University of Virginia Library

4. BOOK FOUR.

1. CHAPTER I.
THE KING GIVES A TRUST TO HUALPA.

AND now was come the time of all the year most pleasant,
— the time when the maguey was greenest, when
the cacti burst into flowers, and in every field women and
children, with the strong men, went to pluck the ripened
maize. Of the summer, only the wealth and beauty remained.
The Goddess of Abundance divided the worship which, at
other seasons, was mostly given to Huitzil' and Tezca';[1] in
her temples the days were all of prayer, hymning, and
priestly ceremony. No other towers sent up such columns of
the blue smoke so grateful to the dwellers in the Sun; in no
other places were there such incessant burning of censers,
presentation of gifts, and sacrifice of victims. Throughout
the valley the people carolled those songs the sweetest and
most millennial of men, — the songs of harvest, peace, and
plenty.

I have before said that Tezcuco, the lake, was the especial
pride of the Aztecs. When the sky was clear, and the air
tranquil, it was very beautiful; but when the king, with his
court, all in state, set out for the hunting-grounds on the
northern shore, its beauty rose to splendor. By his invitation
great numbers of citizens, in style suited to the honor,

joined their canoes to the flotilla composing the retinue.
And let it not be forgotten that the Aztec loved his canoe as
in Christendom the good knight loves his steed, and decorated
it with all he knew of art; that its prow, rising high
above the water, and touched by the master sculptors, was
dressed in garlands and fantastic symbols; that its light and
shapely canopy, elegantly trimmed within, was shaded by
curtains, and surmounted by trailing streamers; and that the
slaves, four, six, and sometimes twelve in number, dipped
and drew their flashing paddles in faultless time, and shone
afar brilliant in livery. So, when the multitude of vessels
cleared the city walls, and with music and songs dashed into
the open lake, the very water seemed to dance and quiver
with a sensuous pleasure.

In such style did Montezuma one pleasant morning leave
his capital. Calm was the lake, and so clear that the reflection
of the sky above seemed a bed of blue below. There
were music, and shouts, and merry songs, and from the city
the cheers and plaudits of the thousands who, from the
walls and housetops, witnessed the pageant. And his canoe
was the soul of the pomp, and he had with him his favorite
minstrel and jester, and Maxtla; yet there was something
on his mind that made him indifferent to the scene and prospective
sport. Some distance out, by his direction, the
slaves so manœuvred that all the flotilla passed him; then
he said to Maxtla, “The will has left me. I will not hunt
to-day; yet the pastime must go on; a recall now were
unkingly. Look out for a way to follow the train, while I
return.”

The chief arose, and swept the lake with a bright glance.
“Yonder is a chinampa; I can take its master's canoe.”

“Do so. Give this ring to the lord Cuitlahua, and tell
him to conduct the hunt.”

And soon Maxtla was hurrying to the north with the signet,

while the monarch was speeding more swiftly to the
south.

“For Iztapalapan,” said the latter to his slaves. “Take
me there before the lords reach the hunting-grounds, and you
shall have a feast to-night.”

They bent to the paddles, and rested not until he saw the
white houses of the city, built far into the lake in imitation
of the capital.

“Not to the town, but the palace of Guatamozin,” he then
said. “Speed! the sun is rising high.”

Arrived at the landing, Montezuma set forward alone to the
palace. The path led into a grove of cedar and wild orange-trees,
interspersed with ceibas, the true kings of the forests
of New Mexico. The air was sweet with perfume; birds
sang to each other from the coverts; the adjacent cascades
played their steady, muffled music; and altogether morning
on the lake was less beautiful than morning in the tzin's
garden. In the multitude of walks he became bewildered;
but, as he was pleased by all he beheld, he walked on without
consulting the sun. At length, guided by the sound of
voices, he came to the arena for martial games; and there he
found Hualpa and Io' practising with the bow.

He had been wont to regard Io' as a child, unripe for
any but childish amusements, and hardly to be trusted alone.
Absorbed in his business of governing, he had not observed
how increase of years brought the boy strength, stature, and
corresponding tastes. Now he was admonished of his neglect:
the stripling should have been familiarized with bow, sling,
and maquahuitl; men ought to have been given him for
comrades; the warrior's school, even the actual field, had
been better for him than the nursery. An idea of ambition
also occurred to the monarch. When he himself was gathered
to his fathers, who was to succeed him on the throne?
Cuitlahua, Cacama, the lord of Tlacopan? Why not Io'?

Meanwhile the two diligently pursued their sport. At
the moment the king came upon them, Hualpa was giving
some directions as to the mode of holding the brave weapon.
The boy listened eagerly, — a sign that pleased the observer,
for nothing is so easy as to flatter the hope of a dreamy
heart. Observing them further, he saw Io' take the stand,
draw the arrow quite to the head, and strike the target. At
the second trial, he pierced the centre. Hualpa embraced
the scholar joyously; and thereupon the king warmed toward
the warrior, and tears blinded his eyes. Advancing
into the arena, the clanging of his golden sandals announced
his presence.

And they knelt and kissed the earth.

“Stand up!” he said, with the smile which gave his countenance
a womanly beauty. And to Hualpa he added, “I
thought your palace by Chapultepec would be more attractive
than the practice of arms; more credit should have
been given the habits of a hunter. I was right to make
you noble. But what can you make of Io'?”

“If you will give the time, O king, I can make him of
excellent skill.”

“And what says the son of Tecalco?”

Io' knelt again, saying, “I have a pardon to ask —”

“A pardon! For wishing to be a warrior?”

“If the king will hear me, — I have heard you say that in
your youth you divided your days between the camp and
the temples, learning at the same time the duties of the
priest and the warrior. That I may be able some day to
serve you, O king, I have stolen away from Tenochtitlan —”

Montezuma laid his hand tenderly on the boy's head, and
said, “No more. I know all you would say, and will ask
the great Huitzil' to give you strength and courage. Take
my permission to be a warrior. Arise, now, and give me
the bow. It is long since I pulled the cord, and my hand

may have weakened, and my eyes become dim; but I challenge
you both! I have a shield wrought of pearl and gold,
unfit for the field, yet beautiful as a prize of skill. Who
plants an arrow nearest yon target's heart, his the shield
shall be.”

The challenge was accepted, and after preparation, the
monarch dropped his mantle, and took the stand. He drew
the shaft to his ear with a careless show of skill; and when
it quivered in the target about a palm's breadth below the
mark, he said, laughing, “I am at least within the line of
the good bowman. A Tlascalan would not have escaped
scarless.”

Io' next took the bow, and was so fortunate as to hit the
lower edge of the heart squarely above the king's bolt.

“Mine is the shield, mine is the shield!” he cried, exultantly.
“O that a minstrel were here! I would have a
song, — my first song!”

“Very proud!” said the king, good-humoredly. “Know
you, boy, the warrior counts his captives only when the battle
is ended. Here, lord Hualpa, the boaster should be
beaten. Prove your quality. To you there may be more
in this trial than a song or a golden shield.”

The hunter took the vacant place; his arrow whistled
away, and the report came back from the target. By a happy
accident, if such it were, the copper point was planted exactly
in the middle of the space between the other two.

More joyous than before arose the cry of Io', “I have
beaten a king and a warrior! Mine is the shield, mine is
the shield!”

And the king, listening, said to himself, “I remember my
own youth, and its earliest victory, and how I passed from
successes at first the most trifling. Ah! who but Huitzil',
father of all the gods, can tell the end? Blessed the day

when I can set before him the prospect of a throne instead
of a shield!”

The target was brought him, and he measured the distance
of each arrow from the centre; and when he saw how
exactly Hualpa's was planted between the others, his subtile
mind detected the purpose and the generosity.

“The victory is yours, O my son, and so is the shield,”
he said, slowly and thoughtfully. “But ah! were it given
you to look with eyes like mine, — with eyes sharpened by
age for the discovery of blessings, your rejoicing would be
over a friend found, whose love is proof against vanity and
the hope of reward.”

Hualpa understood him, and was proud. What was the
prize lost to Montezuma gained?

“It grows late; my time is sacred,” said the king.
“Lord Hualpa, stay and guide me to the palace. And
Io', be you my courier to the 'tzin. Go before, and tell him
I am coming.”

The boy ran ahead, and as they leisurely followed him,
the monarch relapsed into melancholy. In the shade of a
ceiba tree he stopped, and said, “There is a service you
might do me, that lies nearer my heart than any other.”

“The will of the great king is mine,” Hualpa replied, with
a low reverence.

“When I am old,” pursued Montezuma, “when the things
of earth begin to recede from me, it would be pleasant to
have a son worthy to lift the Empire from my shoulders.
While I am going up the steps of the temple, a seeker of the
holy peace that lies in worship and prayer, the government
would not then be a care to disturb me. But I am sensible
that no one could thus relieve me unless he had the strong
hand of a warrior, and was fearless except of the gods. Io'
is my only hope. From you he first caught the desire of
greatness, and you can make him great. Take him as a

comrade; love him as a brother; teach him the elements of
war, — to wield spear and maquahuitl; to bear shield, to
command, and to be brave and generous. Show him the
ways of ambition. Above all,” — as he spoke he raised his
head and hand, and looked the impersonation of his idea, —
“above all, let him know that a king may find his glory as
much in the love of his people as in his power. Am I
understood?”

Hualpa did not look up, but said, “Am I worthy? I
have the skill of hand; but have I the learning?”

“To make him learned belongs to the priests. I only
asked you to make him a warrior.”

“Does not that belong to the gods?”

“No: he derives nothing from them but the soul. They
will not teach him to launch the arrow.”

“Then I accept the charge. Shall he go with me?”

“Always, — even to battle.”

O mighty king! was the shadow of the coming fate upon
thy spirit then?

2. CHAPTER II.
THE KING AND THE 'TZIN.

THE visit was unexpected to Guatamozin, and its object
a mystery; but he thought only of paying the guest
meet honor and respect, for he was still the great king. And
so, bareheaded and unarmed, he went forth, and meeting
him in the garden, knelt, and saluted him after the manner
of the court.

“I am glad to say the word of welcome to my father's
brother. Know, O king, that my house, my garden, and all
you behold are yours.”

Hualpa left them; then Montezuma replied, the sadness
of his voice softening the austerity of his manner, —

“I have loved you well, Guatamozin. Very good it was
to mark you come up from boyhood, and day by day grow
in strength and thought. I never knew one so rich in
promise. Ours is a proud race, and you seemed to have all its
genius. From the beginning you were thoughtful and provident;
in the field there was always a victory for you, and in
council your words were the soul of policy. O, ill was the
day evil came between us, and suspicion shattered the love
I bore you! Arise! I have not crossed the lake for explanations;
there is that to speak of more important to us
both.”

The 'tzin arose, and looked into the monarch's face, his
own suffused with grief.

“Is not a king punished for the wrong he does?”

Montezuma's brows lowered, chilling the fixed look which
was his only answer; and the 'tzin spoke on.

“I cannot accuse you directly; but this I will say, O
king: a just man, and a brave, never condemns another upon
suspicion.”

The monarch's eyes blazed with sudden fire, and from his
maxtlatl he drew a knife. The 'tzin moved not; the armed
hand stopped; an instant each met the other's gaze, then the
weapon was flung away.

“I am a child,” said the king, vexed and ashamed.
“When I came here I did not think of the past, I thought
only of the Empire; but trouble has devoured my strength
of purpose, until my power mocks me, and, most miserable
of men, I yearn to fly from myself, without knowing where
to find relief. A vague impulse — whence derived, except
from intolerable suffering of mind, I know not — brought
me to you. O 'tzin, silent be the differences that separate
us. Yours I know to be a tongue of undefiled truth; and

if not for me now, for our country, and the renown of our
fathers, I believe you will speak.”

The shame, the grief, and the self-accusation moved the
'tzin more than the deadly menace.

“Set my feet, O king! set my feet in the way to serve or
save my country, and I will tread it, though every step be
sown with the terrors of Mictlan.”

“I did not misjudge you, my son,” the king said, when
he had again perfectly mastered his feelings.

