“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.”