Читать книгу Heart of the World - H. Rider Haggard - Страница 9

Table of Contents

When I had gone a few paces down the hole, it widened suddenly, so that we were able to stand upright and light our candles. Now there was no doubt that we were in the tunnel of an old mine, a rudely-dug shaft that turned this way and that as it followed the windings of the ore body.

Along this tunnel we went for thirty or forty paces, creeping over the fallen boulders, and twisting ourselves between the brown stalactites that in the course of ages had formed upon the roof and floor, till presently we reached an obstacle that barred our further progress; a huge mass of rock which at some time or other had fallen from the roof of the tunnel and blocked it. I looked at it, and said:

“Now, señor, I think that we shall have to go back. You remember the writing tells us that this mine, although so rich, was unsafe because of the rottenness of the rock. Doubtless they propped it in the old days, but the timbers have decayed long ago.”

“Yes,” he answered, “we can do nothing here without help, and, Ignatio, I don’t like the look of the roof, it is full of cracks.”

As these last words left his lips a piece of stone, the size of a child’s head, fell from above almost at his feet.

“Speak softly,” I whispered, “the ring of your voice is bringing down the roof.”

Then I stooped to pick up the fallen stone, thinking that it might show ore, and, as I did so, my hand touched something sharp, which I lifted and held to the candle. It was the jawbone of a man, yellow with age, and corroded by damp. I showed it to the señor, and, kneeling down, we examined the bed of the tunnel together, and not uselessly, for there we found the remainder of the skull and some fragments of an arm-bone, but the rest of the skeleton lay under the great boulder in front of us.

“He was coming out of the mine when the rock fell upon him, poor fellow,” whispered the señor. “Look here,” and he pointed to a little heap of something that gleamed in the candle-light.

It was free gold, six or seven ounces of it, almost pure, and for the most part in small nuggets, that once were contained in a bag which had long since rotted away.

Doubtless, after the mine was closed, some Aztec, who knew its secret, had made a practice of working there for his own benefit, till one day, as he was coming out, the rock fell upon him and crushed him, leaving his spirit to haunt the place for ever.

“There is no doubt about this mine being rich,” whispered the señor; “but all the same I think that we had better get out of it. I hear odd noises and rumblings which frighten me. Come, Ignatio,” and he turned to lead the way towards the opening.

Two paces farther I saw him strike his ankle against a piece of rock that stood up some six or eight inches from the floor-bed of the tunnel, and the pain of the blow was so sharp that, forgetting where he was, he called out loudly. The next instant there was a curious sound above me as of something being torn, and, lo! I lay upon my face on the rock, and upon me rested a huge mass of stone.

I say that it rested upon me, but this is not altogether true, for, had it been so, that stone would have killed me at once, as a beetle is killed beneath the foot of a man, instead of taking more than two-and-twenty years to do it. The greater part of its weight was borne by the piece of rock against which the señor had struck his leg, a point of the fallen boulder only pressing into my back and grinding me against the ground. Now we were in darkness, for the señor had been knocked down also, and his candle extinguished, and, in the midst of my tortures, it came into my mind that he must be dead.

Presently, however, I heard his voice, saying, “Ignatio; do you live, Ignatio?”

Now I thought for a moment. Even in my pain I remembered that more of the roof would surely give ere long, and that if my friend stayed here he must die with me. Nothing could save me, I was doomed to a slow death beneath the stone; and yet if I told him this I knew that he would not go. Therefore I answered as strongly as I could:

“Fly, señor, I am safe, and do but stay to light a candle. I will follow you.”

“You are lying to me,” he answered; “your voice comes from the level of the floor.” And as he spoke I heard the scratching sound of a match.

So soon as he had found his candle and lit it, he knelt down and looked at me. Then he examined the roof above, and, following his glance with difficulty, I saw that next to the hole whence the boulder had fallen, hung a huge block of stone, that, surrounded by great cracks from which water dropped, trembled like a leaf whenever he moved or spoke.

“For the love of God, fly,” I whispered. “In a few hours it will be over with me, and you cannot help me. I am a dead man, do not stop here to share my fate.”

