“I am the great king’s slave,—his poorest slave, but not of his guard.”
Montezuma regarded him attentively.
“It cannot be; an assassin would not have interfered with the ocelot. Take up the knife, and follow me.”
Hualpa obeyed. On the way they met a number of the guard running in great perplexity; but without a word to them, the monarch walked on, and into the palace. In a room where there were tables and seats, books and writing materials, maps on the walls and piles of them on the floor, he stopped, and seated himself.
“You know what truth is, and how the gods punish falsehood,” he began; then, abruptly, “How came you in the garden?”
Hualpa fell on his knees, laid his palm on the floor, and answered without looking up, for such he knew to be a courtly custom.
“Who may deceive the wise king Montezuma? I will answer as to the gods: the gardens are famous in song and story, and I was tempted to see them, and climbed the wall. When you came to the fountain, I was close by; and while waiting a chance to escape, I saw the ocelot creeping upon you; and—and—the great king is too generous to deny his slave the pardon he risked his life for.”
“Who are you?”
“I am from the province of Tihuanco. My name is Hualpa.”
“Hualpa, Hualpa,” repeated the king, slowly. “You serve Guatamozin.”
“He is my friend and master, O king.”
Montezuma started. “Holy gods, what madness! My people have sought you far and wide to feed you to the tiger in the tank.”
Hualpa faltered not.
“O king, I know I am charged with the murder of Iztlil’, the Tezcucan. Will it please you to hear my story?”
And taking the assent, he gave the particulars of the combat, not omitting the cause. “I did not murder him,” he concluded. “If he is dead, I slew him in fair fight, shield to shield, as a warrior may, with honor, slay a foeman.”
“And you carried him to Tecuba?”
“Before the judges, if you choose, I will make the account good.”
“Be it so!” the monarch said, emphatically. “Two days hence, in the court, I will accuse you. Have there your witnesses: it is a matter of life and death. Now, what of your master, the ’tzin?”
The question was dangerous, and Hualpa trembled, but resolved to be bold.
“If it be not too presumptuous, most mighty king,—if a slave may seem to judge his master’s judgment by the offer of a word—”
“Speak! I give you liberty.”
“I wish to say,” continued Hualpa, “that in the court there are many noble courtiers who would die for you, O king; but, of them all, there is not one who so loves you, or whose love could be made so profitable, being backed by skill, courage, and wisdom, as the generous prince whom you call my master. In his banishment he has chosen to serve you; for the night the strangers landed in Cempoalla, he left his palace in Iztapalapan, and entered their camp in the train of the governor of Cotastlan. Yesterday a courier, whom you rewarded richly for his speed in coming, brought you portraits of the strangers, and pictures of their arms and camp; that courier was Guatamozin, and his was the hand that wrought the artist’s work. O, much as your faculties become a king, you have been deceived: he is not a traitor.”
“Who told you such a fine minstrel’s tale?”
“The gods judge me, O king, if, without your leave, I had so much as dared kiss the dust at your feet. What you have graciously permitted me to tell I heard from the ’tzin himself.”
Montezuma sat a long time silent, then asked, “Did your master speak of the strangers, or of the things he saw?”
“The noble ’tzin regards me kindly, and therefore spoke with freedom. He said, mourning much that he could not be at your last council to declare his opinion, that you were mistaken.”
The speaker’s face was cast down, so that he could not see the frown with which the plain words were received, and he continued,—
“‘They are not teules,’[36] so the ’tzin said, ‘but men, as you and I are; they eat, sleep, drink, like us; nor is that all,—they die like us; for in the night,’ he said, ‘I was in their camp, and saw them, by torchlight, bury the body of one that day dead.’ And then he asked, ‘Is that a practice among the gods?’ Your slave, O king, is not learned as a paba, and therefore believed him.”
Montezuma stood up.
“Not teules! How thinks he they should be dealt with?”
“He says that, as they are men, they are also invaders, with whom an Aztec cannot treat. Nothing for them but war!”
To and fro the monarch walked. After which he returned to Hualpa and said,—
“Go home now. To-morrow I will send you a tilmatli for the one you wear. Look to your wounds, and recollect the trial. As you love life, have there your proof. I will be your accuser.”
“As the great king is merciful to his children, the gods will be merciful to him. I will give myself to the guards,” said the hunter, to whom anything was preferable to the closet in the restaurant.
“No, you are free.”
Hualpa kissed the floor, and arose, and hurried from the palace to the house of Xoli on the tianguez. The effect of his appearance upon that worthy, and the effect of the story afterwards, may be imagined. Attention to the wounds, a bath, and sound slumber put the adventurer in a better condition by the next noon.
And from that night he thought more than ever of glory and Nenetzin.
Next day, after the removal of the noon comfitures, and when the princess Tula had gone to the hammock for the usual siesta, Nenetzin rushed into her apartment unusually excited.
“O, I have something so strange to tell you,—something so strange!” she cried, throwing herself upon the hammock.
Her face was bright and very beautiful. Tula looked at her a moment, then put her lips lovingly to the smooth forehead.
“By the Sun! as our royal father sometimes swears, my sister seems in earnest.”
“Indeed I am; and you will go with me, will you not?”
“Ah! you want to take me to the garden to see the dead tiger, or, perhaps, the warrior who slew it, or—now I have it—you have seen another minstrel.”
Tula expected the girl to laugh, but was surprised to see her eyes fill with tears. She changed her manner instantly, and bade the slave who had been sitting by the hammock fanning her, to retire. Then she said,—
“You jest so much, Nenetzin, that I do not know when you are serious. I love you: now tell me what has happened.”
The answer was given in a low voice.
“You will think me foolish, and so I am, but I cannot help it. Do you recollect the dream I told you the night on the chinampa?”
“The night Yeteve came to us? I recollect.”
“You know I saw a man come and sit down in our father’s palace,—a stranger with blue eyes and fair face, and hair and beard like the silk of the ripening maize. I told you I loved him, and would have none but him; and you laughed at me, and said he was the god Quetzal’. O Tula, the dream has come back to me many times since; so often that it seems, when I am awake, to have been a reality. I am childish, you think, and very weak; you may even pity me; but I have grown to look upon the blue-eyed as something lovable and great, and thought of him is a part of my mind; so much so that it is useless for me to say he is not, or that I am loving a shadow. And now, O dear Tula, now comes the strange part of my story. Yesterday, you know, a courier from Cempoalla brought our father some pictures of the strangers lately landed from the sea. This morning I heard there were portraits among them, and could not resist a curiosity to see them; so I went, and almost the first one I came to,—do not laugh,—almost the first one I came to was the picture of him who comes to me so often in my dreams. I looked and trembled. There indeed he was; there were the blue eyes, the yellow hair, the white face, even the dress, shining as silver, and the plumed crest. I did not stay to look at anything else, but hurried here, scarcely knowing whether to be glad or afraid. I thought if you went with me I would not be afraid. Go you must; we will look at the portrait together.” And she hid her face, sobbing like a child.