And Guatamozin, yet more softened, would have given
him all the old love, but that Tula, contracted to the Tezcucan,
rose to memory. Checking the impulse, he regarded
the unhappy monarch sorrowfully.

And the latter, glancing up at the sun, said, —

“It is getting late. I left the train going to the hunting-grounds.
By noon they will return, and I wish to be at the
city before them. My canoe lies at the landing; walk there
with me, and on the way I will speak of the purpose of my
visit.”

Their steps as they went were slow, and their faces downcast
and solemn. The king was first to speak.

“As the time requires, I have held many councils, and
taken the voice of priest, warrior, and merchant; and they
agree in nothing but their confusion and fear.”

“The king forgets, — I have been barred his councils, and
know not what they considered.”

“True, true; yet there is but one topic in all Anahuac, —
in the Empire. Of that, the tamanes talk gravely as their
masters; only one class asks, `Who are the white men making
all this trouble?' while the other argues, `They are here;
they are gods. What are we to do?'”

“And what say the councils, O king?”

“It could not be that all would speak as one man. Of
different castes, they are differently moved. The pabas

believe the Sun has sent us some godly warriors, whom
nothing earthly can subdue. They advise patience, friendship,
and peace. `The eye of Huitzil' is on them, numbering
their marches. In the shade of the great temple
he awaits, and there he will consume them with a breath,'
— so say the pabas. The warriors are dumb, or else borrow
and reassert the opinions of the holy men. `Give
them gold, if they will depart; if not that, give them
peace, and leave the issue to the gods,' — so they say.
Cuitlahua says war; so does Cacama. The merchants
and the people have no opinion, — nothing but fear. For
myself, yesterday I was for war, to-day I am for peace. So
far I have chosen to act upon the advice of the pabas. I
have sent the strangers many presents and friendly messages,
and kept ambassadors in their camp; but while preserving
such relations, I have continually forbade their coming to
Tenochtitlan. They seem bolder than men. Who but
they would have undertaken the march from Cempoalla?
What tribes or people could have conquered Tlascala, as they
have? You have heard of their battles. Did they not in a
day what we have failed to do in a hundred years? With
Tlascala for ally, they have set my word at naught, and,
whether they be of the sun or the earth, they are now
marching upon Cholula, most sacred city of the gods. And
from Cholula there is but one more march. Already from
the mountains they have looked wistfully down on our valley
of gardens, upon Tenochtitlan. O 'tzin, 'tzin, can we forget
the prophecy?”

“Shall I say what I think? Will the king hear me?”
asked Guatamozin.

“For that I came. Speak!”

“I obey gladly. The opportunity is dearer to me than
any honor. And, speaking, I will remember of what race
I am.”

“Speak as if you were king.”

“Then — I condemn your policy.”

The monarch's face remained placid. If the bluff words
wounded him, he dissembled consummately.

“It was not well to go so often to the temple,” Guatamozin
continued. “Huitzil' is not there; the pabas have
only his name, his image and altar; your breast is his true
temple; there ought you to find him. Yesterday, you
say, you were for war; the god was with you then: to-day
you are for peace; the god has abandoned you. I know
not in what words the lords Cuitlahua and Cacama urged
their counsel, nor on what grounds By the Sun! theirs is
the only policy that comports with the fame of a ruler of
Aztecs. Why speak of any other? For me, I would seek
the strangers in battle and die, sooner than a minstrel should
sing, or tradition tell, how Guatamozin, overcome by fear,
dwelt in their camp praying peace as the beggar prays for
bread.”

Literally, Guatamozin was speaking like a king.

“I have heard your pearl-divers say,” he continued, “that
they never venture into a strange sea without dread. Like the
new sea to them, this subject has been to your people; but however
the declaration may strike your ears, O king, I have sounded
all its depths. While your priests were asking questions of
speechless hearts; while your lords were nursing their love
of ease in the shade and perfume of your palace; while your
warriors, forgetful of their glory, indulged the fancy that the
new enemy were gods; while Montezuma was watching stars,
and studying omens, and listening to oracles which the gods
know not, hoping for wisdom to be found nowhere as certainly
as in his own royal instincts, — face to face with the
strangers, in their very camp, I studied them, their customs,
language, and nature. Take heart, O king! Gods,
indeed! Why, like men, I have seen them hunger and thirst;

like men, heard them complain; on the other hand, like
men, I have seen them feed and drink to surfeit, and heard
them sing from gladness. What means their love of gold?
If they come from the Sun, where the dwellings of the gods,
and the hills they are built on, are all of gold, why should
they be seeking it here? Nor is that all. I listened to
the interpreter, through whom their leader explained his
religion, and they are worshippers, like us, only they adore a
woman, instead of a great, heroic god —”

“A woman!” exclaimed the king.

“Nay, the argument is that they worship at all. Gods do
not adore each other!”

They had now walked some distance, and so absorbed had
Montezuma been that he had not observed the direction
they were pursuing. Emerging suddenly from a cypress-grove,
he was surprised to find the path terminate in a small
lake, which, at any other time, would have excited his admiration.
Tall trees, draped to their topmost boughs in luxuriant
vines, encircled the little expanse of water, and in its
midst there was an island, crowned with a kiosk or summer-house,
and covered with orange shrubs and tapering
palms.

“Bear with me, O king,” said Guatamozin, observing his
wonder. “I brought you here that you may be absolutely
convinced of the nature of our enemies. On that
island I have an argument stronger than the vagaries of
pabas or the fancies of warriors, — a visible argument.”

He stepped into a canoe lying at the foot of the path, and,
with a sweep of the paddle, drove across to the island.
Remaining there, he pushed the vessel back.

“Come over, O king, come over, and see.”

Montezuma followed boldly, and was led to the kiosk.
The retreat was not one of frequent resort. Several times
they were stopped by vines grown across the path. Inside

the house, the visitor had no leisure for observation;
he was at once arrested by an object that filled him with
horror. On a table was a human head. Squarely severed
from the body, it stood upright on the base of the neck,
looking, with its ghastly, white face, directly toward the entrance.
The features were swollen and ferocious; the black
brows locked in a frown, with which, as was plainly to
be seen, nature had as much to do as death; the hair was
short, and on the crown almost worn away; heavy, matted
beard covered the cheeks and chin; finally, other means of
identification being wanted, the coarse, upturned mustache
would have betrayed the Spaniard. Montezuma surveyed
the head for some time; at length, mastering his deep loathing,
he advanced to the table.

“A teule!” he said, in a low voice.

“A man, — only a man!” exclaimed Guatamozin, so
sternly that the monarch shrank as if the blue lips of the
dead had spoken to him. “Ask yourself, O king, Do the
gods die?”

Montezuma smiled, either at his own alarm or at the
ghastly argument.

“Whence came the trophy?” he asked.

“Have you not heard of the battle of Nauhtlan?”

“Surely; but tell it again.”

“When the strangers marched to Tlascala,” the 'tzin began,
“their chief left a garrison behind him in the town he
founded. I was then on the coast. To convince the people,
and particularly the army, that they were men, I determined
to attack them. An opportunity soon occurred. Your tax-gatherers
happening to visit Nauhtlan, the township revolted,
and claimed protection of the garrison, who marched
to their relief. At my instance, the caciques drew their
bands together, and we set upon the enemy. The Totonaques
fled at our first war-cry; but the strangers welcomed us

with a new kind of war. They were few in number, but
the thunder seemed theirs, and they hailed great stones
upon us, and after a while came against us upon their fierce
animals. When my warriors saw them come leaping on,
they fled. All was lost. I had but one thought more, — a
captive taken might save the Empire. I ran where the
strangers clove their bloody way. This” — and he pointed
to the head — “was the chief, and I met him in the rout,
raging like a tiger in a herd of deer. He was bold and
strong, and, shouting his battle-cry, he rushed upon me.
His spear went through my shield. I wrenched it from him,
and slew the beast; then I dragged him away, intending to
bring him alive to Tenochtitlan; but he slew himself. So
look again! What likeness is there in that to a god? O
king, I ask you, did ever its sightless eyes see the glories of
the Sun, or its rotting lips sing a song in heaven? Is
Huitzil' or Tezea' made of such stuff?”

The monarch, turning away, laid his hand familiarly on
the 'tzin's arm, and said, —

“Come, I am content. Let us go.”

And they started for the landing.

“The strangers, as I have said, my son, are marching to
Cholula. And Malinche — so their chief is called — now
says he is coming to Tenochtitlan.”

“To Tenochtitlan! In its honored name, in the name of
its kings and gods, I protest against his coming!”

“Too late, too late!” replied Montezuma, his face working
as though a pang were at his heart. “I have invited
him to come.”

“Alas, alas!” cried Guatamozin, solemnly. “The day he
enters the capital will be the commencement of the woe, if
it has not already commenced. The many victories will
have been in vain. The provinces will drop away, like
threaded pearls when the string is broken. O king, better

had you buried your crown, — better for your people, better
for your own glory!”

“Your words are bitter,” said the monarch, gloomily.

“I speak from the fulness of a heart darkened by a vision
of Anahuac blasted, and her glory gone,” returned the 'tzin.
Then in a lament, vivid with poetic coloring, he set forth a
picture of the national ruin, — the armies overthrown, the
city wasted, the old religion supplanted by a new. At the
shore where the canoe was waiting, Montezuma stopped, and
said, —

“You have spoken boldly, and I have listened patiently.
One thing more: What does Guatamozin say the king should
do?”

“It is not enough for the servant to know his own place;
he should know his master's also. I say not what the
king should do, but I will say what I would do if I were
king.”

Rising from the obeisance with which he accompanied the
words, he said, boldly, —

“Cholula should be the grave of the invaders. The whole
population should strike them in the narrow streets where
they can be best assailed. Shut up in some square or temple,
hunger will fight them for us, and win. But I would not
trust the citizens alone. In sight of the temples, so close that
a conch could summon them to the attack, I would encamp
a hundred thousand warriors. Better the desolation of
Cholula than Tenochtitlan. If all things else failed, I would
take to the last resort; I would call in the waters of Tezcuco
and drown the city to the highest azoteas. So would I, O
king, if the crown and signet were mine.”

Montezuma looked from the speaker to the lake.

“The project is bold,” he said, musingly; “but if it
failed, my son?”

“The failure should be but the beginning of the war.”

“What would the nations say?”

“They would say, `Montezuma is still the great king.' If
they do not that —”

“What then?”

“Call on the teotuctli. The gods can be made speak whatever
your policy demands.”

“Does my son blaspheme?” said Montezuma, angrily.

“Nay, I but spoke of what has happened. Long rule the
good god of our fathers!”

Yet the monarch was not satisfied. Never before had discourse
been addressed to him in strain so bold.

“They see all things, even our hearts,” he said, turning
coldly away. “Farewell. A courier will come for you when
your presence is wanted in the city.”

And so they separated, conscious that no healing had been
brought to their broken friendship. As the canoe moved off,
the 'tzin knelt, but the king looked not that way again.

3. CHAPTER III.
LOVE ON THE LAKE.

“WHAT can they mean? Here have they been loitering
since morning, as if the lake, like the tianguez,
were a place for idlers. As I love the gods, if I knew
them, they should be punished!”

So the farmer of the chinampa heretofore described as the
property of the princess Tula gave expression to his wrath;
after which he returned to his employment; that is, he
went crawling among the shrubs and flowers, pruning-knife
in hand, here clipping a limb, there loosening the loam.
Emerging from the thicket after a protracted stay, his ire was
again aroused.

“Still there! Thieves maybe, watching a chance to steal.
But we shall see. My work is done, and I will not take eyes
off of them again.”

The good man's alarm was occasioned by the occupants of
a canoe, which, since sunrise, had been plying about the
garden, never stationary, seldom more than three hundred
yards away, yet always keeping on the side next the city.
Once in a while the slaves withdrew their paddles, leaving
the vessel to the breeze; at such times it drifted so near that
he could see the voyageurs reclining in the shade of the blue
canopy, wrapped in escaupils such as none but lords or distinguished
merchants were permitted to wear.

