"We ask you to fulfil your promise," said the latter. "It is time that some one went to the people, and we propose that the priest should first descend. Later on, when he has returned to this spot, I will go to the king, and he will come to do you honour. He, too, will see his mistake. We shall all be glad to admit that we have placed this Malinché in the wrong position. That he is no god of air as we thought. We shall rejoice that you have come at such a time to help us."
He bowed again, while the priest followed his action with the utmost humility. Roger stamped his foot and flushed with vexation.
"It is hard luck that I should be treated with more bobs and curtsies than King Harry at home," he said in English. "No matter how often I repeat it, these fellows will take me for one of their gods. I suppose it is the result of being so tall."
It was undoubtedly partly due to that, for Roger overtopped any one in Mexico. But Nature had given him a pleasant appearance and much courage, all of which played upon the imagination of the people. Then none had ever seen such a combat as had taken place on the previous evening. It seemed incredible that one so young could oppose so many. The success of the defence and the novel methods employed had convinced the Mexican priest that Roger was the god of air, the very one who was supposed to have returned in the person of Fernando Cortes. And the supposition explained why Roger was an enemy of the Spaniards. The latter had proved cruel and grasping, and had long ago shown that they were impostors, and had nothing to do with the god of air. Then this Roger must be he; and the priest prepared to descend and tell the people.
"They will believe me," he said to the noble. "There can be no doubt. This youth has no fear. When danger comes he stands to his full height, and watches. None could drag him to the ground, while at the touch of his hand men fell with a crash. We must show our friendship, for there is now no mistake. Have I his permission to go?"
"He will trust you. You will return when you have spoken, and then I will go to the palace. Have you anything to say before you leave?"
"Nothing, save that I crave the pardon of this gallant youth."
The priest evidently meant every word. He had been brought up in the precincts of the temple, and superstition was engrafted in his mind. It was, therefore, only natural that he should think of Roger as he did, and ask for his pardon. The noble repeated the words and the request.
"Tell him there is nothing to forgive on my side, but that I am sorry if I hurt him. Ask him how he feels, and whether I did much damage."
"He is well," was the answer. "He has no pain, and was well punished. He may go."