“It is too wonderful for belief. I will go,” said Tula.
She arose, and the slave brought and threw over her shoulders the long white scarf so invariably a part of an Aztec woman’s costume. Then the sisters took their way to the chamber where the pictures were kept,—the same into which Hualpa had been led the night before. The king was elsewhere giving audience, and his clerks and attendants were with him. So the two were allowed to indulge their curiosity undisturbed.
Nenetzin went to a pile of manuscripts lying on the floor. The elder sister was startled by the first picture exposed; for she recognized the handiwork, long since familiar to her, of the ’tzin. Nor was she less surprised by the subject, which was a horse, apparently a nobler instrument for a god’s revenge than man himself.
Next she saw pictured a horse, its rider mounted, and in Christian armor, and bearing shield, lance, and sword. Then came a cannon, the gunner by the carriage, his match lighted, while a volume of flame and smoke was bursting from the throat of the piece. A portrait followed; she lifted it up, and trembled to see the hero of Nenetzin’s dream!
“Did I not tell you so, O Tula?” said the girl, in a whisper.
“The face is pleasant and noble,” the other answered, thoughtfully; “but I am afraid. There is evil in the smile, evil in the blue eyes.”
The rest of the manuscripts they left untouched. The one absorbed them; but with what different feelings! Nenetzin was a-flutter with pleasure, restrained by awe. Impressed by the singularity of the vision, as thus realized, a passionate wish to see the man or god, whichever he was, and hear his voice, may be called her nearest semblance to reflection. Like a lover in the presence of the beloved, she was glad and contented, and asked nothing of the future. But with Tula, older and wiser, it was different. She was conscious of the novelty of the incident; at the same time a presentiment, a gloomy foreboding, filled her soul. In slumber we sometimes see spectres, and they sit by us and smile; yet we shrink, and cannot keep down anticipations of ill. So Tula was affected by what she beheld.
She laid the portrait softly down, and turned to Nenetzin, who had now no need to deprecate her laugh.
“The ways of the gods are most strange. Something tells me this is their work. I am afraid; let us go.”
And they retired, and the rest of the day, swinging in the hammock, they talked of the dream and the portrait, and wondered what would come of them.
Hualpa’s adventure in the garden made a great stir in the palace and the city. Profound was the astonishment, therefore, when it became known that the savior of the king and the murderer of the Tezcucan were one and the same person, and that, in the latter character, he was to be taken into court and tried for his life, Montezuma himself acting as accuser. Though universally discredited, the story had the effect of drawing an immense attendance at the trial.
“Ho, Chalcan! Fly not your friends in that way!”
So the broker was saluted by some men nobly dressed, whom he was about passing on the great street. He stopped, and bowed very low.
“A pleasant day, my lords! Your invitation honors me; the will of his patrons should always be law to the poor keeper of a portico. I am hurrying to the trial.”
“Then stay with us. We also have a curiosity to see the assassin.”
“My good lord speaks harshly. The boy, whom I love as a son, cannot be what you call him.”
The noble laughed. “Take it not ill, Chalcan. So much do I honor the hand that slew the base Tezcucan that I care not whether it was in fair fight or by vantage taken. But what do you know about the king being accuser to-day?”
“So he told the boy.”
“Incredible!”
“I will not quarrel with my lord on that account,” rejoined the broker. “A more generous master than Montezuma never lived. Are not the people always complaining of his liberality? At the last banquet, for inventing a simple drink, did he not give me, his humblest slave, a goblet fit for another king?”
“And what is your drink, though ever so excellent, to the saving his life? Is not that your argument, Chalcan?”
“Yes, my lord, and at such peril! Ah, you should have seen the ocelot when taken from the tank! The keepers told me it was the largest and fiercest in the museum.”
Then Xoli proceeded to edify his noble audience with all the gossip pertaining to the adventure; and as his object was to take into court some friends for the luckless hunter more influential than himself, he succeeded admirably. Every few steps there were such expressions as, “It would be pitiful if so brave a fellow should die!” “If I were king, by the Sun, I would enrich him from the possessions of the Tezcucan!” And as they showed no disposition to interrupt him, his pleading lasted to the house of justice, where the company arrived not any too soon to procure comfortable seats.
The court-house stood at the left of the street, a little retired from the regular line of buildings. The visitors had first to pass through a spacious hall, which brought them to a court-yard cemented under foot, and on all sides bounded with beautiful houses. Then, on the right, they saw the entrance to the chamber of justice, grotesquely called the Tribunal of God,[37] in which, for ages, had been administered a code, vindictive, but not without equity. The great door was richly carved; the windows high and broad, and lined with fluted marble; while a projecting cornice, tastefully finished, gave airiness and beauty to the venerable structure.
The party entered the room with profoundest reverence. On a dais sat the judge; in front of him was the stool bearing the skull with the emerald crown and gay plumes. Turning from the plain tapestry along the walls, the spectators failed not to admire the jewels that blazed with almost starry splendor from the centre of the canopy above him.
The broker, not being of the class of privileged nobles, found a seat with difficulty. To his comfort, however, he was placed by the side of an acquaintance.
“You should have come earlier, Chalcan; the judge has twice used the arrow this morning.”
“Indeed!”
“Once against a boy too much given to pulque,—a drunkard. With the other doubtless you were acquainted.”
“Was he noble?”
“He had good blood, at least, being the son of a Tetzmellocan, who died immensely rich. The witnesses said the fellow squandered his father’s estate almost as soon as it came to him.”
“Better had he been born a thief,”[38] said Xoli, coolly.
Suddenly, four heralds, with silver maces, entered the court-room, announcing the monarch. The people fell upon their knees, and so remained until he was seated before the dais. Then they arose, and, with staring eyes, devoured the beauty of his costume, and the mysterious sanction of manner, office, power, and custom, which the lovers of royalty throughout the world have delighted to sum up in the one word,—majesty. The hum of voices filled the chamber. Then, by another door, in charge of officers, Hualpa appeared, and was led to the dais opposite the king. Before an Aztecan court there was no ceremony. The highest and the lowliest stood upon a level: such, at least, was the beautiful theory.