For a moment he seemed to hesitate, then his courage came back to him, and he answered hoarsely:

“We entered this place together, friend, and we will go out together, or not at all. You must be fixed by the rock and not crushed, or you would not speak of living for hours. Let me look,” and he lay upon his breast and examined the fallen rock by the light of the candle. “Thank God! there is hope,” he said at last, “the boulder rests on the ground and upon the stone against which I struck my leg, for only one point of it is fixed in your back. Do you think that anything is broken, Ignatio?”

“I cannot say, señor, my pain is great, and I am being slowly crushed to death; but I believe that as yet my bones are whole. Fly, I beg of you.”

“I will not,” he answered sullenly, “I am going to roll this rock off you.”

Then, lifting with all his great strength, he strove to move the stone, but without avail, for it was beyond the power of mortal man to stir it, and all the while the black mass trembled above his head.

“I must go for help,” he said, presently.

“Yes, yes, señor,” I answered, “go for help;” for I knew well that before he could return with any, more of the roof would have fallen, shutting me in to perish by inches, or perhaps crushing the life out of me in mercy. Then I remembered, and added:

“Stay a moment before you go; you are noble, I will give you something. Feel here round my neck, there is a little chain—now, draw it over my head—so. You see a token hangs to it; if ever you are in trouble with the Indians, take their chief man apart and show him this, and he will die for you if need be.

“Englishman, by this gift I have made you heir to the empire of the Aztecs in the heart of every Indian, and the master of the great brotherhood of Mexico. Molas, the messenger, will tell you all and bring you to those who can initiate you. Bid him lead you whither he would have led me. Farewell, and God go with you. Tell the Indians how I died, that they may not think that you have murdered me.”

To these words of mine the señor made no answer, but thrust the token into his pocket without looking at it, like one who dreams. Then, taking the candle with him, he crept forward down the tunnel and vanished, and my heart sank as I saw him go, leaving me to my dreadful fate without a word of farewell.

“Doubtless he is too frightened to speak,” I thought, “and it is right that he should fly as quickly as possible to save his life.”

Now, as I was soon to learn, I was doing the señor a bitter wrong in my mind, seeing that he never dreamed of deserting me, but went to find a means of rescue. As he told me afterwards, when he reached the mouth of the tunnel, he could think of no way by which I might be saved, since these mountains were uninhabited, and it would take several hours to bring men from Cumarvo.

Outside the mine he sat himself down to consider what could be done, but no thought came, for it was impossible to use the strength of the horses in that narrow place. Then he sprang up and looked round him in despair. Close to him was a little ravine hollowed by water, and on its very edge grew a small mimosa thorn of which the long roots had been washed almost bare by a flood. He saw it, and an inspiration entered into him. With the help of a lever he might be able to do a feat to which his unaided strength was not equal.

Springing at the little tree, that being of so tough a wood was the best possible for his purpose, he tore it from such root-hold as remained to it. A few strokes with his heavy hunting-knife trimmed off the branches and fibres, and soon he was creeping carefully up the tunnel, dragging the trunk after him. When he had gone some twenty paces he heard another fragment of the roof fall, and, so he said in his story, was minded to fly.

He had but just escaped from a horrible end, the end that generations ago overtook the poor Aztec, and it was awful to brave it again. He knew that his chances of being able to rescue me were few indeed, whereas those that he would perish miserably in the attempt were many. Then he remembered what my sufferings must be if I still lived, and how his own conscience would reproach him in the after years, should he leave me to my fate, and he went on.

Now he could see that the half-detached mass of the roof still hung; it was a smaller fragment which had fallen, one nearer to the entrance. He could see also that I lay in the same position beneath the rock, and he thought that I was dead, because I neither moved nor spoke, though, in fact, I had but swooned under the agony of my suffering.

“Are you dead?” he whispered, and I heard his voice through my sleep, and, lifting my head, looked up at him astonished, for I had never thought to see him again.

“Do I behold a spirit,” I said, “or is it you come back?”

“It is I, Ignatio, and I have brought a lever. Now when I lift, struggle forward if you can.”

Then he placed the trunk of the thorn-tree in what seemed to him the best position, and put all his strength upon it. It was in vain; even so he could not stir the rock.

“Try a little more to the right,” I said, faintly; “there is a better hold.”

He shifted the lever and dragged at it till his muscles cracked, and I felt the stone tremble as its bulk began to rise.