The leisurely voyageurs, on their part, appeared to have a
perfect understanding of the light in which they were viewed
from the chinampa.

“There he is again! See!” said one of them.

The other lifted the curtain, and looked, and laughed.

“Ah! if we could send an arrow there, just near enough to
whistle through the orange-trees. Tula would never hear
the end of the story. He would tell her how two thieves
came to plunder him; how they shot at him; how narrowly
he escaped —”

“And how valiantly he defended the garden. By Our
Mother, Io', I have a mind to try him!”

Hualpa half rose to measure the distance, but fell back at
once. “No. Better that we get into no difficulty. We
are messengers, and have these flowers to deliver. Besides,
the judge is not to my liking.”

“Tula is merciful, and would forgive you for the 'tzin's
sake.”

“I meant the judge of the court,” Hualpa said, soberly.
“You never saw him lift the golden arrow, as if to draw it
across your portrait. It is pleasanter sitting here, in the
shade, rocked by the water.”

“And pleasanter yet to be made noble and master of a
palace over by Chapultepec,” Io' answered. “But see!
Yonder is a canoe.”

“From the city?”

“It is too far off; wait awhile.”

But Hualpa, impatient, leaned over the side, and looked
for himself. At the time they were up in the northern part
of the lake, at least a league from the capital. Long, regular
swells, something like those of the sea when settling into
calm, tumbled the surface; far to the south, however, he discerned
the canoe, looking no larger than a blue-winged gull.

“It is coming; I see the prow this way. Is the vase
ready?”

“The vase! You forget; there are two of them.”

Hualpa looked down confused.

“Does the 'tzin intend them both for Tula?”

Hualpa was the more embarrassed.

“Flowers have a meaning; sometimes they tell tales.
Let me see if I cannot read what the 'tzin would say to
Tula.”

And Io' went forward and brought the vases, and, placing
them before him, began to study each flower.

“Io',” said Hualpa, in a low voice, “but one of the vases
is the 'tzin's.”

“And the other?” asked the prince, looking up.

Hualpa's face flushed deeper.

“The other is mine. Have you not two sisters?”

Io's eyes dilated; a moment he was serious, then he
burst out laughing.

“I have you now! Nenetzin, — she, too, has a lover.”

The hunter never found himself so at loss; he played with
the loops of his escaupil, and refused to take his eyes off the
coming canoe. Through his veins the blood ran merrily; in
his brain it intoxicated, like wine.

“I have heard how love makes women of warriors; now
I will see, — I will see how brave you are.”

“Ho, slaves! Put the canoe about; yonder are those
whom I would meet,” Hualpa shouted.

The vessel was headed to the south. A long distance had
to be passed, and in the time the ambassador recovered himself.
Lying down again, and twanging the chord of his bow,
he endeavored to compose a speech to accompany the delivery
of the vase to Tula. But his thoughts would return to
his own love; the laugh with which Io' received his explanation
flattered him; and, true to the logic of the passion,
he already saw the vase accepted, and himself the favored
of Nenetzin. From that point the world of dreams was
but a step distant; he took the step, but was brought back
by Io.'

“They recognize us; Nenetzin waves her scarf!”

The approaching vessel was elegant as the art of the Aztecan
shipmaster could make it. The prow was sculptured into
the head and slender, curved neck of a swan. The passengers,
fair as ever journeyed on sea wave, sat under a canopy
of royal green, above which floated a panache of long, trailing
feathers, colored like the canopy. Like a creature of the
water, so lightly, so gracefully, the boat drew nigh the messengers.
When alongside, Io' sprang aboard, and, with boyish
ardor, embraced his sisters.

“What has kept you so?”

“We stayed to see twenty thousand warriors cross the
causeway,” replied Nenetzin.

“Where can they be going?”

“To Cholula.”

The news excited the boy; turning to speak to Hualpa, he
was reminded of his duty.

“Here is a messenger from Guatamozin, — the lord Hualpa,
who slew the tiger in the garden.”

The heart of the young warrior beat violently; he touched
the floor of the canoe with his palm.

And Tula spoke. “We have heard the minstrels sing the
story. Arise, lord Hualpa.”

“The words of the noble Tula are pleasanter than any
song. Will she hear the message I bring?”

She looked at Io' and Nenetzin, and assented.

“Guatamozin salutes the noble Tula. He hopes the
blessings of the gods are about her. He bade me say, that
four mornings ago the king visited him at his palace, but talked
of nothing but the strangers; so that the contract with
Iztlil', the Tezcucan, still holds good. Further, the king asked
his counsel as to what should be done with the strangers. He
advised war, whereupon the king became angry, and departed,
saying that a courier would come for the 'tzin when
his presence was wanted in the city; so the banishment
also holds good. And so, finally, there is no more hope from
interviews with the king. All that remains is to leave the
cause to time and the gods.”

A moment her calm face was troubled; but she recovered,
and said, with simple dignity, —

“I thank you. Is the 'tzin well and patient?”

“He is a warrior, noble Tula, and foemen are marching
through the provinces, like welcome guests; he thinks of
them, and curses the peace as a season fruitful of dishonor.”

Nenetzin, who had been quietly listening, was aroused.

“Has he heard the news? Does he not know a battle is
to be fought in Cholula?”

“Such tidings will be medicine to his spirit.”

“A battle!” cried Io'. “Tell me about it, Nenetzin.”

“I, too, will listen,” said Hualpa; “for the gods have
given me a love of words spoken with a voice sweeter than
the flutes of Tezca'.”

The girl laughed aloud, and was well pleased, although
she answered, —

“My father gave me a bracelet this morning, but he did
not carry his love so far as to tell me his purposes; and I
am not yet a warrior to talk to warriors about battles. The
lord Maxtla, even Tula here, can better tell you of such
things.”

“Of what?” asked Tula.

“Io' and his friend wish to know all about the war.”

The elder princess mused a moment, and then said gravely,
“You may tell the 'tzin, as from me, lord Hualpa, that
twenty thousand warriors this morning marched for Cholula;
that the citizens there have been armed; and to-morrow,
the gods willing, Malinche will be attacked. The king at
one time thought of conducting the expedition himself; but,
by persuasion of the paba, Mualox, he has given the command
to the lord Cuitlahua.”

Io' clapped his hands. “The gods are kind; let us rejoice,
O Hualpa! What marching of armies there will be!
What battles! Hasten, and let us to Cholula; we can be
there before the night sets in.”

“What!” said Nenetzin. “Would you fight, Io'? No,
no; come home with us, and I will put my parrot in a
tree, and you may shoot at him all day.”

The boy went to his own canoe, and, returning, held up a
shield of pearl and gold. “See! With a bow I beat our
father and the lord Hualpa, and this was the prize.”

“That a shield!” Nenetzin said. “A toy, — a mere
brooch to a Tlascalan. I have a tortoise-shell that will
serve you better.”

The boy frowned, and a rejoinder was on his lips when
Tula spoke.

“The flowers in your vases are very beautiful, lord Hualpa.
What altar is to receive the tribute?”

Nenetzin's badinage had charmed the ambassador into forgetfulness
of his embassy; so he answered confusedly, “The

noble Tula reminds me of my duty. Before now, standing
upon the hills of Tihuanco, watching the morning brightening
in the east, I have forgotten myself. I pray pardon
—”

Tula glanced archly at Nenetzin. “The morning looks
pleasant; doubtless, its worshipper will be forgiven.”

And then he knew the woman's sharp eyes had seen into
his inner heart, and that the audacious dream he there
cherished was exposed; yet his confusion gave place to delight,
for the discovery had been published with a smile.
Thereupon, he set one of the vases at her feet, and touched
the floor with his palm, and said, —

“I was charged by Guatamozin to salute you again, and
say that these flowers would tell you all his hopes and
wishes.”

As she raised the gift, her hand trembled; then he discovered
how precious a simple Cholulan vase could become;
and with that his real task was before him. Taking the
other vase, he knelt before Nenetzin.

“I have but little skill in courtierly ways,” he said. “In
flowers I see nothing but their beauty; and what I would
have these say is, that if Nenetzin, the beautiful Nenetzin,
will accept them, she will make me very happy.”

The girl looked at Tula, then at him; then she raised the
vase, and, laughing, hid her face in the flowers.

But little more was said; and soon the lashings were
cast off, and the vessels separated.

On the return Hualpa stopped at Tenochtitlan, and in the
shade of the portico, over a cup of the new beverage, now
all the fashion, received from Xoli the particulars of the
contemplated attack upon the strangers in Cholula; for, with
his usual diligence in the fields of gossip, the broker had
early informed himself of all that was to be heard of the
affair. And that night, while Io' dreamed of war, and

the hunter of love, the 'tzin paced his study or wandered
through his gardens, feverishly solicitous about the result
of the expedition.

“If it fail,” he repeated over and over, — “if it fail,
Malinche will enter Tenochtitlan as a god!”

4. CHAPTER IV.
THE KING DEMANDS A SIGN OF MUALOX.

NEXT morning Mualox ascended the tower of his old
Cû. The hour was so early that the stars were still
shining in the east. He fed the fire in the great urn until
it burst into cheery flame; then, spreading his mantle on
the roof, he laid down to woo back the slumber from which
he had been taken. By and by, a man, armed with a javelin,
and clad in cotton mail, came up the steps, and spoke to
the paba.

“Does the servant of his god sleep this morning?”

Mualox arose, and kissed the pavement.

“Montezuma is welcome. The blessing of the gods upon
him!”

“Of all the gods, Mualox?”

“Of all, — even Quetzal's, O king!”

“Arise! Last night I bade you wait me here. I said I
would come with the morning star; yonder it is, and I am
faithful. The time is fittest for my business.”

Mualox arose, and stood before the monarch with bowed
head and crossed hands.

“Montezuma knows his servant.”

“Yet I seek to know him better. Mualox, Mualox, have
you room for a perfect love aside from Quetzal'? What would
you do for me?”

“Ask me rather what I would not do.”

“Hear me, then. Lately you have been a counsellor in
my palace; with my policy and purposes you are acquainted;
you knew of the march to Cholula, and the order to attack
the strangers; you were present when they were resolved
—”

“And opposed them. Witness for me to Quetzal', O king!”

“Yes, you prophesied evil and failure from them, and
for that I seek you now. Tell me, O Mualox, spake you
then as a prophet?”

The paba ventured to look up and study the face of the
questioner as well as he could in the flickering light.

“I know the vulgar have called me a magician,” he said,
slowly; “and sometimes they have spoken of my commerce
with the stars. To say that either report is true, were
wrong to the gods. Regardful of them, I cannot answer
you; but I can say — and its sufficiency depends on your
wisdom — your slave, O king, is warned of your intention.
You come asking a sign; you would have me prove my
power, that it may be seen.”

“By the Sun —”

“Nay, — if my master will permit, — another word.”

“I came to hear you; say on.”

“You spoke of me as a councillor in the palace. How
may we measure the value of honors? By the intent with
which they are given? O king, had you not thought the
poor paba would use his power for the betrayal of his god;
had you not thought he could stand between you and the
wrath —”

“No more, Mualox, no more!” said Montezuma. “I confess
I asked you to the palace that you might befriend me.
Was I wrong to count on your loyalty? Are you not of
Anahuac? And further; I confess I come now seeking a
sign. I command you to show me the future!”

“If you do indeed believe me the beloved of Quetzal' and
his prophet, then are you bold, — even for a king.”

“Until I wrong the gods, why should I fear? I, too, am
a priest.”

“Be wise, O my master! Let the future alone; it is
sown with sorrows to all you love.”

“Have done, paba!” the king exclaimed, angrily. “I am
weary, — by the Sun! I am weary of such words.”

The holy man bowed reverently, and touched the floor
with his palm, saying, —

“Mualox lays his heart at his master's feet. In the time
when his beard was black and his spirit young, he began
the singing of two songs, — one of worship to Quetzal', the
other of love for Montezuma.”

