Xoli rested his elbow on the counter, and listened eagerly.
“It has been agreed on all sides for years,” continued Maxtla, in his modulated voice, “that the ’tzin and Tula were to be married upon her coming of age. No one else has presumed to pay her court, lest it might be an interference. Now, the whole thing is at an end. Iztlil’, not the ’tzin, is the fortunate man.”
“Iztlil’! And to-morrow night!”
“The palace was alive last evening as with a swarming of bees. Some were indignant,—all astonished. In fact, Xoli, I believe the ’tzin had as many friends as the king. Several courtiers openly defended him, notwithstanding his fall,—something that, to my knowledge, never happened before. The upshot was, that a herald went in state to Iztapalapan with a decree prohibiting the ’tzin from visiting Tenochtitlan, under any pretence, until the further pleasure of the king is made known to him.”
“Banished, banished! But that the noble Maxtla told me, I could not believe what I hear.”
“Certainly. The affair is mysterious, as were the means by which the result was brought about. Look you, Chalcan: the ’tzin loved the princess, and was contracted to her, and now comes this banishment just the day before the valley is called to witness her betrothal to the Tezcucan. Certainly, it would ill become the ’tzin to be a guest at such a banquet.”
“I understand,” said Xoli, with a cunning smile. “It was to save his pride that he was banished.”
“If to be a Chalcan is to be so stupid, I thank the gods for making me what I am!” cried Maxtla, impatiently. “What cares the great king for the pride of the enemy he would humble! The banishment is a penalty,—it is ruin.”
There was a pause, during which the Chalcan hung his head.
“Ah, Xoli! The king has changed; he used to be a warrior, loving warriors as the eagle loves its young. Now—alas! I dare not speak. Time was when no envious-hearted knave could have made him believe that Guatamozin was hatching treason in his garden at Iztapalapan. Now, surrounded by mewling priests, he sits in the depths of his palace, and trembles, and, like a credulous child, believes everything. ‘Woe is Tenochtitlan!’ said Mualox; and the days strengthen the prophecy. But enough,—more than enough! Hist, Chalcan! What I have said and you listened to—yea, the mere listening—would suffice, if told in the right ears, to send us both straightway to the tigers. I have paid you for your snuff, and the divine sneeze. In retailing, recollect, I am not the manufacturer. Farewell.”