Handsomest man of the party, however, was Don Pedro
de Alvarado. Generous as a brother to a Christian, he hated
a heathen with the fervor of a crusader. And now, in scorn
of Aztecan treachery, he was riding unhelmed, his locks,
long and yellow, flowing freely over his shoulders. His face
was fair as a gentlewoman's, and neither sun nor weather
could alter it. Except in battle, his countenance expressed
the friendliest disposition. He cultivated his beard assiduously,
training it to fall in ringlets upon his breast, — and
there was reason for the weakness, if such it was; yellow
as gold, with the help of his fair face and clear blue eyes, it
gave him a peculiar expression of sunniness, from which the
Aztecs called him Tonitiah, child of the Sun.*

And over what a following of cavaliers the leader looked
when, turning in his saddle, he now and then glanced down
the column, — Christobal de Oli, Juan Velasquez de Leon,
Francisco de Montejo, Luis Marin, Andreas de Tapia, Alonzo
de Avila, Francisco de Lugo, the Manjarezes, Andreas and
Gregorio, Diego de Ordas, Francisco de Morla, Christobal de
Olea, Gonzalo de Dominguez, Rodriques Magarino, Alonzo
Hernandez Carrero, — most of them gentlemen of the class
who knew the songs of Rodrigo, and the stories of Amadis
and the Paladins!

And much shame would there be to me if I omitted mention
of two others, — Bernal Diaz del Castillo, who, after
the conquest, became its faithful historian, and Father Bartolom
é de Olmedo,† sweet singer, good man, and devoted
servant of God, the first to whisper the names of Christ and
the Holy Mother in the ear of New Spain. In the column
behind the cavaliers, with his assistant, Juan de las Varillas,
he rode bareheaded, and clad simply in a black serge gown.
The tinkle of the little silver bell, which the soldiers, in token

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of love, had tied to the neck of his mule, sounded, amid the
harsher notes of war, like a gentle reminder of shepherds and
grazing flocks in peaceful pastures near Old World homes.

After the holy men, in care of a chosen guard of honor,
the flag of Spain was carried; and then came the artillery,
drawn by slaves; next, in close order, followed the cross-bowmen
and arquebusiers, the latter with their matches
lighted. Rearward still, in savage pomp and pride, strode
the two thousand Tlascalans, first of their race to bear shield
and fly banner along the causeway into Tenochtitlan. And
so the Christians, in order of battle, but scarcely four hundred
strong, marched into a capital of full three hundred thousand
inhabitants, swollen by the innumerable multitudes of the
valley.

As they drew nigh the city, the cavaliers became silent
and thoughtful. With astonishment, which none of them
sought to conceal, they gazed at the white walls and crowded
houses, and, with sharpened visions, traced against the sky
the outlines of temples and temple-towers, more numerous
than those of papal Rome. Well they knew that the story
of what they saw so magnificently before them would be received
with incredulity in all the courts of Christendom.
Indeed, some of the humbler soldiers marched convinced that
all they beheld was a magical delusion. Not so Cortes.

“Ride on, gentlemen, ride on!” he said. “There is a
question I would ask of a good man behind us. I will rejoin
you shortly.”

From the artillerists he singled a soldier.

“Martin Lopez! Martin Lopez!”

The man came to him.

“Martin, look out on this lake. Beareth it resemblance
to the blue bays on the southern shore of old Spain? As
thou art a crafty sailor, comrade mine, look carefully.”

Lopez raised his morion, and, leaning on his pike, glanced
over the expanse.

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“Señor, the water is fair enough, and, for that, looks like
bayous I have seen without coming so far; but I doubt if a
two-decker could float on it long enough for Father Olmedo
to say mass for our souls in peril.”

“Peril! Plague take thee, man! Before the hour of
vespers, by the Blessed Lady, whose image thou wearest, this
lake, yon city, its master, and all thou seest here, not excepting
the common spawn of idolatry at our feet, shall be the
property of our sovereign lord. But, Martin Lopez, thou
hast hauled sail and tacked ship in less room than this.
What say'st thou to sailing a brigantine here?”

The sailor's spirit rose; he looked over the lake again.

