University of Virginia Library

5. BOOK FIVE.

1. CHAPTER I.
PUBLIC OPINION.

GUATAMOZIN, accompanied by Hualpa, left the city
a little after nightfall. Impressed, doubtless, by the
great event of the day, the two journeyed in silence, until
so far out that the fires of the capital faded into a rosy tint
low on the horizon.

Then the 'tzin said, “I am tired, body and spirit; yet
must I go back to Tenochtitlan.”

“To-night?” Hualpa asked.

“To-night; and I need help.”

“What I can, O 'tzin, that will I.”

“You are weary, also.”

“I could follow a wounded deer till dawn, if you so wished.”

“It is well.”

After a while the 'tzin again spoke.

“To-day I have unlearned all the lessons of my youth.
The faith I thought part of my life is not; I have seen the
great king conquered without a blow!”

There was a sigh such as only shame can wring from a
strong man.

“At the Chalcan's, where the many discontented meet to-night,
there will be,” he resumed, “much talk of war without
the king. Such conferences are criminal; and yet there
shall be war.”

He spoke with emphasis.

“In my exile without a cause,” he next said, “I have
learned to distinguish between the king and country. I
have even reflected upon conditions when the choosing between
them may become a duty. Far be they hence! but
when they come, Anahuac shall have her son. To accomplish
their purpose, the lords in the city rely upon their
united power, which is nothing; with the signet in his hand,
Maxtla alone could disperse their forces. There is that,
however, by which what they seek can be wrought rightfully,
— something under the throne, not above it, where
they are looking, and only the gods are, — a power known to
every ruler as his servant when wisely cared for, and his
master when disregarded; public opinion we call it, meaning
the judgment and will of the many. In this garb of artisan,
I have been with the people all day, and for a purpose
higher than sight of what I abhorred. I talked with them.
I know them. In the march from Xoloc there was not a
shout. In the awful silence, what of welcome was there?
Honor to the people! Before they are conquered the lake
will wear a red not of the sun! Imagine them of one
mind, and zealous for war: how long until the army catches
the sentiment? Imagine the streets and temples resounding
with a constant cry, `Death to the strangers!' how long
until the king yields to the clamor? O comrade, that would
be the lawful triumph of public opinion; and so, I say, war
shall be.”

After that the 'tzin remained sunk in thought until the
canoe touched the landing at his garden. Leaving the boatmen
there, he proceeded, with Hualpa, to the palace. In
his study, he said, “You have seen the head of the stranger
whom I slew at Nauhtlan. I have another trophy. Come
with me.”

Providing himself with a lamp, he led the way to what
seemed a kind of workshop. Upon the walls, mixed with

strange banners, hung all kinds of Aztec armor; a bench
stood by one of the windows, covered with tools; on the
floor lay bows, arrows, and lances, of such fashion as to betray
the experimentalist. The corners were decorated, if the
term may be used, with effigies of warriors preserved by the
process peculiar to the people. In the centre of the room, a
superior attraction to Hualpa, stood a horse, which had been
subjected to the same process, but was so lifelike now that
he could hardly think it dead. The posture chosen for the
animal was that of partial repose, its head erect, its ears
thrown sharply forward, its nostrils distended, the forefeet
firmly planted; so it had, in life, often stood watching the
approach or disappearance of its comrades. The housings
were upon it precisely as when taken from the field.

“I promised there should be war,” the 'tzin said, when he
supposed Hualpa's wonder spent, “and that the people
should bring it about. Now I say, that the opinion I rely
upon would ripen to-morrow, were there not a thick cloud
about it. The faith that Malinche and his followers are
teules has spread from the palace throughout the valley.
Unless it be dispelled, Anahuac must remain the prey of the
spoiler. Mualox, the keeper of the old Cû of Quetzal', taught
me long ago, that in the common mind mystery can only
be assailed by mystery; and that, O comrade, is what I now
propose. This nameless thing here belonged to the stranger
whom I slew at Nauhtlan. Come closer, and lay your hand
upon it; mount it, and you may know how its master felt
the day he rode it to death. There is his lance, there his
shield, here his helm and whole array; take them, and
learn what little is required to make a god of a man.”

For a moment he busied himself getting the property of
the unfortunate Christian together; then he stopped before
the Tihuancan, saying, “Let others choose their parts, O
comrade. All a warrior may do, that will I. If the Empire

must die, it shall be like a fighting man, — a hero's song for
future minstrels. Help me now. We will take the trophy
to the city, and set it up in the tianguez along with the
shield, arms, and armor. The rotting head in the summer-house
we will fix near by on the lance. To-morrow, when
the traders open their stalls, and the thousands so shamelessly
sold come back to their bartering and business, a mystery
shall meet them which no man can look upon and afterwards
believe Malinche a god. I see the scene, — the rush of the
people, their surprise, their pointing fingers. I hear the
eager questions, `What are they?' Whence came they?'
I hear the ready answer, `Death to the strangers!' Then, O
comrade, will begin the Opinion, by force of which, the gods
willing, we shall yet hear the drum of Huitzil'. Lay hold
now, and let us to the canoe with the trophies.”

“If it be heavy as it seems, good 'tzin,” said Hualpa,
stooping to the wooden slab which served as the base of the
effigy, “I fear we shall be overtasked.”

“It is not heavy; two children could carry it. A word
more before we proceed. In what I propose there is a peril
aside from the patrols in the tianguez. Malinche will hear
of —”

Hualpa laughed. “Was ever a victim sacrificed before he
was caught?”

“Hear further,” said the 'tzin, gravely. “I took the king
to the summer-house, and showed him the head, which he
will recognize. Your heart, as well as mine, may pay the
forfeit. Consider.”

“Lay hold, O 'tzin! Did you not but now call me comrade?
Lay hold!”

Thereupon they carried the once good steed out to the
landing. Then the 'tzin went to the kiosk for the Spaniard's
head, while Hualpa returned to the palace for the
arms and equipments. The head, wrapped in a cloth, was

dropped in the bow of the boat, and the horse and trappings
carried on board. Trusting in the gods, the voyageurs
pushed off, and were landed, without interruption, near the
great tianguez.

2. CHAPTER II.
A MESSAGE FROM THE GODS.

“IT is done!” said the 'tzin, in a whisper. “It is done!
One more service, O comrade, if —”

“Do not spare me, good 'tzin. I am happiest when serving
you.”

“Then stay in the city to-night, and be here early after
the discovery. Take part with the crowd, and, if opportunity
offer, direct it. I must return to my exile. Report
when all is over. The gods keep you! Farewell.”

Hualpa, familiar with the square, went to the portico of
the Chalcan; and as the lamps were out, and the curtains of
the door drawn for the night, with the privilege of an habitué
he stretched himself upon one of the lounges, and, lulled by
the fountain, fell asleep.

A shout awoke him. He looked out to see the day breaking
in gloom. The old sky of blue, in which the summer
had so long and lovingly nestled, was turned to lead; the
smoke seemed to have fallen from the temples, and, burdening
the atmosphere, was driving along slowly and heavily, like
something belonging to the vanishing night. Another cry
louder than the first; then the door, or, rather, the screen,
behind him was opened, and the Chalcan himself came
forth.

“Ah, son of my friend! — Hark! Some maudlin fellow
hallooes. The fool would like to end his sleep, hard enough

out there, in the temple. But you, — where have you
been?”

“Here, good Xoli, on this lounge.”

“The night? Ah! the pulque was too much for you. For
your father's sake, boy, I give you advice: To be perfectly
happy in Tenochtitlan, it is necessary to remember, first, how
the judges punish drunkenness; next, that there is no pure
liquor in the city except in the king's jars, and — There,
the shout again! two of them! a third!”

And the broker also looked out of the portico.

“Holy gods, what a smoke! There go some sober citizens,
neighbors of mine, — and running. Something of interest!
Come, Hualpa, let us go also. The times are wonderful.
You know there are gods in Tenochtitlan besides
those we worship. Come!”

“I am hungry.”

“I will feed you to bursting when we get back. Come on.”

As they left the portico, people were hastening to the centre
of the square, where the outcry was now continuous and
growing.

“Room for the Chalcan!” said a citizen, already on the
ground. “Let him see what is here fallen from the clouds.”

Great was the astonishment of the broker when his eyes
first rested on the stately figure of the horse, and the terrible
head on the lance above it. Hualpa affected the same feeling,
but, having a part to play, shouted, as in alarm, —

“It is one of the fighting beasts of Malinche! Beware,
O citizens! Your lives may be in danger.”

The crowd, easily persuaded, fell back.

“Let us get arms!” shouted one.

“Arms! Get arms!” then rose, in full chorus.

Hualpa ventured nearer, and cried out, “The beast is
dead!”

“Keep off, boy!” said Xoli, himself at a respectable distance.
“Trust it not; such things do not die.”

Never speech more opportune for the Tihuancan.

“Be it of the earth or Sun, I tell you, friends, it is dead,”
he replied, more loudly. “Who knows but that the holy
Huitzil' has set it up here to be seen of all of us, that we
may know Malinche is not a god. Is there one among you
who has a javelin?”

A weapon was passed to him over the heads of the fast increasing
crowd.

“Stand aside! I will see.”

Without more ado, the adventurer thrust deep in the
horse's flank. Those directly about held their breath from
fear; and when the brute stirred not, they looked at each
other, not knowing what to say. That it was dead, was past
doubt.

“Who will gainsay me now?” continued Hualpa. “It
is dead, and so is he to whom you head belonged. Gods
fall not so low.”

It was one of those moments when simple minds are easily
converted to any belief.

“Gods they are not,” said a voice in the throng; “but
whence came they?”

“And who put them here?” asked another.

Hualpa answered swiftly, —

“Well said! The gods speak not directly to those whom
they would admonish or favor. And if this be the handiwork
of Huitzil', — and what more likely? — should we not
inquire if it have a meaning? It may be a message. Is
there a reader of pictures among you, friends?”

“Here is one!”

“Let him come! Make way for him!”

A citizen, from his dress a merchant, was pushed forward.

“What experience have you?”

“I studied in the calmecac!”[1]

The man raised his eyes to the head on the lance, and they
became transfixed with horror.

“Look, then, to what we have here, and, saying it is a
message from the holy Huitzil', read it for us. Speak out,
that all may hear.”

The citizen was incapable of speech, and the people cried
out “He is a shame to the heroic god! Off with him, off
with him!”

But Hualpa interfered. “No. He still believes Malinche
a god. Let him alone! I can use him.” Then he spoke
to the merchant. “Hear me, my friend, and I will read. If
I err, stop me.”

“Read, read!” went up on all sides.

Hualpa turned to the group as if studying it. Around
him fell the silence of keen expectancy.

“Thus writes Huitzil', greatest of gods, to the children of
Anahuac, greatest of peoples!” — so Hualpa began. “`The
strangers in Tenochtitlan are my enemies, and yours, O people.
They come to overthrow my altars, and make you a
nation of slaves. You have sacrificed and prayed to me, and
now I say to you, Arise! Take arms before it is too late.
Malinche and his followers are but men. Strike them, and
they will die. To convince you that they are not gods, lo!
here is one of them dead. So I say, slay them, and everything
that owns them master, even the beasts they ride!'
— Ho, friend, is not that correct?”

“So I would have read,” said the merchant.

“Praised be Huitzil'!” cried Hualpa, devoutly.

“Live the good god of our fathers! Death to the strangers!”
answered the people.

And amid the stir and hum of many voices, the comrade
of the 'tzin, listening, heard his words repeated, and passed
from man to man; so that he knew his mission done, and
that by noon the story of the effigy would be common

throughout the city, and in flight over the valley, with
his exposition of its meaning accepted and beyond counteraction.

After a while the Chalcan caught his arm, saying, “The
smell is dreadful to a cultivated nose sharpened by an empty
stomach. Snuff for one, breakfast for the other. Let us
go.”

Hualpa followed him.

“Who is he? who is he?” asked the bystanders, eagerly.

“Him! Not know him! It is the brave lad who slew
the tiger and saved the king's life.”

And the answer was to the exposition like an illuminated
seal to a royal writ.

Morning advanced, curtained with clouds; and, as the account
of the spectacle flew, the multitude in the tianguez
increased, until there was not room left for business. All
who caught the news hurried to see the sight, and for
themselves read the miraculous message of Huitzil'. The
clamor of tongues the while was like the clamor of waves,
and not singularly; for thus was fought the first great
battle, — the battle of the mysteries, — and with this result:
if a believer in the divinity of Cortes looked once at
the rotting head on the lance, he went away of the 'tzin's
opinion, impatient for war.

About noon a party of Spaniards, footmen, armed and out
inspecting the city, entered the square. The multitude
daunted them not the least. Talking, sometimes laughing,
they sauntered along, peering into the open booths and stalls,
and watching with practised eyes for gold.

“Holy mass!” exclaimed one of them, stopping. “The
heathen are at sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice, saidst thou? This is their market-place.”

“That as thou wilt. I tell thee they have been at worship.
My eyes are not dim as my mother's, who was past

fifty the day we sailed from Cuba, — may the saints preserve
her! If they were, yet could I swear that yonder hangs the
head of a victim.”

Over the restless crowd they looked at the ghastly object,
eager yet uncertain.

“Now I bethink me, the poor wretch who hath suffered
the death may have been one of the half-assoilzied sons of
Tlascala. If we are in a stronghold of enemies, as I have
concluded from the wicked, Carib looks of these savages,
Heaven and St. James defend us! We are a score with
weapons; in the Mother's name, let us to the bloody sign!”

The unarmed mass into which, without further consideration,
they plunged, was probably awed by the effrontery of
the movement, for the leader had not once occasion to shorten
his advancing step. Halted before the spectacle, they looked
first at the horse, then at the head. Remembrance was faithful:
in one, they recognized the remains of a comrade; in
the other, his property.

“Arguella, Arguella! Good captain! Santa Maria!”
burst from them.

As they gazed, tears of pity and rage filled their eyes, and
coursed down their bronzed cheeks.

“Peace!” said the sterner fellow at whose suggestion they
had come. “Are ye soldiers, or whimpering women? Do
as I bid! Save your tears for Father Bartolomé to mix with
masses for the poor fellow's soul. Look to the infidels! I
will take down the head.”

He lowered the lance, and took off the loathsome object.

“We will carry it to the Señor Hernan. It shall have
burial, and masses, and a cross. Hands to the horse now!
Arguella loved it well; many a day I have seen him comb
its mane kindly as if it had been the locks of his sweetheart.
Nay, it is too unwieldy. Let it stand, but take the armor.

Hug the good sword close. Heaven willing, it shall redden
in the carcasses of some of these hounds of hell. Are we
ready? To quarters, then! As we go, mark the unbelievers,
and cleave the first that lifts a hand or bars the way.”

They reached the old palace in safety. Needless to depict
the grief and rage of the Christians at sight of the countenance
of the unfortunate Arguella.

3. CHAPTER III.
HOW ILLS OF STATE BECOME ILLS OF SOCIETY.

BY this time, Io', the prince, had acquired somewhat
of the importance of a man. Thanks to Hualpa, and
his own industry, he could hurl a javelin, strike stoutly with
a maquahuitl, and boast of skill with the bow. As well he
might, he smiled at thought of the maternal care, and from
his sisters demanded a treatment due to one of his accomplishments
and dignity.