So intense was the curiosity to see the prisoner that the spectators pressed upon each other, for the moment mindless of the monarch’s presence.
“A handsome fellow!” said an old cacique, approvingly.
“Only a boy, my lord!” suggested the critic.
“And not fierce-looking, either.”
“Yes—”
“No—”
“He might kill, but in fair fight: so I judge him.”
And that became the opinion amongst the nobles.
“Your friend seems confident, Xoli. I like him,” remarked the Chalcan’s acquaintance.
“Hush! The king accuses.”
“The king, said you!” And the good man, representing the commonalty, was frozen into silence.
In another quarter, one asked, “Does he not wear the ’tzin’s livery?”
The person interrogated covered his mouth with both hands, then drew to the other’s ear, and whispered,—
“Yes, he’s a ’tzin’s man, and that, they say, is his crime.”
The sharp voice of the executive officer of the court rang out, and there was stillness almost breathless. Up rose the clerk, a learned man, keeper of the records, and read the indictment; that done, he laid the portrait of the accused on the table before the judge; then the trial began.
The judge, playing carelessly with the fatal arrow, said,—“Hualpa, son of Tepaja, the Tihuancan, stand up, and answer.”
And the prisoner arose, and saluted court and king, and answered, “It is true, that on the night of the banquet, I fought the Tezcucan; by favor of the gods, I defeated, without slaying him. He is here in person to acquit me.”
“Bring the witness,” said the judge.
Some of the officers retired; during their absence a solemn hush prevailed; directly they returned, carrying a palanquin. Right before the dais they set it down, and drew aside the curtains. Then slowly the Tezcucan came forth,—weak, but unconquered. At the judge he looked, and at the king, and all the fire of his haughty soul burned in the glance. Borrowing strength from his pride, he raised his head high, and said, scornfully,—
“The power of my father’s friend is exceeding great; he speaks, and all things obey him. I am sick and suffering; but he bade me come, and I am here. What new shame awaits me?”
Montezuma answered, never more a king than then: “’Hualpill was wise; his son is foolish; for the memory of the one I spare the other. The keeper of this sacred place will answer why you are brought here. Look that he pardons you lightly as I have.”
Then the judge said, “Prince of Tezcuco, you are here by my order. There stands one charged with your murder. Would you have had him suffer the penalty? You have dared be insolent. See, O prince, that before to-morrow you pay the treasurer ten thousand quills of gold. See to it.” And, returning the portrait to the clerk, he added, “Let the accused go acquit.”
“Ah! said I not so, said I not so?” muttered the Chalcan, rubbing his hands joyfully, and disturbing the attentive people about him.
“Hist, hist!” they said, impatiently. “What more? hearken!”
Hualpa was kneeling before the monarch.
“Most mighty king,” he said, “if what I have done be worthy reward, grant me the discharge of this fine.”
“How!” said Montezuma, amazed. “The Tezcucan is your enemy!”
“Yet he fought me fairly, and is a warrior.”
The eyes of the king sought those of Iztlil’.
“What says the son of ’Hualpilli?”
The latter raised his head with a flash of the old pride. “He is a slave of Guatamozin’s: I scorn the intercession. I am yet a prince of Tezcuco.”
Then the monarch went forward, and sat by the judge. Not a sound was heard, till he spoke.
“Arise, and come near,” he said to Hualpa. “I will do what becomes me.”
His voice was low and tremulous with feeling, and over his face came the peculiar suffusion of sadness afterwards its habitual expression. The hunter kissed the floor at his feet, and remained kneeling. Then he continued,—
“Son of the Tihuancan, I acknowledge I owe my life to you, and I call all to hear the acknowledgment. If the people have thought this prosecution part of my gratitude,—if they have marvelled at my appearing as your accuser, much have they wronged me. I thought of reward higher than they could have asked for you; but I also thought to try you. A slave is not fit to be a chief, nor is every chief fit to be a king. I thought to try you: I am satisfied. When your fame goes abroad, as it will; when the minstrels sing your valor; when Tenochtitlan talks of the merchant’s son, who, in the garden, slew the tiger, and saved the life of Montezuma,—let them also tell how Montezuma rewarded him; let them say I made him noble.”
Thereupon he arose, and transferred the panache from his head to Hualpa’s. Those close by looked at the gift, and saw, for the first time, that it was not the crown, but the crest of a chief or cacique. Then they knew that the trial was merely to make more public the honors designed.
“Let them say further,” he continued, “that with my own hand I made him a warrior of the highest grade.” And, bending over the adventurer, he clasped around his neck the collar of the supreme military order of the realm.[39] “Nor is that all. Rank, without competence, is a vexation and shame. At the foot of Chapultepec, on the shore of the lake, lie an estate and a palace of which I have been proud. Let it be said, finally, that I gave them to enrich him and his forever.” He paused, and turned coldly to the Tezcucan. “But as to the son of ’Hualpilli, his fine must stand; such pride must be punished. He shall pay the gold, or forfeit his province.” Then, outstretching toward the audience both his arms, he said, so as to be heard throughout the chamber, “Now, O my children, justice has been done!”
The words were simple; but the manner, royal as a king’s and patriarchal as a pontiff’s, brought every listener to his knees.
“Stand up, my lord Hualpa! Take your place in my train. I will return to the palace.”
With that he passed out.
And soon there was but one person remaining,—Iztlil’, the Tezcucan. Brought from Tlacopan by officers of the court, too weak to walk, without slaves to help him, at sight of the deserted hall his countenance became haggard, the light in his hollow eyes came and went, and his broad breast heaved passionately; in that long, slow look he measured the depth of his fall.
“O Tezcuco, Tezcuco, city of my fathers!” he cried aloud. “This is the last wrong to the last of thy race of kings.”
A little after he was upon a bench exhausted, his head covered by his mantle. Then a hand was laid upon his shoulder; he looked up and saw Hualpa.
“How now! Has the base-born come to enjoy his triumph? I cannot strike. Laugh and revile me; but remember, mine is the blood of kings. The gods loved my father, and will not abandon his son. In their names I curse you!”
“Tezcucan, you are proud to foolishness,” said the hunter, calmly. “I came to serve you. Within an hour I have become master of slaves—”
“And were yourself a slave!”
“Well, I won my freedom; I slew a beast and conquered a—But, prince, my slaves are at the door. Command them to Tlacopan.”
“Play courtier to those who have influence; lean your ambition upon one who can advance it. I am undone.”
“I am not a courtier. The service I offer you springs from a warrior’s motive. I propose it, not to a man of power, but to a prince whose courage is superior to his fortune.”
