in the spacious halls adjoining the temple, after which he retired for a time. There the men rested and refreshed themselves, guards being carefully posted, for Cortés would not trust his fate to strangers, and strict orders were given that no one should leave the building.[1]
It was not long before Chicomacatl returned in a litter with a richly attired suite, bringing presents of fine robes, and jewels worth about two thousand ducats. During the conversation that ensued, Cortés as usual extolled the greatness and power of his king, and spoke warmly of his mission to replace their bloody religion with-a knowledge of the true God. Were there wrongs to redress, that is to say, when opportunity offered for the perpetration of a greater wrong by himself, no knight of La Mancha or Ämadis of Gaul could be more valiant than he. In return the chief of Cempoala unbosomed himself, for the manner of Cortés was winning, and his speech inspired confidence whenever he chose to make it so. Then his fame, already wide-spread over the land, and the dim uncertainty as to his nature, whether more celestial or terrestrial, added weight to his words. So Chicomacatl poured forth from an overflowing heart a torrent of complaints against the tyranny of Montezuma. He drew for the Spaniards a historic outline of the Aztecs-how a people the youngest in the land had, at first by cunning and treachery, and finally by forced allies and preponderance of arms, built their power upon the ruin of older states. The Totonacs, whose records as an independent nation in this region extended over seven centuries, had succumbed only some twenty-five years before this.[2] And now Montezuma's collectors overran the provinces, gathering heavy tributes, seizing the beautiful maidens, and