The day after the incidents narrated in the preceding
chapter, he entered Tula's apartment, and requested her to
dismiss her attendants.

“Sit down, my brother,” she said, when they were alone.
“You look vexed. What has happened?”

Going to a table close by, he commenced despoiling a vase
of flowers. She repeated the question.

“I am glad,” he answered, “to find one whom the coming
of the strangers has not changed.”

“What now?”

“I have been again and again to see Nenetzin, but she refuses
me. Is she sick?”

“Not that I know.”

“Then why is she so provoking?”

“My brother, you know not what it is for a girl to find
her lover. Nenetzin has found hers.”

“It is to talk about him I want to see her.”

“You know him! How? when?”

“Do I not see him every day? Is he not my comrade?”

“Your comrade!”

“The lord Hualpa! He came to you once with a message
from the 'tzin.”

To a woman, the most interesting stories are those that
have to do with the gentle passion. Seeing his mistake, she
encouraged it.

“Yes, I remember him. He is both brave and handsome.”

Io' left the vase, and came to her side. His curiosity was
piqued.

“How came you to know he was her lover? He would
hardly confess it to me.”

“Yet he did tell you?” she answered, evasively.

“Yes. One day, tired of practising with our slings, we
lay down in the shade of a ceiba-tree. We talked about
what I should do when I became a man. I should be a warrior,
and command armies, and conquer Tlascala; he should
be a warrior also, and in my command. That should not be,
I told him, as he would always be the most skilful. He
laughed, but not as merrily as I have heard him. Then he
said, `There are many things you will have learned by that
time; such as what rank is, and especially what it is to be
of the king's blood.' I asked him why he spoke so. He said
he would tell me some day, but not then. And I thought
of the time we went to meet you at the chinampa, and of
how he gave you a vase from the 'tzin, and one to Nenetzin
from himself. Then I thought I understood him, but insisted
on his telling. He put me off; at last he said he was a
foolish fellow, and in his lonely haunts in Tihuanco had acquired

a habit of dreaming, which was not broken as he
would like. He had first seen Nenetzin at the Quetzal' combat,
and thought her handsomer than any one he had ever
met. The day on the lake he ventured to speak to her; she
smiled, and took his gift; and since that he had not been
strong enough to quit thinking about her. It was great
folly, he said. `Why so?' I asked him. He hid his face
in the grass, and answered, `I am the son of a merchant;
she is of the king's blood, and would mock me.' `But,' said
I, `you are now noble, and owner of a palace.' He raised
his head, and looked at me; had she been there, she would
not have mocked him. `Ah,' he said, `if I could only get
her to cease thinking of me as the trader's son!' `Now you
are foolish,' I told him. `Did you not win your rank by
fighting? Why not fight for'— Nenetzin, I was about to
say, but he sprang up and ran off, and it was long before I
could get him to speak of her again. The other day, however,
he consented to let me try and find out what she thought of
him. To-morrow I rejoin him; and if he asks me about her,
what can I say?”

“So you wished to help your poor comrade. Tell me
what you intended saying to her.”

“I intended to tell her how I was passing the time, and
then to praise him for his courage and skill, his desire to be
great, his gentleness — O, there are a thousand things to
say!”

Tula smiled sorrowfully. “Did you imagine she would
learn to love him from that?”

“Why not?” asked Io', innocently.

“I cannot explain now; time will teach you. My brother,
long will an Aztec woo before he wins our wayward sister!”

“Well,” he said, taking her hand, “what I wanted to say
to her will come better from you. Ah, if you but knew
him as I and the 'tzin do!”

“Does the 'tzin so love him?”

“Was he not a chosen messenger to you?”

She shook her head doubtfully. “I fear she is beyond
our little arts. Fine speeches alone will not do. Though we
painted him fair as Quetzal', and set the picture before her
every hour in the day, still it would not be enough. Does
he come often to the city?”

“Never, except for the 'tzin.”

“We must get them together. Let me see, — ah, yes; the
chinampa! We have not been there for a long time, and
that will be an excuse for going to-morrow. You can bring
the lord Hualpa, and I will take a minstrel, and have him
sing, and tell stories of love and lovers.”

She stopped, and sighed, thinking, doubtless, how the
'tzin's presence would add to the pleasure of the meeting.
At that moment the curtain of the door was flung aside, and
Nenetzin herself came in, looking vexed and pouting.

“Yesterday was too much for my sister,” said Tula, pleasantly.
“I hope she is well again.”

“I slept poorly,” was the reply.

“If you are sick, we will send to the temples —”

“No, I hate the herb-dealers.”

“What ails you, Nenetzin?” asked Io', irritated.

“Who would not be ailing, afflicted as I have been? One
graceless fellow after another calling to see me, until I am
out of patience!”

Io' colored, and turned away.

“But what if they had news,” said Tula; “something
from the strangers?”

Nenetzin's face brightened. “What of them? Have
they waited on our father?”

“Have they, Io'?” Tula asked.

He made no answer; he was angry.

“Well, well! what folly! You, Io', I shall have to send

back to the 'tzin; and, Nenetzin, fie! the young lords would
be afraid to see you now.”

“The monkeys!”

Io', without a word, left the room.

“You are too hard, Nenetzin. Our brother wants to be
treated like a man. Many of the young lords are his friends.
When you came in, he was telling me of the fine fellow
who saved our father's life.”

Nenetzin appeared uninterested.

“From Io's account, he must be equal to the 'tzin. Have
you forgotten him?”

“I have his vase somewhere.”

“Somewhere! I hope you have not lost it. I received
one at the same time; there mine is, — that one filled with
flowers.”

Nenetzin did not look.

“When he made you the gift, I think he meant more
than a compliment. He is a lover to be proud of, and, sister,
a smile might win him.”

“I do not care for lovers.”

“Not care to be loved?”

Nenetzin turned to her with tearful eyes. “Just now
you said Io' wanted to be treated as a man; for the same
reason, O Tula, I want to be treated as a woman. I do want
to be loved, but not as children are.”

Tula put her arm around her, lovingly. “Never mind. I
will learn better afterwhile. I treat you as a child from
habit, and because of the warm, sweet love of our childhood.
O that the love would last always!”

They were silent then, each intent upon her separate
thought, both unconscious that the path theretofore so
peacefully travelled together was now divergent, and that the
fates were leading them apart forever. Of all the evil angels
of humanity, that one is the most cruel whose mission it is
to sunder the loves of the household.

“Nenetzin, you have been crying, — over what? Lean
on me, confide in me!”

“You will make light of what I say.”

“When was I a jester? You have had ills before, childish
ills; if I did not mock them, am I likely to laugh at your
woman's troubles?”

“But this is something you cannot help.”

“The gods can.”

“A god is the trouble. I saw him, and love him better
than any our father worships.”

Bold confirmation that of the elder sister's fears. “You
saw him?” she asked, musingly.

“And know him by name. Tonatiah, Tonatiah: is it
not pretty?”

“Are you not afraid?”

“Of what? Him? Yes, but he is so handsome! You
saw him also. Did you not notice his white forehead, and
the brightness of his blue eyes, the sunshine of his face?
As against him, ah, Tula! what are the lords you would have
me love?”

“He is our father's enemy.”

“His guest; he came by invitation.”

“All the gods of our race threaten him.”

“Yet I love him, and would quit everything to follow
him.”

“Gods ask not the love we give each other.”

“You mean he would despise me. Never! I am the
daughter of a king.”

“You are mad, Nenetzin.”

“Then love is madness, and I am very mad. O, I was
so happy yesterday! Once I thought he saw me. It was
when he was passing the coatapantli. The base artisan was
shouting, and he heard him, or seemed to, for he raised his
glance to the azoteas. My heart stood still; the air brightened

around me; if I had been set down in the Sun itself, I could
not have been happier.”

“Have you mentioned this to the queen Acatlan?”

“Why should I? I will choose my own love. No one,
not even my mother, would object to the king Cacama:
why should she when my choice is nobler, handsomer,
mightier than he?”

“What do you know of the strangers?”

“Nothing. He is one of them; that is enough.”

“I meant of their customs; marriage, for instance.”

“The thought is new.”

“Tell me, Nenetzin: would you go with him, except as
his wife?”

She turned away her glowing eyes, confused. “I know
not what I would do. If I went with him except as his
wife, our father would curse me, and my mother would die.
I shudder; yet I remember how his look from a distance
made me tremble with strange delight.”

“It was magic, like Mualox's.”

“I do not know. I was about to say, if such was his
power over me at a distance, what may it be near by? Could
I refuse to follow him, if he should ask me face to face, as
we now are?”

“Avoid him, then.”

“Stay here, as in a prison! Never look out of doors for
fear of seeing him whom I confess I so love! And then,
the music, marching, banquets: shall I lose them, and for
such a cause?”

“Nenetzin, the strangers will not abide here in peace.
War there will be. The gods have so declared, and in every
temple preparation is now going on.”

“Who told you so?” the girl asked, tremulously.

“This morning I was in the garden, culling flowers. I
met Mualox. He seemed sad. I saluted him, and gave

him the sweetest of my collection, and said something about
them as a cure for ills of the mind. `Thank you, daughter,'
he said, `the ills I mourn are your father's. If you can get
him to forego his thoughts of war against Malinche, do so
at any price. If flowers influence him, come yourself, and
bring your maidens, and gather them all for him. Leave not
a bud in the garden.' `Is he so bent on war?' I asked.
`That is he. In the temples every hand is making ready.'
`But my father counsels otherwise.' The old man shook his
head. `I know every purpose of his soul.'”

“And is that all?” asked Nenetzin.

“No. Have you not heard what took place in the tianguez
this morning?”

And Tula told of the appearance of the horse and the
stranger's head; how nobody knew who placed them there;
how they were thought to have come from Huitzil', and
with what design; and how the wish for war was spread,
until the beggars in the street were clamoring. “War there
will be, O my sister, right around us. Our father will lead
the companies against Malinche. The 'tzin, Cuitlahua, Io',
and all we love best of our countrymen will take part.
O Nenetzin, of the children of the Sun, will you alone
side with the strangers? Tonatiah may slay our great
father.”

“And yet I would go with him,” the girl said, slowly,
and with sobs.

“Then you are not an Aztec,” cried Tula, pushing her
away.

Nenetzin stepped back speechless, and throwing her scarf
over her head, turned to go.

The elder sister sprang up, conscience-struck, and caught
her. “Pardon, Nenetzin. I did not know what I was saying.
Stay —”

“Not now. I cannot help loving the stranger.”

“The love shall not divide us; we are sisters!” And Tula
clung to her passionately.

“Too late, too late!” sobbed Nenetzin.

And she passed out the door; the curtain dropped behind
her; and Tula went to the couch, and wept as if her heart
were breaking.

Not yet have all the modes in which ills of state become
ills of society been written.

4. CHAPTER IV.
ENNUYÉ IN THE OLD PALACE.

“FATHER, holy father! — and by my sword, as belted
knight, Olmedo, I call thee so in love and honor, —
I have heard thee talk in learned phrase about the saints,
and quote the sayings of monks, mere makers of books,
which I will swear are for the most part dust, or, at
least, not half so well preserved as the bones of their
scribblers, — I say I have thus heard thee talk and quote for
hours at a time, until I have come to think thy store of
knowledge is but jargon of that kind. Shake thy head!
Jargon, I say a second time.”

“It is knowledge that leadeth to righteousness. Bien
quisto! Thou wouldst do well to study it,” replied the
padre, curtly.

A mocking smile curled the red-haired lip of the cavalier.
“Knowledge truly! I recollect hearing the Señor Hernan
once speak of thee. He said thou wert to him a magazine,
full of learning precious as breadstuffs.”

“Right, my son! Breadstuffs for the souls of sinners
irreverent as —”

“Out with it!”

“As thou.”

“Picaro! Only last night thou didst absolve me, and,
by the Palmerins, I have just told my beads!”

“I think I have heard of the Palmerins,” said the priest,
gravely; “indeed, I am certain of it; but I never heard
of them as things to swear by before. Hast thou a license
as coiner of oaths?”

“Cierto, father, thou dost remind me of my first purpose;
which was to test thy knowledge of matters, both ancient
and serious, outside of what thou callest the sermons of the
schoolmen. And I will not take thee at disadvantage. O
no! If I would play fairly with the vilest heathen, and
slay him with none but an honest trick of the sword, surely
I cannot less with thee.”

“Slay me!”

“That will I, — in a bout at dialectics. I will be fair, I
say. I will begin by taking thee in a field which every
knight hath traversed, if, perchance, he hath advanced so far
in clerkliness as to read, — a field divided between heralds,
troubadours, and poets, and not forbidden to monks; with
which thou shouldst be well acquainted, seeing that, of late
days at least, thou hast been more prone to knightly than
saintly association!”

“Santa Maria!” said Olmedo, crossing himself. “It is
our nature to be prone to things sinful.”

“I smell the cloister in thy words. Have at thee! Stay
thy steps.”

The two had been pacing the roof of the palace during the
foregoing passage. Both stopped now, and Alvarado said,
“Firstly, — nay, I will none of that; numbering the heads
of a discourse is a priestly trick. To begin, by my conscience!
— ho, father, that oath offends thee not, for it is the
Señor Hernan's, and by him thou art thyself always ready
to swear.”

“If thou wouldst not get lost in a confusion of ideas, to
thy purpose quickly.”

“Thank thee. Who was Amadis de Gaul?”

“Hero of the oldest Spanish poem.”

“Right!” said the knight, stroking his beard. “And
who was Oriana?”

“Heroine of the same story; more particularly, daughter
of Lisuarte, King of England.”

“Thou didst reprove me for swearing by the Palmerins;
who were they?”

“Famous knights, who founded chivalry by going about
slaying dragons, working charities, and overthrowing armies
of heathen, for the Mother's sake.”

“Excellently answered, by my troth! I will have to lead
thee into deeper water. Pass we the stories of Ruy Diaz,
and Del Carpio, and Pelayo. I will even grant that thou
hast heard of Hernan Gonzales; but canst thou tell in how
many ballads his prowess hath been sung?”

Olmedo was silent.

“Already!” cried Alvarado, exultant. “Already! By
the cross on my sword, I have heard of thirty. But to proceed.
Omitting Roland, and Roncesvalles, and the brethren
of the Round Table, canst thou tell me of the Seven Lords
of Lares?”

“No. But there is a Lord of whom I can tell thee, and
of whom it will be far more profitable for thee to inquire.”

“I knew a minstrel — a rare fellow — who had a wondrous
voice and memory, and who sang fifteen songs all
about the Lords of Lares; and he told me there were as
many more. O, for the time of the true chivalry, when our
Spanish people were song-lovers, and honor was of higher
esteem than gold! In one respect, Olmedo, I am more
Moslem than Christian.”

The padre crossed himself.

“Mahomet — so saith history — taught his warriors that
Paradise lieth in the shade of crossing scimitars, — as unlike
thy doctrine as a stone is unlike a plum. Picaro! It
pleaseth me; it hardeneth the heart and grip; it is more
inspiring than clarions and drums.”

Olmedo looked into the blue eyes of the knight, now unusually
bright, and said, “Thou didst jest at my knowledge;
now I ask thee, son, is it not better to have a mind full of
saintly lore than one which nothing holds but swords and
lances and high-bred steeds? What dost thou know but
war?”

