The Fair God; or, The Last of the 'Tzins

“Dares the noble Maxtla,” he then asked, “tell what the king will do?”

“The question is very broad.” And the chief smiled. “What special information does my comrade seek?”

“Can you tell us when Malinche will enter Tenochtitlan?”

“Certainly. Xoli published that in the tianguez before the sun was up.”

“To be sure,” answered the Chalcan. “The lord Maxtla knows the news cost me a bowl of pulque.”

There was much laughter, in which the chief joined. Then he said, gravely,—

“The king has arranged everything. As advised by the gods, Malinche enters Tenochtitlan day after to-morrow. He will leave Iztapalapan at sunrise, and march to the causeway by the lake shore. Cuitlahua, with Cacama, the lord of Tecuba, and others of like importance, will meet him at Xoloc. The king will follow them in state. As to the procession, I will only say it were ill to lose the sight. Such splendor was never seen on the causeway.”

Ordinarily the mention of such a prospect would have kindled the liveliest enthusiasm; for the Aztecs were lovers of spectacles, and never so glad as when the great green banner of the Empire was brought forth to shed its solemn beauty over the legions, and along the storied street of Tenochtitlan. Much, therefore, was Maxtla surprised at the coldness that fell upon the company.

“Ho, friends! One would think the reception not much to your liking,” he said.

“We are the king’s,—dust under his feet,—and it is not for us to murmur,” said a sturdy cacique, first to break the disagreeable silence. “Yet our fathers gave their enemies bolts instead of banquets.”

“Who may disobey the gods?” asked Maxtla.

The argument was not more sententious than unanswerable.

“Well, well!” said Hualpa. “I will get ready. Advise me, good chief: had I better take a canoe?”

“The procession will doubtless be better seen from the lake; but to hear what passes between the king and Malinche, you should be in the train. By the way, will the ’tzin be present?”

“As the king may order,” replied Hualpa.

Maxtla threw back his look, and said with enthusiasm, real or affected, “Much would I like to see and hear him when the Tlascalans come flying their banners into the city! How he will flame with wrath!”

Then Hualpa considerately changed the direction of the discourse.

“Malinche will be a troublesome guest, if only from the number of his following. Will he be lodged in one of the temples?”

“A temple, indeed!” And Maxtla laughed scornfully. “A temple would be fitter lodging for the gods of Mictlan! At Cempoalla, you recollect, the teules threw down the sacred gods, and butchered the pabas at the altars. Lest they should desecrate a holy house here, they are assigned to the old palace of Axaya’. To-morrow the tamanes will put it in order.”

Io’ then asked, “Is it known how long they will stay?”

Maxtla shrugged his shoulders, and drank his pulque.

“Hist!” whistled a cacique. “That is what the king would give half his kingdom to know!”

“And why?” asked the boy, reddening. “Is he not master? Does it not depend upon him?”

“It depends upon no other!” cried Maxtla, dashing his palm upon the table until the goblets danced. “By the holy gods, he has but to speak the word, and these guests will turn to victims!”

And Hualpa, surprised at the display of spirit, seconded the chief: “Brave words, O my lord Maxtla! They give us hope.”

“He will treat them graciously,” Maxtla continued, “because they come by his request; but when he tells them to depart, if they obey not,—if they obey not,—when was his vengeance other than a king’s? Who dares say he cannot, by a word, end this visit?”

“No one!” cried Io’.

“Ay, no one! But the goblets are empty. See! Io’, good prince,”—and Maxtla’s voice changed at once,—“would another draught be too much for us? We drink slowly; one more, only one. And while we drink, we will forget Malinche.”

“Would that were possible!” sighed the boy.

They sent up the goblets, and continued the session until daylight.

CHAPTER VII

MONTEZUMA GOES TO MEET CORTES

Came the eighth of November, which no Spaniard, himself a Conquistador, can ever forget; that day Cortes entered Tenochtitlan.

The morning dawned over Anahuac as sometimes it dawns over the Bay of Naples, bringing an azure haze in which the world seemed set afloat.