“If you can help ever so little, it will come!” he gasped.

Then in my despair, though the anguish of it nearly killed me, I set my palms upon the ground, and, contracting myself like a snake that is held with a forked stick, thrust upwards with my back, till the point of the stone was raised to the height of eight or ten inches from the ground.

For a moment, and one only, it hung there; next instant the lever slipped, and down it came again. But I had taken my chance, for, clinging to the floor with my fingers, so soon as my back was free, with a quick movement I dragged myself a foot or more forward. Then the point of rock that had been lifted from my spine fell again, but this time it struck the ground between my thighs.

Now he seized me by the arms and tore me free, though I left one of my long boots beneath the stone. I strove to rise, but could not because of the hurt to my back.

“You must carry me, señor,” I said.

He glanced at the mass that trembled above us; then, giving me the candle, he lifted me from the ground like an infant and staggered forward down the tunnel. Perhaps we had gone some seven or eight paces, not more, when there was a dreadful crash behind us. The roof had fallen in, and the spot which we occupied some thirty seconds before was now piled high with rocks.

“On!” I said; “cracks are showing in the stone above us!” and he rushed forward till we found ourselves outside the mine.

Now I bowed my head and returned thanks for my escape; then, lifting it, I looked my preserver in the face and said:

“I swear by the name of God, señor, that He never made a man nobler than yourself!”

The next instant I fell forward and fainted there among the ferns.

* * * * * * *

Ten days had passed since I was carried from the mouth of that accursed mine back to Cumarvo in a litter, and during all this time I had suffered much pain in my back, and been very ill—so ill, indeed, that I was scarcely allowed to speak with anyone. Now, however, I was much better, and one afternoon the Señor Strickland, assisted by my foster-brother Molas, lifted me from my bed into a hammock.

“By the way, Ignatio,” said the señor when Molas had gone, “I never gave you back this charm of yours. What a strange trinket it is!” he added, taking it from his neck; “and what did you mean by your talk in the tunnel about its making me heir to the empire of the Aztecs in the heart of every Indian, and the rest of it? I suppose that you were delirious with pain, and did not know what you were saying.”

“Is the door shut, señor?” I asked; “and are you sure that there is no one on the verandah? Good! Then draw your chair nearer and I will tell you something. I am not certain that I should take this talisman back again, still I will do so for reasons which you shall learn presently.

“Know, señor, that this broken gem is at once the foundation-stone and the secret symbol of a great order, of which, although you have not been initiated into it, you are now one of the lords, seeing that the crowning and vital ceremony of the creation of a Lord of the Heart consists in the hanging of the symbol about his neck for the space of a minute only by myself, who am the chief lord and Keeper of the Heart for life, and you have worn it for ten whole days.

“Before we part I will call a chapter of the order—for even among these mountains we have brethren—and you shall be initiated into its ritual and raised to the rank of a chief lord, as is your right. Meanwhile I will instruct you briefly in its mysteries, as it is my bounden duty to do.

“Understand, señor, that the first duty of the servant of the Heart is silence, and that silence I demand of you. Men have died ere now, señor; yes, they have died on the rack in the dungeons of the Inquisition, and shrivelled as wizards in the fires of the stake, sooner than reveal those things that have been told them upon the faith of the Heart, against which the confessional itself cannot prevail—no, not with the best of Catholics.”

“But suppose that a man should not keep silence, Ignatio, what then?” he asked.

“There is a land, señor,” I answered, “where the most talkative grow dumb, and its borders can be crossed by all, even by the Lords of the Heart, for fearful is the doom of a false brother!”

“You mean that if I repeat anything I may hear, I shall be murdered.”

“Indeed, no, señor; but you may happen to die. I speak on the Heart; do you hear with the Ears?”

“I hear with the Ears,” he answered, catching my meaning.

“Very well, señor, since you have now sworn secrecy to me by the most solemn oath that can pass the lips of man, I will speak to you openly. This is the tale of the Broken Heart, so far as I know it, though how much of it is truth and how much is legend I cannot say:

“You have heard the story of that white man, or god, sometimes called Quetzal by the Indians, and sometimes Cucumatz, who came to these lands in the far past and civilised their peoples? Afterwards he vanished away in a ship, promising that when many generations had passed he would return again.

