“I know, O my people, that you took up arms to set me free, and that was right; but how often since then have I told you that I am not a prisoner; that the strangers are my guests; that I am free to leave them when I please, and that I live with them because I love them?”
As in a calm a wind sometimes blows down, and breaks the placid surface of a lake into countless ripples, driving them hither and thither in sparkling confusion, these words fell upon the listening mass; a yell of anger rose, and from the temple descended bitter reproaches.
Yet the ’tzin was steady; and when the outcry ended, the king went on,—
“I am told your excuse now is, that you want to drive my friends from the city. My children, here stands Malinche himself. He hears me say for him that, if you will open the way, he and all with him will leave of their own will.”
Again the people broke out in revilements, but the monarch waved his hand angrily, and said,—
“As I am yet your king, I bid you lay down your arms—”
Then the ’tzin took the ready bow from Hualpa; full to the ear he drew the arrow. Steady the arm, strong the hand,—an instant, and the deed was done! In the purple shadow of the canopy, amidst his pomp of royalty, Montezuma fell down, covered, when too late, by a score of Christian shields. Around him at the same time fell a shower of stones from the temple.
Then, with a shout of terror, the companies arose as at a word and fled, and, panic-blind, tossed the ’tzin here and there, and finally left him alone in the square with Hualpa.
“All is lost!” said the latter, disconsolately.
“Lost!” said the ’tzin. “On the temple yonder lies Malinche’s last hope. No need now to assail the palace. When the king comes out, hunger will go in and fight for us.”