The hate that the people of Tlaxcala bore for the Aztecs was greater than their racial feelings, and it was this that saved the Spaniards. A savage joy shone upon the faces of the Aztecs, and the whole city was one triumphal song. Responsible for Aztec grandeur, the son of Ahuitzotl was conscious of the danger that threatened it, and was perhaps the only one to have presentiments of tragedy. The very name of ‘Aztec’ gritted the teeth of Tarascos, Tlaxcalans and Cempoalans, who remembered their own people immolated on Mexican altars or reduced to slavery. The Aztecs no longer had anything to eat or drink; they slaked their thirst on the blood of Tlaxcalan corpses and fed on lizards or on leather from shields. The glow of the setting sun lit the heavy obsidian sword he brandished as the last symbol of Aztec grandeur.