“When he had gone, the empire which he created fell into the hands of two brothers, whose chief city was either at Palenque or in its neighbourhood, and the citizens of this empire, like we Christians, worshipped one good god, the true God, under the name of the Heart of Heaven, and to Him they offered few sacrifices save those of fruit and flowers. Now one of these brothers married a wife from another country—a daughter of devils, very beautiful and a great witch.

“Soon this woman, as in the story of the wives of Solomon and their lord, drew away the king, her husband, from the true faith to the worship of the gods of her own land, and brought it about that he offered human sacrifice to them. Then there arose a great confusion in that country, and the end of it was that the people divided themselves into two parties, the worshippers of the Heart of Heaven and the worshippers of devils.

“They made war upon each other, till many of their chief men were killed; then they came to an agreement whereby the nation was sundered. Half of it, under that king who had married the woman, marched northwards, and became the fathers of the Aztecs and other tribes; and half, the faithful worshippers of the Heart, remained in the Tobasco country.

“Now from that day forward evil overtook both these peoples, for though the Aztecs flourished for a while, in the end Spaniards despoiled them. The worshippers of the Heart also were driven from their cities by hordes of barbarians who rolled down upon them, and their faith perished, or seemed to perish.”

“But what has this history to do with the charm about your neck, Ignatio?” he asked.

“I will tell you. When Quetzal sailed away from his people, so says the legend, he left the stone, that once he had worn upon his brow, of which this is the half, to be a treasure to the kings who came after him. Also he set this fate upon it: that while the Heart remained unbroken, for so long should the people be one and whole; but if it came about that it was cut or shattered, they should be divided with it, to be no more one people until again the fragments were one stone.

“Now when these king-brethren quarrelled and parted, they sawed the token asunder, as you see, each of them keeping a half, this half being that of him who married the woman. For generations it was worn by his descendants, and upon their death-beds passed on by them to another, or at times taken from their bodies after they were dead.

“There are many stories told about the stone in the old days, and it is certain that he who had it was the real king of the country for the time being. At length it came into the hands of the great Guatemoc, last of the Aztec emperors, who, before the Spaniards hung him, found means to send it to his son, from whom it has come down to me.”

“To you? What have you to do with Guatemoc?”

“I am his lineal descendant, señor, the eleventh in the male line.”

“Then you ought to be Emperor of the Indians if every man had his rights, Ignatio.”

“That is so, señor, but of my own story I will tell you presently. Now of this stone. Through all the ages it has never been lost, and it is known in the land from end to end; he who wears it for his life being called ‘Keeper of the Heart,’ and also ‘Hope of those who wait,’ since it may happen in his day that the two halves will come together again.”

“And what if they do?”

“Then, so says the legend, the Indians will once more be a mighty nation, and drive those who oppress them into the sea, as the wind drives dust.”

Now the señor rose from his chair and walked up and down the room.

“Do you believe all this?” he asked, suddenly.

“Yes,” I answered, “or the greater part of it. Indeed, if what I hear is true, the lost half of the talisman that has been missing for so many generations is in Mexico at this moment, and, so soon as I am well enough, I go to seek him who bears it, and who has come from far to find me. That is why we must part, señor.”

“Where has this man come from?” he asked, eagerly.

“I do not know for certain,” I answered, “but I think that he has come from the sacred city of the Indians, the hidden Golden City which the Spaniards sought for but could not find, though it still exists among the mountains and deserts of the far interior, whither I hope to journey with him.”

“That still exists! Ignatio, you must be mad. It never has existed except in the imagination.”

“You say so, señor, but I think differently. At least, I knew a man whose grandfather had seen it. He, the grandfather, was a native of San Juan Batista, in Tobasco, and when he was young he committed some crime and fled inland to save his life.

“All that befell him I do not know, but at length he found himself wandering by the shores of a great lake, somewhere in or beyond the country that is now known as Guatemala, and, being exhausted, he laid himself down to die there and fell asleep.

“When he awoke, people were standing round him, like the Indians to look at, but very light in colour, and beautifully dressed in white robes, with necklaces of emeralds and feather capes. These people put him on board a great canoe, and took him to a glorious city with a high pyramid in the centre of it, which was named Heart of the World.