“The taste of good wine,” said Alvarado, seriously; “and
by Sta. Agnes, holy father, I would I had my canteen full;
the smoke from these dens is turning me into a Dutch sausage.
Look to the towers of yon temple, — the great one
just before us. How the clouds ascending from them poison
the morning air! When my sword is at the throats of the
fire-keepers, Heaven help me to slay them!”

Alvarado then took the tassels of the cord around the good
man's waist, and pulled him forward. “Come briskly,
father! This roof is all the field left us for exercise; and
much do I fear that we will dream many times of green
meadows before we see them again.” Half dragging him,
the knight lengthened his strides. “Step longer, father!
Thou dost mince the pace, like a woman.”

“Hands off, irreverent!” cried the padre, holding back.
“My feet are not iron-shod, like thine.”

“What! Didst thou not climb the mountains on the
way hither barefooted? And dost now growl at these tiles?
Last night Sandoval shod his mare, the gay Motilla, with
silver, which he swore was cheaper, if not better, than iron.
When next we take a morning trot, like this, cierto, I will
borrow two of the precious shoes for thee.”

Olmedo's gown, of coarse, black woollen serge, was not a

garment a Greek, preparing for a race, would have chosen;
the long skirts hampered his legs; he stumbled, and would
have fallen, but for his tormentor.

“Stay thee, father! Hast been drinking? Not here
shouldst thou kneel unless in prayer; and for that, bethink
thee, house-tops are for none but Jews.” And the rough
knight laughed heartily. “Nay, talking will tire thee,” he
continued. “Take breath first. If my shield were at hand,
I would fan thee. Or wouldst thou prefer to sit? or better
still, to lie down? Do so, if thou wouldst truly oblige
me; for, by my conscience, as Cortes sweareth, I have not
done testing thy knowledge of worthy things outside the
convent libraries. I will take thee into a new field, and ask
of the Moorish lays; for, as thou shouldst know, if thou
dost not, they have had their minstrels and heroes as fanciful
and valiant as infidels ever were; in truth, but little inferior
to the best of old Castile.”

Olmedo attempted to speak.

“Open not thy mouth, father, except to breathe. I will
talk until thy tire is over. I was on the Moors. A fine
race they were, bating always their religion. Of their songs,
thou hast probably heard that mournful roundelay, the Loves
of Gazul and Abindarraez; probably listened to Tales of the
Arabian Nights, or to verses celebrating the tournaments in
the Bivarrambla. Certainly, thou hast heard recitals of the
rencontres, scimitar in hand, between the Zegris and Abencerrages.
By Sta. Agnes! they have had warriors fit for the
noblest songs. At least, father, thou knowest —” He stopped
abruptly, while a lad mounted the roof and approached them,
cap in hand.

“Excellent Señor, so it please thee, my master hath somewhat
to say to thee in his chamber below. And” — crossing
himself to Olmedo — “if the holy father will remember
me in his next prayer, I will tell him that Bernal Diaz is
looking for him.”

“Doth thy master want me also?”

“That is Diaz's massage.”

“What can be in the wind now?” asked Alvarado, musingly.

“Hadst thou asked me that question —”

“Couldst thou have answered? Take the chance! What
doth thy master intend?”

“Look, Don Pedro, and thou, good father,” replied the
page; “look to the top of yon pile so ridiculously called a
temple of —”

“Speak it, as thou lovest me,” cried Alvarado.

“Wilt thou pronounce it after me?”

“That will I; though, cierto, I will not promise my horse
if I fail.”

“Huitzilpotchli,” said the boy, slowly.

“The saints defend us!” exclaimed the knight, crossing
himself. “Where didst thou get so foul a name?”

“Of the Doña Marina. Well, the Señor Hernan, my
master, designeth visiting those towers, and seeing what horrors
they hold.”

Olmedo's countenance became unusually grave. “Holy
Mother, keep his temper in check, that nothing rash be
done!”

Alvarado received the news differently. “Thou art a good
boy, Orteguilla,” he said. “I owe thee a ducat. Remind
me of the debt when next thou seest me with gold. Espiritu
Santo! Now will I take the rust out of my knees, and the
dull out of my head, and the spite from my stomach! Now
will I give my sword, that hath hungered so long, to surfeit
on the heart-eaters! Bien Quisto! What jargon didst thou
use a moment ago when speaking of the temple?”

“Huitzilpotchli,” said the boy, laughing.

“Murrain take the idol, if only for his name's sake!
Come; we shall have a good time.”

The knight turned to descend. Orteguilla caught him by
the mantle. “A word, Don Pedro.”

“Picaro! A thousand of them, quickly!”

“Thou didst promise me a ducat —”

“Truly, and thou shalt have it. Only wait till the division
cometh, and thy master saith to me, `Take thy share.'”

“Thou hearest, father?”

“How! Dost doubt me?”

The boy stepped back. “No. Alvarado's promise is good
against the world. But dost thou not think the Señor Hernan
will attack the temple?”

“Cierto, with horse, foot, guns, Tlascalans, and all.”

“He goeth merely on a visit, and by invitation of Montezuma,
the king.”

Olmedo's face relaxed, and he rubbed his hands; but the
captain said, dismally, “By invitation! Picaro! Instead
of the ducat, that for thy news!” And he struck open-handedly
at the page, but with such good-will that the
latter gave him wide margin the rest of the day.

5. CHAPTER V.
ALVARADO FINDS THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD.

THERE was a bluster of trumpets and drums, and out
of the main gate of the palace in which he was lodged,
under the eyes of a concourse of spectators too vast to be
nearly estimated, Cortes marched with the greater part of his
Christians. The column was spirited, even brilliant. Good
steeds had improved with rest; while good fare, not to speak
of the luxury of royal baths, had reconstituted both footmen
and riders. At the head, as guides, walked four commissioners
of the king, — stately men, gorgeous in escaupiles and
plumed helms.

The Spaniards were full of glee, vented broad exaggerations,
and manifested the abandon I have seen in sailors
ashore the first time after a long voyage.

“Be done, good horse!” said Sandoval to Motilla, whose
blood warmed under the outcry of trumpet and clarion.
“Be done!”

Montejo laughed. “Chide her not! She feels the silver
on her heels as a fine lady the ribbons on her head.”

“No,” said Alvarado, laying his lance half in rest, “Motilla
is a Christian, and the scent of the pagan is in her
nostrils.”

“Up with thy lance, Señor Capitan! The guides, if they
were to look back, would leave us without so much as good
day.”

“Cierto, thou 'rt right! But how pleasant it would be to
impale two of them at once!”

“Such thy speculation? I cannot believe thee. I have
been thy comrade too long,” said Leon, gravely.

Alvarado turned curtly, as if to say, “Explain thyself.”

“The gold in their ears and on their wrists, Señor, —
there were thine eyes. And thou didst look as if summing
up, — ear-rings, four; bracelets, six; sundries, three; total,
thirteen ounces pure. Confess thee, confess thee!”

The laugh was loud and long.

I have already given the reader an idea of the tianguez, or
market, whither Cortes, by request, was first conducted. It
is sufficient to say now, that the exhibition of the jewellers
attracted most attention; in front of their booths many of
the footmen actually broke ranks, determined to satisfy
themselves if all they there saw was indeed of the royal
metal. Years after, they vaunted the sight as something
surpassing all the cities of Europe could display.

Cortes occupied himself questioning the guides; for which
purpose Marina was brought forward. Nothing of importance
escaped him.

At one of the corners, while the interpreter was in the
midst of a reply, Cortes' horse suddenly stopped, startled
by an obstacle in the way. Scarcely a lance-length off,
pictures of terror, stood four slaves, richly liveried, and
bearing a palanquin crowned by a green panache.

“By Our Lady, I will see what is here contained!”

So saying, Alvarado spurred impetuously forward. The
guides threw themselves in his way; he nearly rode one of
them down; and, laughing at the fright of the slaves, he
drew aside the curtain of the carriage, and peered in.

“Jesu!” he cried, dropping the cloth, and reining his
horse back.

“Hast thou the fiend there? Or only a woman?” asked
Cortes.

“A paragon, an houri, your excellency! What a rude
fellow I have been! She is frightened. Come hither, Marina.
Say to the girl —”

“Not now, not now!” said Cortes, abruptly. “If she
is pretty, thou wilt see her again.”

Alvarado frowned.

“What! angry?” continued the general. “Out on thee,
captain! How can an untaught infidel, though paragon
and houri, understand knightly phrases? What the merit
of an apology in her eyes? Pass on!”

“Perhaps thou 'rt right. Stand aside! Out of the way
there!” And as if to make amends, he cleared a passage for
the slaves and their burden.

“To the devil all of ye!” he replied, to the laughter of
his comrades. “Ye did not see her, nor know ye if she is
old or young, harridan or angel.”

From the market, the column marched back to the great
temple, with which, as it rose, broad and high, like a terraced
hill, between the palace they occupied and the sun at
rising, they were somewhat familiar. Yet, when fairly in
view of the pile, Cortes called Olmedo to his side.

“I thank thee, Father Bartolomé. That thou art near, I
feel better. A good surcoat and shield, as thou knowest,
give a soldier confidence in battle; and so, as I come nigh
yon abomination, full of bloody mysteries, called worship,
and carven stones, called gods, — may they be accursed from
the earth! — I am pleased to make use of thee and thy
holiness. Doubtless the air of the place is thick with sorceries
and evil charms; if so, thy crucifix hath more of safeguard
than my sword. Ride nearer, father, and hearken,
that thou mayst answer what more I have to say. Would
not this pile look the better of a cross upon every tower?”

“Thy zeal, my son, I commend, and thy question strictly
hath but one answer,” Olmedo replied. “The impulse,
moreover, is to do at once what thou hast suggested. Roll
away a stone, and in its bed plant a rose, and the blooming
will be never so sweet; and so, never looketh the cross so

beautiful as when it taketh the place of an idol. And for the
conversion of heathen, the Holy Mother careth not if the
worship be under Christian dome or in pagan chamber.”

“Say'st thou so!” said Cortes, checking his horse. “By
my conscience, I will order a cross!”

“Be not so fast, I pray you. What armed hand now
putteth up, armed hand must keep; and that is war. May
not the good end be reached without such resort? In my
judgment we should first consult the heathen king. How
knowest thou that he is not already inclined to Christian
ways? Let us ask him.”

Cortes relaxed the rein, and rode on convinced.

Through the gate of the coatapantli, amid much din and
clangor, the entire column entered the yard of the temple.
On a pavement, glassy-smooth, and spotless as a good housewife's
floor, the horsemen dismounted, and the footmen stood
at rest. Then Cortes, with his captains and Marina, approached
the steps, where he was received by some pabas,
who offered to carry him to the azoteas, — a courtesy he
declined with many protestations of thanks.

At the top, under a green canopy, and surrounded by
courtiers and attendants, Montezuma stood, in the robes of
a priest, and with only his sceptre to indicate his royalty.

“You have my welcome, Malinche. The ascent is wearisome.
Where are the pabas whom I sent to assist you?”

The monarch's simple dignity affected his visitors, Cortes
as much as the others.

“I accept thy welcome, good king,” he replied, after the
interpretation. “Assure thyself that it is given to a friend.
The priests proffered their service as you directed; they said
your custom was to be carried up the steps, which I grant
accords with a sovereign, but not with a warrior, who should
be superior to fatigue.”

To favor a view of the city, which was after a while suggested,

the king conducted Cortes to the southern side of
the azoteas, where were also presented a great part of the lake,
bordered with white towns, and the valley stretching away
to the purple sierras. The train followed them with mats and
stools, and erected the canopy to intercept the sun; and
thus at ease, the host explained, and the guest listened.
Often, during the descriptions, the monarch's eyes rested
wistfully on his auditor's face; what he sought, we can
imagine; but well I ween there was more revelation in a
cloudy sky than in that bloodless countenance. The demeanor
of the Spaniard was courtierly; he failed not to
follow every gesture of the royal hand; and if the meaning
of what he heard was lost because of the strange language,
the voice was not. In the low, sad intonations, unmarked by
positive emphasis, he divined more than the speaker read
in his face, — a soul goodly in all but its irresolution. If
now and then the grave attention relaxed, or the eye wandered
from the point indicated, it was because the city
and lake, and the valley to the mountains, were, in the
visitor's mind, more a military problem than a picture of
power or beauty.

The interview was at length interrupted. Two great
towers crowned the broad azoteas of the temple, one dedicated
to Tezca', the other to Huitzil'. Out of the door of
the latter issued a procession of pabas, preceded by boys
swinging censers, the smoke of which was sickening sweet.
Tlalac, the teotuctli, came last, walking slowly, bareheaded,
barefooted, his gown trailing behind him, its sleeves and
front, like his hands and face, red with the blood of recent
sacrifice. While the gloomy train gathered about the astonished
Christians, the heathen pontiff, as if unconscious of
their presence, addressed himself to the king. His words
were afterwards translated by Marina.

“To your application, O king, there is no answer. What

you do will be of your own inspiration. The victims are
removed; the servants of the god, save whom you see,
are in their cells. If such be thy will, the chamber is ready
for the strangers.”

Montezuma sat a moment hesitant, his color coming and
going; then, feeling the gaze of his guest upon him, he
arose, and said kindly, but with dignity, “It is well. I
thank you.” Turning to Cortes, he continued, “If you will
go with me, Malinche, I will show you our god, and the
place in which we celebrate his worship. I will explain our
religion, and you may explain yours. Only give me respect
for respect.”

Bowing low, Cortes replied, “I will go with thee, and
thou shalt suffer no wrong from the confidence. The hand
or tongue that doeth grievance to anything pertaining to thy
god or his worship shall repeat it never.” The last sentence
was spoken with a raised voice, and a glance to the captains
around; then, observing the frowns with which some of
them received the notice, he added, almost without a pause,
to Olmedo, “What saith the Church of Christ?”

“That thou hast spoken well, for this time,” answered
the priest, kissing the crucifix chained to his girdle. “Go
on. I will go with thee.”

Then they followed the king into the sanctuary, leaving
the teotuctli and his train on the azoteas.

I turn gladly from that horrible chamber. With quite as
much satisfaction, I turn from the conversation of the king
and Cortes. Not even the sweet voice of Marina could
make the Aztec theogony clear, or the Catholic commentary
of the Spaniard interesting.

Alvarado approached the turret door with loathing. Staggered
by the stench that smote him from within, he stopped
a moment. Orteguilla, the page, pulled his mantle, and
said, “I have news for thee. Wilt thou hear?”

“Picaro! To-morrow, if the Mother doth spare me so
long, I will give thee a lash for every breath of this sin-laden
air thou makest me draw with open mouth. As thou lovest
life, speak, and have done!”

“What if I bring thee a message of love?”

“If thou couldst bring me such a message from a comely
Christian maiden, I would kiss thee, lad.”

Orteguilla held out an exquisite ramillete. “Seest thou
this? If thou carest and wilt follow me, I will show thee
an infidel to swear by forever.”

“Give me the flowers, and lead me to the infidel. If
thou speakest truly, thy fortune is made; if thou liest, I
will fling thee from the temple.”

He turned from the door, and was conducted to the shade
of the turret of Tezca'.

