The unhappy monarch, by so expressing his address as to steer clear of offence to the Spaniards, (for well he knew they dreaded lest his confessions should still more inflame the citizens,) committed the more fatal error of displeasing his people. A murmur of indignation ran through the mass, when Montezuma, with his own lips, confirmed his abasement. Several rose, frowning, to their feet, and a young man, parting quickly from the crowd, advanced so near to the palace, that his features could be plainly distinguished. He was of noble stature, countenance, and mien, evidently of the highest order of nobility, and enjoyed the distinction of a principality in the House of Darts, as was shown by the red fillet in his hair, suspending the tufts of honour. His trunk and shoulders were invested in a coat of armour, either of scales of copper or of leather, richly gilt, bordered at the bottom with lambrequins of green and red feathers. His limbs were naked, saving only the bright sandals on his feet, and the glittering bracelets on his arms. His left arm supported a light buckler, doubtless of wicker-work, though painted with many bright and fantastic colours; and, from the bottom of it, waved a broad penacho, as well as a bulky maquahuitl, which he held in his left hand, while balancing a copper javelin in his right. A tall plume of the most splendid hues nodded majestically on his head.
As this bold and noble-looking youth stepped up to the very mouths of the cannon, and raised his fiery eyes to the king, Don Amador de Leste thought that he recognized in him the princely ambassador of Cholula,—the young fugitive, who had been so ready to dispute the path with him, under the walls of the holy city.
"Dost thou say this, thou that wert once their lord, to the people of Mexitli?" said the young prince, (for, as has been recorded by other historians, it was the valiant Quauhtimotzin, the nephew of the king, who now so sharply rebuked him.) "Dost thou indeed confess, son of Axajacatl! that thou art, by thine own consent, the friend of a perfidious stranger? by thine own choice, O conqueror of many nations! the serf and slave of him who is the brother of Tlascala? Then art thou, indeed, what we have called thee,—the slayer of thy people,—for this blood has flown at thy bidding; a traitor to thy throne,—for thou hast surrendered it to a master; an apostate to thy gods,—for thou hast shut thine ears, when they called upon thee for vengeance. Miserable king!—and yet a king no more! When thy people wept to see thee degraded, thou gavest them up to slaughter; and while they come to restore thee to thy rights, thou confessest, that thou lovest these less than the shame of captivity! Know then, that, for thy baseness, the gods have pronounced thee unworthy to be their viceroy, and thy people have confirmed the decree. We break the rods of authority; we trample upon the robes of state: and Montezuma is no longer a king in Tenochtitlan!"
The unhappy monarch trembled, while he listened to this insulting denunciation, for he felt that he had deserved it. But his people still lay prostrate on the earth; and, hoping that they shared not the indignation of his kinsman, he elevated his voice again, and spoke sternly:—
"Why doth Quauhtimotzin forget that he is the son of my brother, and my slave? Is the young man that smiles in jewels, wiser than he that hath gray hairs? and the people that delve in canals and build up the temples, have they more cunning than the king who councils with the spirits at the altar? Know that what has been done, has been done wisely, for it was according to the will of heaven; and heaven, which has tried our fidelity, is about to reward it with happiness and peace. The strangers have promised to depart from us: throw down your arms, and let them be gone."
"And wilt thou," said the prince, elevating his voice to a still angrier pitch, "who hast been so many times deluded, counsel us to listen to their lies? O fallen Montezuma! thou leaguest with them against us. Wilt thou suffer them to escape, when we have them enclosed in nets, as the birds that sing in thy gardens? O degraded chief! thou hast not the courage to desire the blood of them that have dethroned thee! Thou art not he that was Montezuma; thy words are the words of a Christian; thou speakest with the lips of a slave, and the heart of a woman; thou art a Spaniard, and thy fate shall be the fate of a Spaniard! Cuitlahuatzin is our king; and we strike thee as a foeman!"
As the prince concluded his indignant oration, he swung round his head the javelin, which, all this time, he had balanced in his hand, and launched it, with all his force, full at the breast of Montezuma. The shield of the novice, quickly interposed before the body of the king, arrested the sharp weapon, and it fell, innocuous, on the terrace. At the same moment, the Mexicans all sprang to their feet, with loud cries, as if giving way to repressed fury, and brandished their arms. The bucklers of the cavaliers were instantly extended before the monarch, to protect him from the dreaded missiles. But, as if desperation had robbed him of his fears, and restored to him, for his last hour, some share of that native spirit which had elevated him to the throne, he pushed them immediately aside, and raising himself to his full height, and spreading forth his arms, gazed majestically, though with a ghastly countenance, on his people. The words of mingled intreaty and command were already on his lips, but they were lost even to the Spaniards who stood by, in the thunder of shouts coming from twenty thousand voices; and the warning cry of Cortes was equally unheard, bidding the Spaniards to "Save the king!" The shields were interposed, however, without command, and caught many of the missiles,—stones, arrows, and darts,—which fell like a shower on the group,—but not all. An arrow pierced the right arm, a stone maimed the right leg, and another, striking upon the left temple of the abandoned monarch, crushed the bone in upon the brain; and he fell into the arms of the cavaliers, like a dead man.
The cannoniers, at that moment, seeing the returning rage of the barbarians, shot off their pieces. But the battle was done. No sooner had the Mexicans beheld their monarch fall under the blows of their own weapons, than they changed their cries of fury to lamentations; and throwing down their arms, as if seized with a panic, they fled from the square, leaving it to the Christians and the dead.