For a moment the Tezcucan studied the glowing face; then his brows relaxed, and, sighing like a woman, and like a woman overcome by the unexpected gentleness, he bowed his head, and covered his face with his hands, that he might not be accused of tears.
“Let me call the slaves, O prince,” said Hualpa.
Thrice he clapped his hands, whereat four tattooed tamanes stalked into the chamber with a palanquin. Iztlil’ took seat in the carriage, and was being borne away, when he called the hunter.
“A word,” he said, in a voice from which all passion was gone. “Though my enemy, you have been generous, and remembered my misfortunes when all others forsook me. Take with you this mark. I do not ask you to wear it, for the time is nearly come when the son of ’Hualpilli will be proscribed throughout the valley; but keep it in witness that I, the son of a king, acknowledged your right and fitness to be a noble. Farewell.”
Hualpa could not refuse a present so delicately given; extending his hand, he received a bracelet of gold, set with an Aztec diamond of immense value. He clasped it upon his arm, and followed the carriage into the street.
And now was come the time of all the year most pleasant,—the time when the maguey was greenest, when the cacti burst into flowers, and in every field women and children, with the strong men, went to pluck the ripened maize. Of the summer, only the wealth and beauty remained. The Goddess of Abundance divided the worship which, at other seasons, was mostly given to Huitzil’ and Tezca’;[40] in her temples the days were all of prayer, hymning, and priestly ceremony. No other towers sent up such columns of the blue smoke so grateful to the dwellers in the Sun; in no other places were there such incessant burning of censers, presentation of gifts, and sacrifice of victims. Throughout the valley the people carolled those songs the sweetest and most millennial of men,—the songs of harvest, peace, and plenty.
I have before said that Tezcuco, the lake, was the especial pride of the Aztecs. When the sky was clear, and the air tranquil, it was very beautiful; but when the king, with his court, all in state, set out for the hunting-grounds on the northern shore, its beauty rose to splendor. By his invitation great numbers of citizens, in style suited to the honor, joined their canoes to the flotilla composing the retinue. And let it not be forgotten that the Aztec loved his canoe as in Christendom the good knight loves his steed, and decorated it with all he knew of art; that its prow, rising high above the water, and touched by the master sculptors, was dressed in garlands and fantastic symbols; that its light and shapely canopy, elegantly trimmed within, was shaded by curtains, and surmounted by trailing streamers; and that the slaves, four, six, and sometimes twelve in number, dipped and drew their flashing paddles in faultless time, and shone afar brilliant in livery. So, when the multitude of vessels cleared the city walls, and with music and songs dashed into the open lake, the very water seemed to dance and quiver with a sensuous pleasure.
In such style did Montezuma one pleasant morning leave his capital. Calm was the lake, and so clear that the reflection of the sky above seemed a bed of blue below. There were music, and shouts, and merry songs, and from the city the cheers and plaudits of the thousands who, from the walls and housetops, witnessed the pageant. And his canoe was the soul of the pomp, and he had with him his favorite minstrel and jester, and Maxtla; yet there was something on his mind that made him indifferent to the scene and prospective sport. Some distance out, by his direction, the slaves so manœuvred that all the flotilla passed him; then he said to Maxtla, “The will has left me. I will not hunt to-day; yet the pastime must go on; a recall now were unkingly. Look out for a way to follow the train, while I return.”
The chief arose, and swept the lake with a bright glance. “Yonder is a chinampa; I can take its master’s canoe.”
“Do so. Give this ring to the lord Cuitlahua, and tell him to conduct the hunt.”
And soon Maxtla was hurrying to the north with the signet, while the monarch was speeding more swiftly to the south.
“For Iztapalapan,” said the latter to his slaves. “Take me there before the lords reach the hunting-grounds, and you shall have a feast to-night.”
They bent to the paddles, and rested not until he saw the white houses of the city, built far into the lake in imitation of the capital.
“Not to the town, but the palace of Guatamozin,” he then said. “Speed! the sun is rising high.”
Arrived at the landing, Montezuma set forward alone to the palace. The path led into a grove of cedar and wild orange-trees, interspersed with ceibas, the true kings of the forests of New Mexico. The air was sweet with perfume; birds sang to each other from the coverts; the adjacent cascades played their steady, muffled music; and altogether morning on the lake was less beautiful than morning in the tzin’s garden. In the multitude of walks he became bewildered; but, as he was pleased by all he beheld, he walked on without consulting the sun. At length, guided by the sound of voices, he came to the arena for martial games; and there he found Hualpa and Io’ practising with the bow.
He had been wont to regard Io’ as a child, unripe for any but childish amusements, and hardly to be trusted alone. Absorbed in his business of governing, he had not observed how increase of years brought the boy strength, stature, and corresponding tastes. Now he was admonished of his neglect: the stripling should have been familiarized with bow, sling, and maquahuitl; men ought to have been given him for comrades; the warrior’s school, even the actual field, had been better for him than the nursery. An idea of ambition also occurred to the monarch. When he himself was gathered to his fathers, who was to succeed him on the throne? Cuitlahua, Cacama, the lord of Tlacopan? Why not Io’?
Meanwhile the two diligently pursued their sport. At the moment the king came upon them, Hualpa was giving some directions as to the mode of holding the brave weapon. The boy listened eagerly,—a sign that pleased the observer, for nothing is so easy as to flatter the hope of a dreamy heart. Observing them further, he saw Io’ take the stand, draw the arrow quite to the head, and strike the target. At the second trial, he pierced the centre. Hualpa embraced the scholar joyously; and thereupon the king warmed toward the warrior, and tears blinded his eyes. Advancing into the arena, the clanging of his golden sandals announced his presence.
And they knelt and kissed the earth.
“Stand up!” he said, with the smile which gave his countenance a womanly beauty. And to Hualpa he added, “I thought your palace by Chapultepec would be more attractive than the practice of arms; more credit should have been given the habits of a hunter. I was right to make you noble. But what can you make of Io’?”
“If you will give the time, O king, I can make him of excellent skill.”
“And what says the son of Tecalco?”
Io’ knelt again, saying, “I have a pardon to ask—”
“A pardon! For wishing to be a warrior?”
“If the king will hear me,—I have heard you say that in your youth you divided your days between the camp and the temples, learning at the same time the duties of the priest and the warrior. That I may be able some day to serve you, O king, I have stolen away from Tenochtitlan—”
Montezuma laid his hand tenderly on the boy’s head, and said, “No more. I know all you would say, and will ask the great Huitzil’ to give you strength and courage. Take my permission to be a warrior. Arise, now, and give me the bow. It is long since I pulled the cord, and my hand may have weakened, and my eyes become dim; but I challenge you both! I have a shield wrought of pearl and gold, unfit for the field, yet beautiful as a prize of skill. Who plants an arrow nearest yon target’s heart, his the shield shall be.”