“It might be done, it might be done!”

“Then, by my conscience, it shall be! Confess thyself
an Admiral to-night.”

And Cortes rode to the front. Conquest might not be,
he saw, without vessels; and true to his promise, it came to
pass that Lopez sailed, not one, but a fleet of brigantines on
the gentle waters.

When the Christians were come to the first bridge outside
the walls, their attention was suddenly drawn from the city.
Down the street came Montezuma and his retinue. Curious
as they were to see the arch-infidel, the soldiers kept their
ranks; but Cortes, taking with him the cavaliers, advanced
to meet the monarch. When the palanquin stopped, the
Spaniards dismounted. About the same time an Indian
woman, of comely features, came forward.

“Stay thou here, Marina,” said Cortes. “I will embrace
the heathen, then call thee to speak to him.”

“Jésu!” cried Alvarado. “There is gold enough on his
litter to furnish a cathedral.”

“Take thou the gold, Señor; I choose the jewels on his
mantle,” said De Ordas.

“By my patron saint of excellent memory!” said

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Sandoval, lisping his words, “I think for noble cavaliers ye are
easily content. Take the jewels and the gold; but give
me that train of stalwart dogs, and a plantation worthy of
my degree here by Tezcuco.”

So the captains talked.

Meantime, the cotton cloth was stretched along the dike.
Then on land and sea a hush prevailed.

Montezuma came forward supported by the lords Cuitlahua
and Cacama. Cortes met him half-way. When face to
face, they paused, and looked at each other. Alas, for the
Aztec then! In the mailed stranger he beheld a visitant
from the Sun, — a god! The Spaniard saw, wrapped in the
rich vestments, only a man, — a king, yet a heathen! He
opened his arms: Montezuma stirred not. Cuitlahua uttered
a cry to Huitzil', and caught one of the extended arms.
Long did Cortes keep in mind the cacique's look at that
moment; long did he remember the dark brown face, swollen
with indignation and horror. Alvarado laid his hand on his
sword.

“Peace, Don Pedro!” said Cortes. “The knave knows
nothing of respectable customs. Instead of taking to thy
sword, bless the Virgin that a Christian knight hath been
saved the sin of embracing an unbeliever. Call Marina.”

The woman came, and stood by the Spaniard, and in a
sweet voice interpreted the speeches. The monarch expressed
delight at seeing his visitors, and welcomed them to Tenochtitlan;
his manner and courteous words won even Alvarado.
Cortes answered, acknowledging surprise at the beauty
and extent of the city, and in token of his gratification at
being at last before a king so rich and powerful begged him
to accept a present. Into the royal hand he then placed a
string of precious stones, variously colored, and strongly perfumed
with musk. Thereupon the ceremony ended. Two of
the princes were left to conduct the strangers to their quarters.

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Resuming his palanquin, Montezuma himself led the procession
as far as his own palace.

And Cortes swung himself into the saddle. “Let the
trumpets sound. Forward!”

Again the music, — again the advance; then the pageant
passed from the causeway and lake into the expectant
city.

Theretofore, the Christians had been silent from discipline,
now they were silent from wonder. Even Cortes held his
peace. They had seen the irregular towns of Tlascala, and
the pretentious beauty of Cholula, and Iztapalapan, in whose
streets the lake contended with the land for mastery, yet
were they unprepared for Tenochtitlan. Here, it was plain,
wealth and power and time and labor, under the presidency
of genius, had wrought their perfect works, everywhere visible:
under foot, a sounding bridge, or a broad paved way,
dustless, and unworn by wheel or hoof; on the right and
left, airy windows, figured portals, jutting balconies, embattled
cornices, porticos with columns of sculptured marble,
and here a palace, there a temple; overhead pyramidal
heights crowned with towers and smoking braziers, or lower
roofs, from which, as from hanging gardens, floated waftures
sweet as the perfumed airs of the Indian isles; and everywhere,
looking up from the canals, down from the porticos,
houses, and pyramids, and out of the doors and windows,
crowding the pavement, clinging to the walls, — everywhere
the People! After ages of decay I know it has been otherwise;
but I also know that conquerors have generally found
the builders of a great state able and willing to defend it.

