"A little more than two years ago, the Maya sent swift-messengers through all these lands, to give notice of strange objects—floating houses, they said—sighted off the shores of the peninsula called Uluumil Kutz. You recall the occasion?"

"Vividly, my lord," I said. "As I interpreted the message, they had but seen a certain great fish and a certain flying fish."

"Yes, that was the reassuring explanation put abroad by your Revered Speaker Motecuzóma, and believed by all people, to their considerable relief."

"To my considerable embarrassment," Motecuzóma said grimly.

Nezahualpili made a placative gesture in his direction, and continued speaking to me. "It transpires that some of the Maya who saw that apparition made pictures, young Mixtli, but it is only now that one of them has come into my possession. Would you still say that this pictured object is a fish?"

He handed down to me a small square of tattered bark paper, and I scrutinized it. It bore a typically Maya drawing, so small and crabbed of style that I could not do more than guess at what it was meant to represent in fact. But I had to say, "I confess, my lords, that it more resembles a house than it does the mighty fish with which I confused it."

"Or the flying fish?" asked Nezahualpili.

"No, my lord. The wings of that fish spread sideways. As well as I can tell, this object appears to wear its wings sticking straight upward from its back. Or its roof."

He pointed. "And those round dots in a row between the wings above and the roof below them. What do you make of those?"

I said uncomfortably, "It is impossible to be certain from this crude drawing, but I venture the guess that the dots are meant to show the heads of men." Miserably, I raised my eyes from the paper, to look straight at each Speaker in turn. "My lords, I recant my former interpretation. I can only plead that I was inadequately informed. Had I seen this picture at that time, I would have said that the Maya were rightly frightened, and right to warn the rest of us. I would have said that Uluumil Kutz had been visited by immense canoes somehow moved by wings and filled with men. I could not say of what people the men are or whence they come, except that they are strangers and obviously have much knowledge. If they can build such war canoes, they can wage war—and perhaps a war more fearsome than we have ever known."

"There!" said Nezahualpili, with satisfaction. "Even at the risk of displeasing his Lord Speaker, Mixtli flinches not from telling the truth as he sees it—when he sees it. My own seers and sayers read the same portent when they saw that Maya drawing."

"Had the omens been read correctly and sooner," muttered Motecuzóma, "I would have had more than two years in which to fortify and man the coasts of Uluumil Kutz."

"To what purpose?" Nezahualpili asked. "If the strangers do choose to strike there, let the expendable Maya bear the brunt. But if, as it seems, they can invade from the limitless sea, there are limitless coasts on which they might land, east or north, west or south. Not all the warriors of all nations could adequately man every vulnerable shore. You had better concentrate your defenses in a tighter ring and closer to home."

"I?" Motecuzóma exclaimed. "What of you?"

"Ah, I will be dead," said Nezahualpili, yawning and stretching luxuriously. "The seers assure me of that, and I am glad, for it gives me reason to spend my last years in peace and repose. From now until my death I shall make war no more. And neither will my son Black Flower when he succeeds to my throne."

I stood before the dais uncomfortably, but apparently unnoticed and forgotten; I was given no signal of dismissal.

Motecuzóma stared at Nezahualpili and his face darkened. "You are removing Texcóco and your Acolhua nation from The Triple Alliance? Lord friend, I should hate to speak the words betrayal and cowardice."

"Then do not," snapped Nezahualpili. "I mean that we will—we must—reserve our warring for the invasion foretold. And when I say we, I mean all nations of these lands. We must no longer waste our warriors and our resources in fighting each other. The feuds and rivalries must be suspended, and all our energies, all our armies pooled together to repel the invader. That is how I see it, in the light of the omens and my wise men's interpretation of them. That is how I shall spend my remaining days, and Black Flower will do the same after me—working for a truce and solidarity among all nations, so that all may present a united front when the outlanders come."

"All very well for you and your tamely disciplined Crown Prince," said Motecuzóma insultingly. "But we are the Mexíca! Ever since we attained our supremacy in The One World, no outsider has set foot inside this dominion without our permission. So it shall ever be, if we must fight alone against all nations known or unknown, if all our allies desert us or turn against us."

I was a little sorry to see the Lord Nezahualpili take no umbrage at that outright expression of contempt. He said, almost sadly:

"Then I will tell you of a legend, lord friend. Perhaps it has been forgotten by you Mexíca, but it still can be read in our Texcóco archives. According to that legend, when your Aztéca ancestors first ventured out of their northern homeland of Aztlan and made their years-long march which ended here, they knew not what obstacles they might encounter on the way. For all they knew, they might find lands so forbidding or peoples so unfriendly that they would deem it preferable to retrace their road and return to Aztlan. Against that contingency, they arranged for a swift and safe withdrawal. At eight or nine of the places they stopped between Aztlan and this lake district, they collected and hid ample stocks of weapons and provender. If they were forced to retreat homeward again, they could do it at their own pace, well nourished and well armed. Or they could turn and make a stand at any of those prepared positions."

Motecuzóma gaped; clearly he had not heard that tale before. Well, neither had I. Nezahualpili concluded:

"At least, so says the legend. Unhappily, it does not say where those eight or nine places are. I respectfully suggest, lord friend, that you send explorers northward through the desert lands to seek them out. Either that or lay out another line of stores. If you choose not to make every neighbor nation your ally now, the time will come when none will be, and you may have need of that escape route. We of the Acolhua prefer to gird ourselves with friends."

Motecuzóma sat silent for a long while, hunched on his chair as if huddled against an approaching storm. Then he sat up straight, squared his shoulders, and said, "Suppose the outlanders never come. You will have lain supine to no purpose but to be trampled by whichever friend first feels strong enough."

Nezahualpili shook his head and said, "The outlanders will come."

"You seem very sure."

"Sure enough to make a wager of it," said Nezahualpili, suddenly jovial. "I challenge you, lord friend. Let us play at tlachtli in the ceremonial court. No teams, just you against me. The best of three games, say. If I lose, I will take it as an omen contradicting every other. I will retract all my gloomy warnings and put all the Acolhua arms and armies and resources at your command. If you lose..."

"Well?"

"Concede only this. You will leave me and my Acolhua free from all your future entanglements, so that we may pass our last days in more peaceful and pleasant pursuits."