“Of this city he saw little, however, for its inhabitants kept him a prisoner, only from time to time he was brought before their king and elders, who sat in a hall filled with images of dead men fashioned in gold, and there was questioned as to the country whence he came, the tribes that dwelt in it, and more especially of the white men who ruled the land.

“In that hall alone, so he said, there were more gold and precious stones than are to be found in all Mexico. When he had nothing more to tell them, the people wished to kill him, fearing lest he should escape and bring upon them the white men who loved gold. The end of it was that he did escape by the help of a woman, who guided him back towards the sea, though she never came there, for she died upon the road.

“Afterwards this man went to live in a little village near Palenque, where he also died, having revealed nothing of what he had seen, since he feared lest the vengeance of the People of the Heart should follow him. When he was dying, he told his son, who told his son, who told the tale to me. Señor, it has been the dream of my life to visit that city, and now at last I think that I have found the clue which will lead me to it.”

“Why do you want to visit it, Ignatio?”

“To understand that, señor, you must know my history.” And I told him of the failure of the great plot and the part that I had played in it, all of which I have already set out, also of the secret hopes and ambitions of my life.

“Señor,” I added, “though I am beaten I am not yet crushed, and I still desire to build up a great Indian empire. I see by your face that you think me foolish. You may be right or I may be right. I may be pursuing truths or dreams, I may be sane and a redeemer, or insane and a fool. What does it matter? I follow the light that runs before me; will-o’-the-wisp or star, it leads to one end, and for me it is the light that I am born to follow. If you believe nothing else, at least believe this, señor, that I do not seek my own good or advancement, but rather that of my people. At the worst, I am not a knave, I am only a fool.”

“But how will you help your cause by visiting this city, supposing it to exist, Ignatio?”

“Thus, señor: these people—among whom without doubt the old man of whom I have spoken, who is named Zibalbay, is a chief or king—are the true stock and head of all the Indian races, and when they learn my plans and whom I am, they will be glad to furnish me with means whereby I can bring them to their former empire.”

“And if they take another view of the matter, Ignatio?”

“Then I fail, that is all, and among so many failures one more will scarcely matter. I am like a swimmer who sees, or thinks that he sees, a single plank that may bear him to safety. Maybe he cannot reach that plank, or, if he reach it, maybe it will sink beneath his weight. At least, he has no other hope.

“Señor, I have no other hope. There in the Golden City is untold wealth, for the man saw it, and without money, great sums of money, I am helpless, therefore I go thither to win the money. The ship has foundered under me, and with it the cargo of my ambitions and the work of my life; so, being desperate, I fall back upon a desperate expedient.

“First, I will seek this man, that the two halves of the Heart may come together, and the prophecy be fulfilled; then, if it may be, I will travel with him to the City, Heart of the World, careless whether I live or die, but determined, if there is need, to die fighting for the fulfilment of the dream of an Indian empire—Christian, regenerated, and stretching from sea to sea—that I have followed all my days.”

“The dream, Ignatio? Perhaps you name it well, yet few have such noble dreams. And now, who goes with you on this journey?”

“Who goes with me? Molas, so far as the temple where the Indian is. After that, if I proceed, no one. Who would accompany a man grown old in failure, whom even those that love him deem a visionary, on such a desperate quest? Why, if I should dare to tell my projects even, men would mock me as children mock an idiot in the street. I go alone, señor, perhaps to die.”

“As regards the dying, Ignatio, of course I can say nothing, since all men must die sooner or later, and the moment and manner of their end is in the hand of Providence. But for the rest you shall not make this journey alone, that is, if you care to have me for a companion, for I will accompany you.”

“You, señor, you. Think what it means: the certainty of every sort of danger, the risk of every kind of death, and at the end, the probability of failure. It is folly, señor.”

“Ignatio,” he answered, “I will be frank with you. Notwithstanding all the prophecies about the wonders that are to follow the reuniting of the Heart, and the messages from the old man in the temple, I think your scheme of building up an Indian empire greater than that which Cortez destroyed, as impracticable as it is grand, since the time has gone by when it could have been done, or perhaps it has not yet returned.

“Before the Indians can rule again, they must forget the bitter lessons and the degradation of ages; in short, they must be educated, Ignatio. Still, if you think otherwise, that is your affair; you can only fail, and there are failures more glorious than most successes. Do you understand me?”