“I was loitering after the tall priest, the one with the
bloody face and hands, — what a monster he is!” said the
page, crossing himself, — “when a slave came in my way,
offering some flowers, and making signs. I spoke to him.
`What do you want?' `Here is a message from the princess
Nenetzin.' `Who is she?' `Daughter of the great
king.' `Well, what did she say?' `She bade me' — and,
señor capitan, these are almost his words, — `she bade me
give these flowers to one of the teules, that he might give
them to Tonatiah, him with the red beard.' I took the present,
and asked, `What does the princess say to the Tonatiah?'
`Let him read the flowers,' the fellow answered. I remembered
then that it is a custom of this people to send messages
in that form. I asked him where his mistress was;
he told me, and I went to see her.”

“What of her? Is she handsome?”

“Here she is; judge thou.”

“Holy Mother! 'T is the girl I so frightened on the
street. She is the pearl of the valley, the light of the

world!” exclaimed Alvarado. “Stay thou, sir page. Interpret
for me. I will speak to her.”

“Simply, then. Thou knowest I am not so good an
Aztec as Marina.”

Nenetzin was sitting in the shade of the turret. Apart
several paces stood her carriage-bearers. Her garments of
finest cotton, white as snow, were held close to her waist by
a green sash. Her ornaments — necklace, bracelets, and
anklets — were of gold, enriched by chalchuites. Softest sandals
protected her feet; and the long scarf, heavy with embroidery,
and half covering her face, fell from her head to
the mat of scarlet feathers upon which she was sitting.

When the tall Spaniard, in full armor, except the helmet,
stopped thus suddenly before her, the large eyes dilated, the
blood left her cheeks, and she shrank almost to the roof.
Was it not as if the dream, so strange in the coming, had
vitalized its subject, and sent it to her, a Fate the more irresistible
because of its peculiarities, — the blue eyes, the forehead
womanly white, the hair long and waving, the beard
dyed, apparently, in the extremest brightness of the sun, — all
so unheard of among the brown and olive children of Anahuac?
And what if the Fate had come demandingly? Refuse!
Can the chrysalis, joyous in the beauty of wings
just perfected, refuse the sun?

The cavalier could not mistake the look with which she
regarded him. In pity for her fear, in admiration of her
beauty, in the native gallantry of his soul, he knelt, and
took her hand, and kissed it; then, giving it back, and looking
into her face with an expression as unmistakable as her
own, he said, —

“My beautiful princess must not be afraid. I would die
sooner than harm her.”

While the page interpreted, as best he could, the captain
smiled so winsomely that she sat up, and listened with a

smile in return. She was won, and shall we say lost?
The future comes rapidly now to answer for itself.

“Here is the message,” Alvarado continued. “which I
could not read; but if it meant to tell me of love, what
better can I than give it back to tell the same story for
me?”

He kissed the flowers, and laid them before her. Picking
them up, she said, with a laugh, “Tonatiah is a poet, — a
god and a poet.”

He heard the interpretation, and spoke again, without relaxing
his ardent gaze.

“Jesu Christo! That one so beautiful should be an infidel!
She shall not be, — by the holy sepulchre, she shall
not! Here, lad, take off the chain which is about my neck.
It hath an iron crucifix, the very same my mother — rested
be her soul! — gave me, with her blessing and prayer, what
time I last bade her farewell.”

Orteguilla took off the chain and crucifix, and put them
in the cavalier's hand.

“Will my beautiful princess deign to receive these gifts
from me, her slave forever? And in my presence will she
put them on? And for my sake, will she always wear them?
They have God's blessing, which cannot be better bestowed.”

Instead of laying the presents down to be taken or not, this
time he held them out to her directly; and she took them, and,
childlike, hung them around her neck. In the act, the scarf
fell, and left bare her head and face. He saw the glowing
countenance, and was about to speak further, when Orteguilla
stopped him.

“Moderate thyself, I pray thee, Don Pedro. Look at the
hounds; they are closing us in. The way to the turret is
already cut off. Have a care, I pray!”

The tone of alarm had instant effect.

“How! Cut off, say'st thou, lad?” And Alvarado

sprang up, his hand upon his sword. He swept the circle
with a falcon's glance; then turning once more to the girl,
he said, resuming the tenderness of voice and manner, “By
what name may I know my love hereafter?”

“Nenetzin, — the princess Nenetzin.”

“Then farewell, Nenetzin. Ill betide the man or fortune
that keepeth thee from me hereafter! May I forfeit life, and
the Holy Mother's love, if I see thee not again! Farewell.”

He kissed his mailed hand to her, and, facing the array of
scowling pabas, strode to them, and through their circle,
with a laugh of knightly scorn.

At the door of the turret of Huitzil' he said to the page,
“The love of yon girl, heathen no longer, but Christian, by
the cross she weareth, — her love, and the brightness of her
presence, for the foulness and sin of this devil's den, — what
an exchange! Valgame Dios! Thou shalt have the ducat.
She is the glory of the world!”

6. CHAPTER VI.
THE IRON CROSS.

“MY lord Maxtla, go see if there be none coming this
way now.”

And while the chief touched the ground with his palm,
the king added, as to himself, and impatiently, “Surely it is
time.”

“Of whom speak you?” asked Cuitlahua, standing by.
Only the brother would have so presumed.

The monarch looked into the branches of the cypress-tree
above him; he seemed holding the words in ear, while he
followed a thought.

They were in the grove of Chapultepec at the time. About
them were the famous trees, apparently old as the hill itself,
with trunks so massive that they had likeness to things of
cunning labor, products of some divine art. The sun touched
them here and there with slanting yellow rays, by contrast
deepening the shadows that purpled the air. From the
gnarled limbs the gray moss drooped, like listless drapery.
Nesting birds sang from the topmost boughs, and parrots,
flitting to and fro, lit the gloaming with transient gleams of
scarlet and gold: yet the effect of the place was mysterious;
the hush of the solitude softened reflection into dreaming;
the silence was a solemn presence in which speech sunk to a
whisper, and laughter would have been profanation. In such
primeval temples men walk with Time, as in paradise Adam
walked with God.

“I am waiting for the lord Hualpa,” the king at last replied,
turning his sad eyes to his brother's face.

“Hualpa!” said Cuitlahua, marvelling, as well he might,
to find the great king waiting for the merchant's son, so lately
a simple hunter.

“Yes. He serves me in an affair of importance. His appointment
was for noon; he tarries, I fear, in the city. Next
time I will choose an older messenger.”

The manner of the explanation was that of one who has
in mind something of which he desires to speak, yet doubts
the wisdom of speaking. So the cacique seemed to understand,
for he relapsed into silence, while the monarch again
looked upwards. Was the object he studied in the sky or in
his heart?

Maxtla returned; saluting, he said, “The lake is thronged
with canoes, O king, but none come this way.”

The sadness of the royal face deepened.

“Montezuma, my brother,” said Cuitlahua.

“Well.”

“Give me a moment's audience.”

“Certainly. The laggard comes not; the rest of the day
is yours.” And to Maxtla he said, “In the palace are the
queens, and the princesses Tula and Nenetzin. Inform them
that I am coming.”

When the chief was gone, the monarch turned to Cuitlahua,
smiling: “Yes, the rest of the day is yours, and the
night also; for I must wait for the merchant's son; and our
mother, were she here, would say it was good of you to share
my waiting.”

The pleasantry and the tender allusion were hardly observed
by the cacique. “I wished to call your attention to
Iztlil', the Tezcucan,” he said, gravely.

“Iztlil'? what of him now?”

“Trouble. What else can come of him? Last night at
the house of Xoli, the Chalcan, he drank too much pulque,
quarrelled with the good man's guests, and abused everybody
loyal, — abused you, my brother. I sent a servant to watch
him. You must know — if not, you should — that all
Tenochtitlan believes the Tezcucan to be in alliance with
Malinche and his robbers.”

“Robbers!” said Montezuma, starting.

The cacique went on. “That he has corresponded with
the Tlascalans is well understood. Only last night he
spoke of a confederacy of tribes and cities to overturn the
Empire.”

“Goes he so far?” exclaimed the king, now very attentive.

“He is a traitor!” replied Cuitlahua, emphatically. “So
I sent a servant to follow him. From the Chalcan's, he was
seen go to the gates of the palace of Axaya'. Malinche received
him. He is there now.”

The two were silent awhile, the cacique observing the
king, the king gazing upon the ground.

“Well,” said the latter, at length, “is that all?”

“Is it not enough?”

“You are right. He must be arrested. Keep close watch
on the gates of the palace, and upon his coming out, seize
him, and put him safely away in the temple.”

“But if he comes not out?”

“To-morrow, at noon, if he be yet within, go to Malinche
and demand him. Here is your authority.”

At that, the monarch took from a finger of his left hand a
ring of gold, set with an oval green malachite, on which his
likeness was exquisitely cut.

“But,” said the other, while the royal hand was outstretched,
“if Malinche refuses your demand?”

“Then — then —” And the speaker paused so long that
his indecision was apparent.

“Behind the refusal, — see you what lies there?” asked
Cuitlahua, bluntly.

The king reflected.

“Is it not war?” the cacique persisted.

The hand fell down, and closed upon the signet.

“The demand is just, and will not be refused. Take the
ring, my brother; we will at least test Malinche's disposition.
Say to him that the lord Iztlil' is a traitor; that he
is conspiring against me; and that I require his person for
punishment. So say to him; but go not yet. The messenger
I await may bring me something to make your mission
unnecessary.”

The cacique smiled grimly. “If the Tezcucan is guilty,
so is Malinche,” he said. “Is it well to tell him what you
know?”

“Yes. He will then be careful; at least, he will not be
deceived.”

“Be it so,” said Cuitlahua, taking the ring. “I will bring
you his answer; then —”

“Well?”

“Bear with me, O king. The subject I now wish to speak
of is a tender one, though I know not why. To win the
good-will of the Tezcucan, was not Guatamozin, our nephew,
banished the city?”

“Well?”

“Now that the Tezcucan is lost, why should not the 'tzin
return? He is a happy man, O my brother, who discovers
an enemy; happier is he who, at the same time, discovers a
friend.”

Montezuma studied the cacique's face, then, with his eyes
upon the ground, walked on. Cuitlahua went with him.
Past the great trees, under the gray moss, up the hill to the
summit, and along the summit to the verge of the rocky
bluff, they went. At the king's side, when he stopped, was
a porphyritic rock, bearing, in bas-relief, his own image, and
that of his father. Below him, westwardly, spread the placid
lake; above it, the setting sun; in its midst, a fair child on
a fair mother's breast, Tenochtitlan.

“See! a canoe goes swiftly round yon chinampa; now it
outstrips its neighbors, and turns this way. How the slaves
bend to the paddles! My laggards at last!”

The king, while speaking, rubbed his hands gleefully.
For the time, Cuitlahua and his question were forgotten.

“The lord Hualpa has company,” observed the brother,
quietly.

“Yes. Io'.”

Another spell of silence, during which both watched the
canoe.

“Come, let us to the palace. Lingering here is useless.”
And with another look to the city and lake, and a last one
at the speeding vessel, yet too far off to be identified, the
king finally turned away. And Guatamozin was still an
exile.

Tecalco and Acatlan, the queens, and Tula, and their attendants,
sitting on the azoteas of the ancient house, taking
the air of the declining day, arose to salute the monarch and
his brother. The latter took the hand of each, saying, “The
gods of our fathers be good to you.” Tula's forehead he
touched with his lips. His countenance, like his figure and
nature, Indian in type, softened somewhat under her glance.
He knew her sorrow, and in sympathy thought of the 'tzin,
and of the petition in his behalf, as yet unanswered.

“All are not here, one is absent, — Nenetzin. Where is
she? I may not sleep well without hearing her laugh once
more.”

Acatlan said, “You are very good, my lord, to remember
my child. She chose to remain below.”

“She is not sick, I hope.”

“Not sick, yet not well.”

“Ah! the trouble is of the mind, perhaps. How old is
she now.”

“Old enough to be in love, if that is your meaning.”

Cuitlahua smiled. “That is not a sickness, but a happiness;
so, at least, the minstrels say.”

“What ails Nenetzin?” asked the king.

Acatlan cast down her eyes, and hesitated.

“Speak! What ails her?”

“I hardly know. She hardly knows herself,” the queen
answered. “If I am to believe what she tells me, the lord
Cuitlahua is right; she is in love.”

“With Tula, I suppose,” said the king, laughing.

“Would it were! She says her lover is called Tonatiah.
Much I fear, however, that what she thinks love is really
a delusion, wrought by magic. She is not herself. When
did Malinche go to the temple?”

“Four days ago,” the king replied.

“Well, the teule met her there, and spoke to her, and gave

her a present. Since that, like a child, she has done little
else than play with the trinket.”

Montezuma became interested. He seated himself, and
asked, “You said the spell proceeds from the present: why
do you think so?”

“The giver said the gift was a symbol of his religion, and
whoever wore it became of his faith, and belonged to his god.”

“Mictlan!” muttered Cuitlahua.

“Strange! what is the thing?” the king persisted.

“Something of unknown metal, white, like silver, about a
hand in length, and attached to a chain.”

“Of unknown metal, — a symbol of religion! Where is
the marvel now?”

“Around the child's neck, where I believe it has been
since she came from the temple. Once she allowed me to
see if I could tell what the metal was, but only for a moment,
and then her eyes never quit me. She sits hours by
herself, with the bauble clasped in both hands, and sighs, and
mopes, and has no interest in what used to please her most.”

The king mused awhile. The power of the strangers was
very great; what if the gift was the secret of the power?

“Go, Acatlan,” he said, “and call Nenetzin. See that she
brings the charm with her.”

Then he arose, and began moodily to walk. Cuitlahua
talked with Tecalco and Tula. The hour was very pleasant.
The sun, lingering above the horizon, poured a flood of brilliance
upon the hill and palace, and over the flowers, trailing
vines, and dwarfed palm and banana trees, with which the
azoteas was provided.

Upon the return of the queen with Nenetzin, the king
resumed his seat. The girl knelt before him, her face very
pale, her eyes full of tears. So lately a child, scarce a
woman, yet so weighted with womanly griefs, the father
could not view her except with compassion; so he raised

her, and, holding her hand, said, “What is this I hear,
Nenetzin? Yesterday I was thinking of sending you to
school. Nowadays lovers are very exacting; they require
of their sweethearts knowledge as well as beauty; but you
outrun my plans, you have a lover already. Is it so?”

Nenetzin looked down, blushing.

“And no common lover either,” continued the king.
“Not a 'tzin, or a cacique, or a governor; not a lord or a
prince, — a god! Brave child!”

Still Nenetzin was silent.

“You cannot call your lover by name, nor speak to him
in his language; nor can he speak to you in yours. Talking
by signs must be tedious for the uses of love, which I
understand to be but another name for impatience; yet you
are far advanced; you have seen your beloved, talked with
him, and received — what?”

Nenetzin clasped the iron cross upon her breast firmly, —
not as a good Catholic, seeking its protection; for she would
have laid the same hands on Alvarado rather than Christ, —
and for the first time she looked in the questioner's face
straight and fearlessly. A moment he regarded her; in the
moment his smile faded away; and for her it came never
again — never.

“Give me what you have there,” he said sternly, extending
his hand.

“It is but a simple present,” she said, holding back.

“No, it has to do with religion, and that not of our
fathers.”

“It is mine,” she persisted, and the queen mother turned
pale at sight of her firmness.

“The child is bewitched,” interposed Cuitlahua.

“And for that I should have the symbol. Obey me, or —”

Awed by the look, now dark with anger, Nenetzin took
the chain from her neck, and put the cross in his hand.
“There! I pray you, return them to me.”