These words he said tremulously; and there was that in
the manner, in the bent form, in the low obeisance, which
soothed the impatience of the king, so that he turned away,
and looked out over the city. And day began to gild the
east; in a short time the sun would claim his own. Still the
monarch thought, still Mualox stood humbly waiting his
pleasure. At length the former approached the fire.

“Mualox,” he said, speaking slowly, “I crossed the lake
the other day, and talked with Guatamozin about the
strangers. He satisfied me they are not teules, and, more, he
urged me to attack them in Cholula.”

“The 'tzin!” exclaimed Mualox, in strong surprise.

Montezuma knew the love of the paba for the young
cacique rested upon his supposed love of Quetzal'; so he
continued, —

“The attack was planned by him; only he would have
sent a hundred thousand warriors to help the citizens. The
order is out; the companies are there; blood will run in the
streets of the holy city to-day. The battle waits on the sun,
and it is nearly up. Mualox,” — his manner became solemn,

— “Mualox, on this day's work bides my peace. The morning
comes: by all your prophet's power, tell me what the
night will bring!”

Sorely was the paba troubled. The king's faith in his
qualities as prophet he saw was absolute, and that it was too
late to deny the character.

“Does Montezuma believe the Sun would tell me what it
withholds from its child?”

“Quetzal', not the Sun, will speak to you.”

“But Quetzal' is your enemy.”

Montezuma laid his hand on the paba's. “I have heard
you speak of love for me; prove it now, and your reward
shall be princely. I will give you a palace, and many slaves,
and riches beyond count.”

Mualox bent his head, and was silent. Enjoyment of a
palace meant abandonment of the old Cû and sacred service.
Just then the wail of a watcher from a distant temple
swept faintly by; he heard the cry, and from his surplice
drew a trumpet, and through it sung with a swelling
voice, —

“Morning is come! Morning is come! To the temples,
O worshippers! Morning is come!”

And the warning hymn, the same that had been heard
from the old tower for so many ages, heard heralding suns
while the city was founding, given now, amid the singer's
sore perplexity, was an assurance to his listening deity that
he was faithful against kingly blandishments as well as
kingly neglect. While the words were being repeated from
the many temples, he stood attentive to them, then he turned,
and said, —

“Montezuma is generous to his slave; but ambition is a
goodly tree gone to dust in my heart; and if it were not, O
king, what are all your treasures to that in the golden chamber?
Nay, keep your offerings, and let me keep the temple.

I hunger after no riches except such as lie in the love of
Quetzal'.”

“Then tell me,” said the monarch, impatiently, — “without
price, tell me his will.”

“I cannot, I am but a man; but this much I can —” He
faltered; the hands crossed upon his breast closed tightly,
and the breast labored painfully.

“I am waiting. Speak! What can you?”

“Will the king trust his servant, and go with him down
into the Cû again?”

“To talk with the Morning, this is the place,” said the
monarch, too well remembering the former introduction to
the mysteries of the ancient house.

“My master mistakes me for a juggling soothsayer; he
thinks I will look into the halls of the Sun through burning
drugs, and the magic of unmeaning words. I have nothing
to do with the Morning; I have no incantations. I am but
the dutiful slave of Quetzal', the god, and Montezuma, the
king.”

The royal listener looked away again, debating with his
fears, which, it is but just to say, were not of harm from
the paba. Men unfamiliar with the custom do not think
lightly of encountering things unnatural; in this instance,
moreover, favor was not to be hoped from the god through
whom the forbidden knowledge was to come. But curiosity
and an uncontrollable interest in the result of the affair in
Cholula overcame his apprehensions.

“I will go with you. I am ready,” he said.

The old man stooped, and touched the roof, and, rising,
said, “I have a little world of my own, O king; and though
without sun and stars, and the grand harmony which only
the gods can give, it has its wonders and beauty, and is to
me a place of perpetual delight. Bide my return a little
while. I will go and prepare the way for you.”

Resuming his mantle, he departed, leaving the king to
study the new-born day. When he came back, the valley
and the sky were full of the glory of the sun full risen.
And they descended to the azoteas, thence to the court-yard.
Taking a lamp hanging in a passage-door, the holy
man, with the utmost reverence, conducted his guest into
the labyrinth. At first, the latter tried to recollect the
course taken, the halls and stairs passed, and the stories
descended; but the thread was too often broken, the light
too dim, the way too intricate. Soon he yielded himself
entirely to his guide, and followed, wondering much at the
massiveness of the building, and the courage necessary to
live there alone. Ignorant of the zeal which had become
the motive of the paba's life, inspiring him with incredible
cunning and industry, and equally without a conception of
the power there is in one idea long awake in the soul and
nursed into mania, it was not singular that, as they went,
the monarch should turn the very walls into witnesses corroborant
of the traditions of the temple and the weird
claims of its keeper.

Passing the kitchen, and descending the last flight of steps,
they came to the trap-door in the passage, beside which lay
the ladder of ropes.

“Be of courage a little longer, O king,” said Mualox,
flinging the ladder through the doorway. “We are almost
there.”

And the paba, leaving the lamp above, committed himself
confidently to the ropes and darkness below. A suspicion
of his madness occurred to the king, whose situation
called for consideration; in fact, he hesitated to
follow farther; twice he was called to; and when, finally,
he did go down, the secret of his courage was an idea that
they were about to emerge from the dusty caverns into
the freer air of day; for, while yet in the passage, he

heard the whistle of a bird, and fancied he detected a fragrance
as of flowers.

“Your hand now, O king, and Mualox will lead you into
his world.”

The motives that constrained the holy man to this step are
not easily divined. Of all the mysteries of the house, that
hall was by him the most cherished; and of all men the king
was the last whom he would have voluntarily chosen as a
participant in its secrets, since he alone had power to break
them up. The necessity must have been very great; possibly
he felt his influence and peculiar character dependent
upon yielding to the pressure; the moment the step was
resolved upon, however, nothing remained but to use the
mysteries for the protection of the abode; and with that
purpose he went to prepare the way.

Much study would most of us have required to know
what was essential to the purpose; not so the paba. He
merely trimmed the lamps already lighted, and lighted and
disposed others. His plan was to overwhelm the visitor by
the first glance; without warning, without time to study
details, to flash upon him a crowd of impossibilities. In the
mass, the generality, the whole together, a god's hand was
to be made apparent to a superstitious fancy.

5. CHAPTER V.
THE MASSACRE IN CHOLULA.

INSIDE the hall, scarcely a step from the curtain, the
monarch stopped bewildered; half amazed, half alarmed,
he surveyed the chamber, now glowing as with day. Flowers
blooming, birds singing, shrubbery, thick and green as in

his own garden. Whence came they? how were they nurtured
down so far? And the countless subjects painted on
the ceiling and walls, and woven in colors on the tapestry, —
surely they were the work of the same master who had
wrought so marvellously in the golden chamber. The extent
of the hall, exaggerated by the light, impressed him. Filled
with the presence of what seemed impossibilities, he cried
out, —

“The abode of Quetzal'!”

“No,” answered Mualox, “not his abode, only his temple,
— the temple of his own building.”

And from that time it was with the king as if the god
were actually present.

The paba read the effect in the monarch's manner, — in
his attitude, in the softness of his tread, in the cloudy,
saddened expression of his countenance, in the whisper with
which he spoke; he read it, and was assured.

“This way, O king! Though your servant cannot let
you see into the Sun, or give you the sign required, follow
him, and he will bring you to hear of events in Cholula even
as they transpire. Remember, however, he says now that
the Cholulans and the twenty thousand warriors will fail,
and the night bring you but sorrow and repentance.”

Along the aisles he conducted him, until they came to the
fountain, where the monarch stopped again. The light there
was brighter than in the rest of the hall. A number of
birds flew up, scared by the stranger; in the space around
the marble basin stood vases crowned with flowers; the floor
was strewn with wreaths and garlands; the water sparkled
with silvery lustre; yet all were lost on the wondering guest,
who saw only Tecetl, — a vision, once seen, to be looked at
again and again.

Upon a couch, a little apart from the fountain, she sat,
leaning against a pile of cushions, which was covered by a

mantle of plumaje. Her garments were white, and wholly
without ornament; her hair strayed lightly from a wreath
upon her head; the childish hands lay clasped in her lap;
upon the soft mattress rested the delicate limbs, covered, but
not concealed, the soles of the small feet tinted with warmth
and life, like the pink and rose lining of certain shells. So
fragile, innocent, and beautiful looked she, and so hushed
and motionless withal, — so like a spirituality, — that the
monarch's quick sensation of sympathy shot through his
heart an absolute pain.

“Disturb her not; let her sleep,” he whispered, waving
his hand.

Mualox smiled.

“Nay, the full battle-cry of your armies would not waken
her.”

The influence of the Will was upon her, stronger than
slumber. Not yet was she to see a human being other than
the paba, — not even the great king. A little longer was she
to be happy in ignorance of the actual world. Ah, many,
many are the victims of affection unwise in its very fulness!

Again and again the monarch scanned the girl's face,
charmed, yet awed. The paba had said the sleep was wakeless;
and that was a mystery unreported by tradition, unknown
to his philosophy, and rarer, if not greater, than
death. If life at all, what kind was it? The longer he
looked and reflected, the lovelier she grew. So completely
was his credulity gained that he thought not once of
questioning Mualox about her; he was content with believing.

The paba, meantime, had been holding one of her hands,
and gazing intently in her face. When he looked up, the
monarch was startled by his appearance; his air was imposing,
his eyes lighted with the mesmeric force.

“Sit, O king, and give ear. Through the lips of his

child, Quetzal' will speak, and tell you of the day in Cholula.”

He spoke imperiously, and the monarch obeyed. Then,
disturbed only by the chiming of the fountain, and sometimes
by the whistling of the birds, Tecetl began, and softly,
brokenly, unconsciously told of the massacre in the holy city
of Cholula. Not a question was asked her. There was little
prompting aloud. Much did the king marvel, never once
doubted he.

“The sky is very clear,” said Tecetl. “I rise into the
air; I leave the city in the lake, and the lake itself; now the
mountains are below me. Lo, another city! I descend
again; the azoteas of a temple receives me; around are great
houses. Who are these I see? There, in front of the temple,
they stand, in lines; even in the shade their garments
glisten. They have shields; some bear long lances, some sit
on strange animals that have eyes of fire and ring the pavement
with their stamping.”

“Does the king understand?” asked Mualox.

“She describes the strangers,” was the reply.

And Tecetl resumed. “There is one standing in the midst
of a throng; he speaks, they listen. I cannot repeat his
words, or understand them, for they are not like ours. Now
I see his face, and it is white; his eyes are black, and his
cheeks bearded; he is angry; he points to the city around the
temple, and his voice grows harsh, and his face dark.”

The king approached a step, and whispered, “Malinche!”

But Mualox replied with flashing eyes, “The servant
knows his god; it is Quetzal'!”

“He speaks, I listen,” Tecetl continued, after a rest, and
thenceforth her sentences were given at longer intervals.
“Now he is through; he waves his hand, and the listeners
retire, and go to different quarters; in places they kindle
fires; the gates are open, and some station themselves there.”

“Named she where this is happening?” asked Montezuma.

“She describes the strangers; and are they not in Cholula,
O king? She also spoke of the azoteas of a temple —”

“True, true,” replied the king, moodily. “The preparations
must be going on in the square of the temple in which
Malinche was lodged last night.”

Tecetl continued. “And now I look down the street; a
crowd approaches from the city —”

“Speak of them,” said Mualox. “I would know who they
are.”

“Most of them wear long beards and robes, like yours,
father, — robes white and reaching to their feet; in front a
few come, swinging censers —”

“They are pabas from the temples,” said Mualox.

“Behind them I see a greater crowd,” she continued.
“How stately their step! how beautiful their plumes!”

“The twenty thousand! the army!” said Mualox.

“No, she speaks of them as plumed. They must be lords
and caciques going to the temple.” While speaking, the
monarch's eyes wandered restlessly, and he sighed, saying,
“Where can the companies be? It is time they were in the
city.”

So his anxiety betrayed itself.

