“Mira!” he said. “If the captains say there is a necessity, do thou put in thy denial; stand on thy opinion boldly; and when thou givest up, at last, yield thee to that other necessity, the demand of the army. And so—”
“And so,” Cortes said with a smile, which was also a sneer, “and so thou wouldst make a servant of one necessity by invoking another.”
“Yes; another which may be admitted without danger or dishonor. Thou hast the idea, my son.”
“So be it, so be it,—aguardamonos!”
Thereupon Cortes retired within himself, and the father began again to nurse the wounded hand.
And by and by the chamber was filled with captains, soldiers, and caciques, whose persons, darkly visible in the murky light, testified to the severity of the situation: rusted armor, ragged apparel, faded trappings, bandaged limbs, countenances heavy with anxiety, or knit hard by suffering,—such were the evidences.
In good time Cortes arose.
“Ola, my friends,” he said, bluntly. “I have heard that there are among ye many who think the time come to give the city, and all we have taken, back to the infidels. I have sent for ye that I may know the truth. As the matter concerneth interests of our royal master aside from his dominion,—property, for example,—the Secretary Duero will make note of all that passeth. Let him come forward and take place here.”
The secretary seated himself by the table with manuscript and pen.
“Now, gentlemen, begin.”