“I love a song, uncles,” continued the king; “I love a hymn to the gods, and a story of battle chanted in a deep voice. In the halls of the Sun every soul is a minstrel, and every tale a song. But let them go; it is well enough. I promised Iztlil’, the Tezcucan, to give him audience to-night. He comes to the palace but seldom, and he has not asked a favor since I settled his quarrel with the lord Cacama. Send one to see if he is now at the door.”
Thereupon he fell to reflecting and smoking; and when next he spoke, it was from the midst of an aromatic cloud.
“I loved the wise ’Hualpilli; for his sake, I would have his children happy. He was a lover of peace, and gave more to policy than to war. It were grievous to let his city be disturbed by feuds and fighting men; therefore I gave it to the eldest son. His claim was best; and, besides, he has the friendly heart to serve me. Still—still, I wish there had been two Tezcucos.”
“There was but one voice about the judgment in Tezcuco, O king; the citizens all said it was just.”
“And they would have said the same if I had given them Iztlil’. I know the knaves, uncle. It was not their applause I cared for; but, you see, in gaining a servant, I lost one. Iztlil’ is a warrior. Had he the will, he could serve me in the field as well as his brother in the council. I must attach him to me. A strong arm is pleasant to lean on; it is better than a staff.”
Addressing himself to the pipe again, he sat smoking, and moodily observing the vapor vanish above him. There was silence until Iztlil’ was ushered in.
The cacique was still suffering from his wounds. His step was feeble, so that his obeisance was stopped by the monarch himself.
“Let the salutation go, my lord Iztlil’. Your courage has cost you much. I remember you are the son of my old friend, and bid you welcome.”
“The Tlascalans are good warriors,” said the Tezcucan, coldly.
“And for that reason better victims,” added the king, quickly. “By the Sun, I know not what we would do without them. Their hills supply our temples.”