“St. James absolve me, Señor! but I like not the coldness
of these dogs,” said Monjarez to Avila.

“Nor I,” was the reply. “Seest thou the women on yon
balcony? I would give my helmet full of ducats, if they
would but once cry, “Viva España!”

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“Nay, that would I if they would but wave a scarf.”

The progress of the pageant was necessarily slow; but at
last the spectators on the temple of Huitzil' heard its music;
at last the daughters of the king beheld it in the street below
them.

“Gods of my fathers!” thought Tula, awed and trembling,
“what manner of beings are these?”

And the cross-bowmen and arquebusiers, their weapons
and glittering iron caps, the guns, and slaves that dragged
them, even the flag of Spain, — objects of mighty interest
to others, — drew from Nenetzin but a passing glance.
Very beautiful to her, however, were the cavaliers, insomuch
that she cared only for their gay pennons, their shields,
their plumes nodding bravely above their helms, their armor
of strange metal, on which the sun seemed to play with a
fiery love, and their steeds, creatures tamed for the service
of gods. Suddenly her eyes fixed, her heart stopped; pointing
to where the good Captain Alvarado rode, scanning,
with upturned face, the great pile, “O Tula, Tula!” she
cried. “See! There goes the blue-eyed warrior of my
dream!”

But it happened that Tula was, at the moment, too much
occupied to listen or look. The handsome vendor of images,
standing near the royal party, had attracted the attention of
Yeteve, the priestess.

“The noble Tula is unhappy. She is thinking of —”

A glance checked the name.

Then Yeteve whispered, “Look at the image-maker.”

The prompting was not to be resisted. She looked, and
recognized Guatamozin. Not that only; through his low
disguise, in his attitude, his eyes bright with angry fire, she
discerned his spirit, its pride and heroism. Not for her was
it to dispute the justice of his banishment. Love scorned
the argument. There he stood, the man for the time;

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strongarmed, stronger-hearted, prince by birth, king by nature,
watching afar off a scene in which valor and genius entitled
him to prominence. Then there were tears for him, and a
love higher, if not purer, than ever.

Suddenly he leaned over the verge, and shouted, “Al-a-lala!
Al-a-lala!” and with such energy that he was heard in
the street below. Tula looked down, and saw the cause of
the excitement, — the Tlascalans were marching by! Again
his cry, the same with which he had so often led his countrymen
to battle. No one took it up. The companies inside
the sacred wall turned their faces, and stared at him in
dull wonder. And he covered his eyes with his hands, while
every thought was a fierce invective. Little he then knew
how soon, and how splendidly, they were to purchase his
forgiveness!

When the Tlascalans were gone, he dropped his hands,
and found the — mallet! So it was the artisan, the image-maker,
not the 'tzin, who had failed to wake the army
to war! He turned quickly, and took his way through
the crowd, and disappeared; and none but Tula and Yeteve
ever knew that, from the teocallis, Guatamozin had witnessed
the entry of the teules.

And so poor Nenetzin had been left to follow the warrior
of her dream; the shock and the pleasure were hers alone.

The palace of Axaya' faced the temple of Huitzil' on the
west. In one of the halls Montezuma received Cortes and
the cavaliers; and all their lives they recollected his gentleness,
courtesy, and unaffected royalty in that ceremony.
Putting a golden collar around the neck of his chief guest,
he said, “This palace belongs to you, Malinche, and to your
brethren. Rest after your fatigues; you have much need to
do so. In a little while I will come again.”

And when he was gone, straightway the guest so honored
proceeded to change the palace into a fort. Along the massive

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walls that encircled it he stationed sentinels; at every gate
planted cannon; and, like the enemy he was, he began, and
from that time enforced, a discipline sterner than before.

The rest of the day the citizens, from the top of the temple,
kept incessant watch upon the palace. When the shades
of evening were collecting over the city, and the thousands,
grouped along the streets, were whispering of the incidents
they had seen, a thunderous report broke the solemn stillness;
and they looked at each other, and trembled, and
called the evening guns of Cortes “Voices of the Gods.”