Now, the cross, as a religious symbol, was not new to the
monarch; in Cozumel it was an object of worship; in Tabasco
it had been reverenced for ages as emblematic of the
God of Rain; in Palenque, the Palmyra of the New World,
it is sculptured on the fadeless walls, and a child held up to
adore it (in the same picture) proves its holy character; it
was not new to the heathen king; but the cross of Christ
was; and singularly enough, he received the latter for the
first time with no thought of saving virtues, but as a problem
in metallurgy.

“To-morrow I will send the trinkets to the jewellers,” he
said, after close examination. “They shall try them in the
fire. Strange, indeed, if, in all my dominions, they do not
find whereof they are made.”

He was about to pass the symbol to Maxtla, when a messenger
came up, and announced the lord Hualpa and the
prince Io'. Instantly, the cross, and Nenetzin, and her tears
and troubles, vanished out of his mind.

7. CHAPTER VII.
THE CHRISTIANS IN THE TOILS.

“LET the azoteas be cleared of all but my family. You,
my brother, will remain.”

So saying, the king arose, and began walking again. As
he did so, the cross slipped from his fingers, and fell, ringing
sharply upon the roof. Nenetzin sprang forward and picked
the symbol up.

“Now, call the messengers.”

When the chief was gone, the monarch stepped to Cuitlahua,
and, laying a hand upon his arm, said, “At last, O

brother, at last! The time so long prayed for is come. The
enemy is in the snare, and he is mine. So the god of our
fathers has promised. The messengers bring me his permission
to make war.”

“At last! Praised be Huitzil'!” exclaimed Cuitlahua,
with upraised hands and eyes.

“Praised be Huitzil'!” cried Tula, with equal fervor.

“Malinche began his march to Tenochtitlan against my
order, which, for a purpose, I afterwards changed to invitation.
Since that, my people, my army, the lords, the pabas,
the Empire, have upbraided me for weakness. I only bided
my time, and the assent of Huitzil'. And the result? The
palace of Axaya' shall be the tomb of the insolent strangers.”

As he spoke, the monarch's bosom swelled with the old
warrior spirit.

“You would have had me go meet Malinche, and in the
open field array my people to be trodden down by his beasts
of war. Now, ours is the advantage. We will shut him in
with walls of men as well as of houses. Over them he may
ride, but the first bridge will be the end of his journey;
it will be raised. Mictlan take our legions, if they cannot
conquer him at last!”

He laughed scornfully.

“In the temples are seventy thousand fighting men, gathered
unknown to all but Tlalac. They are tired of their
prison, and cry for freedom and battle. Two other measures
taken, and the war begins, — only two. Malinche has no
stores; he is dependent upon me for to-morrow's bread.
What if I say, not a grain of corn, not a mouthful of meat
shall pass his palace gate? As to the other step, — what if
I bid you raise the bridges? What then? His beasts must
starve; so must his people, unless they can fly. Let him
use his engines of fire; the material he serves them with
cannot last always, so that want will silence them also. The

measures depend on my word, which, by the blessing of Huitzil',
I will speak, and” —

“When?” asked Cuitlahua, earnestly.

“To-morrow —”

“The day, — O my kingly brother! — the day will be
memorable in Anahuac forever!”

The monarch's eyes flashed with evil fire. “It shall be
so. Part of the invaders will not content me; none shall
escape, — not one! In the world shall not one be left!”

All present listened eagerly. Nenetzin alone gave no sign
of feeling, though she heard every word.

The couriers now appeared. Over their uniforms was the
inevitable nequen. Instead of helms, they wore broad bands,
ornamented with plumes and brilliants. At their backs hung
their shields. The prince, proud and happy, kissed his
mother's hand, and nodded to the sisters. Hualpa went to
the king, and knelt in salute.

“I have been waiting since noon,” said Montezuma, coldly.

“We pray your pardon, O king, good master. The fault
was not ours. Since yesterday at noon we have not ate or
drank or slept; neither have we been out of the great temple,
except to embark and come here, which was with all possible
speed.”

“It is well. Arise! What says the god?”

Every ear was strained to hear.

“We followed your orders in all things, O king. In the
temple we found the teotuctli, and the pabas of the city,
with many from Tezcuco and Cholula.”

“Saw you Mualox, of the old Cû of Quetzal'?”

“Mualox was not there.”

The king waved his hand.

“We presented ourselves to the teotuctli, and gave him your
message; in proof of our authority, we showed him the signet,
which we now return.”

The seal was taken in silence.

“In presence, then, of all the pabas, the sacrifices were
begun. I counted the victims, — nine hundred in all. The
afternoon and night, and to-day, to the time of our departure,
the service lasted. The sound of prayer from the holy men
was unintermitted and loud. I looked once to the palace of
Axaya', and saw the azoteas crowded with the strangers and
their Tlascalans.”

The king and the lord Cuitlahua exchanged glances of
satisfaction.

“At last the labors of the teotuctli were rewarded. I saw
him tear a heart from a victim's breast, and study the signs;
then, with a loud cry, he ran and flung the heart into the fire
before the altar of Huitzil'; and all there joined in the cry,
which was of rejoicing, and washed their hands in the blood.
The holy man then came to me, and said, `Say to Montezuma,
the wise king, that Huitzil', the Supreme God, has answered,
and bids him begin the war. Say to him, also, to be of
cheer; for the land shall be delivered from the strangers, and
the strangers shall be delivered to him, in trust for the god.
Then he stood in the door of the sanctuary, and made proclamation
of the divine will. And that was all, O king.”

“To Huitzil' be the praise!” exclaimed the king, piously.

“And to Montezuma the glory!” said Cuitlahua.

And the queens and Tula kissed the monarch's hand, and
at his feet Io' knelt, and laid his shield, saying, —

“A favor, O king, a favor!”

“Well.”

“Let not my years be counted, but give me a warrior's
part in the sacred war.”

And Cuitlahua went to the suppliant, and laid a hand
upon his head, and said, his massive features glowing with
honest pride, “It was well spoken, O my brother, well spoken.
The blood and spirit of our race will survive us. I,

the oldest, rejoice, and, with the youngest, pray; give us
each to do a warrior's part.”

Brighter grew the monarch's eyes.

“Your will be done,” he said to Io'. “Arise!” Then
looking toward the sun, he added, with majestic fervor, “The
inspiration is from you, O holy gods! strengthen it, I pray,
and help him in the way he would go.” A moment after, he
turned to Cuitlahua, “My brother, have your wish also. I
give you the command. You have my signet already. To-morrow
the drum of Huitzil' will be beaten. At the sound,
let the bridges next the palace of Axaya' on all the causeways
be taken up. Close the market to-night. Supplies for
one day more Malinche may have, and that is all. Around
the teocallis, in hearing of a shell, are ten thousand warriors;
take them, and, after the beating of the drum, see that the
strangers come not out of the palace, and that nothing goes
through its gates for them. But until the signal, let there
be friendship and perfect peace. And” — he looked around
slowly and solemnly — “what I have here spoken is between
ourselves and the gods.”

And Cuitlahua knelt and kissed his hand, in token of
loyalty.

While the scene was passing, as the only one present not
of the royal family, Hualpa stood by, with downcast eyes;
and as he listened to the brave words of the king, involving
so much of weal or woe to the realm, he wondered at the
fortune which had brought him such rich confidence, not as
the slow result of years of service, but, as it were, in a day.
Suddenly, the monarch turned to him.

“Thanks are not enough, lord Hualpa, for the report
you bring. As a messenger between me and the mighty
Huitzil', you shall have reason to rejoice with us. Lands
and rank you have, and a palace; now,” — a smile broke
through his seriousness, — “now I will give you a wife. Here

she is.” And to the amazement of all, he pointed to Nenetzin.
“A wild bird, by the Sun! What say you, lord
Hualpa? Is she not beautiful? Yet,” he became grave in
an instant, “I warn you that she is self-willed, and spoiled,
and now suffers from a distemper which she fancies to be
love. I warn you, lest one of the enemy, of whom we were
but now talking, lure her from you, as he seems to have lured
her from us and our gods. To save her, and place her in
good keeping, as well as to bestow a proper reward, I will
give her to you for wife.”

Tecalco looked at Acatlan, who governed her feelings
well; possibly she was satisfied, for the waywardness of the
girl had, of late, caused her anxiety, while, if not a prince,
like Cacama, Hualpa was young, brave, handsome, ennobled,
and, as the proposal itself proved, on the high road to
princely honors. Tula openly rejoiced; so did Io'. The
lord Cuitlahua was indifferent; his new command, and the
prospects of the morrow, so absorbed him that a betrothal or
a wedding was a trifle. As for Hualpa, it was as if the
flowery land of the Aztec heaven had opened around him.
He was speechless; but in the step half taken, his flushed
face, his quick breathing, Nenetzin read all he could have
said, and more; and so he waited a sign from her, — a sign,
though but a glance or a motion of the lip or hand. And
she gave him a smile, — not like that the bold Spaniard
received on the temple, nor warm, as if prompted by the
loving soul, — a smile, witnessed by all present, and by all
accepted as her expression of assent.

“I will give her to you for wife,” the monarch repeated,
slowly and distinctly. “This is the betrothal; the wedding
shall be when the war is over, when not a white-faced
stranger is left in all my domain.”

While yet he spoke, Nenetzin ran to her mother, and hid
her face in her bosom.

“Listen further, lord Hualpa,” said the king. “In the
great business of to-morrow I give you a part. At daylight
return to the temple, and remain there in the turret where
hangs the drum of Huitzil'. Io' will come to you about
noon, with my command; then, if such be its effect, with
your own hand give the signal for which the lord Cuitlahua
will be waiting. Strike so as to be heard by the city, and
by the cities on the shores of the lake. Afterwards, with
Io', go to the lord Cuitlahua. Here is the signet again.
The teotuctli may want proof of your authority.”

Hualpa, kneeling to receive the seal, kissed the monarch's
hand.

“And now,” the latter said, addressing himself to Cuitlahua,
“the interview is ended. You have much to do. Go.
The gods keep you.”

Hualpa, at last released, went and paid homage to his
betrothed, and was made still more happy by her words, and
the congratulations of the queens.

Tula alone lingered at the king's side, her large eyes fixed
appealingly on his face.

“What now, Tula?” he asked, tenderly.

And she answered, “You have need, O king and good
father, of faithful, loving warriors. I know of one. He
should be here, but is not. Of to-morrow, its braveries and
sacrifices, the minstrels will sing for ages to come; and the
burden of their songs will be how nobly the people fought,
and died, and conquered for you. Shall the opportunity be
for all but him? Do not so wrong yourself, be not so cruel
to — to me,” she said, clasping her hands.

His look of tenderness vanished, and he walked away, and
from the parapet of the azoteas gazed long and fixedly, apparently
observing the day dying in the west, or the royal
gardens that stretched out of sight from the base of the castled
hill.

She waited expectantly, but no answer came, — none ever
came.

And when, directly, she joined the group about Nenetzin
and Hualpa, and leaned confidingly upon Io', she little
thought that his was the shadow darkening her love; that
the dreamy monarch, looking forward to the succession, saw,
in the far future, a struggle for the crown between the prince
and the 'tzin; that for the former hope there was not, except
in what might now be done; and that yet there was not hope,
if the opportunities of war were as open to the one as to the
other. So the exile continued.

8. CHAPTER VIII.
THE IRON CROSS COMES BACK TO ITS GIVER.

ADMITTING that the intent with which the Spaniards
came to Tenochtitlan took from them the sanctity
accorded by Christians to guests, and at the same time
justified any measure in prevention, — a subject belonging
to the casuist rather than the teller of a story, — their situation
has now become so perilous, and possibly so interesting
to my sympathetic reader, that he may be anxious to enter
the old palace, and see what they are doing.

The dull report of the evening gun had long since spent
itself over the lake, and along the gardened shores. So, too,
mass had been said in the chapel, newly improvised, and
very limited for such high ceremony; yet, as Father Bartolomé
observed, roomy enough for prayer and penitence.
Nor had the usual precautions against surprise been omitted;
on the contrary, extra devices in that way had been resorted
to; the guards had been doubled; the horses stood caparisoned;

by the guns at the gates low fires were burning, to
light, in an instant, the matches of the gunners; and at intervals,
under cover of the walls, lay or lounged detachments
of both Christians and Tlascalans, apparently told off for
battle. A yell without or a shot within, and the palace
would bristle with defenders. A careful captain was Cortes.

In his room, once the audience-chamber of the kings,
paced the stout conquistador. He was alone, and, as usual,
in armor, except of the head and hands. On a table were
his helm, iron gloves, and battle-axe, fair to view, as was the
chamber, in the cheerful, ruddy light of a brazen lamp. As
he walked, he used his sword for staff; and its clang, joined
to the sharp concussion of the sollerets smiting the tessellated
floor at each step, gave notice in the adjoining chamber, and
out in the patio, that the general — or, as he was more familiarly
called, the Señor Hernan — was awake and uncommonly
restless. After a while the curtains of the doorway
parted, and Father Bartolomé entered without challenge.
The good man was clad in a cassock of black serge, much
frayed, and girt to the waist by a leathern belt, to which
hung an ivory cross, and a string of amber beads. At sight
of him, Cortes halted, and, leaning on his sword, said, “Bring
thy bones here, father; or, if such womanly habit suit thee
better, rest them on the settle yonder. Anyhow, thou 'rt
welcome. I assure thee of the fact in advance of thy report.”

“Thank thee, Señor,” he replied. “The cross, as thou
mayst have heard, is proverbially heavy; but its weight is
to the spirit, not the body, like the iron with which thou
keep'st thyself so constantly clothed. I will come and stand
by thee, especially as my words must be few, and to our own
ears.”

He went near, and continued in a low voice, and rapidly,
“A deputation, appointed to confer with thee, is now coming.

I sounded the men. I told them our condition; how
we are enclosed in the city, dependent upon an inconstant
king for bread, without hope of succor, without a road of
retreat. Following thy direction, I drew the picture darkly.
Very soon they began asking, `What think'st thou ought to
be done?' As agreed between us, I suggested the seizure of
Montezuma. They adopted the idea instantly; and, that no
consideration like personal affection for the king may influence
thee to reject the proposal, the deputation cometh, with
Diaz del Castillo at the head.”

A gleam of humor twinkled in Cortes's eyes.

“Art sure they do not suspect me as the author of the
scheme?”

“They will urge it earnestly as their own, and support it
with arguments which” — the father paused a moment — “I
am sure thou wilt find irresistible.”

Cortes raised himself from the sword, and indulged a laugh
while he crossed the room and returned.

“I thank thee, father,” he said, resuming his habitual
gravity. “So men are managed; nothing more simple, if
we do but know how. The project hath been in my mind
since we left Tlascala; but, as thou know'st, I feared it
might be made of account against me with our imperial
master. Now, it cometh back as business of urgency to
the army, to which men think I cannot say nay. Let them
come; I am ready.

He began walking again, thumping the floor with his
sword, while Olmedo took possession of a bench by the
table. Presently, there was heard at the door the sound of
many feet, which you may be sure were not those of slippered
damsels; for, at the bidding of Cortes, twelve soldiers
came in, followed by several officers, and after them yet
other soldiers. The general went to the table and seated
himself. They ranged themselves about him, standing.

