Seven days the assault went on,—a week of fighting, intermitted only at night, under cover of which the Aztecs carried off their dead and wounded,—the former to the lake, the latter to the hospitals. Among the Christians some there were who had seen grand wars; some had even served under the Great Captain: but, as they freely averred, never had they seen such courage, devotion, and endurance, such indifference to wounds and death, as here. At times, the struggle was hand to hand; then, standing upon their point of honor, the infidels perished by scores in vain attempts to take alive whom they might easily have slain; and this it was,—this fatal point of honor,—more than superiority in any respect, that made great battles so bloodless to the Spaniards. Still, nearly all of the latter were wounded, a few disabled, and seven killed outright. Upon the Tlascalans the losses chiefly fell; hundreds of them were killed; hundreds more lay wounded in the chambers of the palace.
The evening of the seventh day, the ’tzin, standing on the western verge of the teocallis, from which he had constantly directed the assault, saw coming the results which could alone console him for the awful sacrifice of his countrymen. The yells of the Tlascalans were not as defiant as formerly; the men of iron, the Christians, were seen to sink wearily down at their posts, and sleep, despite the tumult of the battle; the guns were more slowly and carefully served; and whereas, before Cortes departure there had been three meals a day, now there were but two: the supply of provisions was failing. The ancient house, where constructed of wood, showed signs of demolition; fuel was becoming scant. Where the garrison obtained its supply of water was a marvel. He had not then heard of what Father Bartolomé afterwards celebrated as a miracle of Christ,—the accidental finding of a spring in the middle of the garden.
Then the assault was discontinued, and a blockade established. Another week, during which nothing entered the gates of the palace to sustain man or beast. Then there was but one meal a day, and the sentinels on the walls began to show the effect.
One day the main gate opened, and a woman and a man came out. The ’tzin descended from his perch to meet them. At the foot of the steps they knelt to him,—the princess Tula and the prince Io’.
“See, O ’tzin,” said the princess, “see the king’s signet. We bring you a message from him. He has not wherewith to supply his table. Yesterday he was hungry. He bids you re-open the market, and send of the tributes of the provinces without stint,—all that is his kingly right.”
“And if I fail?” asked Guatamozin.
“He said not what, for no one has ever failed his order.”
And the ’tzin looked at Io’.
“What shall I do, O son of the king?”
In all the fighting, Io’ had stayed in the palace with his father. Through the long days he had heard the voices of the battle calling to him. Many times he walked to the merlons of the azoteas, and saw the ’tzin on the temple, or listened to his familiar cry in the street. And where,—so ran his thought the while,—where is Hualpa? Happy fellow! What glory he must have won,—true warrior-glory to flourish in song forever! A heroic jealousy would creep upon him, and he would go back miserable to his chamber.