mind too that in this way he could salvage officially a greater part of the Cacahuamilpa treasure.
Cortes added softly, "I think you can depend on the Carvajal interest as well, my son."
De Vargas started. His proposal to Catana had slipped his mind.
"Well?" asked Cortes, noting his expression.
"I'm afraid no longer, Your Excellency. Not after Catana Perez becomes mv wife."
The General smiled. "You're not serious about that."
The tone of voice reminded Pedro of a smooth stone wall. It expressed perfectly the preposterousness of such a marriage.
"But I am serious, Your Excellency."
"Oh, come! Did she give you a love charm? Have they witches in the Zapotec country?"
"You don't understand, sir." Privately de Vargas cursed himself for feeling so foolish and weak before the mockery in the other's eyes. "I love her. Our child died. It came to me as the will of God that we should marry."
How feeble it sounded! How inadequate to express the passion, sorrow, comradeship, that he and Catana had shared! Cortes cocked a humorous eyebrow.
"Dear me! Is that the way of it? Well, you'll recover. We've all had our moments."
Pedro recalled Catana kneeling beside the grave in the garden.
"I'm quite in earnest, Your Excellency."
Cortes did not answer for a long minute. The humor faded from his eyes. Finally he said, "Poppycock! Listen, man, the son of Francisco de Vargas does not marry a camp girl."
"She's been true as steel."
"What of it?" Cortes smiled again. "Son Pedro, I marvel that I waste time arguing upon so foolish a point; but I would save you from the reefs if I can. On the seas of love, I'm an old rover." He gave a toss of the hand. "Nobody can tell me much about women. I've had some of every stripe. But mark you, not one of them was worth a man's career. Leave that kind of nonsense to fairy tales."
He paused an instant, as if choosing his words.
"And mark you too, I say nothing against the Senora Catana. She's a gallant, personable wench, and no doubt loyal. What of it? Take this Indian girl of mine—Marina. Is she not gallant? Is she not true? And would I marry her for that reason, even if I did not have a lawful wife in Cuba? I would not. I would do exactly what I intend doing now
k
when the time comes—hand her over with a good dot to one of the comrades. Why? Because a man of parts has v/ork to do in the world of more interest and value than sentiment; and marriage is an alliance to promote that work, not to hinder it." He flashed his compelling eyes on Pedro. "Consider yourself. You are of good blood, have good talents, great opportunities. I offer you a chance which might lead far at court or in the army to the life you were born for, a chance to serve this company and New Spain. Will you shirk it, disappoint your parents, throw everything over, in order to become the husband of a gutter girl?"
Pedro reddened, and his eyes narrowed. But Cortes did not relent.
"What else is she?" he demanded. "Isn't it better for me who love you to call a spade a spade and hurt your ears than to let you make yourself a laughingstock? Have I said anything that your father would not say?"
In all honesty, Pedro could not deny it. On the contrary, he felt sure that Don Francisco would have used stronger language.
"One more thing, and I'm through," the General added. "Then you can please yourself. I know that my views of women and marriage are sound, because once only I neglected them and have smarted for it all my life. That once was enough."
He frowned at the table, his mouth bitter.
"Indeed?" said Pedro after a silence.
"Aye," Cortes growled. "My own wife, Pedro de Vargas, who waits for me in Cuba. Who cramps me at every turn. Being what she was— a girl like Catana Perez." He shrugged. "There she is! My incarnate mistake, which has to be corrected somehow—sometime."
He sank into thought, but roused himself. "A last point. De Silva is in Spain. I'll warrant he follows Fonseca, the Bishop of Burgos, to court. There would be a chance to even all scores. But v/e could hardly use the husband of Catana Perez to represent us before the Emperor. . . . Well, what do you say?"
Pedro's jaw set. "I intend to keep my promise. Your Excellency."
LXX
It did not take long to get back into the swing of the army. El Herrero proved to be a good horse; a suit of armor, pieced together from various sources, completed Pedro's necessary equipment, and several days' fighting across the causeway put him in trim. As aide-de-camp of the
General, his duty took him also to reunions with the comrades under Alvarado in Tacuba and Sandoval in Tepeyac. Within a week, he felt at home.