And for a time the chamber went back to its primitive
use; but what were the audiences of Axaya' compared with
this? Here was no painted cotton, or feather-work gaudy
with the spoils of humming-birds and parrots: in their
stead, the gleam and lustre blent with the brown of iron.
One such Christian warrior was worth a hundred heathen
chiefs. So thought Cortes, as he glanced at the faces before
him, bearded, mustachioed, and shaded down to the eyes by
well-worn morions.

“Good evening, gentlemen and soldiers,” he said, kindly,
but without a bow. “This hath the appearance of business.”

Diaz advanced a step, and replied, —

“Señor, we are a deputation from the army, appointed to
beg attention to a matter which to us looketh serious;
enough so, at least, to justify this appearance. We have
been, and are, thy faithful soldiers, in whom thou mayst
trust to the death, as our conduct all the way from the coast
doth certify. Nor do we come to complain; on that score
be at rest. But we are men of experience; a long campaign
hath given us eyes to see and ability to consider a situation;
while we submit willingly to all thy orders, trusting in thy
superior sense, we yet think thou wilt not take it badly,
nor judge us wanting in discipline and respect, if we venture
the opinion that, despite the courtesies and fair seeming of
the unbelieving king, Montezuma, we are, in fact, cooped
up in this strong city as in a cage.”

“I see the business already,” said Cortes; “and, by my
conscience! ye are welcome to help me consider it. Speak
out, Bernal Diaz.”

“Thank thee, Señor. The question in our minds is, What
shall be done next? We know that but few things bearing
anywise upon our expedition escape thy eyes, and that of what
is observed by thee nothing is forgotten; therefore, what I
wish, first, is to refer some points to thy memory. When

we left Cuba, we put ourselves in the keeping of the Holy
Virgin, without any certain purpose. We believed there
was in this direction somewhere a land peopled and full of
gold for the finding. Of that we were assured when we set
out from the coast to come here. And now that we are
come, safe from so many dangers, and hardships, and battles,
we think it no shame to admit that we were not prepared for
what we find, so far doth the fact exceed all our imaginings;
neither can we be charged justly with weakness or fear, if
we all desire to know whether the expedition is at an end,
and whether the time hath arrived to collect our gains, and
divide them, and set our faces homeward. There are in the
army some who think that time come; but I, and my associates
here, are not of that opinion. We believe with Father
Olmedo, that God and the Holy Mother brought us to this
land, and that we are their instruments; and that, in reward
for our toils, and for setting up the cross in all these abominable
temples, and bringing about the conversion of these
heathen hordes, the country, and all that is in it, are
ours.”

“They are ours!” cried Cortes, dashing his sword against
the floor until the chamber rang. “They are ours, all ours;
subject only to the will of our master, the Emperor.”

The latter words he said slowly, meaning that they should
be remembered.

“We are glad, Señor, to hear thy approval so heartily
given,” Diaz resumed. “If we are not mistaken in the
opinion, and, following it up, decide to reduce the country to
possession and the true belief, — something, I confess, not
difficult to determine, since we have no ships in which to
sail away, — then we think a plan of action should be adopted
immediately. If the reduction can be best effected from
the city, let us abide here, by all means; if not, the sooner
we are beyond the dikes and bridges, and out of the valley,

the better. Whether we shall remain, Señor, is for thee to
say. The army hath simply chosen us to make a suggestion,
which we hope thou wilt accept as its sense; and that is, to
seize the person of Montezuma, and bring him to these quarters,
after which there will be no difficulty in providing for
our wants and safety, and controlling, as may be best, the
people, the city, the provinces, and all things else yet undiscovered.

“Jesu Christo!” exclaimed Cortes, like one surprised.
“Whence got ye this idea? Much I fear the Devil is abroad
again.” And he began to walk the floor, using long strides,
and muttering to himself; retaking his seat, he said, —

“The proposition hath a bold look, soldiers and comrades,
and for our lives' sake requireth careful thought. That we
can govern the Empire through Montezuma, I have always
held, and with that idea I marched you here, as the cavaliers
now present can testify; but the taking and holding him
prisoner, — by my conscience! ye out-travel me, and I must
have time to think about the business. But, gentlemen,” —
turning to the Captains Leon, Ordas, Sandoval, and Alvarado,
who, as part of the delegation, had stationed themselves behind
him, — “ye have reflected upon the business, and are of made-up
minds. Upon two points I would have your judgments:
first, can we justify the seizure to his Majesty, the Emperor?
secondly, how is the arrest to be accomplished? Speak
thou, Sandoval.”

“As thou know'st, Señor Hernan, what I say must be
said bluntly, and with little regard for qualifications,” Sandoval
replied, lisping. “To me the seizure is a necessity,
and as such justifiable to our royal master, himself
so good a soldier. I have come to regard the heathen king
as faithless, and therefore unworthy, except as an instrument
in our hands. I cannot forget how we were cautioned
against him in all the lower towns, and how, from all quarters,

we were assured he meant to follow the pretended instructions
of his god, allow us to enter the capital quietly,
then fall upon us without notice and at disadvantage. And
now that we are enclosed, he hath only to cut off our supplies
of bread and water, and break down the bridges. So,
Señor, I avouch that, in my opinion, there is but one question
for consideration, — Shall we move against him, or wait
until he is ready to move against us? I would rather surprise
my enemy than be surprised by him.”

“And what sayest thou, Leon?”

“The good Captain Sandoval hath spoken for me, Señor.
I would add, that some of us have to-day noticed that the
king's steward, besides being insolent, hath failed to supply
our tables as formerly. And from Aguilar, the interpreter,
who hath his news from the Tlascalans, I learn that the Mexicans
certainly have some evil plot in progress.”

“And yet further, captain, say for me,” cried Alvarado,
impetuously, “that the prince now with us, his name —
The fiend take his name!”

“Thou would'st say, the Prince of Tezcuco; never mind
his name,” Cortes said, gravely.

“Ay, never mind his name,” Olmedo repeated, with a
scarce perceptible gleam of humor. “At the baptism to-morrow
I will give him something more Christian.”

“As ye will, as ye will!” Alvarado rejoined, impatiently.
“I was about to say, that the Tezcucan averreth most roundly
that the yells we heard this afternoon from the temple over
the way signified a grand utterance from the god of war; and
of opinion that we will now be soon attacked, he refuseth to
go into the city again.”

“And thou, Ordas.”

“Señor,” that captain replied, “I am in favor of the seizure.
If, as all believe, Montezuma is bent to make war upon
us, the best way to meet the danger is to arrest him in time.

The question, simply stated, is, his liberty or our lives.
Moreover, I want an end to the uncertainty that so vexeth
us night and day; worse, by far, than any battle the heathen
can offer.”

Cortes played with the knot of his sword, and reflected.

“Such, then, is the judgment of the army,” he finally
said. “And such, gentlemen, is mine, also. But is that
enough? What we do as matter of policy may be approved
of man, even our imperial master, of whom I am always regardful;
but, as matter of conscience, the approval of Heaven
must be looked for. Stand out, Father Bartolomé! Upon
thy brow is the finger of St. Peter, at thy girdle the cross
of Christ. What saith the Church?”

The good man arose, and held out the cross, saying, —

“My children, upon the Church, by Christ himself, this
solemn hest hath been placed, good for all places, to be parted
from never: `Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel
to every creature.' The way hither hath been through
strange seas and deadly climates. Hear me, that ye may
know yourselves. Ye are the swords of the Church. In
Cempoalla she preached; so in Tlascala; so in Cholula; and
in all, she cast out false gods, and converted whole tribes.
Only in this city hath the gospel not been proclaimed. And
why? Because of a king who to-day, almost in our view,
sacrificed men to his idols. Swords of the Church, which
go before to make smooth her path, Christ and the Holy
Mother must be taught in yon temple of sin. So saith the
Church!”

There was much crossing of forehead and breast, and
“Amen,” and the sweet name “Ave Maria” sounded through
the chamber, not in the murmur of a cathedral response, but
outspokenly as became the swords of Christ. The sensation
was hardly done, when some one at the door called loudly
for Alvarado.

“Who is he that so calleth?” the captain asked, angrily.
“Let him choose another time.”

The name was repeated more loudly.

“Tell the mouther to seek me to-morrow.”

A third time the captain was called.

“May the Devil fly away with the fellow! I will not
go.”

“Bid the man enter,” said Cortes. “The disturbance is
strange.”

A soldier appeared, whom Alvarado, still angry, addressed,
“How now? Dost thou take me for a kitchen girl, apprenticed
to answer thee at all times? What hast thou? Be
brief. This goodly company waiteth.”

“I crave thy pardon, captain. I crave pardon of the
company,” the soldier answered, saluting Cortes. “I am on
duty at the main gate. A little while ago, a woman —”

“Picaro!” cried Alvarado, contemptuously. “Only a
woman!”

“Peace, captain! Let the man proceed,” said Cortes,
whose habit it was to hear his common soldiers gravely.

“As I was about saying, Señor, a woman came running to
the gate. She was challenged. I could not understand her,
and she was much scared, for behind her on the street was
a party that seemed to have been in pursuit. She cried,
and pressed for admittance. My order is strict, — Admit no
one after the evening gun. While I was trying to make her
understand me, some arrows were shot by the party outside,
and one passed through her arm. She then flung herself on
the pavement, and gave me this cross, and said `Tonatiah,
Tonatiah!' As that is what the people call thee, Señor
Alvarado, I judged she wanted it given to thee for some purpose.
The shooting at her made me think that possibly the
business might be of importance. If I am mistaken, I
again pray pardon. Here is the cross. Shall I admit the
woman?”

Alvarado took the cross, and looked at it once.

“By the saints! my mother's gift to me, and mine to the
princess Nenetzin.” Of the soldier he asked, in a suppressed
voice, “Is the woman old or young?”

“A girl, little more than a child.”

“'T is she! Mother of Christ, 't is Nenetzin!”

And through the company, without apology, he rushed.
The soldier saluted, and followed him.

“To the gate, Sandoval! See the rest of this affair, and
report,” said Cortes, quietly. “We will stay the business
until you return.”

9. CHAPTER IX.
TRULY WONDERFUL. — A FORTUNATE MAN HATH A MEMORY.

TWO canoes, tied to the strand, attested that the royal
party, and Io' and Hualpa, were yet at Chapultepec,
which was no doubt as pleasant at night, seen of all the
stars, as in the day, kissed by the softest of tropical suns.

That the lord Hualpa should linger there was most natural.
Raised, almost as one is transported in dreams, from
hunting to warriorship; from that again to riches and nobility;
so lately contented, though at peril of life, to look
from afar at the house in which the princess Nenetzin slept;
now her betrothed, and so pronounced by the great king
himself, — what wonder that he loitered at the palace? Yet
it was not late, — in fact, on the horizon still shone the tint,
the last and faintest of the day, — when he and Io' came out,
and, arm in arm, took their way down the hill to the landing.
What betides the lover? Is the mistress coy? Or
runs he away at call of some grim duty?

Out of the high gate, down the terraced descent, past the

avenue of ghostly cypresses, until their sandals struck the
white shells of the landing, they silently went.

“Is it not well with you, my brother?” asked the prince,
stopping where the boats, in keeping of their crews, were
lying.

“Thank you for that word,” Hualpa replied. “It is
better even than comrade. Well with me? I look my
fortune in the face, and am dumb. If I should belie
expectation, if I should fall from such a height! O
Mother of the World, save me from that! I would rather
die!”

“But you will not fail,” said Io', sympathetically.

“The gods keep the future; they only know. The
thought came to me as I sat at the feet of Tula and Nenetzin,
— came to me like a taste of bitter in a cup of sweets.
Close after followed another even stronger, — how could I be
so happy, and our comrade over the lake so miserable? We
know how he has hoped and worked and lived for what the
morrow is to bring: shall he not be notified even of its
nearness? You have heard the sound of the war-drum:
what is it like?”

“Like the roll of thunder.”

“Well, when the thunder crosses the lake, and strikes his
ear, saying, `Up, the war is here!' he will come to the door,
and down to the water's edge; there he must stop; and as
he looks wistfully to the city, and strains his ear to catch
the notes of the combat, will he not ask for us, and, accuse
us of forgetfulness? Rather than that, O my brother,
let my fortune all go back to its giver.”

“I understand you now,” said the prince, softly.

“Yes,” Hualpa continued, “I am to be at the temple by
the break of day; but the night is mine, and I will go to
the 'tzin, my first friend, of Anahuac the soul, as Nenetzin
is the flower.”

“And I will go with you.”

“No, you cannot. You have not permission. So farewell.”

“Until to-morrow,” said Io'.

“In the temple,” answered Hualpa.

10. CHAPTER X.
HOW THE IRON CROSS CAME BACK.

IO' stayed at the landing awhile, nursing the thought left
him by his comrade. And he was still there, the plash
of the rowers of the receding canoe in his ear, when the
great gate of the palace gave exit to another person, this
time a girl. The guards on duty paid her no attention.
She was clad simply and poorly, and carried a basket.
Around the hill were scores of gardeners' daughters like
her.

From the avenue she turned into a path which, through
one of the fields below, led her to an inlet of the lake,
where the market-people were accustomed to moor their
canoes. The stars gave light, but too feebly to reclaim anything
from the darkness. Groping amongst the vessels, she
at length entered one, and, seating herself, pushed clear of
the land, and out in the lake toward the glow in the sky
beneath which reposed the city.

Like the night, the lake was calm; therefore, no fear for
the adventuress. The boat, under her hand, had not the
speed of the king's when driven by his twelve practised
rowers; yet she was its mistress, and it obeyed her kindly.
But why the journey? Why alone on the water at such a
time?

Half an hour of steady work. The city was, of course,
much nearer. At the same time, the labor began to tell; the
reach of her paddle was not so great as at the beginning, nor
was the dip so deep; her breathing was less free, and sometimes
she stopped to draw a dripping hand across her forehead.
Surely, this is not a gardener's daughter.

Voyageurs now became frequent. Most of them passed by
with the salutation usual on the lake, — “The blessings of
the gods upon you!” Once she was in danger. A canoe full
of singers, and the singers full of pulque, came down at
speed upon her vessel. Happily, the blow was given obliquely;
the crash suspended the song; the wassailers
sprang to their feet; seeing only a girl, and no harm done,
they drew off, laughing. “Out with your lamp next time!”
shouted one of them. A law of the lake required some
such signal at night.

In the flurry of the collision, a tamane, leaning over the
bow of the strange canoe, swung a light almost in the girl's
face. With a cry, she shrank away; as she did so, from her
bosom fell a shining cross. To the dull slave the symbol told
no tale; but, good reader, we know that there is but one
maiden in all Anahuac who wears such a jewel, and we
know for whom she wears that one. By the light of that
cross, we also know the weary passenger is, not a gardener's
daughter, but Nenetzin, the princess.

And the wonder grows. What does the 'tzin Nene — so
they called her in the days they swung her to sleep in the
swinging cradle — out so far alone on the lake? And where
goes she in such guise, this night of all others, and now
when the kiss of her betrothed is scarcely cold on her lips?
Where are the slaves? Where the signs of royalty? As
prayed by the gentle voyageurs, the blessings of the gods may
be upon her, but much I doubt if she has her mother's,
almost as holy.

