“I see now that the heart can be wiser than the head. Have your way. I will set you down at the gate, and of war there shall be neither sign nor sound until you return.”
“Until I return! May be I cannot. Malinche may hold me prisoner.”
From love to war,—the step was short.
“True,” he said. “The armies will await my signal of attack, and they must not wait upon uncertainties.”
He arose and paced the floor, and when he paused he said, firmly,—
“I will set you down at the gate in the early morning, that you may see your father before Malinche sees him. And when you speak to him, ask not if I may make the war: on that I am resolved; but tell him what no other can,—that I look forward to the time when Malinche, like the Tonatiah, will bring him from his chamber, and show him to the people, to distract them again. And when you have told him that, speak of what the gods have laid upon me, and then say that I say, ‘Comes he so, whether of choice or by force, the dread duty shall be done. The gods helping me, I will strike for Anahuac.’ And if he ask what I would have him do, answer, A king’s duty to his people,—die that they may live!”
Tula heard him to the end, and buried her face in her hands, and there was a long silence.
“Poor king! poor father!” she said at last. “For me to ask him to die! A heavy, heavy burden, O ’tzin!”
“The gods help you!” he replied.
“If Malinche hold me prisoner, how will the answer avail you?”