And yet not fully at home. There had been great changes in a year. Even the Narvaez people were now old hands as compared with other newcomers from the Islands. The original company had shrunk into a kind of inner circle, self-conscious and exclusive, admired but envied. It was pleasant no doubt to be one of the "old" captains, but the former democracy was gone.
And the novelty of conquest had worn off. The time seemed long ago when the Aztec world of cities, palaces, and temples was like a realized fairy tale. The war had simmered down into nothing but work. Regular as daybreak, one got up, crossed the causeway, drove deeper into the city, protected the Indian allies while they demolished additional sections of houses and filled up additional canals; then fought a rear-guard action as the army fell back to its fortified camp. At this season, it rained most of the time. Soaked to the skin and tired as a woodchopper, one ate the monotonous evening rations, talked over the day's fight, and stretched out on a mat to start again next morning.
Daily the Spanish death grip tightened on the doomed city. No thrill of uncertainty as in the old days. Since the Aztecs chose rather to die than surrender, it was only a question of how much time it would take for starvation, pestilence, and attack to exterminate them in their shrinking walls.
But to Pedro, the chief difference between now and the past lay in his separation from Catana and Garcia. His attendance on the General required quarters in the fort at Xoloc. Garcia was billeted with other minor officers in one of the company huts along the causeway; while Catana shared a half-ruined house on the mainland with her former crony, Maria de Estrada, now betrothed to Pedro Farfan. Added to other changes, this scattering gave a sense of strangeness and dissolution.
As usual, Cortes drove hard. Pedro spent three days with Sandoval in Tepeyac. He had hardly returned when the General dispatched him to Alvarado. A week passed from the night of arrival, and he had not yet been given a breathing space to see Catana.
Cortes, like every other eminent leader, believed in the importance of small things. He could think in bold outline, but he was also a master of detail. The checkmate of a king often depends on the early move of an insignificant pawn. Having determined that the fate of New Spain
hung on a proper representation at the Spanish court and having decided that Pedro de Vargas was the man best suited to this office, he did not propose, if he could help it, to leave so weighty a matter to the chance of Pedro's sentimental whims. Catana Perez might be only an atom in the strain and stress of forces that would make or mar the future of the Conquest; but at the moment she was an important atom.
Therefore, one late afternoon, while Pedro was still absent, he dispatched Juan Diaz of his household to fetch Catana to him. When she had been ushered into the large upper room at the fort, and the attendants had withdrawn, Cortes, under cover of pleasant introductory phrases, studied her with the finesse of an artist.
Physically she pleased him. He liked her slender but shapely hands, which accorded with the long oval of her face. He liked too the arrangement of her hair, curving in two black bands over her ears. If her mouth was too large, it lent her character and spirit, as did the dark, heavy-lidded eyes. She had a fine bust and figure.
But he was concerned with her psychologically, and here he felt unsure. He knew how difficult it is to pry a determined woman loose fr
om a brilliant match if at the same time she is in love with her future husband. How to set about it? Gatana's reputation for courage did not suggest intimidation as the right technique. Bribery seemed equally doubtful, since he could offer nothing better than what he wanted her to give up. He disliked more sinister measures if they could be avoided. So he felt his way, alert for an opening.
At first, overwhelmed by shyness and puzzled as to the reason of her summ.ons, she was unresponsive, until at last she ventured: —
"Is my lord de Vargas here. Your Excellency?"
"No, senora, he's in Tacuba at present with Captain de Alvarado."
"I was afraid there had been an accident," she murmured, "that perhaps that was the reason—"
"No, he's in fine fettle. Is rendering good service to this company. A man of high promise—Captain de Vargas."
He noticed her cheeks flush with the praise and her eyes kindle. By God, he had overlooked tlie romantic lead! He had forgotten the self-sacrifice that young fools are sometimes capable of! It was worth probing.
