Bowing low, Cortes replied, “I will go with thee, and thou shalt suffer no wrong from the confidence. The hand or tongue that doeth grievance to anything pertaining to thy god or his worship shall repeat it never.” The last sentence was spoken with a raised voice, and a glance to the captains around; then, observing the frowns with which some of them received the notice, he added, almost without a pause, to Olmedo, “What saith the Church of Christ?”
“That thou hast spoken well, for this time,” answered the priest, kissing the crucifix chained to his girdle. “Go on. I will go with thee.”
Then they followed the king into the sanctuary, leaving the teotuctli and his train on the azoteas.
I turn gladly from that horrible chamber. With quite as much satisfaction, I turn from the conversation of the king and Cortes. Not even the sweet voice of Marina could make the Aztec theogony clear, or the Catholic commentary of the Spaniard interesting.
Alvarado approached the turret door with loathing. Staggered by the stench that smote him from within, he stopped a moment. Orteguilla, the page, pulled his mantle, and said, “I have news for thee. Wilt thou hear?”
“Picaro! To-morrow, if the Mother doth spare me so long, I will give thee a lash for every breath of this sin-laden air thou makest me draw with open mouth. As thou lovest life, speak, and have done!”
“What if I bring thee a message of love?”
“If thou couldst bring me such a message from a comely Christian maiden, I would kiss thee, lad.”
Orteguilla held out an exquisite ramillete. “Seest thou this? If thou carest and wilt follow me, I will show thee an infidel to swear by forever.”
“Give me the flowers, and lead me to the infidel. If thou speakest truly, thy fortune is made; if thou liest, I will fling thee from the temple.”