“Look you, uncles,” said Montezuma, yet at breakfast, and speaking to his councillors: “they are to go before me, my heralds; and as Malinche is the servant of a king, and used to courtly styles, I would not have them shame me. Admit them with the nequen off. As they will appear before him, let them come to me.”

And thereupon four nobles were ushered in, full-armed, even to the shield. Their helms were of glittering silver; their escaupiles, or tunics of quilted mail, were stained vivid green, and at the neck and borders sparkled with pearls; over their shoulders hung graceful mantles of plumaje, softer than cramoisy velvet; upon their breasts blazed decorations and military insignia; from wrist to elbow, and from knee to sandal-strap, their arms and legs were sheathed in scales of gold. And so, ready for peaceful show or mortal combat,—his heroes and ambassadors,—they bided the monarch’s careful review.

“Health to you, my brothers! and to you, my children!” he said, with satisfaction. “What of the morning? How looks the sun?”

“Like the beginning of a great day, O king, which we pray may end happily for you,” replied Cuitlahua.

“It is the work of Huitzil’; doubt not! I have called you, O my children, to see how well my fame will be maintained. I wish to show Malinche a power and beauty such as he has never seen, unless he come from the Sun itself. Earth has but one valley of Anahuac, one city of Tenochtitlan: so he shall acknowledge. Have you directed his march as I ordered?”

And Cacama replied, “Through the towns and gardens, he is to follow the shore of the lake to the great causeway. By this time he is on the road.”

Then Montezuma’s face flushed; and, lifting his head as it were to look at objects afar off, he said aloud, yet like one talking to himself,—

“He is a lover of gold, and has been heard speak of cities and temples and armies; of his people numberless as the sands. O, if he be a man, with human weaknesses,—if he has hope, or folly of thought, to make him less than a god,—ere the night fall he shall give me reverence. Sign of my power shall he find at every step: cities built upon the waves; temples solid and high as the hills; the lake covered with canoes and gardens; people at his feet, like stalks in the meadow; my warriors; and Tenochtitlan, city of empire! And then, if he greet me with hope or thought of conquest,—then—” He shuddered.

“And then what?” said Cuitlahua, upon whom not a word had been lost.

The thinker, startled, looked at him coldly, saying,—

“I will take council of the gods.”

And for a while he returned to his choclatl. When next he looked up, and spoke, his face was bright and smiling.

“With a train, my children, you are to go in advance of me, and meet Malinche at Xoloc. Embrace him, speak to him honorably, return with him, and I will be at the first bridge outside the city. Cuitlahua and Cacama, be near when he steps forward to salute me. I will lean upon your shoulders. Get you gone now. Remember Anahuac!”

Shortly afterward a train of nobles, magnificently arrayed, issued from the palace, and marched down the great street leading to the Iztapalapan causeway. The house-tops, the porticos, even the roofs and towers of temples, and the pavements and cross-streets, were already occupied by spectators. At the head of the procession strode the four heralds. Silently they marched, in silence the populace received them. The spectacle reminded very old men of the day the great Axaya’ was borne in mournful pomp to Chapultepec. Once only there was a cheer, or, rather, a war-cry from the warriors looking down from the terraces of a temple. So the cortege passed from the city; so, through a continuous lane of men, they moved along the causeway; so they reached the gates of Xoloc, at which the two dikes, one from Iztapalapan, the other from Cojohuaca, intersected each other. There they halted, waiting for Cortes.

And while the train was on the road, out of one of the gates of the royal garden passed a palanquin, borne by four slaves in the king’s livery. The occupants were the princesses Tula and Nenetzin, with Yeteve in attendance. In any of the towns of old Spain there would have been much remark upon the style of carriage, but no denial of their beauty, or that they were Spanish born. The elder sister was thoughtful and anxious; the younger kept constant lookout; the priestess, at their feet, wove the flowers with which they were profusely supplied into ramilletes, and threw them to the passers-by. The slaves, when in the great street, turned to the north.

“Blessed Lady!” cried Yeteve. “Was the like ever seen?”