Still I remembered the words of the
preacher which tell us that he who increaseth knowledge increaseth
sorrow, and moreover I could see little use in acquiring learning that
was to be lost shortly on the stone of sacrifice.
As to this matter of my sacrifice I was at first desperate. But
reflection told me that I had already passed many dangers and come out
unscathed, and therefore it was possible that I might escape this one
also. At least death was still a long way off, and for the present I
was a god. So I determined that whether I died or lived, while I lived I
would live like a god and take such pleasures as came to my hand, and
I acted on this resolve. No man ever had greater or more strange
opportunities, and no man can have used them better. Indeed, had it not
been for the sorrowful thoughts of my lost love and home which would
force themselves upon me, I should have been almost happy, because of
the power that I wielded and the strangeness of all around me. But I
must to my tale.
During the days that followed the death of Papantzin the palace and
the city also were plunged in ferment. The minds of men were shaken
strangely because of the rumours that filled the air. Every night the
fiery portent blazed in the east, every day a new wonder or omen was
reported, and with it some wild tale of the doings of the Spaniards, who
by most were held to be white gods, the children of Quetzal, come back
to take the land which their forefather ruled.
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