selected for their rank and beauty, succeeded the boys. Flocking around him with light and echoless feet, very graceful, very happy, theirs was indeed the service that awaits the faithful in Mahomet’s Paradise. To each of his ancients he passed a goblet of choclatl, then continued his eating and talking.
“Yes. Be they gods or men, I would give a province to know their intention; that, uncles, would enable me to determine my policy,—whether to give them war or peace. As yet, they have asked nothing but the privilege of trading with us; and, judging them by our nations, I want not better warrant of friendship. As you know, strangers have twice before been upon our coast in such canoes, and with such arms;30 and in both instances they sought gold, and getting it they departed. Will these go like them?”
“Has my master forgotten the words of Mualox?”
“To Mictlan with the paba!” said the king, violently. “He has filled my cities and people with trouble.”
“Yet he is a prophet,” retorted the old councillor, boldly. “How knew he of the coming of the strangers before it was known in the palace?”
The flush of the king’s face faded.
“It is a mystery, uncle,—a mystery too deep for me. All the day and night before he was in his Cû; he went not into the city even.”
“If the wise master will listen to the words of his slave, he will not again curse the paba, but make him a friend.”
The monarch’s lip curled derisively.
“My palace is now a house of prayer and sober life; he would turn it into a place of revelry.”
All the ancients but the one laughed at the irony; that one repeated his words.
“A friend; but how?” asked Montezuma.
“Call him from the Cû to the palace; let him stand here with us; in the councils give him a voice. He can read the future; make of him an oracle. O king, who like him can stand between you and Quetzal’?”
For a while Montezuma toyed idly with the xicara. He also believed in the prophetic gifts of Mualox, and it was not the first time he had pondered the question of how the holy man had learned the coming of the strangers; to satisfy himself as to his means of information, he had even instituted inquiries outside the palace. And yet it was but one of several mysteries; behind it, if not superior, were the golden chamber, its wealth, and the writing on the walls. They were not to be attributed to the paba: works so wondrous could not have been done in one lifetime. They were the handiwork of a god, who had chosen Mualox for his servant and prophet; such was the judgment of the king.
Nor was that all. The monarch had come to believe that the strangers on the coast were Quetzal’ and his followers, whom it were vain to resist, if their object was vengeance. But the human heart is seldom without its suggestion of hope; and he thought, though resistance was impossible, might he not propitiate? This policy had occupied his thoughts, and most likely without result, for the words of the councillor seemed welcome. Indeed, he could scarcely fail to recognize the bold idea they conveyed,—nothing less, in fact, than meeting the god with his own prophet.
“Very well,” he said, in his heart. “I will use the paba. He shall come and stand between me and the woe.”
Then he arose, took a string of pearls from his neck, and with his own hand placed it around that of the ancient.
“Your place is with me, uncle. I will have a chamber fitted for you here in the palace. Go no more away. Ho, steward! The supper is done; let the pipes be brought, and give me music and dance. Bid the minstrels come. A song of the olden time may make me strong again.”
CHAPTER II.
A TEZCUCAN LOVER
Traces of the supper speedily disappeared. The screen was rolled away, and pipes placed in the monarch’s hand for distribution amongst his familiars. Blue vapor began to ascend to the carved rafters, when the tapestry on both sides of the room was flung aside, and the sound of cornets and flutes poured in from an adjoining apartment; and, as if answering the summons of the music, a company of dancing-girls entered, and filled the space in front of the monarch; half nude were they, and flashing with ornaments, and aerial with gauze and flying ribbons; silver bells tinkled with each step, and on their heads were wreaths, and in their hands garlands of flowers. Voluptuous children were they of the voluptuous valley.
Saluting the monarch, they glided away, and commenced a dance. With dreamy, half-shut eyes, through the scented cloud momently deepening around him, he watched them; and in the sensuous, animated scene was disclosed one of the enchantments that had weaned him from the martial love of his youth.
Every movement of the figure had been carefully studied, and a kind of æsthetic philosophy was blent with its perfect time and elegance of motion. Slow and stately at first, it gradually quickened; then, as if to excite the blood and fancy, it became more mazy and voluptuous; and finally, as that is the sweetest song that ends with a long decadence, it was so concluded as to soothe the transports itself had awakened. Sweeping along, it reached a point, a very climax of abandon and beauty, in which the dancers appeared to forget the music and the method of the figure; then the eyes of the king shone brightly, and the pipe lingered on his lips forgotten; and then the musicians began, one by one, to withdraw from the harmony, and the dancers to vanish singly from the room, until, at last, there was but one flute to be heard, while but one girl remained. Finally, she also disappeared, and all grew still again.
And the king sat silent and listless, surrendered to the enjoyment which was the object of the diversion; yet he heard the music; yet he saw the lithe and palpitating forms of the dancers in posture and motion; yet he felt the sweet influence of their youth and grace and beauty, not as a passion, but rather a spell full of the suggestions of passion, when a number of men came noiselessly in, and, kneeling, saluted him. Their costume was that of priests, and each of them carried an instrument of music fashioned somewhat like a Hebrew lyre.
“Ah, my minstrels, my minstrels!” he said, his face flushing with pleasure. “Welcome in the streets, welcome in the camp, welcome in the palace, also! What have you to-night?”
“When last we were admitted to your presence, O king, you bade us compose hymns to the god Quetzal’—”
“Yes; I remember.”
“We pray you not to think ill of your slaves if we say that the verses which come unbidden are the best; no song of the bird’s so beautiful as the one it sings when its heart is full.”
The monarch sat up.
“Nay, I did not command. I know something of the spirit of poetry. It is not a thing to be driven by the will, like a canoe by a strong arm; neither is it a slave, to come or go at a signal. I bid my warriors march; I order the sacrifice; but the lays of my minstrels have ever been of their free will. Leave me now. To you are my gardens and palaces. I warrant the verses you have are good; but go ask your hearts for better.”
They retired with their faces toward him until hidden behind the tapestry.
“I love a song, uncles,” continued the king; “I love a hymn to the gods, and a story of battle chanted in a deep voice. In the halls of the Sun every soul is a minstrel, and every tale a song. But let them go; it is well enough. I promised Iztlil’, the Tezcucan, to give him audience to-night. He comes to the palace but seldom, and he has not asked a favor since I settled his quarrel with the lord Cacama. Send one to see if he is now at the door.”
Thereupon he fell to reflecting and smoking; and when next he spoke, it was from the midst of an aromatic cloud.
“I loved the wise ’Hualpilli; for his sake, I would have his children happy. He was a lover of peace, and gave more to policy than to war. It were grievous to let his city be disturbed by feuds and fighting men; therefore I gave it to the eldest son. His claim was best; and, besides, he has the friendly heart to serve me. Still—still, I wish there had been two Tezcucos.”
“There was but one voice about the judgment in Tezcuco, O king; the citizens all said it was just.”
“And