“And I, good king—I am but a warrior. My heart is not softened by things pertaining to religion. Enough for me to worship the gods.”
“Then you are not a student?”
“I never studied in the academies.”
“I understand,” said the king, with a low laugh. “You cannot name as many stars as enemies whom you have slain. No matter. I have places for such scholars. Have you commanded an army?”
“It pleased you to give me that confidence. I led my companies within the Tlascalan wall, and came back with captives.”
“I recollect now. But as most good warriors are modest, my son, I will not tell you what the chiefs said of your conduct; you would blush—”
Iztlil’ started.
“Content you, content you; your blush would not be for shame.”
There was a pause, which the king gave to his pipe. Suddenly he said, “There have been tongues busy with your fame, my son. I have heard you were greatly dissatisfied because I gave your father’s city to your elder brother. But I consider that men are never without detractors, and I cannot forget that you have perilled your life for the gods. Actions I accept as the proofs of will. If the favor that brought you here be reasonable, it is yours for the asking. I have the wish to serve you.”
“I am not surprised that I have enemies,” said Iztlil’, calmly. “I will abuse no one on that account; for I am an enemy, and can forgive in others what I deem virtue in myself. But it moves me greatly, O king, that my enemies should steal into your palace, and, in my absence, wrong me in your opinion. But pardon me; I did not come to defend myself—”