No one answered. A frown was gathering upon his face, when an Aztec sprang up, and drew near him. He was dressed as a citizen of the lower class. At the side of the carriage he stopped, and touched the pavement with his palm.
“Guatamozin!” said the king, more in astonishment than anger.
“Even so. O king,—father,—to bear a soldier’s part to-day, I have dared your judgment.” Lifting his eyes to the monarch’s, he endured his gaze steadily, but, at the same time, with such an expression of sympathy that reproof was impossible. “I am prepared for any sentence; but first, let me know, let these lords and all the people know, is this going in truth of your own free will?”
Montezuma regarded him fixedly, but not in wrath.
“I conjure you, uncle, father, king,—I conjure you, by our royal blood, by our country, by all the gods,—are these strangers guests or guards? Speak,—I pray you, speak but one word.”
The poor, stricken monarch heard, and was penetrated by the tone of anguish; yet he replied,—
“My brother’s son insults me by his question. I am still the king,—free to go and come, to reward and punish.”
He would have spoken further, and kindly, but for the interruption of Cortes, who cried impatiently,—
“Ho, there! Why this delay? Forward!”
And thereupon Avila stepped rudely and insolently between the king and ’tzin. The latter’s broad breast swelled, and his eyes blazed; he seemed like a tiger about to leap.