Slowly now she wins her way. The paddle grows
heavier in her unaccustomed hands. On her brow gathers
a dew which is neither of the night nor the lake. She is
not within the radius of the temple lights, yet stops to rest,
and bathe her palms in the cooling waves. Later, when the
wall of the city, close by, stretches away on either side, far
reaching, a margin of darkness under the illuminated sky,
the canoe seems at last to conquer; it floats at will idly as a
log; and in that time the princess sits motionless as the
boat, lapsed in revery. Her purpose, if she has one, may
have chilled in the solitude or weakened under the labor.
Alas, if the purpose be good! If evil, help her, O sweet
Mary, Mother!

The sound of paddles behind her broke the spell. With
a hurried glance over her shoulder, she bent again to the
task, and there was no more hesitation. She gained the
wall, and passed in, taking the first canal. By the houses,
and through the press of canoes, and under the bridges, to
the heart of the city, she went. On the steps bordering a
basin close to the street which had been Cortes' line of
march the day of the entry, she landed, and, ascending to
the thoroughfare, set out briskly, basket in hand, her face to
the south. With never a look to the right or left, never a
response to the idlers on the pavement, she hurried down
the street. The watchers on the towers sung the hour;
she scarcely heard them. At last she reached the great
temple. A glance at the coatapantli, one at the shadowy
sanctuaries, to be sure of the locality; then her eyes fell upon
the palace of Axaya', and she stopped. The street to this
point had been thronged with people; here there were none;
the strangers were by themselves. The main gate of the
ancient house stood half open, and she saw the wheels
of gun-carriages, and now and then a Christian soldier
pacing his round, slowly and grimly; of the little host, he

alone gave signs of life. Over the walls she heard the
stamp of horses' feet, and once a neigh, shrill and loud.
The awe of the Indian in presence of the white man seized
her, and she looked and listened, half frightened, half worshipful,
with but one clear sense, and that was of the nearness
of the Tonatiah.

A sound of approaching feet disturbed her, and she ran
across to the gate; at once the purpose which had held her
silent on the azoteas, which prompted her ready acquiescence
in the betrothal to Hualpa, which had sustained her in the
passage of the lake, was revealed. She was seeking her
lover to save him.

She would have passed through the gateway, but for a
number of lances dropped with their points almost against
her breast. What with fear of those behind and of those
before her, she almost died. On the pavement, outside
the entrance, she was lying when Alvarado came to the
rescue. The guard made way for him quickly; for in his
manner was the warning which nothing takes from words,
not even threats; verily, it had been as well to attempt to
hinder a leaping panther. He threw the lances up, and
knelt by her, saying tenderly, “Nenetzin, Nenetzin, poor
child! It is I, — come to save you!”

She half arose, and, smiling through her tears, clasped her
hands, and cried, “Tonatiah! Tonatiah!”

There are times when a look, a gesture, a tone of the voice,
do all a herald's part. What need of speech to tell the
Spaniard why the truant was there? The poor disguise, the
basket, told of flight; her presence at that hour said, “I
have come to thee”; the cross returned, the tears, the joy at
sight of him, certified her love; and so, when she put her
arm around his neck, and the arrow, not yet taken away,
rattled against his corselet, to his heart there shot a pain so
sharp and quick it seemed as if the very soul of him was
going out.

He raised her gently, and carried her through the entrance.
The rough men looking on saw upon his cheek what, if the
cheek had been a woman's, they would have sworn was a tear.

“Ho, Marina!” he cried to the wondering interpreter.
“I bring thee a bird dropped too soon from the nest. The
hunter hath chased the poor thing, and here is a bolt in its
wing. Give place in thy cot, while I go for a doctor, and
room with thee, that malice hurt not a good name.”

And at the sight the Indian woman was touched; she ran
to the cot, smoothed the pillow of feathers, and said, “Here,
rest her here, and run quickly. I will care for her.”

He laid her down tenderly, but she clung to his hand, and
said to Marina, “He must not go. Let him first hear what
I have to say.”

“But you are hurt.”

“It is nothing, nothing. He must stay.”

So earnestly did she speak, that the captain changed his
mind. “Very well. What is spoken in pain should be
spoken quickly. I will stay.”

Nenetzin caught the assent, and went on rapidly. “Let
him know that to-morrow at noon the drum in the great temple
will be beaten, and the bridges taken up, and then there
will be war.”

“By the saints! she bringeth doughty news,” said Alvarado,
in his voice of soldier. “Ask her where she got it;
ask her, as you love us, Marina.”

“From my father, — from the king himself.”

“And this is child of Montezuma!” cried Marina.

“The princess Nenetzin,” said the cavalier. “But stay not
so. Ask her when and where she heard the news.”

“To-day, at Chapultepec.”

“What of the particulars? How is the war to be made?
What are the preparations?”

“The lord Cuitlahua is to take up the bridges. Maize and

meat will be furnished to-morrow only. About the great temple
now there are ten thousand warriors for an attack, and
elsewhere in the city there are seventy thousand more.”

“Enough,” said Alvarado, kissing the little hand. “Look
now to the hurt, Marina. Bring the light; mayhap we can
take the bolt away ourselves.”

Marina knelt, and examined the wounded arm, and shortly
held up the arrow.

“Good!” the cavalier said. “Thou art a doctor, indeed,
Marina. In the schools at home they give students big-lettered
parchments. I will do better by thee; I will cover the
arm that did this surgery with bracelets of gold. Run now,
and bring cloth and water. The blood thou seest trickling
here is from her heart, which loveth me too dearly to suffer
such waste. Haste thee! haste thee!”

They bathed the wound, and applied the bandages, though
all too roughly to suit the cavalier, who, thereupon, turned
to go, saying, “Sit thou there, Marina, and leave her not,
except to do her will. Tell her I will return, and to be at
rest, for she is safe as in her father's house. If any do but
look at her wrongfully, they shall account to me. So, by my
mother's cross, I swear!”

And he hurried back to the audience-chamber, where the
council was yet in session. While he related what had been
told by Nenetzin, a deep silence pervaded the assemblage,
and the brave men, from looking at each other, turned, with
singular unanimity, to Cortes; who, thus appealed to, threw
off his affectation, and standing up, spoke, so as to be heard
by all, —

“Comrades, soldiers, gentlemen, let there be no words
more. The step you have urged upon me, in the name of
the army, I hesitated to take. I grant you, I hesitated;
but not from love of the soft-tongued, lying, pagan king.
Bethink ye. We left Cuba hastily, as ye all remember,

because of a design to arrest us there as malefactors and
traitors. Now, when our enemies in that island hear from
our expedition, and have told them all its results, — the
wealth we have won, and the country, cities, peoples, and
empire discovered, — envy and jealousy will pursue us, and
false tongues go back to Spain, and fill the ears of our
royal master with reports intended to rob us of our glory
and despoil us of our hire. How could I know but the
seizure in question might be magnified into impolicy and
cruelty, and furnish cause for disgrace, imprisonment, and
forfeiture? For that I hesitated. This news, however, endeth
doubt and debate. The over-cunning king hath put
himself outside of mercy or compassion; we are compelled
to undo him. So far, well. Let me remind ye now, that
the news of which I speak hath in it a warning which it
were sinful not to heed. Yesterday the great infidel was at
our mercy; not more difficult his capture then than a visit
to his palace; but now, in all the histories of bold performances,
nothing bolder, — nothing of the Cid's, nothing of King
Arthur's. In the heart of his capital we are to make prisoner
him, the head of millions, the political ruler and religious
chief, not merely secure in the love and fear of his subjects,
but in the height of his careful preparation for war, in
the centre of his camp, within call, nay, under the eyes, of
his legions, numbering thousands where we number tens.
Take ye each, my brave brethren, the full measure of the
design, and then tell me, in simple words, how it may be
best done. And among ye, let him speak who can truly say,
I dare do what my tongue delivereth. I wait your answer.”

And in the chamber there again fell a hush so deep that
those present might well have been taken for ghosts. The
idea as first seen by them was commonplace; under his description,
it became heroic; and struggling, as he suggested,
to measure it each for himself, all were dumb.

“Good gentlemen,” said Cortes, smiling, “why so laggard
now? Speak, Diaz del Castillo. Offer what thou canst.”

The good soldier, and afterward good chronicler, of the
conquest and its trials, this one among the rest, replied, “I
confess, Señor, the enterprise is difficult beyond my first
thought. I confess, also, to more reflection about its necessity
than its achievement. To answer truthfully, at this
time I see but one way to the end; and that is, to invite the
monarch here under some sufficient pretence, and then lay
hands on him.”

“Are ye all of the same minds, gentlemen?”

There was a murmur of assent, whereupon Cortes arose
from leaning upon his sword, and said, sharply, —

“To hear ye, gentlemen, one would think the summer all
before us in which to interchange courtesies with the royal
barbarian. What is the fact? At noon to-morrow our hours
of grace expire. A beat of drum, and then assault, and
after that,”— he paused, looking grimly round the circle,
— “and after that, sacrifices to the gods, I suppose.”

There was a general movement and outcry. Some griped
their arms, others crossed themselves. Cortes saw and pressed
his advantage.

“I shall not take your advice, Bernal Diaz; not I, by my
conscience! Heaven helping me, I expect to see old Spain
again; and more, I expect to take these comrades back with
me, rich in glory and gold.” Then, to the officers behind
him, he said, in his ordinary tone of command, “Ordas, do
thou bid the carpenters prepare quarters in this palace for
Montezuma and his court; and let them begin their work to-night,
for he will be our guest before noon to-morrow. And
thou, Leon, thou, Lugo, thou, Avila, and thou, Sandoval, get
ye ready to go with me to the —”

“And I?” asked Alvarado.

“Thou shalt go also.”

“And the army, Señor?” Diaz suggested.

“The army shall remain in quarters.”

Never man's manner more calm, never man more absolutely
assured. The listeners warmed with admiration. As
unconscious of the effect he was working, he went on, —

“I have shown the difficulties of the enterprise; now I
say further, the crisis of the expedition is upon us: if I succeed,
all is won; if I fail, all is lost. In such strait, what
should we do between this and then? Let us not trust in
our cunning and strength: we are Christians; as such, put
we our faith in Christ and the Holy Mother. Olmedo,
father, go thou to the chapel, and get ready the altar. The
night to confession and prayer; and let the morning find us
on our knees shrieved and blessed. We are done, comrades.
Let the chamber be cleared. To the chapel all.”

And they did the bidding cheerfully. All night the good
father was engaged in holy work, confessing, shrieving, praying.
So the morning found them.

11. CHAPTER XI.
THE CHRISTIAN TAKES CARE OF HIS OWN.

HUALPA returned to the city about the time the stars,
which in that clime and season herald the morning,
take their places in the sky. He had lightened his heart,
and received the sympathy of a lover in return; he had told
the great things done and promised by the king, and sorrowed
that his friend could take no part in the events which,
he imagined, were to make the day heroic forever; and now,
his enthusiasm of youth sobered by the plaints to which he
had listened while traversing the dusky walks of the beautiful

garden, he clomb the stairs of the teocallis. Before
the day was fairly dawned, he was at his post, waiting,
dreaming of Nenetzin, and hearkening to the spirit-songs of
ambition, always so charming to unpractised souls.

And the lord Cuitlahua perfected his measures. On all
the dikes, and at the entrance of all the canals, guards were
stationed. The bridges nearest the palace occupied by the
strangers were held by chosen detachments. Except those
thus detailed, the entire military in the city were pent in the
temples. And to all, including the lord steward, the proper
orders were confided. All awaited the signal.

And the king, early in the night, ignorant of the flight
of Nenetzin, had come from Chapultepec to his palace in the
capital. He retired as he was wont, and slept the sleep as
restful to a mind long distracted by irresolution as to a
body exhausted by labor; such slumber as comes to him who,
in time of doubt, involving all dearest interests, at last discovers
what his duty is, and, fully determined, simply awaits
the hour of performance, trustful of the action taken, and of
the good-will of the god or gods of his faith.

On the side of the Christians, the preparation, more simple,
was also complete. From mass the little host went to
breakfast, then to arms. The companies formed; even the
Tlascalans behaved as if impressed with a sense that their
fate had been challenged.

To the captains, again convoked in the audience-chamber,
Cortes detailed his plan of operation. His salutation of each
was grave and calm. Though very watchful, they heard him
without question; and when they went out, they might
have said, The hour of trial is come, and now will be seen
which holds the conquering destiny, — the God of the Christian
or that of the Aztec.

From the council, Alvarado went first to Marina; finding
that Nenetzin slept, he joined his companions in the great

court, where, gay and careless, he carolled a song, and twirled
his sword, and, in thought of smiling fortune and a princely
Indian love, walked complacently to and fro. And so wait,
ready for action, the Christian lover and the heathen, — one
in the palace, the other in the temple, — both, in fancy,
lord of the same sweet mistress.

At the stated hour, as had been the custom, the three
lords came, in splendid costume, and with stately ceremonial,
bringing the king's compliments, and asking Cortes will
for the day. And they returned with compliments equally
courteous and deceptive, taking with them Orteguilla, the
page, instructed to inform the monarch that directly, if such
were the royal pleasure, Malinche would be happy to visit
him in his palace.

A little later there went out parties of soldiers, apparently
to view the city; yet the point was noticeable that, besides being
fully armed, each was in charge of a chosen subordinate.
Later, the army was drawn up, massed in the garden;
the matches of the gunners were lighted; the horsemen
stood at their bridles; the Tlascalans were stationed
to defend the outer walls. De Oli, Morla, Marin, and
Monjarez passed through the lines in careful inspection.

“Heard'st thou when the drum was to be sounded?” asked
De Oli, looking to the sun.

“At noon,” answered Marin.

“Three hours yet, as I judge. Short time, by Our Lady!”

The party was impatient. To their relief, Cortes at last
came out, with his five chosen cavaliers, Sandoval, Alvarado,
Leon, Avila, and Lugo. As he proceeded to the gate, all
eyes turned to him, all hearts became confident, — so much
of power over the weak is there in the look of one master
spirit.

At the gate he waited for the Doña Marina.

“Are ye ready, gentlemen?”

“All ready,” they replied.

“With thee, De Oli, I leave the command. At sight or
sound of attack or combat, come quickly. Charge straight
to the palace, lances in the lead. Bring our horses. Farewell.
Christ and the Mother for us!” And with that,
Cortes stepped into the street.

For a time the party proceeded silently.

“Is not this what the pagans call the beautiful street?”
Sandoval asked.

“Why the question?”

“I have gone through graveyards not more deserted.”

“Thou 'rt right,” said Lugo. “By Our Lady! when last
we went this way, I remember the pavements, doors, porticos,
and roofs were crowded. Now, not a woman or a child.”

“In faith, Señor, we are a show suddenly become stale.”

“Be it so,” replied Leon, sneeringly. “We will give the
public a new trick.”

“Mirad, Señores!” said Cortes. “Last night, all through
this district, particularly along this street, there went patrols,
removing the inhabitants, and making ready for what the
drum is advertised to let loose upon us. Don Pedro, thy
princess hath told the truth.” And looking back to the
towers of the teocallis, he added, after a fit of laughter, “The
fools, the swine! They have undone themselves; or, rather,”
— his face became grave on the instant, — “the Holy Mother
hath undone them for us. Give thanks, gentlemen, our emprise
is already won! Yonder the infidel general hath his
army in waiting for the word of the king. Keep we that
unspoken or undelivered, — only that, — and the way of our
return, prisoner in hand, will be as clear of armed men as
the going is.”