The challenge was accepted, and after preparation, the monarch dropped his mantle, and took the stand. He drew the shaft to his ear with a careless show of skill; and when it quivered in the target about a palm’s breadth below the mark, he said, laughing, “I am at least within the line of the good bowman. A Tlascalan would not have escaped scarless.”
Io’ next took the bow, and was so fortunate as to hit the lower edge of the heart squarely above the king’s bolt.
“Mine is the shield, mine is the shield!” he cried, exultantly. “O that a minstrel were here! I would have a song,—my first song!”
“Very proud!” said the king, good-humoredly. “Know you, boy, the warrior counts his captives only when the battle is ended. Here, lord Hualpa, the boaster should be beaten. Prove your quality. To you there may be more in this trial than a song or a golden shield.”
The hunter took the vacant place; his arrow whistled away, and the report came back from the target. By a happy accident, if such it were, the copper point was planted exactly in the middle of the space between the other two.
More joyous than before arose the cry of Io’, “I have beaten a king and a warrior! Mine is the shield, mine is the shield!”
And the king, listening, said to himself, “I remember my own youth, and its earliest victory, and how I passed from successes at first the most trifling. Ah! who but Huitzil’, father of all the gods, can tell the end? Blessed the day when I can set before him the prospect of a throne instead of a shield!”
The target was brought him, and he measured the distance of each arrow from the centre; and when he saw how exactly Hualpa’s was planted between the others, his subtile mind detected the purpose and the generosity.
“The victory is yours, O my son, and so is the shield,” he said, slowly and thoughtfully. “But ah! were it given you to look with eyes like mine,—with eyes sharpened by age for the discovery of blessings, your rejoicing would be over a friend found, whose love is proof against vanity and the hope of reward.”
Hualpa understood him, and was proud. What was the prize lost to Montezuma gained?
“It grows late; my time is sacred,” said the king. “Lord Hualpa, stay and guide me to the palace. And Io’, be you my courier to the ’tzin. Go before, and tell him I am coming.”
The boy ran ahead, and as they leisurely followed him, the monarch relapsed into melancholy. In the shade of a ceiba tree he stopped, and said, “There is a service you might do me, that lies nearer my heart than any other.”
“The will of the great king is mine,” Hualpa replied, with a low reverence.
“When I am old,” pursued Montezuma, “when the things of earth begin to recede from me, it would be pleasant to have a son worthy to lift the Empire from my shoulders. While I am going up the steps of the temple, a seeker of the holy peace that lies in worship and prayer, the government would not then be a care to disturb me. But I am sensible that no one could thus relieve me unless he had the strong hand of a warrior, and was fearless except of the gods. Io’ is my only hope. From you he first caught the desire of greatness, and you can make him great. Take him as a comrade; love him as a brother; teach him the elements of war,—to wield spear and maquahuitl; to bear shield, to command, and to be brave and generous. Show him the ways of ambition. Above all,”—as he spoke he raised his head and hand, and looked the impersonation of his idea,—“above all, let him know that a king may find his glory as much in the love of his people as in his power. Am I understood?”
Hualpa did not look up, but said, “Am I worthy? I have the skill of hand; but have I the learning?”
“To make him learned belongs to the priests. I only asked you to make him a warrior.”
“Does not that belong to the gods?”
“No: he derives nothing from them but the soul. They will not teach him to launch the arrow.”
“Then I accept the charge. Shall he go with me?”
“Always,—even to battle.”
O mighty king! was the shadow of the coming fate upon thy spirit then?
The visit was unexpected to Guatamozin, and its object a mystery; but he thought only of paying the guest meet honor and respect, for he was still the great king. And so, bareheaded and unarmed, he went forth, and meeting him in the garden, knelt, and saluted him after the manner of the court.
“I am glad to say the word of welcome to my father’s brother. Know, O king, that my house, my garden, and all you behold are yours.”
Hualpa left them; then Montezuma replied, the sadness of his voice softening the austerity of his manner,—
“I have loved you well, Guatamozin. Very good it was to mark you come up from boyhood, and day by day grow in strength and thought. I never knew one so rich in promise. Ours is a proud race, and you seemed to have all its genius. From the beginning you were thoughtful and provident; in the field there was always a victory for you, and in council your words were the soul of policy. O, ill was the day evil came between us, and suspicion shattered the love I bore you! Arise! I have not crossed the lake for explanations; there is that to speak of more important to us both.”
The ’tzin arose, and looked into the monarch’s face, his own suffused with grief.
“Is not a king punished for the wrong he does?”
Montezuma’s brows lowered, chilling the fixed look which was his only answer; and the ’tzin spoke on.
“I cannot accuse you directly; but this I will say, O king: a just man, and a brave, never condemns another upon suspicion.”
The monarch’s eyes blazed with sudden fire, and from his maxtlatl he drew a knife. The ’tzin moved not; the armed hand stopped; an instant each met the other’s gaze, then the weapon was flung away.
“I am a child,” said the king, vexed and ashamed. “When I came here I did not think of the past, I thought only of the Empire; but trouble has devoured my strength of purpose, until my power mocks me, and, most miserable of men, I yearn to fly from myself, without knowing where to find relief. A vague impulse—whence derived, except from intolerable suffering of mind, I know not—brought me to you. O ’tzin, silent be the differences that separate us. Yours I know to be a tongue of undefiled truth; and if not for me now, for our country, and the renown of our fathers, I believe you will speak.”
The shame, the grief, and the self-accusation moved the ’tzin more than the deadly menace.
“Set my feet, O king! set my feet in the way to serve or save my country, and I will tread it, though every step be sown with the terrors of Mictlan.”
“I did not misjudge you, my son,” the king said, when he had again perfectly mastered his feelings.
And Guatamozin, yet more softened, would have given him all the old love, but that Tula, contracted to the Tezcucan, rose to memory. Checking the impulse, he regarded the unhappy monarch sorrowfully.
And the latter, glancing up at the sun, said,—
“It is getting late. I left the train going to the hunting-grounds. By noon they will return, and I wish to be at the city before them. My canoe lies at the landing; walk there with me, and on the way I will speak of the purpose of my visit.”
Their steps as they went were slow, and their faces downcast and solemn. The king was first to speak.
“As the time requires, I have held many councils, and taken the voice of priest, warrior, and merchant; and they agree in nothing but their confusion and fear.”
