“He cannot live long,” he said. “Well, death is his best friend. Now to my business. There is trouble in the city, and strange rumours pass from mouth to mouth among the people, many of whom declare that Tikal has murdered Zibalbay, and demand that you, Lady, should be brought before them, that you may be named cacique in his place. Things being so, it has been urged upon Tikal by the chiefs of his party that as, do what he will, he can never clear himself of the death of Zibalbay, it would be well that he should make away with you also, Lady, and, of course, with these two strangers, your friends, seeing that then there will be none to dispute his rights. The matter was laid before him strongly at a secret council held this afternoon, and once he issued the order for your deaths, only to recall it before the messenger left the palace; for at the last I saw that his heart overcame his reason, and he could not bear thus to divorce himself from you, Lady, though what he said was that he would not stain his hands with the blood of one so innocent and fair. Still, I will not hide from you, Lady, or from you, strangers, that your danger is very great that you go, indeed, in jeopardy of your life from one hour to the next.”
Now he paused, and Maya asked in a low voice:
“Have you no plan to save us, Mattai?”
“Why should I have a plan, Lady, who with my house would benefit so greatly by your death?”
“I do not know why you should have a plan, old man,” broke in the señor; “but I tell you that you will do well to make one, else you do not leave this place alive,”—and as he spoke, with a sudden movement, he sprang between Mattai and the door.
“If we are to be murdered like birds in a cage,” he went on, “at least your neck shall be twisted first. Do you understand?”
“I understand, Son of the Sea,” answered Mattai, flinching a little before the señor’s fierce face and hand outstretched as though to grip him. “But I would have you understand something also; namely, that if I do not return presently, there are some without who will come to seek me, and then——”
“And then they will find your carcase,” broke in the señor, “and what will all your plots and schemes advantage you when you are a lump of senseless clay?”
“Little indeed, I confess,” he answered. “Still, my daughter, whom I love better than myself, will reap some profit, and with that, in this sad case, I must be content. But, do not be so hasty, white man. I asked why I should have a plan? I did not say that I had none.”
“Then if you have one, let us hear it without more ado,” said the señor.