang strangely among the ice cliffs, where
never a man's voice had echoed before.
As I spoke the mountain rumbled and bellowed beneath us, shaking
like a wind-tossed tree, as though in wrath at the desecration of
its sacred solitudes. With the rumbling came a shower of grey
ashes that rained down on us, and for a little while hid de Garcia
from my sight. I heard him call out in fear, and was afraid lest
he had fallen; but presently the ashes cleared away, and I saw him
standing safely on the lava rim that surrounds the crater.
Now, I thought, he will surely make a stand, for could he have
found courage it had been easy for him to kill me with his sword,
which he still wore, as I climbed from the ice to the hot lava. It
seemed that he thought of it, for he turned and glared at me like a
devil, then went on again, leaving me wondering where he believed
that he would find refuge. Some three hundred paces from the edge
of the ice, the smoke and steam of the crater rose into the air,
and between the two was lava so hot that in places it was difficult
to walk upon it. Across this bed, that trembled as I passed over
it, went de Garcia somewhat slowly, for now he was weary, and I
followed him at my ease, getting my breath again.
Presently I saw that he had come to the edge of the crater, for he
leaned forward and looked over, and I thought that he was about to
destroy himself by plunging into it. But if such thoughts had been
in his mind, he forgot them when he had seen what sort of nest this
was to sleep in, for turning, he came back towards me, sword up,
and we met within a dozen paces of the edge. I say met, but in
truth we did not meet, for he stopped again, well out of reach of
my sword. I sat down upon a block of lava and looked at him; it
seemed to me that I could not feast my eyes enough upon his face.
And what a face it was; that of a more than murderer about to meet
his reward! Would that I could paint to show it, for no words can
tell the fearfulness of those red and sunken eyes, those grinning
teeth and quivering lips. I think that when the enemy of mankind
has cast his last die and won his last soul, he too will look thus
as he passes into doom.
'At length, de Garcia!' I said.
'Why do you not kill me and make an end?' he asked hoarsely.
'Where is the hurry, cousin? For hard on twenty years I have
sought you, shall we then part so soon? Let us talk a while.
Before we part to meet no more, perhaps of your courtesy you will
answer me a question, for I am curious. Why have you wrought these
evils on me and mine? Surely you must have some reason for what
seems to be an empty and foolish wickedness.'
I spoke to him thus calmly and coldly, feeling no passion, feeling
nothing. For in that strange hour I was no longer Thomas
Wingfield, I was no longer human, I was a force, an instrument; I
could think of my dead son without sorrow, he did not seem dead to
me, for I partook of the nature that he had put on in this change
of death. I could even think of de Garcia without hate, as though
he also were nothing but a tool in some other hand. Moreover, I
KNEW that he was mine, body and mind, and that he must answer and
truly, so surely as he must die when I chose to kill him. He tried
to shut his lips, but they opened of themselves and word by word
the truth was dragged from his black heart as though he stood
already before the judgment seat.
'I loved your mother, my cousin,' he said, speaking slowly and
painfully; 'from a child I loved her only in the world, as I love
her to this hour, but she hated me because I was wicked and feared
me because I was cruel. Then she saw your father and loved him,
and brought about his escape from the Holy Office, whither I had
delivered him to be tortured and burnt, and fled with him to
England. I was jealous and would have been revenged if I might,
but there was no way. I led an evil life, and when nearly twenty
years had gone by, chance took me to England on a trading journey.
By chance I learned that your father and mother lived near
Yarmouth, and I determined to see her, though at that time I had no
thought of killing her. Fortune favoured me, and we met in the
woodland, and I saw that she was still beautiful and knew that I
loved her more than ever before. I gave her choice to fly with me
or to die, and after a while she died. But as she shrank up the
wooded hillside before my sword, of a sudden she stood still and
said:
'"Listen before you smite, Juan. I have a death vision. As I have
fled from you, so shall you fly before one of my blood in a place
of fire and rock and snow, and as you drive me to the gates of
heaven, so he shall drive you into the mouth of hell."'
'In such a place as this, cousin,' I said.
'In such a place as this,' he whispered, glancing round.
'Continue.'
Again he strove to be silent, but again my will mastered him and he
spoke.
'It was too late to spare her if I wished to escape myself, so I
killed her and fled. But terror entered my heart, terror which has
never left it to this hour, for always before my eyes was the
vision of him of your mother's blood, before whom I should fly as
she fled before me, who shall drive me into the mouth of hell.'