Then Mualox said, grimly, “Hope not, O king. The
priests and caciques go to death; the army would but swell
the flow of blood.”

Montezuma clapped his hands, and drooped his head.

“Yet more,” said Tecetl, almost immediately; “another
crowd comes on, a band reaching far down the street; they
are naked, and come without order, bringing —”

“The tamanes,” said Mualox, without looking from her face.

“And now,” she said, “the city begins to stir. I look,
and on the house-tops and temples hosts collect; from all
the towers the smoke goes up in bluer columns: yet all is

still. Those who carry the censers come near the gate below
me; now they are within it; the plumed train follows them,
and the square begins to fill. Back by the great door, on one
of the animals, the god —”

“Quetzal',” muttered Mualox.

“A company, glistening, surrounds him; his face seems
whiter than before, his eyes darker; a shield is on his arm,
white plumes toss above his head. The censer-bearers cross
the square, and the air thickens with a sweet perfume. Now
he speaks to them; his voice is harsh and high; they are
frightened; some kneel, and begin to pray as to a god;
others turn and start quickly for the gate.”

“Take heed, take heed, O king!” said Mualox, his eyes
aflame.

And Montezuma answered, trembling with fear and rage,
“Has Anahuac no gods to care for her children?”

“What can they against the Supreme Quetzal'? It is a
trial of power. The end is at hand!”

Never man spoke more confidently than the paba.

By this time Tecetl's face was flushed, and her voice faint.
Mualox filled the hollow of his hand with water, and laved
her forehead. And she sighed wearily and continued, —

“The fair-faced god —”

“Mark the words, O king, — mark the words!” said the
paba.

“The fair-faced god quits speaking; he waves his hand,
and one of his company on the steps of the temple answers
with a shout. Lo! a stream of fire, and a noise like the bursting
of a cloud! a rising, rolling cloud of smoke veils the
whole front of the house. How the smoke thickens! How
the strangers rush into the square! The square itself trembles!
I do not understand it, father —”

“It is battle! On, child! a king waits to see a god in
battle.”

“In my pictures there is nothing like this, nor have you
told me of anything like it. O, it is fearful!” she said.
“The crowd in the middle of the square, those who came
from the city, are broken, and rush here and there; at the
gates they are beaten back; some, climbing the walls, are
struck by arrows, and fall down screaming. Hark! how they
call on the gods, — Huitzil', Tezca', Quetzal'. And why
are they not heard? Where, father, where is the good Quetzal'?”

Flashed the paba's eyes with the superhuman light, —
other answer he deigned not; and she proceeded.

“What a change has come over the square! Where are
they that awhile ago filled it with white robes and dancing
plumes?”

She shuddered visibly.

“I look again. The pavement is covered with heaps of
the fallen, and among them I see some with plumes and
some with robes; even the censer-bearers lie still. What can
it mean? And all the time the horror grows. When the
thunder and fire and smoke burst from near the temple-steps,
how the helpless in the square shriek with terror
and run blindly about! How many are torn to pieces!
Down they go; I cannot count them, they fall so fast, and in
such heaps! Then — ah, the pavement looks red! O father,
it is blood!”

She stopped. Montezuma covered his face with his
hands; the good heart that so loved his people sickened
at their slaughter.

Again Mualox bathed her face. Joy flamed in his eyes;
Quetzal' was consummating his vengeance, and confirming
the prophecies of his servant.

“Go on; stay not!” he said, sternly. “The story is not
told.”

“Still the running to and fro, and the screaming; still

the fire flashing, and the smoke rising, and the hissing of
arrows and sound of blows; still the prayers to Huitzil'!”
said Tecetl. “I look down, and under the smoke, which
has a choking smell, I see the fallen. Red pools gather in
the hollow places, plumes are broken, and robes are no longer
white. O, the piteous looks I see, the moans I hear, the
many faces, brown like oak-leaves faded, turned stilly up to
the sun!”

“The people of the god, — tell of them,” said Mualox.

“I search for them, — I see them on the steps and out
by the walls and the gates. They are all in their places yet;
not one of them is down; theirs the arrows, and the fire and
thunder.”

“Does the king hear?” asked Mualox. “Only the pabas
and caciques perish. Who may presume to oppose Quetzal'?
Look further, child. Tell us of the city.”

“Gladly, most gladly! Now, abroad over the city. The
people quit the house-tops; they run from all directions
to the troubled temple; they crowd the streets; about
the gates, where the gods are, they struggle to get into
the square, and the air thickens with their arrows. The
god —”

“What god?” asked Mualox.

“The white-plumed one.”

“Quetzal'! Go on!”

“He has —” She faltered.

“What?”

“In my pictures, father, there is nothing like them. Fire
leaps from their mouths, and smoke, and the air and earth
tremble when they speak; and see — ah, how the crowds in
the streets go down before them!”

Again she shuddered, and faltered.

“Hear, O king!” said Mualox, who not only recognized
the cannon of the Spaniards in the description, but saw

their weight at that moment as an argument. “What can
the slingers, and the spearmen of Chinantla, and the swordsmen
of Tenochtitlan, against warriors of the Sun, with their
lightning and thunder!”

And he looked at the monarch, sitting with his face
covered, and was satisfied. With faculties sharpened by a
zeal too fervid for sympathy, he saw the fears of the proud
but kindly soul, and rejoiced in them. Yet he permitted
no delay.

“Go on, child! Look for the fair-faced god; he holds
the battle in his hand.”

“I see him, — I see his white plumes nodding in a group
of spears. Now he is at the main gate of the temple, and
speaks. Hark! The earth is shaken by another roar, —
from the street another great cry; and through the smoke,
out of the gate, he leads his band. And the animals, —
what shall I call them?”

“Tell us of the god!” replied the enthusiast, himself
ignorant of the name and nature of the horse.

“Well, well, — they run like deer; on them the god and
his comrades plunge into the masses in the street; beating
back and pursuing, striking with their spears, and trampling
down all in their way. Stones and arrows are flung from
the houses, but they avail nothing. The god shouts joyously,
he plunges on; and the blood flows faster than
before; it reddens the shields, it drips from the spear-points
—”

“Enough, Mualox!” said Montezuma, starting from his
seat, and speaking firmly. “I want no more. Guide me
hence!”

The paba was surprised; rising slowly, he asked, —

“Will not the king stay to the end?”

“Stay!” repeated the monarch, with curling lip. “Are
my people of Cholula wolves that I should be glad at their

slaughter? It is murder, massacre, not battle! Show me
to the roof again. Come!”

Mualox turned to Tecetl; touching her hand, he found
it cold; the sunken eyes, and the lips, vermeil no longer,
admonished him of the delicacy of her spirit and body.
He filled a vase at the fountain, and laved her face, the
while soothingly repeating, “Tecetl, Tecetl, child!” Some
minutes were thus devoted; then kissing her, and replacing
the hand tenderly in the other lying in her lap, he said to
the monarch, —

“Until to-day, O king, this sacredness has been sealed
from the generations that forsook the religion of Quetzal'.
Eye of mocker has not seen, nor foot of unbeliever trod
this purlieu, the last to receive his blessing. You alone —
I am of the god — you alone can go abroad knowing what
is here. Never before were you so nearly face to face with
the Ruler of the Winds! And now, with what force a servant
may, I charge you, by the glory of the Sun, respect
this house; and when you think of it, or of what here you
have seen, be it as friend, lover, and worshipper. If the
king will follow me, I am ready.”

“I am neither mocker nor unbeliever. Lead on,” replied
Montezuma.

And after that, the king paid no attention to the chamber;
he moved along the aisles too unhappy to be curious. The
twenty thousand warriors had not been mentioned by Tecetl;
they had not, it would seem, entered the city or the battle,
so there was a chance of the victory; yet was he hopeless,
for never a doubt had he of her story. Wherefore, his lamentation
was twofold, — for his people and for himself.

And Mualox was silent as the king, though for a different
cause. To him, suddenly, the object of his life put on the
garb of quick possibility. Quetzal', he was sure, would fill
the streets of Cholula with the dead, and crown his wrath

amid the ruins of the city. In the face of example so
dreadful, none would dare oppose him, not even Montezuma,
whose pride broken was next to his faith gained. And
around the new-born hope, as cherubs around the Madonna,
rustled the wings of fancies most exalted. He saw the supremacy
of Quetzal' acknowledged above all others, the
Cû restored to its first glory, and the silent cells repeopled.
O happy day! Already he heard the court-yard resounding
with solemn chants as of old; and before the altar, in the
presence-chamber, from morn till night he stood, receiving
offerings, and dispensing blessings to the worshippers who,
with a faith equal to his own, believed the ancient image the
One Supreme God.

At the head of the eastern steps of the temple, as the
king began the descent, the holy man knelt, and said, —

“For peace to his people let the wise Montezuma look to
Quetzal'. Mualox gives him his blessing. Farewell.”

6. CHAPTER VI.
THE CONQUEROR WILL COME.

A FEW weeks more, — weeks of pain, vacillation, embassies,
and distracted councils to Montezuma; of
doubt and anxiety to the nobles; of sacrifice and ceremonies
by the priests; of fear and wonder to the people.
In that time, if never before, the Spaniards became the one
subject of discourse throughout Anahuac. In the tianguez,
merchants bargaining paused to interchange opinions about
them; craftsmen in the shops entertained and frightened
each other with stories of their marvellous strength and
ferocity; porters, bending under burdens, speculated on

their character and mission; and never a waterman passed
an acquaintance on the lake, without lingering awhile to ask
or give the latest news from the Holy City, which, with the
best grace it could, still entertained its scourgers.

What Malinche — for by that name Cortes was now
universally known — would do was the first conjecture;
what the great king intended was the next.

As a matter of policy, the dismal massacre in Cholula
accomplished all Cortes proposed; it made him a national
terror; it smoothed the causeway for his march, and held
the gates of Xoloc open for peaceful entry into Tenochtitlan.
Yet the question on the many tongues was, Would
he come?

And he himself answered. One day a courier ran up the
great street of Tenochtitlan to the king's palace; immediately
the portal was thronged by anxious citizens. That
morning Malinche began his march to the capital, — he was
coming, was actually on the way. The thousands trembled
as they heard the news.

After that the city was not an hour without messengers
reporting the progress of the Spaniards, whose every step
and halt and camping-place was watched with the distrust of
fear and the sleeplessness of jealousy. The horsemen and
footmen were all numbered; the personal appearance of each
leader was painted over and over again with brush and
tongue; the devices on the shields and pennons were described
with heraldic accuracy. And though, from long
service and constant exposure and repeated battles, the
equipments of the adventurers had lost the freshness
that belonged to them the day of the departure from
Cuba; though plumes and scarfs were stained, and casques
and breastplates tarnished, and good steeds tamed by strange
fare and wearisome marches, nevertheless the accounts that
went abroad concerning them were sufficiently splendid

and terrible to confirm the prophecies by which they were
preceded.

And the people, made swift by alarm and curiosity, out-marched
Cortes many days. Before he reached Iztapalapan,
the capital was full of them; in multitudes, lords and slaves,
men, women, and children, like Jews to the Passover, scaled
the mountains, and hurried through the valley and across
the lakes. Better opportunity to study the characteristics of
the tribes was never afforded.

All day and night the public resorts — streets, houses,
temples — were burdened with the multitude, whose fear,
as the hour of entry drew nigh, yielded to their curiosity.
And when, at last, the road the visitors would come by was
settled, the whole city seemed to breathe easier. From the
village of Iscalpan, so ran the word, they had boldly plunged
into the passes of the Sierra, and thence taken the directest
route by way of Tlalmanalco. And now they were at
Ayotzinco, a town on the eastern shore of lake Tezcuco;
to-morrow they would reach Iztapalapan, and then Tenochtitlan.
Not a long time to wait, if they brought the vengeance
of Quetzal'; yet thousands took canoes, and crossed
to the village, and, catching the first view, hurried back, each
with a fancy more than ever inflamed.

A soldier, sauntering down the street, is beset with citizens.

“A pleasant day, O son of Huitzil'!”

