THE ROMANCE OF MEXICO
still ruled in the hill-fastnesses of the northern part of the kingdom.
Many months passed by in suspense. The solemn words of Nezahualpilli grew fainter, and hope even began to creep into the emperor's heart. Then came like a thunderbolt the news of Grijalva's landing. But the time was not yet, and Grijalva sailed away. Had the gods heard his prayers, accepted his sacrifices?
Alas! who can escape his fate? Once more the dreaded strangers seek his shores, bringing in their train thunder and lightning and fierce, fiery animals for war. In the pictured scroll he gazes on these white-skinned metal-clad men, and from the trembling tongue of his fleet courier he hears the bold words of their chief. They wish to march to his very citadel, they demand an audience, to no subordinate will they commit the message of their own all-powerful lord. Montezuma is perplexed. Who is this lord, this monarch so mighty? Quetzalcoatl? The Aztec hesitates. He temporises.
Eight days did Cortés await the answer to his message in his camp on the sandy shore. This was the tierra caliente, the hot region of Mexico, and all day long the sun beat mercilessly down on the palpitating, breathless land. Hard by was a fever-haunted marsh, and several of the Spaniards fell sick with malaria. Tormented by myriads of tropical insects they would have found the place insupportable but for the kindness and attention of the natives, who lavished on the strangers cooling fruits and food of all kinds. Some of them, indeed, by Tendile's
