“Yesterday, about noon, he set out from Tezcuco, by way of the shore of the lake; to-night he lodges in Iztapalapan; to-morrow, marching by the old causeway, he will re-enter the city.”
“Poor, poor country!” she said, after a long silence.
The words touched him, and he replied, in a low voice, “You have a good heart, O Tula,—a good heart and true. Your words were what I repeat every hour in the day. You were seeing what I see all the time—”
“The battle!” she said, shuddering.
“Yes. I wish it could be avoided; its conditions are such that against the advantage of arms I can only oppose the advantage of numbers; so that the dearest of all things will be the cheapest. I must take no account of lives. I have seen the streets run with blood already, and now,—Enough! we must do what the gods decree. Yet the slaughter shall not be, as heretofore, on one side alone.”
She looked at him inquiringly.
“You know the custom of our people to take prisoners rather than kill in battle. As against the Tlascalans and tribes, that was well enough; but new conditions require new laws, and my order now is, Save nothing but the arms and armor of the strangers. Life for life as against Malinche! And I could conquer him, but—”
He stopped, and their glances met,—his full of fire, hers sad and thoughtful.
“Ah, Tula! your woman’s soul prompts you already of whom I would speak,—the king.”