“A pleasant day; may all that shine on Tenochtitlan
be like it!” he answers.

“What news?”

“I have been to the temple.”

“And what says the teotuctli now?”

“Nothing. There are no signs. Like the stars, the hearts
of the victims will not answer.”

“What! Did not Huitzil' speak last night?”

“O yes!” And the warrior smiles with satisfaction.
“Last night he bade the priests tell the king not to oppose
the entry of Malinche.”

“Then what?”

“Why, here in the city he would cut the strangers off to
the last one.”

And all the citizens cry in chorus, “Praised be Huitzil'!”

Farther on the warrior overtakes a comrade in arms.

“Are we to take our shields to the field, O my brother?”
he asks.

“All is peaceful yet, — nothing but embassies.”

“Is it true that the lord Cacama is to go in state, and invite
Malinche to Tenochtitlan?”

“He sets out to-day.”

“Ha, ha! Of all voices for war, his was the loudest.
Where caught he the merchant's cry for peace?”

“In the temples; it may be from Huitzil'.”

The answer is given in a low voice, and with an ironic
laugh.

“Well, well, comrade, there are but two lords fit, in time
like this, for the love of warriors, — Cuitlahua and Guatamozin.
They still talk of war.”

“Cuitlahua, Cuitlahua!” And the laugh rises to boisterous
contempt. “Why, he has consented to receive Malinche in
Iztapalapan, and entertain him with a banquet in his palace.
He has gone for that purpose now. The lord of Cojohuaca
is with him.”

“Then we have only the 'tzin!”

The fellow sighs like one sincerely grieved.

“Only the 'tzin, brother, only the 'tzin! and he is banished!”

They shake their heads, and look what they dare not
speak, and go their ways. The gloom they take with them
is a sample of that which rests over the whole valley.

When the Spaniards reached Iztapalapan, the excitement
in the capital became irrepressible. The cities were but
an easy march apart, most of it along the causeway. The
going and coming may be imagined. The miles of dike
were covered by a continuous procession, while the lake, in
a broad line from town to town, was darkened by canoes.
Cortes' progress through the streets of Iztapalapan was
antitypical of the grander reception awaiting him in Tenochtitlan.

In the latter city there was no sleep that night. The tianguez
in particular was densely filled, not by traders, but by
a mass of newsmongers, who hardly knew whether they
were most pleased or alarmed. The general neglect of business
had exceptions; at least one portico shone with unusual
brilliancy till morning. Every great merchant is a
philosopher; in the midst of calamities, he is serene, because
it is profit's time; before the famine, he buys up all the corn;
in forethought of pestilence, he secures all the medicine:
and the world, counting his gains, says delightedly, What a
wise man! I will not say the Chalcan was of that honored
class; he thought himself a benefactor, and was happy to
accommodate the lords, and help them divide their time
between his palace and that of the king. It is hardly necessary
to add, that his apartments were well patronized,
though, in truth, his pulque was in greater demand than
his choclatl.

The drinking-chamber, about the close of the third quarter
of the night, presented a lively picture. For the convenience
of the many patrons, tables from other rooms had
been brought in. Some of the older lords were far gone in
intoxication; slaves darted to and fro, removing goblets, or
bringing them back replenished. A few minstrels found listeners
among those who happened to be too stupid to talk,
though not too sleepy to drink. Every little while a newcomer

would enter, when, if he were from Iztapalapan, a
crowd would surround him, allowing neither rest nor refreshment
until he had told the things he had seen or heard.
Amongst others, Hualpa and Io' chanced to find their way
thither. Maxtla, seated at a table with some friends, including
the Chalcan, called them to him; and, as they had
attended the banquet of the lord Cuitlahua, they were
quickly provided with seats, goblets, and an audience of
eager listeners.

“Certainly, my good chief, I have seen Malinche, and
passed the afternoon looking at him and his people,” said
Hualpa to Maxtla. “It may be that I am too much influenced
by the 'tzin to judge them; but, if they are teules, so
are we. I longed to try my javelin on them.”

“Was their behavior unseemly?”

“Call it as you please. I was in the train when, after the
banquet, the lord Cuitlahua took them to see his gardens.
As they strode the walks, and snuffed the flowers, and
plucked the fruit; as they moved along the canal with
its lining of stone, and stopped to drink at the fountains, —
I was made feel that they thought everything, not merely my
lord's property, but my lord himself, belonged to them; they
said as much by their looks and actions, by their insolent
swagger.”

“Was the 'tzin there?”

“From the azoteas of a temple he saw them enter the city;
but he was not at the banquet. I heard a story showing
how he would treat the strangers, if he had the power. One
of their priests, out with a party, came to the temple where
he happened to be, and went up to the tower. In the sanctuary
one of them raised his spear and struck the image of the
god. The pabas threw up their hands and shrieked; he
rushed upon the impious wretch, and carried him to the sacrificial
stone, stretched him out, and called to the pabas,

“Come, the victim is ready!” When the other teules
would have attacked him, he offered to fight them all. The
strange priest interfered, and they departed.”

The applause of the bystanders was loud and protracted;
when it had somewhat abated, Xoli, whose thoughts, from
habit, ran chiefly upon the edibles, said, —

“My lord Cuitlahua is a giver of good suppers. Pray,
tell us about the courses —”

“Peace! be still, Chalcan!” cried Maxtla, angrily.
“What care we whether Malinche ate wolf-meat or
quail?”

Xoli bowed; the lords laughed.

Then a gray-haired cacique behind Io' asked, “Tell us
rather what Malinche said.”

Hualpa shook his head. “The conversation was tedious.
Everything was said through an interpreter, — a woman
born in the province Painalla; so I paid little attention. I
recollect, however, he asked many questions about the great
king, and about the Empire, and Tenochtitlan. He said his
master, the governor of the universe, had sent him here. He
gave much time, also, to explaining his religion. I might
have understood him, uncle, but my ears were too full of the
rattle of arms.”

“What! Sat they at the table armed?” asked Maxtla.

“All of them; even Malinche.”

“That was not the worst,” said Io', earnestly. “At the
same table my lord Cuitlahua entertained a band of beggarly
Tlascalan chiefs. Sooner should my tongue have been
torn out!”

The bystanders made haste to approve the sentiment, and
for a time it diverted the conversation. Meanwhile, at Hualpa's
order, the goblets were refilled.

“Dares the noble Maxtla,” he then asked, “tell what the
king will do?”

“The question is very broad.” And the chief smiled.
“What special information does my comrade seek?”

“Can you tell us when Malinche will enter Tenochtitlan?”

“Certainly. Xoli published that in the tianguez before
the sun was up.”

“To be sure,” answered the Chalcan. “The lord Maxtla
knows the news cost me a bowl of pulque.”

There was much laughter, in which the chief joined. Then
he said, gravely, —

“The king has arranged everything. As advised by the
gods, Malinche enters Tenochtitlan day after to-morrow. He
will leave Iztapalapan at sunrise, and march to the causeway
by the lake shore. Cuitlahua, with Cacama, the lord of
Tecuba, and others of like importance, will meet him at
Xoloc. The king will follow them in state. As to the procession,
I will only say it were ill to lose the sight. Such
splendor was never seen on the causeway.”

Ordinarily the mention of such a prospect would have
kindled the liveliest enthusiasm; for the Aztecs were lovers
of spectacles, and never so glad as when the great green banner
of the Empire was brought forth to shed its solemn
beauty over the legions, and along the storied street of Tenochtitlan.
Much, therefore, was Maxtla surprised at the coldness
that fell upon the company.

“Ho, friends! One would think the reception not much
to your liking,” he said.

“We are the king's, — dust under his feet, — and it is not
for us to murmur,” said a sturdy cacique, first to break the
disagreeable silence. “Yet our fathers gave their enemies
bolts instead of banquets.”

“Who may disobey the gods?” asked Maxtla.

The argument was not more sententious than unanswerable.

“Well, well!” said Hualpa. “I will get ready. Advise
me, good chief: had I better take a canoe?”

“The procession will doubtless be better seen from the
lake; but to hear what passes between the king and Malinche,
you should be in the train. By the way, will the
'tzin be present?”

“As the king may order,” replied Hualpa.

Maxtla threw back his look, and said with enthusiasm,
real or affected, “Much would I like to see and hear him
when the Tlascalans come flying their banners into the city!
How he will flame with wrath!”

Then Hualpa considerately changed the direction of the
discourse.

“Malinche will be a troublesome guest, if only from the
number of his following. Will he be lodged in one of the
temples?”

“A temple, indeed!” And Maxtla laughed scornfully. “A
temple would be fitter lodging for the gods of Mictlan! At
Cempoalla, you recollect, the teules threw down the sacred
gods, and butchered the pabas at the altars. Lest they
should desecrate a holy house here, they are assigned to the
old palace of Axaya'. To-morrow the tamanes will put it
in order.”

Io' then asked, “Is it known how long they will stay?”

Maxtla shrugged his shoulders, and drank his pulque.

“Hist!” whistled a cacique. “That is what the king
would give half his kingdom to know!”

“And why?” asked the boy, reddening. “Is he not
master? Does it not depend upon him?”

“It depends upon no other!” cried Maxtla, dashing his
palm upon the table until the goblets danced. “By the
holy gods, he has but to speak the word, and these guests
will turn to victims!”

And Hualpa, surprised at the display of spirit, seconded

the chief: “Brave words, O my lord Maxtla! They give
us hope.”

“He will treat them graciously,” Maxtla continued, “because
they come by his request; but when he tells them to
depart, if they obey not, — if they obey not, —when was
his vengeance other than a king's? Who dares say he cannot,
by a word, end this visit?”

“No one!” cried Io'.

“Ay, no one! But the goblets are empty. See! Io',
good prince,” — and Maxtla's voice changed at once, —
“would another draught be too much for us? We drink
slowly; one more, only one. And while we drink, we will
forget Malinche.”

“Would that were possible!” sighed the boy.

They sent up the goblets, and continued the session until
daylight.

7. CHAPTER VII.
MONTEZUMA GOES TO MEET CORTES.

CAME the eighth of November, which no Spaniard,
himself a Conquistador, can ever forget; that day
Cortes entered Tenochtitlan.

The morning dawned over Anahuac as sometimes it dawns
over the Bay of Naples, bringing an azure haze in which
the world seemed set afloat.

“Look you, uncles,” said Montezuma, yet at breakfast, and
speaking to his councillors: “they are to go before me,
my heralds; and as Malinche is the servant of a king, and
used to courtly styles, I would not have them shame me.
Admit them with the nequen off. As they will appear before
him, let them come to me.”

And thereupon four nobles were ushered in, full-armed,
even to the shield. Their helms were of glittering silver;
their escaupiles, or tunics of quilted mail, were stained vivid
green, and at the neck and borders sparkled with pearls; over
their shoulders hung graceful mantles of plumaje, softer than
cramoisy velvet; upon their breasts blazed decorations and
military insignia; from wrist to elbow, and from knee to
sandal-strap, their arms and legs were sheathed in scales of
gold. And so, ready for peaceful show or mortal combat, —
his heroes and ambassadors, — they bided the monarch's
careful review.

“Health to you, my brothers! and to you, my children!”
he said, with satisfaction. “What of the morning? How
looks the sun?”

“Like the beginning of a great day, O king, which we
pray may end happily for you,” replied Cuitlahua.

“It is the work of Huitzil'; doubt not! I have called
you, O my children, to see how well my fame will be maintained.
I wish to show Malinche a power and beauty such
as he has never seen, unless he come from the Sun itself.
Earth has but one valley of Anahuac, one city of Tenochtitlan:
so he shall acknowledge. Have you directed his
march as I ordered?”

And Cacama replied, “Through the towns and gardens,
he is to follow the shore of the lake to the great causeway.
By this time he is on the road.”