"Tell me one thing, senora," he went on, with a confidential smile, "what's your real feeling toward Pedro de Vargas?"
"My real feeling, Your Excellency?"
"Yes, your attitude—call it what you please."
"Why, I love him."
"Love him?"
She nodded, staring down at her hands.
Cortes laughed. "Oh, come, senora! Anything but that!"
She looked up, startled; and he thrust home his point.
"Want him, yes—I can understand that—but love?" The General waxed eloquent. "Love? Senora, love seeks to give, not to get, desires the honor and success of the loved one." He sighed. "It is rare. Indeed, yes! But such, I take it, is not your feeling toward Captain de Vargas."
Catana faltered, "I don't understand. Your Excellency."
"How now! Is it not true that you are marrying him?"
"It is true that he asked me to marry him," she breathed.
"Pooh! Don't let's quibble. He tells me that he is going to marry you. He, a man of good house, fine prospects, a man whom I had chosen to represent us before His Caesarean Majesty, marry you! Forfeit his career! And you tell me that you love him!"
The masterful face, pale above its beard, frightened her; but she met Cortes's hot eyes without flinching.
"Your Excellency is mistaken. Don't you think I know what he is— what I am? Do you think I intended to marry him? I'd rather die than hurt him. Your Excellency doesn't need to tell me about love and what I ought to do." Then, shocked at such plain-speaking to the Commander-in-Chief, she added, "I crave Your Excellency's pardon."
Cortes continued to stare at her, but his stare was deflated. He was like a man who, lifting his foot to mount a step, finds no step there. He had mobilized his strategy without any need for it.
"Hm-m!" he recovered. "Ha! You mean to tell me that you won't marry him even if he urges it?"
"I had made up my mind to that some time ago. Your Excellency."
"Indeed? Well then, it's good, very good. I apologize, sefiora. I had not expected to find you so—so"—he substituted noble for easy —"yes, of so noble and sensitive a nature. One doesn't encounter that sort of thing often. I suppose then you'll remain Captain de Vargas's cara amiga. And in that case I envy him."
She shook her head. "My lord Pedro does not wish it, Your Excellency. He feels that it is not God's will."
''Que cosa!" Cortes raised his eyebrows. "Of course one must follow one's conscience. But his loss will be another man's gain." Struck by a sudden whim, he leaned forward and took her hand. "Even I, senora, would be very much your servant—if you pleased."
She evaded the hint as lightly as it was made. "No, Your Excellency's servant."
When she rose to leave, and they were standing face to face, Cortes said, impulsively for once: "By my conscience, seiiora, you are a right member of our old company. It is upon you and our comrades that I can rely. Also you can rely on me. I'll see to it, with the help of God, that you are made masters in this land—you yourself by no means least. You shall choose your own encomienda and villages. You'll be the forebear of an illustrious family in New Spain." He paused a moment, his eyes on the future. "Yes, we are founding a new nobleza here. Do not regret Pedro de Vargas too much. By blood and fortune, his ties are in the Old World; you belong to the New."
She made him a curtsy. Even Cortes could not see the emptiness behind her eyes.
Taking her hand again, he raised it to his Hps. "I honor you more, my dear, than most ladies I have had the chance to meet." And with a strange pulse of feeling in his voice, he added, "Much more."
Then, opening for her, he called to the men below, "Attend the Senora Perez."
But, riding home, Catana realized that the door which had been closing was now locked and sealed oflScially, irrevocably.
LXXI
When pedro returned from Tacuba, he lost no time before calling on Catana but found that she had walked up to the pine woods above the house. Directed by Maria de Estrada, he discovered her leaning against a tree, her eyes on the distance of the lake.
At the sound of footsteps beside her, she turned and, seeing who it was, exclaimed, "Seiior!" Then, her face lighting up with the familiar smile, she instinctively threw her arms around him.
''Querida!" he said. "Have I missed you! I've been nothing but the General's shuttlecock these ten days. But, by God, I'll pay myself back now. It's all arranged. Father Olmedo is marrying us tonight."
