Once before, as may be remembered, he had been in the ancient house,—the time when, in a fit of shame and remorse, he had come to lay his lordship and castle at the king’s feet; then he had entered by the eastern portal, and passed to the royal presence under guidance: this time his entry was from the west, and he was alone, and unacquainted with the vast interior, its halls, passages, courts, and chambers. In his first visit, moreover, peace had been the rule, and he could not go amiss for friends: now the palace was a leaguered citadel, and he could hardly go amiss for enemies.
Whatever his purpose, he held boldly on. It is possible he counted on the necessities of the battle requiring, as in fact they did, the presence of every serviceable man of the garrison. The few he met passed him in haste, and without question. He avoided the courts and occupied rooms. In the heart of the building he was sensible that the walls and very air vibrated to the roar without; and as the guns in the eastern front answered those in the western, he was advised momentarily of the direction in which he was proceeding, and that his friends still maintained the combat.
Directly three men passed clad in nequen; they were talking earnestly, and scarcely noticed him; after them came another, very old, and distinguished by a green maxtlatl over his white tunic,—one of the king’s councillors.
“Stay, uncle,” said Hualpa, “stay; I have a question to ask you.”
The old man seemed startled.
“Who are you?” he inquired.
Hualpa did not appear to hear him, but asked, “Is not the princess Nenetzin with the king, her father?”
“Follow this hall to its end,” replied the ancient, coldly. “She is there, but not with the king, her father. Who is he,” he continued, after a pause,—“who is he that asks for the false princess?”
With a groan Hualpa passed on.
The hall ended in a small patio, which, at sight, declared itself a retreat for love. The walls were finished with a confusion of arabesque moulding, brilliantly and variously colored; the tracery around the open doors and windows was a marvel of the art; there were flowers on the floor, and in curious stands, urns, and swinging baskets; there were also delicate vines, and tropical trees dwarfed for the place, amongst which one full grown banana lifted its long branches of velvet green, and seemed to temper the light with dewy coolness; in the centre, there was a dead fountain. Indeed, the patio could have been but for the one purpose. Here, walled in from the cares of empire, where only the day was bold enough to come unbidden, the wise Axaya’ and his less fortunate successors, Tecociatzin and Avizotl, forgot their state, and drank their cups of love, and were as other men.