“Have done, paba!” the king exclaimed, angrily. “I am weary,—by the Sun! I am weary of such words.”
The holy man bowed reverently, and touched the floor with his palm, saying,—
“Mualox lays his heart at his master’s feet. In the time when his beard was black and his spirit young, he began the singing of two songs,—one of worship to Quetzal’, the other of love for Montezuma.”
These words he said tremulously; and there was that in the manner, in the bent form, in the low obeisance, which soothed the impatience of the king, so that he turned away, and looked out over the city. And day began to gild the east; in a short time the sun would claim his own. Still the monarch thought, still Mualox stood humbly waiting his pleasure. At length the former approached the fire.
“Mualox,” he said, speaking slowly, “I crossed the lake the other day, and talked with Guatamozin about the strangers. He satisfied me they are not teules, and, more, he urged me to attack them in Cholula.”
“The ’tzin!” exclaimed Mualox, in strong surprise.
Montezuma knew the love of the paba for the young cacique rested upon his supposed love of Quetzal’; so he continued,—
“The attack was planned by him; only he would have sent a hundred thousand warriors to help the citizens. The order is out; the companies are there; blood will run in the streets of the holy city to-day. The battle waits on the sun, and it is nearly up. Mualox,”—his manner became solemn,—“Mualox, on this day’s work bides my peace. The morning comes: by all your prophet’s power, tell me what the night will bring!”
Sorely was the paba troubled. The king’s faith in his qualities as prophet he saw was absolute, and that it was too late to deny the character.
“Does Montezuma believe the Sun would tell me what it withholds from its child?”