To his surprise, her arms dropped, and without answering she turned away, gazing apparently at the crumbling remnants of Tenochtitlan across the lake.
"No, sefior, I don't want to marry you."
Amazement in Pedro eclipsed every other feeling. He had not taken seriously the delay she had asked for, assuming that once back in camp, their marriage was a foregone conclusion.
''Por Dios, why on earth not?"
Struggling with her weakness, she could not reply for a moment.
"Why on earth not?" he repeated.
There was no use telling him the truth. That would only provoke argument. Conscious of her own limitations, she wanted to make this short.
She forced herself to speak casually. "Well, senor, as Juan Garcia says, love is one thing, marriage is another. I'd rather keep what we've had" (she touched her breast) "here, than watch it fade out. Don't you see?"
"Cursed if I do. You and I haven't been only romantic lovers: we've been comrades. That's what marriage is."
She hurried on. "Then there's another thing. We won't always be in camp. For a husband, I want som.eone of my own sort. No looking down or up. On account of the children, too. When you get married, you've got to think of these things."
"You never thought of them before."
"It didn't matter when we were lovers."
Pedro's astonishment gave way to hurt. "But, Catana, I've told you why we couldn't go on as we were. I've told it to Father Olmedo. He agrees with me. Are we to deny God?"
"No, senor. We could not go on as we were." It was torment to keep her eyes dry, her throat clear; to make her act convincing in spite of the voices in her mind that cried out to him. "Besides, there's this," she added, borrowing from Cortes. "I want to stay here. I feel as if this is my country. You've got to go home. You say you don't, senor; but you've got to. That's your place."
And now jealousy took a fling at him. His fist clenched.
"I'd like to know the bottom of this," he growled. "I've a mind to give you a belting and get it out of you. Look you, has some other gallant, while I've been on duty—"
"No."
"I have my doubts. Who's this husband you intend to marry?"
She had thought of no one. Improvising, she said: "Perhaps Juan, perhaps someone else. I don't know."
"Juan Garcia! Has he —'"'
"No. He's never said a word. But he would have me if I asked him."
'']uan!" Pedro repeated. He balanced in a hot vacancy.
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Would it never end? Catana asked herself. She couldn't stand much more. She wanted to press her forehead down on his shoulder and give
up.
His pride got the best of it. After all, he had kept faith with her. He had been ready to sacrifice anything to do it. And she rejected him. Should he go down on his knees to her? Hardly.
"So it's your final word?" he said at last. "You won't change your mind?"
"No, sefior. . . . I've told you why."
He drew himself up. "Very well, if that's your wish."
They gazed at each other across the past that lay between them. So much to be said that could not be said.
"Good-by, Catana."
"Good-by."
He turned and descended the hill without looking back. When he had disappeared, she sank down at the foot of the tree; then heard the beat of his horse's hoofs, slow at first, quicken and grow faint. She remembered the dawn in the pine hut two years ago on their march from the coast. Then the hoofbeats had marked the beginning, as they now marked the end. All that mattered in her life bracketed by a sound.
That night, Pedro informed the General that he was free to represent the company in Spain when the time should come.
"Capital!" approved Cortes.
Rumors of the breach between Captain de Vargas and Catana Perez made a stir in the army. When the gossip reached Juan Garcia at the end of a hard day's fight, he refused to believe it and, stalking out into the night, strode up the causeway to the square fort blocking it, where Cortes and his staff had their quarters.
"Captain de Vargas," he said to the guardsman on duty.
Being admitted, he was shown to Pedro's room, where he waited till the officers' mess was over. He waited some time. When Pedro came in at last, Garcia felt an odd stiff"ness, which was all the more striking as they had not seen each other for a week.
"Vaya, comrade," he said, "you're so much of an officer these days that I have to get at you through walls and sentries. I've been missing you. How goes it, boy?"
"Excellent well. And with you?"
"As you see, companero. Stiff" from this cursed fighting every day in the city. Bruised and sore. But it won't be long now with the bastards.
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