“Mictlan take the old man!” cried the lord Cuitlahua, bending from his seat. “I thought him done for; but, see! he defends, the other fights.”
And so it was. The Otompan struck hard, but was distracted by the tactics of his foemen: if he aimed at the younger, both their shields warded the blow; if he assaulted the elder, he was in turn attacked by the younger; and so, without advantage to either, their strife continued until the fall of the Tlascalan. Then, inspired by despairing valor, the boy threw down his maquahuitl, and endeavored to push aside the Otompan’s shield. Once within its guard, the knife would finish the contest. Tlahua retreated; but the foe clung to him,—one wrenching at his shield, the other intercepting his blows, and both carefully avoiding the deadly archery of the ’tzin, who, seeing the extremity of the danger, started to the rescue. All the people shouted, “The ’tzin, the ’tzin!” Xoli burst into ecstasy, and clapped his hands. “There he goes! Now look for something!”
The rescuer went as a swift wind; but the clamor had been as a warning to the young Othmi. By a great effort he tore away the Otompan’s shield. In vain the latter struggled. There was a flash, sharp, vivid, like the sparkle of the sun upon restless waters. Then his head drooped forward, and he staggered blindly. Once only the death-stroke was repeated; and so still was the multitude that the dull sound of the knife driving home was heard. The ’tzin was too late.
The prospect for the Aztecs was now gloomy. The Cholulan and Otompan were dead; the Tezcucan, wounded and bleeding, was engaged in a doubtful struggle with the Tlascalan; the ’tzin was the last hope of his party. Upon him devolved the fight with the Othmies. In the interest thus excited Iztlil’s battle was forgotten.
Twice had the younger Othmi been victor, and still he was scathless. Instead of the maquahuitl, he was now armed with the javelin, which, while effective as a dart, was excellent to repel assault.
From the crowded seats of the theatre not a sound was heard. At no time had the excitement risen to such a pitch. Breathless and motionless, the spectators awaited the advance of the ’tzin. He was, as I have said, a general favorite, beloved by priest and citizen, and with the wild soldiery an object of rude idolatry. And if, under the royal canopy there were eyes that looked not lovingly upon him, there were lips there murmuring soft words of prayer for his success.
When within a few steps of the waiting Othmies, he halted. They glared at him an instant in silence; then the old chief said tauntingly, and loud enough to be heard above the noise of the conflict at his side,—
“A woman may wield a bow, and from a distance slay a warrior; but the maquahuitl is heavy in the hand of the coward, looking in the face of his foeman.”
The Aztec made no answer; he was familiar with the wile. Looking at the speaker as if against him he intended his first attack, with right hand back he swung the heavy weapon above his shoulder till it sung in quickening circles; when its force was fully collected, he suddenly hurled it from him. The old Othmi crouched low behind his shield: but his was not the form in the ’tzin’s eyes; for right in the centre of the young victor’s guard the flying danger struck. Nor arm nor shield might bar its way. The boy was lifted sheer above the body of the Otompan, and driven backward as if shot from a catapult.
Guatamozin advanced no further. A thrust of his javelin would have disposed of the old Othmi, now unarmed and helpless. The acclamation of the audience, in which was blent the shrill voices of women, failed to arouse his passion.