A faint murmur ran through the crowd, and then a feeble expiring “No, never,” burst feebly from many lips. One, a little stronger than the rest, arose and said—
“Most gracious sovereign, think not of us. We only ask to live and die with and for you. And the more cruel the death, the more glorious the martyrdom for our country and our gods. Trust not Malinché.”
The speaker fainted and fell, with his fist clenched, and his teeth set, as if he felt that he held the last foe in mortal conflict.
“No, never—trust not Malinché—let us die together,” was echoed by many sepulchral voices, that seemed more like the groans of the dead, than the remonstrances of the living.
“Trust not Malinché, remember my father,” whispered the fond, devoted, faithful, affectionate wife, now the shadow of her former self, beautiful in her queenly sorrow, sublime in her womanly composure.
Guatimozin, the proud, the lofty chief, whose heart had never known fear, whose soul had never been subdued, bowed his head upon the bosom of his wife, and wept. The strong heart, the lion spirit melted.
“Who, who will care for Tecuichpo? Who will cherish the last daughter of Montezuma?”
“Think not of me, Guatimozin, think of yourself and your people, I am resigned to my fate. If I may but die with you, it is all I desire—for how could I live without you. But think not of trusting Malinché. Let us remain as we are. Another day, and we shall all be at rest from our sufferings. And surely it were better to die together by our altars, than to fall into the hands of the treacherous stranger.”
“Trust not Malinché,” added Karee. “Was it not trust in him that brought all this evil upon us? Think not of submission. You shall see that women can die as well as men. Let Malinché come, and take possession of the remains of these mutilated walls and desolated gardens, but let him not claim one living Aztec, to be his slave, or his subject.”
A murmur of approbation followed, and then a long pause ensued. It was like the silence of death. The whole scene would have made an admirable picture. At length the silence was broken by the voice of the young Cacique of Tlacopan.