“The king forgets,—I have been barred his councils, and know not what they considered.”
“True, true; yet there is but one topic in all Anahuac,—in the Empire. Of that, the tamanes talk gravely as their masters; only one class asks, ‘Who are the white men making all this trouble?’ while the other argues, ‘They are here; they are gods. What are we to do?’”
“And what say the councils, O king?”
“It could not be that all would speak as one man. Of different castes, they are differently moved. The pabas believe the Sun has sent us some godly warriors, whom nothing earthly can subdue. They advise patience, friendship, and peace. ‘The eye of Huitzil’ is on them, numbering their marches. In the shade of the great temple he awaits, and there he will consume them with a breath,’—so say the pabas. The warriors are dumb, or else borrow and reassert the opinions of the holy men. ‘Give them gold, if they will depart; if not that, give them peace, and leave the issue to the gods,’—so they say. Cuitlahua says war; so does Cacama. The merchants and the people have no opinion,—nothing but fear. For myself, yesterday I was for war, to-day I am for peace. So far I have chosen to act upon the advice of the pabas. I have sent the strangers many presents and friendly messages, and kept ambassadors in their camp; but while preserving such relations, I have continually forbade their coming to Tenochtitlan. They seem bolder than men. Who but they would have undertaken the march from Cempoalla? What tribes or people could have conquered Tlascala, as they have? You have heard of their battles. Did they not in a day what we have failed to do in a hundred years? With Tlascala for ally, they have set my word at naught, and, whether they be of the sun or the earth, they are now marching upon Cholula, most sacred city of the gods. And from Cholula there is but one more march. Already from the mountains they have looked wistfully down on our valley of gardens, upon Tenochtitlan. O ’tzin, ’tzin, can we forget the prophecy?”
“Shall I say what I think? Will the king hear me?” asked Guatamozin.
“For that I came. Speak!”
“I obey gladly. The opportunity is dearer to me than any honor. And, speaking, I will remember of what race I am.”
“Then—I condemn your policy.”
The monarch’s face remained placid. If the bluff words wounded him, he dissembled consummately.
“It was not well to go so often to the temple,” Guatamozin continued. “Huitzil’ is not there; the pabas have only his name, his image and altar; your breast is his true temple; there ought you to find him. Yesterday, you say, you were for war; the god was with you then: to-day you are for peace; the god has abandoned you. I know not in what words the lords Cuitlahua and Cacama urged their counsel, nor on what grounds. By the Sun! theirs is the only policy that comports with the fame of a ruler of Aztecs. Why speak of any other? For me, I would seek the strangers in battle and die, sooner than a minstrel should sing, or tradition tell, how Guatamozin, overcome by fear, dwelt in their camp praying peace as the beggar prays for bread.”
Literally, Guatamozin was speaking like a king.
“I have heard your pearl-divers say,” he continued, “that they never venture into a strange sea without dread. Like the new sea to them, this subject has been to your people; but however the declaration may strike your ears, O king, I have sounded all its depths. While your priests were asking questions of speechless hearts; while your lords were nursing their love of ease in the shade and perfume of your palace; while your warriors, forgetful of their glory, indulged the fancy that the new enemy were gods; while Montezuma was watching stars, and studying omens, and listening to oracles which the gods know not, hoping for wisdom to be found nowhere as certainly as in his own royal instincts,—face to face with the strangers, in their very camp, I studied them, their customs, language, and nature. Take heart, O king! Gods, indeed! Why, like men, I have seen them hunger and thirst; like men, heard them complain; on the other hand, like men, I have seen them feed and drink to surfeit, and heard them sing from gladness. What means their love of gold? If they come from the Sun, where the dwellings of the gods, and the hills they are built on, are all of gold, why should they be seeking it here? Nor is that all. I listened to the interpreter, through whom their leader explained his religion, and they are worshippers, like us, only they adore a woman, instead of a great, heroic god—”
“A woman!” exclaimed the king.
“Nay, the argument is that they worship at all. Gods do not adore each other!”
They had now walked some distance, and so absorbed had Montezuma been that he had not observed the direction they were pursuing. Emerging suddenly from a cypress-grove, he was surprised to find the path terminate in a small lake, which, at any other time, would have excited his admiration. Tall trees, draped to their topmost boughs in luxuriant vines, encircled the little expanse of water, and in its midst there was an island, crowned with a kiosk or summer-house, and covered with orange shrubs and tapering palms.
“Bear with me, O king,” said Guatamozin, observing his wonder. “I brought you here that you may be absolutely convinced of the nature of our enemies. On that island I have an argument stronger than the vagaries of pabas or the fancies of warriors,—a visible argument.”
He stepped into a canoe lying at the foot of the path, and, with a sweep of the paddle, drove across to the island. Remaining there, he pushed the vessel back.
“Come over, O king, come over, and see.”
Montezuma followed boldly, and was led to the kiosk. The retreat was not one of frequent resort. Several times they were stopped by vines grown across the path. Inside the house, the visitor had no leisure for observation; he was at once arrested by an object that filled him with horror. On a table was a human head. Squarely severed from the body, it stood upright on the base of the neck, looking, with its ghastly, white face, directly toward the entrance. The features were swollen and ferocious; the black brows locked in a frown, with which, as was plainly to be seen, nature had as much to do as death; the hair was short, and on the crown almost worn away; heavy, matted beard covered the cheeks and chin; finally, other means of identification being wanted, the coarse, upturned mustache would have betrayed the Spaniard. Montezuma surveyed the head for some time; at length, mastering his deep loathing, he advanced to the table.
“A teule!” he said, in a low voice.
“A man,—only a man!” exclaimed Guatamozin, so sternly that the monarch shrank as if the blue lips of the dead had spoken to him. “Ask yourself, O king, Do the gods die?”
Montezuma smiled, either at his own alarm or at the ghastly argument.
“Whence came the trophy?” he asked.
“Have you not heard of the battle of Nauhtlan?”
“Surely; but tell it again.”
