Chapter XVI
On the Pyramid
"Does not the city lie very low?" I asked of Maya, when we had studied the prospect on every side. "To my eye its houses seem almost upon a level with the waters of the lake."
"I believe that is so," she answered. "Moreover, during those months of the year that are coming, the surface of the lake rises many feet, so that the greater portion of the island is submerged, and the water stands about the wall."
"How, then, do you prevent the town from being flooded?" asked the señor. "If once the water flowed in, the place would vanish and every soul be drowned."
"Yes, friend, but the waters never rise beyond a certain height, and they are kept from flooding the city by the great sluice–gate. If that gate were to be opened in the time of inundation, then we should perish, every one. But it never is opened during those months, for if any would leave or enter the city they do so by means of ladders leading from the summit of the wall to floating landing–stages on the moat beneath. Also night and day the gate is guarded; moreover, it can be moved from one place only by those that know its secret, who are few."
"It seems a strange place to build a city," answered the señor. "I do not think that I should ever sleep sound during the months of inundation, knowing that my life depended upon a single gate."
"Yet men have slept safely here for a thousand years or more," she said. "Legend tells us that our ancestors who came up from the coast in ancient days settled on the island and by command of their gods, choosing this hollow bed of land to build in, so that rather than submit themselves to foes, as their fathers were forced to do in the country beyond the mountain, they could, if need were, flood the place and perish in the water. For this reason it is that the holy sanctuary of the Nameless god, the Heart of Heaven, is hollowed deep in the rock beneath us, for the waters of the lake would flow in upon it at a touch, burying it and all its treasures from the sight of man for ever. Now, if you have seen enough, I will take you to visit the public workshops where fish is dried, linen woven, and all other industries carried on that are necessary to our comfort"—and, turning, she led the way with her ladies towards the head of the stairs.
As we drew near to it, however, three men appeared upon the platform, in one of whom I knew Tikal. Seeing Maya he advanced toward her, bowing as he came.
"Lady," he said, "learning that you were here with these strangers, I have followed you to beg that you will speak with me alone for some few minutes."
"That I cannot do, cousin," she answered coldly, "for who knows what colour might afterwards be put upon my words. If you have anything to say to me, say it before us all."
"That I cannot do," he replied, "for what I have to say is secret. Still, for your father's sake, and perhaps for your own, you will do well to hear it."
"Without a witness I will not listen to you, Tikal."
"Then, Lady, farewell," he said, and turned to go.
"Stay, cousin. If you fear to speak before our own people, let this stranger—" and she pointed to me, Ignatio—"be present at our talk. He is of our blood, and can understand our tongue, a discreet man, moreover, one of the Brethren of the Heart."
"One of the Brethren of the Heart? How can a stranger be a Brother of the Heart? Prove it to me, wanderer."
And, drawing me aside, he said certain words, which I answered, giving him the signs.
"Do you agree?" asked Maya.
"Yes, Lady, since I must, though it pleases me little to open my mind before a stranger. Let us step apart"—and he walked to the centre of the platform, followed by Maya and myself.
"Lady," he began, "my business with you is not easy to tell. For many years we were affianced, and both you and your father promised that we should be wed when you returned from this journey―"
"Surely, as things are, cousin, it is needless to discuss the matter of our betrothal," she broke in with sarcasm.
"Not altogether needless, Lady," he answered. "I have much to ask your pardon for, yet I make bold to ask it. Maya, you know well that I have loved and love you dearly, and that no other woman has ever been near my heart."
"Indeed," she said with a laugh, "these words sound strange in the mouth of the new–made husband of Nahua."
"Perhaps, Lady, and yet they are true. I am married to Nahua, but I do not love her, though she loves me. It is you whom I love, and when I saw you yesterday all my heart went out to you, so that I almost hated the fair bride at my side."
"Why, then, did you marry her?"
"Because I must, and because I believed you dead, and your father with you, as did every man in the city. You and Zibalbay being dead, as I thought, was it wonderful that I should wish to keep the place that many were plotting to take from me? This could be done in one way only, by the help of Mattai, the most clever and the most powerful man in the city, and this was Mattai's price, that his daughter should become the Lady of the Heart. Well, she loved me, she is beautiful, and she has her father's strength and foresight, so that among all the ladies in the land there was none more fitted to be my wife."
"Well, and you married her, and there's an end. You ask my forgiveness, and you have it, seeing that it does not befit me to play the part of a jealous woman. Doubtless time will soften the blow to me, Tikal," she added, mockingly.
"There is not an end, Maya, and I come to ask you to–day to renew your promise that you will be my wife."
"What, cousin! Having broken your troth, would you now offer me insult? Do you then propose that I, the Daughter of the Heart, should be Nahua's handmaid?"
"No, I propose that when Nahua is put away you should take her place and your own."
"How can this be, seeing that the Lady of the Heart cannot be divorced?"
"If she ceases to be the Lady of the Heart she can be divorced like any other woman; at the least, love has no laws, and I will find a way."
"The way of death, perhaps. No, I will have none of you. Honour has laws, Tikal, if love has none. Go back to your wife, and pray that she may never learn how you would have treated her."
"Is that your last word, Lady?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because more hangs on it than you know. Listen: Very soon all the men in the city will be gathered on this place to hear your father's words, and to decide whether he or I shall rule. See, already they assemble in the temple square. Promise to be my wife, and in return I will yield to your father and he shall be master for his life's days and have his way in all things. Refuse, and I will cling to power, and matters may go badly for him, for you, and—" he added threateningly, "for these strangers, your friends."