Hualpa shook his head. “The conversation was tedious. Everything was said through an interpreter,—a woman born in the province Painalla; so I paid little attention. I recollect, however, he asked many questions about the great king, and about the Empire, and Tenochtitlan. He said his master, the governor of the universe, had sent him here. He gave much time, also, to explaining his religion. I might have understood him, uncle, but my ears were too full of the rattle of arms.”
“What! Sat they at the table armed?” asked Maxtla.
“All of them; even Malinche.”
“That was not the worst,” said Io’, earnestly. “At the same table my lord Cuitlahua entertained a band of beggarly Tlascalan chiefs. Sooner should my tongue have been torn out!”
The bystanders made haste to approve the sentiment, and for a time it diverted the conversation. Meanwhile, at Hualpa’s order, the goblets were refilled.
“Dares the noble Maxtla,” he then asked, “tell what the king will do?”
“The question is very broad.” And the chief smiled. “What special information does my comrade seek?”
“Can you tell us when Malinche will enter Tenochtitlan?”
“Certainly. Xoli published that in the tianguez before the sun was up.”
“To be sure,” answered the Chalcan. “The lord Maxtla knows the news cost me a bowl of pulque.”