"Your word is law with your people," said Cortes. "Give your orders, and you will be obeyed. I, on my part, swear to you, by St. Jago, that nought now or ever, on the part of myself or my followers, shall lower you in the eyes of your subjects."
And so far, to the letter, Cortes did at least keep his word. From the outward show of respect and deference towards the unhappy monarch he never permitted his rough soldiers to depart, when that golden litter, and the Aztec nobles, had for the second time borne the once all-powerful Emperor of Mexico to those Spanish quarters, which were henceforth to be his sad prison during the short remainder of his life.
Montezuma had been in his gilded bondage but a few days when the noble chieftain Guanhpopoea, his son, and fifteen lesser Aztec chiefs, arrived in proud obedience to the summons, and in like proud, speechless submission suffered the cruel punishment decreed them by Cortes, of being burnt alive. They had but done their duty in trying to rid their sovereign of encroaching strangers, who refused all requests to leave a country to which they had not been invited.
The chiefs were burnt alive in the courtyard of the Spaniards' palace; Montezuma sat manacled in an apartment above, mute with a despair only to be equalled by the shame and grief with which the heart of Montoro de Diego felt bowed to the very dust.
He had saved ere now many an Indian from his threatened fate. This time he was powerless.
[CHAPTER XXXIX.]
HOMEWARD BOUND.
"And you must leave us then, Diego—leave us on the very eve of our full and final triumph?"
Hernando spoke with a mingled accent of regret and bitterness. In his reply Montoro hinted at both notes.