“When the strangers marched to Tlascala,” the ’tzin began, “their chief left a garrison behind him in the town he founded. I was then on the coast. To convince the people, and particularly the army, that they were men, I determined to attack them. An opportunity soon occurred. Your tax-gatherers happening to visit Nauhtlan, the township revolted, and claimed protection of the garrison, who marched to their relief. At my instance, the caciques drew their bands together, and we set upon the enemy. The Totonaques fled at our first war-cry; but the strangers welcomed us with a new kind of war. They were few in number, but the thunder seemed theirs, and they hailed great stones upon us, and after a while came against us upon their fierce animals. When my warriors saw them come leaping on, they fled. All was lost. I had but one thought more,—a captive taken might save the Empire. I ran where the strangers clove their bloody way. This”—and he pointed to the head—“was the chief, and I met him in the rout, raging like a tiger in a herd of deer. He was bold and strong, and, shouting his battle-cry, he rushed upon me. His spear went through my shield. I wrenched it from him, and slew the beast; then I dragged him away, intending to bring him alive to Tenochtitlan; but he slew himself. So look again! What likeness is there in that to a god? O king, I ask you, did ever its sightless eyes see the glories of the Sun, or its rotting lips sing a song in heaven? Is Huitzil’ or Tezca’ made of such stuff?”
The monarch, turning away, laid his hand familiarly on the ’tzin’s arm, and said,—
“Come, I am content. Let us go.”
And they started for the landing.
“The strangers, as I have said, my son, are marching to Cholula. And Malinche—so their chief is called—now says he is coming to Tenochtitlan.”
“To Tenochtitlan! In its honored name, in the name of its kings and gods, I protest against his coming!”
“Too late, too late!” replied Montezuma, his face working as though a pang were at his heart. “I have invited him to come.”
“Alas, alas!” cried Guatamozin, solemnly. “The day he enters the capital will be the commencement of the woe, if it has not already commenced. The many victories will have been in vain. The provinces will drop away, like threaded pearls when the string is broken. O king, better had you buried your crown,—better for your people, better for your own glory!”
“Your words are bitter,” said the monarch, gloomily.
“I speak from the fulness of a heart darkened by a vision of Anahuac blasted, and her glory gone,” returned the ’tzin. Then in a lament, vivid with poetic coloring, he set forth a picture of the national ruin,—the armies overthrown, the city wasted, the old religion supplanted by a new. At the shore where the canoe was waiting, Montezuma stopped, and said,—
“You have spoken boldly, and I have listened patiently. One thing more: What does Guatamozin say the king should do?”
“It is not enough for the servant to know his own place; he should know his master’s also. I say not what the king should do, but I will say what I would do if I were king.”
Rising from the obeisance with which he accompanied the words, he said, boldly,—
“Cholula should be the grave of the invaders. The whole population should strike them in the narrow streets where they can be best assailed. Shut up in some square or temple, hunger will fight them for us, and win. But I would not trust the citizens alone. In sight of the temples, so close that a conch could summon them to the attack, I would encamp a hundred thousand warriors. Better the desolation of Cholula than Tenochtitlan. If all things else failed, I would take to the last resort; I would call in the waters of Tezcuco and drown the city to the highest azoteas. So would I, O king, if the crown and signet were mine.”
Montezuma looked from the speaker to the lake.
“The project is bold,” he said, musingly; “but if it failed, my son?”
“The failure should be but the beginning of the war.”
“They would say, ‘Montezuma is still the great king.’ If they do not that—”
“What then?”
“Call on the teotuctli. The gods can be made speak whatever your policy demands.”
“Does my son blaspheme?” said Montezuma, angrily.
“Nay, I but spoke of what has happened. Long rule the good god of our fathers!”
Yet the monarch was not satisfied. Never before had discourse been addressed to him in strain so bold.
“They see all things, even our hearts,” he said, turning coldly away. “Farewell. A courier will come for you when your presence is wanted in the city.”
And so they separated, conscious that no healing had been brought to their broken friendship. As the canoe moved off, the ’tzin knelt, but the king looked not that way again.
“What can they mean? Here have they been loitering since morning, as if the lake, like the tianguez, were a place for idlers. As I love the gods, if I knew them, they should be punished!”
So the farmer of the chinampa heretofore described as the property of the princess Tula gave expression to his wrath; after which he returned to his employment; that is, he went crawling among the shrubs and flowers, pruning-knife in hand, here clipping a limb, there loosening the loam. Emerging from the thicket after a protracted stay, his ire was again aroused.
“Still there! Thieves maybe, watching a chance to steal. But we shall see. My work is done, and I will not take eyes off of them again.”
The good man’s alarm was occasioned by the occupants of a canoe, which, since sunrise, had been plying about the garden, never stationary, seldom more than three hundred yards away, yet always keeping on the side next the city. Once in a while the slaves withdrew their paddles, leaving the vessel to the breeze; at such times it drifted so near that swells, something like those of the sea when settling into calm, tumbled the surface; far to the south, however, he discerned the canoe, looking no larger than a blue-winged gull.
“It is coming; I see the prow this way. Is the vase ready?”
“The vase! You forget; there are two of them.”
Hualpa looked down confused.
“Does the ’tzin intend them both for Tula?”
Hualpa was the more embarrassed.
“Flowers have a meaning; sometimes they tell tales. Let me see if I cannot read what the ’tzin would say to Tula.”
And Io’ went forward and brought the vases, and, placing them before him, began to study each flower.
“Io’,” said Hualpa, in a low voice, “but one of the vases is the ’tzin’s.”
“And the other?” asked the prince, looking up.
Hualpa’s face flushed deeper.
“The other is mine. Have you not two sisters?”
Io’s eyes dilated; a moment he was serious, then he burst out laughing.
“I have you now! Nenetzin,—she, too, has a lover.”
The hunter never found himself so at loss; he played with the loops of his escaupil, and refused to take his eyes off the coming canoe. Through his veins the blood ran merrily; in his brain it intoxicated, like wine.
“And pleasanter yet to be made noble and master of a palace over by Chapultepec,” Io’ answered. “But see! Yonder is a canoe.”
“From the city?”
“It is too far off; wait awhile.”
But Hualpa, impatient, leaned over the side, and looked for himself. At the time they were up in the northern part of the lake, at least a league from the capital. Long, regular he could see the voyageurs reclining in the shade of the blue canopy, wrapped in escaupils such as none but lords or distinguished merchants were permitted to wear.
The leisurely voyageurs, on their part, appeared to have a perfect understanding of the light in which they were viewed from the chinampa.
“There he is again! See!” said one of them.
The other lifted the curtain, and looked, and laughed.
“Ah! if we could send an arrow there, just near enough to whistle through the orange-trees. Tula would never hear the end of the story. He would tell her how two thieves came to plunder him; how they shot at him; how narrowly he escaped—”
“And how valiantly he defended the garden. By Our Mother, Io’, I have a mind to try him!”
Hualpa half rose to measure the distance, but fell back at once. “No. Better that we get into no difficulty. We are messengers, and have these flowers to deliver. Besides, the judge is not to my liking.”
