Some weary time went by, and at last came the day of the entry into
Mexico of Cortes and his conquerors. Now of all the doings of the
Spaniards after they occupied the city, I do not propose to speak at
length, for these are matters of history, and I have my own story to
tell. So I shall only write of those of them with which I was concerned
myself. I did not see the meeting between Montezuma and Cortes, though
I saw the emperor set out to it clad like Solomon in his glory and
surrounded by his nobles. But I am sure of this, that no slave being
led to sacrifice carried a heavier heart in his breast than that of
Montezuma on this unlucky day. For now his folly had ruined him, and I
think he knew that he was going to his doom.

Afterwards, towards evening, I saw the emperor come back in his golden
litter, and pass over to the palace built by Axa his father, that stood
opposite to and some five hundred paces from his own, facing the western
gate of the temple. Presently I heard the sound of a multitude shouting,
and amidst it the tramp of horses and armed soldiers, and from a seat
in my chamber I saw the Spaniards advance down the great street, and my
heart beat at the sight of Christian men. In front, clad in rich armour,
rode their leader Cortes, a man of middle size but noble bearing,
with thoughtful eyes that noted everything, and after him, some few
on horseback but the most of them on foot, marched his little army of
conquerors, staring about them with bold wondering eyes and jesting to
each other in Castilian. They were but a handful, bronzed with the sun
and scarred by battle, some of them ill-armed and almost in rags, and
looking on them I could not but marvel at the indomitable courage
that had enabled them to pierce their way through hostile thousands,
sickness, and war, even to the home of Montezuma's power.