Then Montezuma's face flushed; and, lifting his head as it
were to look at objects afar off, he said aloud, yet like one
talking to himself, —

“He is a lover of gold, and has been heard speak of cities
and temples and armies; of his people numberless as the
sands. O, if he be a man, with human weaknesses, — if he
has hope, or folly of thought, to make him less than a god, —
ere the night fall he shall give me reverence. Sign of my

power shall he find at every step: cities built upon the
waves; temples solid and high as the hills; the lake covered
with canoes and gardens; people at his feet, like stalks in
the meadow; my warriors; and Tenochtitlan, city of empire!
And then, if he greet me with hope or thought of conquest,
— then —” He shuddered.

“And then what?” said Cuitlahua, upon whom not a
word had been lost.

The thinker, startled, looked at him coldly, saying, —

“I will take council of the gods.”

And for a while he returned to his choclatl. When next
he looked up, and spoke, his face was bright and smiling.

“With a train, my children, you are to go in advance of
me, and meet Malinche at Xoloc. Embrace him, speak to
him honorably, return with him, and I will be at the first
bridge outside the city. Cuitlahua and Cacama, be near
when he steps forward to salute me. I will lean upon your
shoulders. Get you gone now. Remember Anahuac!”

Shortly afterward a train of nobles, magnificently arrayed,
issued from the palace, and marched down the great
street leading to the Iztapalapan causeway. The house-tops,
the porticos, even the roofs and towers of temples, and the
pavements and cross-streets, were already occupied by spectators.
At the head of the procession strode the four
heralds. Silently they marched, in silence the populace received
them. The spectacle reminded very old men of the
day the great Axaya' was borne in mournful pomp to Chapultepec.
Once only there was a cheer, or, rather, a war-cry
from the warriors looking down from the terraces of a
temple. So the cortege passed from the city; so, through a
continuous lane of men, they moved along the causeway; so
they reached the gates of Xoloc, at which the two dikes,
one from Iztapalapan, the other from Cojohuaca, intersected
each other. There they halted, waiting for Cortes.

And while the train was on the road, out of one of the
gates of the royal garden passed a palanquin, borne by four
slaves in the king's livery. The occupants were the princesses
Tula and Nenetzin, with Yeteve in attendance. In
any of the towns of old Spain there would have been much
remark upon the style of carriage, but no denial of their
beauty, or that they were Spanish born. The elder sister
was thoughtful and anxious; the younger kept constant
lookout; the priestess, at their feet, wove the flowers with
which they were profusely supplied into ramilletes, and
threw them to the passers-by. The slaves, when in the
great street, turned to the north.

“Blessed Lady!” cried Yeteve. “Was the like ever
seen?”

“What is it?” asked Nenetzin.

“Such a crowd of people!”

Nenetzin looked out again, saying, “I wish I could see a
noble or a warrior.”

“That may not be,” said Tula. “The nobles are gone
to receive Malinche, the warriors are shut up in the temples.”

“Why so?”

“They may be needed.”

“Ah! was it thought there is such danger? But look,
see!” And Nenetzin drew back alarmed, yet laughing.

There was a crash outside, and a loud shout, and the
palanquin stopped. Tula drew the curtain quickly, not
knowing but that the peril requiring the soldiery was at
hand. A vendor of little stone images, — teotls, or household
gods, — unable to get out of the way, had been run upon
by the slaves, and the pavement sprinkled with the broken
heads and legs of the luckless lares. Aside, surveying the
wreck, stood the pedler, clad as usual with his class. In
his girdle he carried a mallet, significant of his trade. He

was uncommonly tall, and of a complexion darker than the
lowest slaves. While the commiserate princess observed
him, he raised his eyes; a moment he stood uncertain what
to do; then he stepped to the palanquin, and from the folds
of his tunic drew an image elaborately carved upon the face
of an agate.

“The good princess,” he said, bending so low as to hide
his face, “did not laugh at the misfortune of her poor
slave. She has a friendly heart, and is loved by every
artisan in Tenochtitlan. This carving is of a sacred god,
who will watch over and bless her, as I now do. If she
will take it, I shall be glad.”

“It is very valuable, and maybe you are not rich,” she
replied.

“Rich! When it is told that the princess Tula was
pleased with a teotl of my carving, I shall have patrons without
end. And if it were not so, the recollection will make
me rich enough. Will she please me so much?”

She took from her finger a ring set with a jewel that, in
any city of Europe, would have bought fifty such cameos,
and handed it to him.

“Certainly; but take this from me. I warrant you are a
gentle artist.”

The pedler took the gift, and kissed the pavement, and,
after the palanquin was gone, picked up such of his wares
as were uninjured, and went his way well pleased.

At the gate of the temple of Huitzil' the three alighted,
and made their way to the azoteas. The lofty place was
occupied by pabas and citizens, yet a sun-shade of gaudy
feather-work was pitched for them close by the eastern
verge, overlooking the palace of Axaya', and commanding the
street up which the array was to come. In the area below,
encompassed by the Coatapantli, or Wall of Serpents, ten
thousand warriors were closely ranked, ready to march at

beat of the great drum hanging in the tower. Thus, comfortably
situated, the daughters of the king awaited the
strangers.

When Montezuma started to meet his guests, the morning
was far advanced. A vast audience, in front of his palace,
waited to catch a view of his person. Of his policy the
mass knew but the little gleaned from a thousand rumors,
— enough to fill them with forebodings of evil. Was he
going out as king or slave? At last he came, looking their
ideal of a child of the Sun, and ready for the scrutiny. Standing
in the portal, he received their homage; not one but
kissed the ground before him.

He stepped out, and the sun, as if acknowledging his
presence, seemed to pour a double glory about him. In the
time of despair and overthrow that came, alas! too soon,
those who saw him, in that moment of pride, spread his
arms in general benediction, remembered his princeliness,
and spoke of him ever after in the language of poetry. The
tilmatli, looped at the throat, and falling gracefully from his
shoulders, was beaded with jewels and precious stones; the
long, dark-green plumes in his panache drooped with pearls;
his sash was in keeping with the mantle; the thongs of his
sandals were edged with gold, and the soles were entirely of
gold. Upon his breast, relieved against the rich embroidery
of his tunic, symbols of the military orders of the realm
literally blazed with gems.

About the royal palanquin, in front of the portal, bareheaded
and barefooted, stood its complement of bearers, lords
of the first rank, proud of the service. Between the carriage
and the doorway a carpet of white cloth was stretched:
common dust might not soil his feet. As he stepped out,
he was saluted by a roar of attabals and conch-shells. The
music warmed his blood; the homage was agreeable to him, —
was to his soul what incense is to the gods. He gazed proudly

around, and it was easy to see how much he was in love
with his own royalty.

Taking his place in the palanquin, the cortege moved
slowly down the street. In advance walked stately caciques
with wands, clearing the way. The carriers of the canopy,
which was separate from the carriage, followed next; and
behind them, reverently, and with downcast faces, marched
an escort of armed lords indescribably splendid.

The street traversed was the same Malinche was to traverse.
Often and again did the subtle monarch look to paves
and house-tops, and to the canals and temples. Well he
knew the cunning guest would sweep them all, searching for
evidences of his power; that nothing would escape examination;
that the myriads of spectators, the extent of the city,
its position in the lake, and thousands of things not to be
written would find places in the calculation inevitable if the
visit were with other than peaceful intent.

At a palace near the edge of the city the escort halted to
abide the coming.

Soon, from the lake, a sound of music was heard, more
plaintive than that of the conchs.

“They are coming, they are coming! The teules are
coming!” shouted the people; and every heart, even the
king's, beat quicker. Up the street the cry passed, like a
hurly gust of wind.

8. CHAPTER VIII.
THE ENTRY.

IT is hardly worth while to eulogize the Christians who
took part in Cortes' crusade. History has assumed their
commemoration. I may say, however, they were men who
had acquired fitness for the task by service in almost every
clime. Some had tilted with the Moor under the walls of
Granada; some had fought the Islamite on the blue Danube;
some had performed the first Atlantic voyage with Columbus;
all of them had hunted the Carib in the glades of
Hispaniola. It is not enough to describe them as fortune-hunters,
credulous, imaginative, tireless; neither is it enough
to write them soldiers, bold, skilful, confident, cruel to enemies,
gentle to each other. They were characters of the age
in which they lived, unseen before, unseen since; knights
errant, who believed in hippogriff and dragon, but sought
them only in lands of gold; missionaries, who complacently
broke the body of the converted that Christ might
the sooner receive his soul; palmers of pike and shield,
who, in care of the Virgin, followed the morning round the
world, assured that Heaven stooped lowest over the most
profitable plantations.

The wonders of the way from the coast to Iztapalapan had
so beguiled the little host that they took but partial account
of its dangers. When, this morning, they stepped upon the
causeway, and began the march out into the lake, a sense of
insecurity fell upon them, like the shadow of a cloud; back
to the land they looked, as to a friend from whom they might
be parting forever; and as they proceeded, and the water
spread around them, wider, deeper, and up-bearing denser

multitudes of people, the enterprise suddenly grew in proportions,
and challenged their self-sufficiency; yet, as I have
heard them confess, they did not wake to a perfect comprehension
of their situation, and its dangers and difficulties,
until they passed the gates of Xoloc: then Tenochtitlan
shone upon them, — a city of enchantment! And then each
one felt that to advance was like marching in the face of death,
at the same time each one saw there was no hope except in
advance. Every hand grasped closer the weapon with which
it was armed, while the ranks were intuitively closed. What
most impressed them, they said, was the silence of the people;
a word, a shout, a curse, or a battle-cry would have
been a relief from the fears and fancies that beset them; as
it was, though in the midst of myriad life, they heard only
their own tramp, or the clang and rattle of their own arms.
As if aware of the influence, and fearful of its effect upon
his weaker followers, Cortes spoke to the musicians, and
trumpet and clarion burst into a strain which, with beat of
drum and clash of cymbal, was heard in the city.

“Ola, Sandoval, Alvarado! Here, at my right and left!”
cried Cortes.

They spurred forward at the call.

“Out of the way, dog!” shouted Sandoval, thrusting a
naked tamene over the edge of the dike with the butt of his
lance.

“By my conscience, Señores,” Cortes said, “I think true
Christian in a land of unbelievers never beheld city like this.
If it be wrong to the royal good knight, Richard, of England,
or that valorous captain, the Flemish Duke Godfrey, may
the saints pardon me; but I dare say the walled towns they
took, and, for that matter, I care not if you number Antioch
and the Holy City of the Sepulchre among them, were not
to be put in comparison with this infidel stronghold.”

And as they ride, listening to his comments, let me bring
them particularly to view.

They were in full armor, except that Alvarado's squire
carried his helmet for him. In preparation for the entry,
their skilful furbishers had well renewed the original lustre
of helm, gorget, breastplate, glaive, greave, and shield. The
plumes in their crests, like the scarfs across their breasts, had
been carefully preserved for such ceremonies. At the saddlebows
hung heavy hammers, better known as battle-axes.
Rested upon the iron shoe, and balanced in the right hand,
each carried a lance, to which, as the occasion was peaceful,
a silken pennon was attached. The horses, opportunely
rested in Iztapalapan, and glistening in mail, trod the causeway
as if conscious of the terror they inspired.

Cortes, between his favorite captains, rode with lifted visor,
smiling and confident. His complexion was bloodless and
ashy, a singularity the more noticeable on account of his thin,
black beard. The lower lip was seamed with a scar. He
was of fine stature, broad-shouldered, and thin, but strong,
active, and enduring. His skill in all manner of martial exercises
was extraordinary. He conversed in Latin, composed
poetry, wrote unexceptionable prose, and, except when in
passion, spoke gravely and with well-turned periods.[2] In
argument he was both dogmatic and convincing, and especially
artful in addressing soldiers, of whom, by constitution,
mind, will, and courage, he was a natural leader. Now,
gay and assured, he managed his steed with as little concern
and talked carelessly as a knight returning victorious from
some joyous passage of arms.

