Now a voice cried, 'We have slain our king. Montezuma is dead,' and
instantly with a dreadful wailing the multitude fled this way and that,
so that presently no living man could be seen where there had been
thousands.
I turned to comfort Otomie, who was watching at my side, and had seen
her royal father fall, and led her weeping into the palace. Here we met
Guatemoc, the prince, and his mien was fierce and wild. He was fully
armed and carried a bow in his hand.
'Is Montezuma dead?' I asked.
'I neither know nor care,' he answered with a savage laugh, then added:
'Now curse me, Otomie my cousin, for it was my arrow that smote him
down, this king who has become a woman and a traitor, false to his
manhood and his country.'
Then Otomie ceased weeping and answered:
'I cannot curse you, Guatemoc, for the gods have smitten my father
with a madness as you smote him with your arrow, and it is best that
he should die, both for his own sake and for that of his people. Still,
Guatemoc, I am sure of this, that your crime will not go unpunished,
and that in payment for this sacrilege, you shall yourself come to a
shameful death.'
'It may be so,' said Guatemoc, 'but at least I shall not die betraying
my trust;' and he went.
Now I must tell that, as I believed, this was my last day on earth,
for on the morrow my year of godhead expired, and I, Thomas Wingfield,
should be led out to sacrifice.
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