The customary guard of nobles kept the portal of the
palace; the antechamber, however, was crowded to its full
capacity with unarmed courtiers, through whom the Christians

passed with grave assurance. To acquaintances Cortes
bowed courteously. Close by the door of the audience-chamber,
he found Orteguilla conversing with Maxtla, who, at
sight of him, knelt, and, touching the floor with his palm,
offered to conduct the party to the royal presence; such
were his orders. Cortes stopped an instant.

“Hath the king company?” he asked Orteguilla.

“None of account, — a boy and three or four old men.”

“He is ours. Let us on, gentlemen!”

And forthwith they passed under the curtains held aside
for them by Maxtla.

On a dais covered with a carpet of plumaje, the monarch
sat. Three venerable men stood behind him. At his feet,
a little to the right, was the prince Io', in uniform. A flood
of light poured through a window on the northern side of
the chamber, and fell full on the group, bringing out with
intense clearness the rich habiliments of the monarch, and
every feature of his face. The Christians numbered the attendance,
and, trained to measure dangers and discover advantages
by a glance, smiled at the confidence of the treacherous
heathen. Upon the stillness, broken only by their ringing
tread, sped the voice of Cortes.

“Alvarado, Lugo, all of ye, watch well whom we have
here. On your lives, see that the boy escape not.”

Montezuma kept his seat.

“The gods keep you this pleasant morning,” he said. “I
am glad to see you.”

They bowed to him, and Cortes replied, —

“We thank thee, good king. May the Holy Virgin, of
our Christian faith, have thee in care. Thus pray we, than
whom thou hast no truer servants.”

“If you prefer to sit, I will have seats brought.”

“We thank thee again. In the presence of our master, it
is the custom to stand, and he would hold us discourteous if

we did otherwise before a sovereign friend as dear to him as
thou art, great king.”

The monarch waved his hand.

“Your master is no doubt a rare and excellent sovereign,”
he said, then changed the subject. “The lords, whom I
sent to you this morning, reported that all goes well with
you in the palace. I hope so. If anything is wanted, you
have only to speak. My provinces are at your service.”

“The lords reported truly.”

“I am very glad. Thinking of you, Malinche, and studying
to make your contentment perfect, I have wondered if
you have any amusements or games with which to pass the
time.”

As there were not in all the New World, however it might
be in the Old, more desperate gamblers than the cavaliers,
they looked at each other when the translation was concluded,
and smiled at the simplicity of the speaker. Nevertheless,
Cortes replied with becoming gravity, —

“We have our pastimes, good king, as all must have; for
without them, nature hath ordered that the body shall grow
old and the mind incapable. Our pastimes, however, relate
almost entirely to war.”

“That is labor, Malinche.”

“So is hunting,” said Cortes, smiling.

“My practice is not,” answered the monarch, taking the
remark as an allusion to his own love of the sport, and
laughing. “The lords drive the game to me, and my pleasure
is in exercising the skill required to take it. Some day
you must go with me to my preserves over the lake, and I
will show you my modes; but I did not mean that kind
of amusement. I will explain my meaning. Io',” he
said to the prince, who had arisen, “bid Maxtla bring
hither the silver balls. I will teach Malinche to play totoloque.”

“Have a care, gentlemen!” said Cortes, divining the speech
from the action of the speaker. “The lad must stay. And
thou, Marina, tell him so.”

The comely, gentle-hearted Indian woman hastened tremulously
to say, “Most mighty king, Malinche bids me tell
thee that he has heard of the beautiful game, and will be
glad to learn it, but not now. He wishes the prince to remain.”

One step Io' had in the mean time taken, — but one; in
front of him Leon stepped, hand on sword, and menace on
his brow. The blood fled the monarch's face.

“Go not,” he at length said to the boy; and to Cortes, “I
do not understand you, Malinche.”

The time of demand was come. Cortes moved nearer the
dais, and replied, his eyes fixed coldly and steadily on those
of the victim, —

“I have business with thee, king; and until it is concluded,
thou, the prince, and thy councillors must stay. Outcry,
or attempt at escape, will be at peril of life.”

The monarch sat upright, pale and rigid; the ancients
dropped upon their knees. Io' alone was brave; he stepped
upon the platform, as if to defend the royal person. Then
in the same cold, inflexible manner, Cortes proceeded, —

“I have been thy guest, false king, long enough to learn
thee well. The power which, on all occasions, thou hast been
so careful to impress upon me, hath but made thy hypocrisy
the more astonishing. Listen, while I expose thee to thyself.
We started hither at thy invitation. In Cholula, nevertheless,
we were set upon by the army. No thanks to thee that
we are alive to-day. And, in the same connection, when
thou wert upbraided for inviting us, the lords and princes
were told that such was the instruction of one of thy bloody
gods, who had promised here in the capital to deliver us
prisoners for sacrifice.”

Montezuma offered to speak.

“Deny it not, deny it not!” said Cortes, with the slightest
show of passion. “In god or man, such perfidy cannot
be excused. But that is not all. Say nothing about the
command sent the troops near Tuzpan to attack my people;
nor about the demand upon townships under protection of
my royal master for women and children to feed to thy hungry
idols; now —”

Here the king broke in upon the interpreter, —

“I do not understand what Malinche says about my
troops attacking his people at Tuzpan.”

“Thy governor killed one of my captains.”

“Not by my order.”

“Then make good the denial, by sending for the officer
who did the murder, that he may be punished according to
the wickedness of his crime.”

The king took a signet from his wrist, and said to one of
his councillors, “Let this be shown to the governor of that
province. I require him to come here immediately, with all
who were concerned with him at the time spoken of by Malinche.”

The smile with which the monarch then turned to the
Spaniard was lost upon him, for he continued, pitilessly as
before, —

“The punishment of the governor is not enough. I accuse
thee further. Thou treacherous king! Go with me to
the temple, and now, — this instant, — I will show thee thy
brother, with an army at call, waiting thy signal to attack
us in the palace where so lately we received thy royal
welcome.”

The listener started from his seat. Upon his bewildered
faculties flashed the remembrance of how carefully and with
what solemn injunction he had locked his plans of war in
the breasts of the members of his family, gathered about him

on the azoteas at Chapultepec. His faith in them forbade
suspicion. Whence then the exposure? And to the dealer
in mysteries Mystery answered, “The gods!” If his former
faith in the divinity of the stranger came not back, now,
at least, he knew him sustained by powers with which contention
were folly. He sunk down again; his head dropped
upon his struggling breast; — HE WAS CONQUERED!

And the stern Spaniard, as if moved by the sight, said,
in a softened voice, —

“I know not of thy religion; but there is a law of
ours, — a mercy of the dear Christ who hath us in his
almighty keeping, — by which every sin may be atoned by
sacrifices, not of innocent victims, but of the sinner's self. In
the world I come from, so much is the law esteemed, that
kings greater than thou have laid down their crowns, the
better to avail themselves of its salvation. Thou art an unbeliever,
and I may do wrong, — if so, I pray pardon of the
Holy Ghost that heareth me, — I may do wrong, I say, but,
infidel as thou art, if thou wilt obey the precept, thou shalt
have the benefit of the privilege. I do not want war which
would end in thy destruction and the ruin of thy city and
people; therefore I make thee a proposal. Hear me!”

The unhappy king raised his head, and listened eagerly.

“Arise, and go with us to our quarters, and take up thy
abode there. King shalt thou continue. Thy court can go
with thee, and thou canst govern from one palace as well
as another. To make an end of speech,” — and Cortes
raised his hand tightly clenched, — “to make an end of
speech, finally and plainly, choose now: go with us or die!
I have not brought these officers without a purpose.”

All eyes centred on the pale face of the monarch, and the
stillness of the waiting was painful and breathless. At
last, from the depths of his tortured soul, up rose a sparkle
of resentment.

“Who ever heard of a great prince, like myself, voluntarily
leaving his own palace to become a prisoner in the hands
of a stranger?”

“Prisoner! Not so. Hear me again. Court, household,
and power, with full freedom for its exercise, and the treatment
due a crowned prince, — all these shalt thou have. So,
in my master's name, I pledge thee.”

“No, Malinche, press me not so hardly. Were I to consent
to such a degradation, my people would not. Take one
of my sons rather. This one,” — and he laid his hand on
Io's shoulder, — “whom I love best, and have thought to
make my successor. Take him as hostage; but spare me
this infamy.”

The debate continued; an hour passed.

“Gentlemen, why waste words on this wretched barbarian?”
exclaimed Leon, at last, half drawing his sword,
while his face darkened with dreadful purpose. “We cannot
recede now. In Christ's name, let us seize him, or
plunge our swords in his body!”

The captains advanced, baring their swords; Cortes retired
a step, as if to make way for them. Brief time remained for
decision. Trembling and confused, the monarch turned to
Marina, and asked, “What did the teule say?”

As became a gentle woman, fearful lest death be done before
her, she replied, —

“O king, I pray you make no further objection. If you
yield, they will treat you kindly; if you refuse, they will
kill you. Go with them, I pray you.'

Upon the advance of the captains, Io' stepped in front of
the king; as they hesitated, either waiting Cortes' order or
the answer to Marina's prayer, he knelt, and clasped his
father's knees, and cried tearfully, —

“Do not go, O king! Rather than endure such shame,
let us die!”

Stupefied, almost distraught, the monarch seemed not
to hear the heroic entreaty. His gaze was on the face of
Cortes, now as impenetrable and iron-like as the armor on
his breast. “The gods have abandoned me!” he cried,
despairingly. “I am lost! Malinche, I will go with you!”
His head drooped, and his hands fell nerveless on the chair.

The boy arose, and turned to the conquerors, every feature
convulsed with hate.

“Thanks, good king, thanks!” said Cortes, smiling.
“Thou hast saved my soul a sin. I will be thy friend till
death!”

Thereupon, he stepped forward, and kissed the royal hand,
which fell from his lips as if palsied — I will not say profaned
— by the touch. And, one after another, Leon, Lugo,
Avila, Alvarado, and Sandoval approached, and knelt on the
dais, and in like manner saluted the fallen prince.

“Are you done, Malinche?” the victim asked, when
somewhat revived.

“What I wish now, above all things,” was the reply,
spoken with rare pretence of feeling, “is to be assured, good
king, that we are forgiven the pain we have caused thee,
since, though of our doing, it was not of our will as much as
of the ambition of some of thy own lords and chiefs. What
I desire next is, that thy goodness may not be without immediate
results. I and my officers, thy son and these councillors,
are witnesses that thou didst consent to my proposal
out of great love of peace and thy people. To secure the
object, — noble beyond praise, — the lords here in the palace,
and those of influence throughout the provinces, must
be convinced that thou dost go with me of thine own free
will; not as prisoner, but as trusted guest returning the favor
of guest. How to do that best is in thy knowledge more
than mine. Only, what thy judgment approveth, set about
quickly. We wait thy orders.”

“Io', uncles,” said Montezuma, his eyes dim with tears,
“as you love me, be silent as to what has here taken place.
I charge you that you tell it to no man, while I live. Bid
Maxtla come.”

Summoning all his strength to meet the shrewd eyes of
the chief, the monarch sat up with a show of cheerfulness.

“Bring my palanquin,” he said, after Maxtla's salutation;
“and direct some of the elder lords to be ready to accompany
me without arms or ceremony. As advised by Huitzil',
and these good uncles, I have resolved to go, and for a time
abide with Malinche in the old palace. Send an officer, with
the workmen, to prepare quarters for my use and that of the
court. Publish my intention. Go quickly.

Afterwhile from the palace issued a procession which no
man, uninformed, might look upon and say was not a funeral:
in the palanquin, the dead; on its right and left, the guard
of honor; behind, the friends, a long train, speechless and
sorrowing. The movement was quiet and solemn; three
squares and as many bridges were passed, when, from down
the street, a man came running with all speed. He gained
the rear of the cortege, and spoke a few hurried words there;
a murmur arose, and spread, and grew into a furious outcry, —
a moment more, and the cortege was dissolved in tumult. At
the last corner on the way, the cavaliers had been joined by
some of the armed parties, who, for the purpose, had preceded
them into the city in the early morning; these closed firmly
around, a welcome support.

“Mirad!” cried Cortes, loudly. “The varlets are without
arms. Let no one strike until I say so.”

The demonstration increased. Closer drew the mob, some
adjuring the monarch, some threatening the Christians. That
an understanding of the situation was abroad was no longer
doubtful; still Cortes held his men in check, for he knew,
if blood were shed now, the common-sense of the people

would refuse the story he so relied upon, — that the king's
coming was voluntary.

“Can our guest,” he asked of Sandoval, “be sleeping the
while?”

“Treachery, Señor.”

“By God's love, captain, if it so turn out, drive thy sword
first of all things through him!”

While yet he spoke, the curtains of the carriage were
drawn aside; the carriers halted instantly; and of the concourse,
all the natives fell upon their knees, and became still,
so that the voice of the monarch was distinctly heard.

“The noise disturbs me,” he said, in ordinary tone. “Let
the street be cleared.”

The lords whom he addressed kept their faces to the
ground.

“What is the cause of the clamor?”

No one answered. A frown was gathering upon his face,
when an Aztec sprang up, and drew near him. He was
dressed as a citizen of the lower class. At the side of the
carriage he stopped, and touched the pavement with his palm.

“Guatamozin!” said the king, more in astonishment than
anger.

“Even so. O king, — father, — to bear a soldier's part
to-day, I have dared your judgment.” Lifting his eyes to
the monarch's, he endured his gaze steadily, but, at the same
time, with such an expression of sympathy that reproof was
impossible. “I am prepared for any sentence; but first, let
me know, let these lords and all the people know, is this
going in truth of your own free will?”

Montezuma regarded him fixedly, but not in wrath.

“I conjure you, uncle, father, king, — I conjure you, by
our royal blood, by our country, by all the gods, — are these
strangers guests or guards? Speak, — I pray you, speak but
one word.”

The poor, stricken monarch heard, and was penetrated by
the tone of anguish; yet he replied, —

“My brother's son insults me by his question. I am still
the king, — free to go and come, to reward and punish.”

He would have spoken further, and kindly, but for the interruption
of Cortes, who cried impatiently, —

“Ho, there! Why this delay? Forward!”

And thereupon Avila stepped rudely and insolently between
the king and 'tzin. The latter's broad breast swelled,
and his eyes blazed; he seemed like a tiger about to leap.

“Beware!” said the king, and the warning was in time.
“Beware! Not here, not now!”

The 'tzin turned to him with a quick, anxious look of inquiry;
a revulsion of feeling ensued; he arose, and said,
with bowed head, “I understand. O king, if we help not
ourselves, we are lost. `Not here, not now.' I catch the
permission.” Pointing to Avila, he added, “This man's life
is in my hands, but I pass it by; thine, O uncle, is the most
precious. We will punish these insolents, but not here; we
will give you rescue, but not now. Be of cheer.”

He stepped aside, and the melancholy cortege passed on,
leaving the lords and people and the empire, as represented
by them, in the dust. Before the teocallis, under the eyes
of Cuitlahua, within hailing distance of the ten thousand
warriors, the doughty cavaliers bore their prize unchallenged.

And through the gates of the old palace, through the files
of Spaniards in order of battle waiting, they also carried
what they thought was the empire, won without a blow, to
be parcelled at pleasure, — its lands, its treasure, its cities,
and its people.