'That must be yonder, cousin,' I said, pointing with the sword
toward the pit of the crater.
'It is yonder; I have looked.'
'But only for the body, cousin, not for the spirit.'
'Only for the body, not for the spirit,' he repeated after me.
'Continue,' I said.
'Afterwards on that same day I met you, Thomas Wingfield. Already
your dead mother's prophecy had taken hold of me, and seeing one of
her blood I strove to kill him lest he should kill me.'
'As he will do presently, cousin.'
'As he will do presently,' he repeated like a talking bird.
'You know what happened and how I escaped. I fled to Spain and
strove to forget. But I could not. One night I saw a face in the
streets of Seville that reminded me of your face. I did not think
that it could be you, yet so strong was my fear that I determined
to fly to the far Indies. You met me on the night of my flight
when I was bidding farewell to a lady.'
'One Isabella de Siguenza, cousin. I bade farewell to her
afterwards and delivered her dying words to you. Now she waits to
welcome you again, she and her child.'
He shuddered and went on. 'In the ocean we met again. You rose
out of the sea. I did not dare to kill you at once, I thought that
you must die in the slave-hold and that none could bear witness
against me and hold me guilty of your blood. You did not die, even
the sea could not destroy you. But I thought that you were dead.
I came to Anahuac in the train of Cortes and again we met; that
time you nearly killed me. Afterwards I had my revenge and I
tortured you well; I meant to murder you on the morrow, though
first I would torture you, for terror can be very cruel, but you
escaped me. Long years passed, I wandered hither and thither, to
Spain, back to Mexico, and elsewhere, but wherever I went my fear,
the ghosts of the dead, and my dreams went with me, and I was never
fortunate. Only the other day I joined the company of Diaz as an
adventurer. Not till we reached the City of Pines did I learn that
you were the captain of the Otomie; it was said that you were long
dead. You know the rest.'
'Why did you murder my son, cousin?'
'Was he not of your mother's blood, of the blood that should bring
my doom upon me, and did I owe you no reward for all the terrors of
these many years? Moreover he is foolish who strives to slay the
father and spares the son. He is dead and I am glad that I killed
him, though he haunts me now with the others.'
'And shall haunt you eternally. Now let us make an end. You have
your sword, use it if you can. It will be easier to die fighting.'
'I cannot,' he groaned; 'my doom is upon me.'
'As you will,' and I came at him, sword up.
He ran from before me, moving backwards and keeping his eyes fixed
upon mine, as I have seen a rat do when a snake is about to swallow
it. Now we were upon the edge of the crater, and looking over I
saw an awful sight. For there, some thirty feet beneath us, the
red-hot lava glowing sullenly beneath a shifting pall of smoke,
rolled and spouted like a thing alive. Jets of steam flew upwards
from it with a screaming sound, lines of noxious vapours, many-
coloured, crept and twisted on its surface, and a hot and horrid
stench poisoned the heated air. Here indeed was such a gate as I
could wish for de Garcia to pass through to his own abode.
I looked, pointed with my sword, and laughed; he looked and
shrieked aloud, for now all his manhood had left him, so great was
his terror of what lay beyond the end. Yes, this proud and haughty
Spaniard screamed and wept and prayed for mercy; he who had done so
many villanies beyond forgiveness, prayed for mercy that he might
find time to repent. I stood and watched him, and so dreadful was
his aspect that horror struck me even through the calm of my frozen
heart.
'Come, it is time to finish,' I said, and again I lifted my sword,
only to let it fall, for suddenly his brain gave way and de Garcia
went mad before my eyes!
Of all that followed I will not write. With his madness courage
came back to him, and he began to fight, but not with ME.
He seemed to perceive me no more, but nevertheless he fought, and
desperately, thrusting at the empty air. It was terrible to see
him thus doing battle with his invisible foes, and to hear his
screams and curses, as inch by inch they drove him back to the edge
of the crater. Here he stood a while, like one who makes a last
stand against overpowering strength, thrusting and striking
furiously. Twice he nearly fell, as though beneath a mortal wound,
but recovering himself, fought on with Nothingness. Then, with a
sharp cry, suddenly he threw his arms wide, as a man does who is
pierced through the heart; his sword dropped from his hand, and he
fell backwards into the pit.
I turned away my eyes, for I wished to see no more; but often I
have wondered Who or What it was that dealt de Garcia his death
wound.