“Tula is merciful, and would forgive you for the ’tzin’s sake.”
“I meant the judge of the court,” Hualpa said, soberly. “You never saw him lift the golden arrow, as if to draw it across your portrait. It is pleasanter sitting here, in the shade, rocked by the water.”
“I have heard how love makes women of warriors; now I will see,—I will see how brave you are.”
“Ho, slaves! Put the canoe about; yonder are those whom I would meet,” Hualpa shouted.
The vessel was headed to the south. A long distance had to be passed, and in the time the ambassador recovered himself. Lying down again, and twanging the chord of his bow, he endeavored to compose a speech to accompany the delivery of the vase to Tula. But his thoughts would return to his own love; the laugh with which Io’ received his explanation flattered him; and, true to the logic of the passion, he already saw the vase accepted, and himself the favored of Nenetzin. From that point the world of dreams was but a step distant; he took the step, but was brought back by Io’.
“They recognize us; Nenetzin waves her scarf!”
The approaching vessel was elegant as the art of the Aztecan shipmaster could make it. The prow was sculptured into the head and slender, curved neck of a swan. The passengers, fair as ever journeyed on sea wave, sat under a canopy of royal green, above which floated a panache of long, trailing feathers, colored like the canopy. Like a creature of the water, so lightly, so gracefully, the boat drew nigh the messengers. When alongside, Io’ sprang aboard, and, with boyish ardor, embraced his sisters.
“What has kept you so?”
“We stayed to see twenty thousand warriors cross the causeway,” replied Nenetzin.
“Where can they be going?”
“To Cholula.”
The news excited the boy; turning to speak to Hualpa, he was reminded of his duty.
“Here is a messenger from Guatamozin,—the lord Hualpa, who slew the tiger in the garden.”
The heart of the young warrior beat violently; he touched the floor of the canoe with his palm.
And Tula spoke. “We have heard the minstrels sing the story. Arise, lord Hualpa.”
“The words of the noble Tula are pleasanter than any song. Will she hear the message I bring?”
She looked at Io’ and Nenetzin, and assented.
“Guatamozin salutes the noble Tula. He hopes the blessings of the gods are about her. He bade me say, that four mornings ago the king visited him at his palace, but talked of nothing but the strangers; so that the contract with Iztlil’, the Tezcucan, still holds good. Further, the king asked his counsel as to what should be done with the strangers. He advised war, whereupon the king became angry, and departed, saying that a courier would come for the ’tzin when his presence was wanted in the city; so the banishment also holds good. And so, finally, there is no more hope from interviews with the king. All that remains is to leave the cause to time and the gods.”
A moment her calm face was troubled; but she recovered, and said, with simple dignity,—
“I thank you. Is the ’tzin well and patient?”
“He is a warrior, noble Tula, and foemen are marching through the provinces, like welcome guests; he thinks of them, and curses the peace as a season fruitful of dishonor.”
Nenetzin, who had been quietly listening, was aroused.
“Has he heard the news? Does he not know a battle is to be fought in Cholula?”
“Such tidings will be medicine to his spirit.”
“A battle!” cried Io’. “Tell me about it, Nenetzin.”
“I, too, will listen,” said Hualpa; “for the gods have given me a love of words spoken with a voice sweeter than the flutes of Tezca’.”
The girl laughed aloud, and was well pleased, although she answered,—
“My father gave me a bracelet this morning, but he did not carry his love so far as to tell me his purposes; and I am not yet a warrior to talk to warriors about battles. The lord Maxtla, even Tula here, can better tell you of such things.”
“Of what?” asked Tula.
“Io’ and his friend wish to know all about the war.”
The elder princess mused a moment, and then said gravely, “You may tell the ’tzin, as from me, lord Hualpa, that twenty thousand warriors this morning marched for Cholula; that the citizens there have been armed; and to-morrow, the gods willing, Malinche will be attacked. The king at one time thought of conducting the expedition himself; but, by persuasion of the paba, Mualox, he has given the command to the lord Cuitlahua.”
Io’ clapped his hands. “The gods are kind; let us rejoice, O Hualpa! What marching of armies there will be! What battles! Hasten, and let us to Cholula; we can be there before the night sets in.”
“What!” said Nenetzin. “Would you fight, Io’? No, no; come home with us, and I will put my parrot in a tree, and you may shoot at him all day.”
The boy went to his own canoe, and, returning, held up a shield of pearl and gold. “See! With a bow I beat our father and the lord Hualpa, and this was the prize.”
“That a shield!” Nenetzin said. “A toy,—a mere brooch to a Tlascalan, I have a tortoise-shell that will serve you better.”
The boy frowned, and a rejoinder was on his lips when Tula spoke.
“The flowers in your vases are very beautiful, lord Hualpa. What altar is to receive the tribute?”
Nenetzin’s badinage had charmed the ambassador into forgetfulness of his embassy; so he answered confusedly, “The noble Tula reminds me of my duty. Before now, standing upon the hills of Tihuanco, watching the morning brightening in the east, I have forgotten myself. I pray pardon—”
Tula glanced archly at Nenetzin. “The morning looks pleasant; doubtless, its worshipper will be forgiven.”
And then he knew the woman’s sharp eyes had seen into his inner heart, and that the audacious dream he there cherished was exposed; yet his confusion gave place to delight, for the discovery had been published with a smile. Thereupon, he set one of the vases at her feet, and touched the floor with his palm, and said,—
“I was charged by Guatamozin to salute you again, and say that these flowers would tell you all his hopes and wishes.”
As she raised the gift, her hand trembled; then he discovered how precious a simple Cholulan vase could become; and with that his real task was before him. Taking the other vase, he knelt before Nenetzin.
“I have but little skill in courtierly ways,” he said. “In flowers I see nothing but their beauty; and what I would have these say is, that if Nenetzin, the beautiful Nenetzin, will accept them, she will make me very happy.”
The girl looked at Tula, then at him; then she raised the vase, and, laughing, hid her face in the flowers.
But little more was said; and soon the lashings were cast off, and the vessels separated.
On the return Hualpa stopped at Tenochtitlan, and in the shade of the portico, over a cup of the new beverage, now all the fashion, received from Xoli the particulars of the contemplated attack upon the strangers in Cholula; for, with his usual diligence in the fields of gossip, the broker had early informed himself of all that was to be heard of the affair. And that night, while Io’ dreamed of war, and the hunter of love, the ’tzin paced his study or wandered through his gardens, feverishly solicitous about the result of the expedition.
“If it fail,” he repeated over and over,—“if it fail, Malinche will enter Tenochtitlan as a god!”