"The lake is broad, but thou knowest not of all the craft and skill of thy foes. Think then of this: Can a man drink the water of the salt lake and canals? Are the pipes of Chapoltepec under the mountains? The Spaniards will tear them up from the causeways; and the warriors will despair for drink."
"Is Guatimozin a fool?" exclaimed the royal barbarian, with a laugh. "The rains have begun to fall; and for seven[13] months, the sky will be my fountain. Is not Malintzin mad, that he should besiege me at this season? He is not a god!"
"Were it for thrice seven months," said Juan, "be assured that Cortes will still remain by thy city, awaiting its downfall."
"And what shall be done by the warriors of Mexico? Will they look from the island, and wring their hands, till he departs? For every grain of corn in the garners of Tenochtitlan, there is an arrow in the quivers of the warriors. Count the bones that lie in the ditches of Tacuba,—number the bearded skulls that are piled on the Huitzompan, the trophies gathered from the Spaniards in the night of their flight,—there are not so many living men in the camp of Malintzin, as perished that night when we drove them from Mexico."
"Dost thou hold, then, for nothing the two hundred thousand Tlascalans, Tezcucans, Chalquese, Totonacs, and other tribes, that follow with Cortes?"
"There are but three roads to Mexico.—Can they hurt me from the shores?"
"The ships are fourteen more; and by and by, there will be no canoe that swims the lake, but will bear the soldiers of Don Hernan. Think not resistance can do aught but protract the fate of thine empire, and incense the miseries of its subjects. Its history is written. Heaven is angry with your gods and with your acts. The blood of human sacrifices, detestable in the eyes of divinity, calls for revenge. Alas, thou didst this day condemn a poor Spaniard to the altar, and thus stain thine installation with cruelty! God will punish the Mexicans for this."
The eyes of Guatimozin flashed in the moonlight with indignation.
"Is not the prisoner," he cried, "the prey of the victor? The Spaniard burns the captive in the shoulder, and makes him a slave. Which is cruel? The prisoner and the felon we give to the gods—it is good. Did the Eagle ever behold a Mexican chain men to a stake, and burn them with fire? Yet he saw Malintzin burn the Chief of Nauhtlan and the fifteen warriors, in the palace-yard, in a great fire made with Mexican bows and arrows! Which, then, is cruel?"
"This act I will not defend," said Juan, "and it was my presumption in censuring it, that made Cortes my enemy. But, prince, let us speak of these things no more, for our arguments shake not each other's minds. Let me speak of myself, for it is just thou shouldst know my resolve. I am thy friend, but I will not lift my hand against my countrymen."