"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.