'
Then I knew that the man believed that I was going to my death. In five
minutes I was standing before Cortes in his private house. At his side
was Marina and around him were several of his companions in arms. The
great man looked at me for a while, then spoke.
'Your name is Wingfield; you are of mixed blood, half English and
half Spanish. You were cast away in the Tobasco River and taken to
Tenoctitlan. There you were doomed to personate the Aztec god Tezcat,
and were rescued by us when we captured the great teocalli. Subsequently
you joined the Aztecs and took part in the attack and slaughter of the
noche triste. You were afterwards the friend and counsellor of Guatemoc,
and assisted him in his defence of Tenoctitlan. Is this true, prisoner?'
'It is all true, general,' I answered.
'Good. You are now our prisoner, and had you a thousand lives, you have
forfeited them all because of your treachery to your race and blood.
Into the circumstances that led you to commit this horrible treason I
cannot enter; the fact remains. You have slain many of the Spaniards
and their allies; that is, being in a state of treason you have murdered
them. Wingfield, your life is forfeit and I condemn you to die by
hanging as a traitor and an apostate.'
'Then there is nothing more to be said,' I answered quietly, though a
cold fear froze my blood.
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