Gonzalo de Sandoval, not twenty-three years of age, was
better looking, having a larger frame and fuller face. His
beard was auburn, and curled agreeably to the prevalent
fashion. Next to his knightly honor, he loved his beautiful
chestnut horse, Motilla.[3]

Handsomest man of the party, however, was Don Pedro
de Alvarado. Generous as a brother to a Christian, he hated
a heathen with the fervor of a crusader. And now, in scorn
of Aztecan treachery, he was riding unhelmed, his locks,
long and yellow, flowing freely over his shoulders. His face
was fair as a gentlewoman's, and neither sun nor weather
could alter it. Except in battle, his countenance expressed
the friendliest disposition. He cultivated his beard assiduously,
training it to fall in ringlets upon his breast, — and
there was reason for the weakness, if such it was; yellow
as gold, with the help of his fair face and clear blue eyes, it
gave him a peculiar expression of sunniness, from which the
Aztecs called him Tonitiah, child of the Sun.[4]

And over what a following of cavaliers the leader looked
when, turning in his saddle, he now and then glanced down
the column, — Christobal de Oli, Juan Velasquez de Leon,
Francisco de Montejo, Luis Marin, Andreas de Tapia, Alonzo
de Avila, Francisco de Lugo, the Manjarezes, Andreas and
Gregorio, Diego de Ordas, Francisco de Morla, Christobal de
Olea, Gonzalo de Dominguez, Rodriques Magarino, Alonzo
Hernandez Carrero, — most of them gentlemen of the class
who knew the songs of Rodrigo, and the stories of Amadis
and the Paladins!

And much shame would there be to me if I omitted mention
of two others, — Bernal Diaz del Castillo, who, after
the conquest, became its faithful historian, and Father Bartolomé
de Olmedo,[5] sweet singer, good man, and devoted
servant of God, the first to whisper the names of Christ and
the Holy Mother in the ear of New Spain. In the column
behind the cavaliers, with his assistant, Juan de las Varillas,
he rode bareheaded, and clad simply in a black serge gown.
The tinkle of the little silver bell, which the soldiers, in token

of love, had tied to the neck of his mule, sounded, amid the
harsher notes of war, like a gentle reminder of shepherds and
grazing flocks in peaceful pastures near Old World homes.

After the holy men, in care of a chosen guard of honor,
the flag of Spain was carried; and then came the artillery,
drawn by slaves; next, in close order, followed the cross-bowmen
and arquebusiers, the latter with their matches
lighted. Rearward still, in savage pomp and pride, strode
the two thousand Tlascalans, first of their race to bear shield
and fly banner along the causeway into Tenochtitlan. And
so the Christians, in order of battle, but scarcely four hundred
strong, marched into a capital of full three hundred thousand
inhabitants, swollen by the innumerable multitudes of the
valley.

As they drew nigh the city, the cavaliers became silent
and thoughtful. With astonishment, which none of them
sought to conceal, they gazed at the white walls and crowded
houses, and, with sharpened visions, traced against the sky
the outlines of temples and temple-towers, more numerous
than those of papal Rome. Well they knew that the story
of what they saw so magnificently before them would be received
with incredulity in all the courts of Christendom.
Indeed, some of the humbler soldiers marched convinced that
all they beheld was a magical delusion. Not so Cortes.

“Ride on, gentlemen, ride on!” he said. “There is a
question I would ask of a good man behind us. I will rejoin
you shortly.”

From the artillerists he singled a soldier.

“Martin Lopez! Martin Lopez!”

The man came to him.

“Martin, look out on this lake. Beareth it resemblance
to the blue bays on the southern shore of old Spain? As
thou art a crafty sailor, comrade mine, look carefully.”

Lopez raised his morion, and, leaning on his pike, glanced
over the expanse.

“Señor, the water is fair enough, and, for that, looks like
bayous I have seen without coming so far; but I doubt if a
two-decker could float on it long enough for Father Olmedo
to say mass for our souls in peril.”

“Peril! Plague take thee, man! Before the hour of
vespers, by the Blessed Lady, whose image thou wearest, this
lake, yon city, its master, and all thou seest here, not excepting
the common spawn of idolatry at our feet, shall be the
property of our sovereign lord. But, Martin Lopez, thou
hast hauled sail and tacked ship in less room than this.
What say'st thou to sailing a brigantine here?”

The sailor's spirit rose; he looked over the lake again.

“It might be done, it might be done!”

“Then, by my conscience, it shall be! Confess thyself
an Admiral to-night.”

And Cortes rode to the front. Conquest might not be,
he saw, without vessels; and true to his promise, it came to
pass that Lopez sailed, not one, but a fleet of brigantines on
the gentle waters.

When the Christians were come to the first bridge outside
the walls, their attention was suddenly drawn from the city.
Down the street came Montezuma and his retinue. Curious
as they were to see the arch-infidel, the soldiers kept their
ranks; but Cortes, taking with him the cavaliers, advanced
to meet the monarch. When the palanquin stopped, the
Spaniards dismounted. About the same time an Indian
woman, of comely features, came forward.

“Stay thou here, Marina,” said Cortes. “I will embrace
the heathen, then call thee to speak to him.”

“Jésu!” cried Alvarado. “There is gold enough on his
litter to furnish a cathedral.”

“Take thou the gold, Señor; I choose the jewels on his
mantle,” said De Ordas.

“By my patron saint of excellent memory!” said Sandoval,

lisping his words, “I think for noble cavaliers ye are
easily content. Take the jewels and the gold; but give
me that train of stalwart dogs, and a plantation worthy of
my degree here by Tezcuco.”

So the captains talked.

Meantime, the cotton cloth was stretched along the dike.
Then on land and sea a hush prevailed.

Montezuma came forward supported by the lords Cuitlahua
and Cacama. Cortes met him half-way. When face to
face, they paused, and looked at each other. Alas, for the
Aztec then! In the mailed stranger he beheld a visitant
from the Sun, — a god! The Spaniard saw, wrapped in the
rich vestments, only a man, — a king, yet a heathen! He
opened his arms: Montezuma stirred not. Cuitlahua uttered
a cry to Huitzil', and caught one of the extended arms.
Long did Cortes keep in mind the cacique's look at that
moment; long did he remember the dark brown face, swollen
with indignation and horror. Alvarado laid his hand on his
sword.

“Peace, Don Pedro!” said Cortes. “The knave knows
nothing of respectable customs. Instead of taking to thy
sword, bless the Virgin that a Christian knight hath been
saved the sin of embracing an unbeliever. Call Marina.”

The woman came, and stood by the Spaniard, and in a
sweet voice interpreted the speeches. The monarch expressed
delight at seeing his visitors, and welcomed them to Tenochtitlan;
his manner and courteous words won even Alvarado.
Cortes answered, acknowledging surprise at the beauty
and extent of the city, and in token of his gratification at
being at last before a king so rich and powerful begged him
to accept a present. Into the royal hand he then placed a
string of precious stones, variously colored, and strongly perfumed
with musk. Thereupon the ceremony ended. Two of
the princes were left to conduct the strangers to their quarters.

Resuming his palanquin, Montezuma himself led the procession
as far as his own palace.

And Cortes swung himself into the saddle. “Let the
trumpets sound. Forward!”

Again the music, — again the advance; then the pageant
passed from the causeway and lake into the expectant
city.

Theretofore, the Christians had been silent from discipline,
now they were silent from wonder. Even Cortes held his
peace. They had seen the irregular towns of Tlascala, and
the pretentious beauty of Cholula, and Iztapalapan, in whose
streets the lake contended with the land for mastery, yet
were they unprepared for Tenochtitlan. Here, it was plain,
wealth and power and time and labor, under the presidency
of genius, had wrought their perfect works, everywhere visible:
under foot, a sounding bridge, or a broad paved way,
dustless, and unworn by wheel or hoof; on the right and
left, airy windows, figured portals, jutting balconies, embattled
cornices, porticos with columns of sculptured marble,
and here a palace, there a temple; overhead pyramidal
heights crowned with towers and smoking braziers, or lower
roofs, from which, as from hanging gardens, floated waftures
sweet as the perfumed airs of the Indian isles; and everywhere,
looking up from the canals, down from the porticos,
houses, and pyramids, and out of the doors and windows,
crowding the pavement, clinging to the walls, — everywhere
the People! After ages of decay I know it has been otherwise;
but I also know that conquerors have generally found
the builders of a great state able and willing to defend it.

“St. James absolve me, Señor! but I like not the coldness
of these dogs,” said Monjarez to Avila.

“Nor I,” was the reply. “Seest thou the women on yon
balcony? I would give my helmet full of ducats, if they
would but once cry, “Viva España!”

“Nay, that would I if they would but wave a scarf.”

The progress of the pageant was necessarily slow; but at
last the spectators on the temple of Huitzil' heard its music;
at last the daughters of the king beheld it in the street below
them.

“Gods of my fathers!” thought Tula, awed and trembling,
“what manner of beings are these?”

And the cross-bowmen and arquebusiers, their weapons
and glittering iron caps, the guns, and slaves that dragged
them, even the flag of Spain, — objects of mighty interest
to others, — drew from Nenetzin but a passing glance.
Very beautiful to her, however, were the cavaliers, insomuch
that she cared only for their gay pennons, their shields,
their plumes nodding bravely above their helms, their armor
of strange metal, on which the sun seemed to play with a
fiery love, and their steeds, creatures tamed for the service
of gods. Suddenly her eyes fixed, her heart stopped; pointing
to where the good Captain Alvarado rode, scanning,
with upturned face, the great pile, “O Tula, Tula!” she
cried. “See! There goes the blue-eyed warrior of my
dream!”

But it happened that Tula was, at the moment, too much
occupied to listen or look. The handsome vendor of images,
standing near the royal party, had attracted the attention of
Yeteve, the priestess.

“The noble Tula is unhappy. She is thinking of —”

A glance checked the name.

Then Yeteve whispered, “Look at the image-maker.”

The prompting was not to be resisted. She looked, and
recognized Guatamozin. Not that only; through his low
disguise, in his attitude, his eyes bright with angry fire, she
discerned his spirit, its pride and heroism. Not for her was
it to dispute the justice of his banishment. Love scorned
the argument. There he stood, the man for the time; strong-armed,

stronger-hearted, prince by birth, king by nature,
watching afar off a scene in which valor and genius entitled
him to prominence. Then there were tears for him, and a
love higher, if not purer, than ever.

Suddenly he leaned over the verge, and shouted, “Al-a-lala!
Al-a-lala!” and with such energy that he was heard in
the street below. Tula looked down, and saw the cause of
the excitement, — the Tlascalans were marching by! Again
his cry, the same with which he had so often led his countrymen
to battle. No one took it up. The companies inside
the sacred wall turned their faces, and stared at him in
dull wonder. And he covered his eyes with his hands, while
every thought was a fierce invective. Little he then knew
how soon, and how splendidly, they were to purchase his
forgiveness!

When the Tlascalans were gone, he dropped his hands,
and found the — mallet! So it was the artisan, the image-maker,
not the 'tzin, who had failed to wake the army
to war! He turned quickly, and took his way through
the crowd, and disappeared; and none but Tula and Yeteve
ever knew that, from the teocallis, Guatamozin had witnessed
the entry of the teules.

And so poor Nenetzin had been left to follow the warrior
of her dream; the shock and the pleasure were hers alone.

The palace of Axaya' faced the temple of Huitzil' on the
west. In one of the halls Montezuma received Cortes and
the cavaliers; and all their lives they recollected his gentleness,
courtesy, and unaffected royalty in that ceremony.
Putting a golden collar around the neck of his chief guest,
he said, “This palace belongs to you, Malinche, and to your
brethren. Rest after your fatigues; you have much need to
do so. In a little while I will come again.”

And when he was gone, straightway the guest so honored
proceeded to change the palace into a fort. Along the massive

walls that encircled it he stationed sentinels; at every gate
planted cannon; and, like the enemy he was, he began, and
from that time enforced, a discipline sterner than before.

The rest of the day the citizens, from the top of the temple,
kept incessant watch upon the palace. When the shades
of evening were collecting over the city, and the thousands,
grouped along the streets, were whispering of the incidents
they had seen, a thunderous report broke the solemn stillness;
and they looked at each other, and trembled, and
called the evening guns of Cortes “Voices of the Gods.”