“The instruments!” exclaimed the king, unable to repress his scorn.
The ’tzin interposed hastily. “Beware! Though what we say is not understood by the strangers, their faculties are sharp, and very little may awaken their suspicion and alarm; and if our offer be rejected, better for you, O king, that they go hence ignorant of their danger and our design. Yes, if your conjecture were true, if we did indeed propose to face the teules with barehanded pabas, your scorn would be justified; but know that the concourse on the azoteas is, in fact, of chiefs and caciques, whose gowns do but conceal their preparation for battle.”
A pang contracted the monarch’s face, and his hands closed harder upon his breast; possibly he shuddered at the necessity so thrust upon him of deciding between Malinche whom he feared, and the people whom he so loved.
“Yes,” continued the ’tzin, “here are the chosen of the realm,—the noblest and the best,—each with his life in his hand, an offering to you. What need of further words? You have not forgotten the habits of war; you divine the object of the concourse of priests; you understand they are formed in ranks, that, upon a signal, they may throw themselves as one man upon the strangers. Here in the sanctuary are fifty more with maquahuitls; behind them a door has been constructed to pass you quickly to the azoteas; they will help me keep the door, and stay pursuit, while you descend to the street. And now, O king, said I not rightly? What have you to do more than go hence? Dread not for us. In the presence of Huitzil’, and in defence of his altar, we will fight. If we fall in such glorious combat, he will waft our souls straightway to the Sun.”
“My son,” the king answered, after a pause, “if I were a prisoner, I would say you and the lords have done well; but, being free and pursuing my own policy, I reject the rescue. Go your ways in peace; leave me to my prayers. In a few days the strangers will depart; then, if not sooner, I will come back as you wish, and bring the old time with me, and make all the land happy.”
The monarch ceased. He imagined the question answered and passed; but a murmur, almost a groan, recalled him from the effort to abstract himself. And then the teotuctli, exercising his privilege, went to him, and, laying a hand upon his arm, and pointing up to the god, said,—
“Hearken, O king! The strangers have already asked you to allow them to set up an altar here in the house of Huitzil’, that they may worship their god after their manner. The request was sacrilege; listening to it, a sin; to grant it would make you accursed forever. Save yourself and the god, by going hence as the lords have besought. Be wise in time.”
“I have decided,” said the poor king, in a trembling voice,—“I have decided.”
Tlalac looked to the ’tzin despairingly. The appeal to the monarch’s veneration for the god of his fathers had failed; what else remained? And the ’tzin for the first time looked to the king, saying sorrowfully,—
“Anahuac is the common mother, as Huitzil’ is the father. The foot of the stranger is heavy on her breast, and she cries aloud, ‘Where is Montezuma? Where is the Lord of the Earth? Where is the Child of the Sun?’”