"'T is she, and she a Christian, Pedro, as I live! And she calleth for
Father Tendilla."
"For Father Tendilla! Then stew me, she shall have him! I'll fetch
him."
"Fetch him, Pedro. Go at once." And taking him by the shoulder, the
senora turned him toward the entrance of the court. "Make haste, and,
_Adios_."
Pedro went a few paces, and halted; reflected a moment, and returned.
As the senora looked back he nodded toward Rogelio's dcor, and
approaching it, rapped vigorously. There was silence, and he pounded
again.
"Be off!" came a piping voice, not entirely steady.
Pedro pushed open the door, and heard a scurrying within. "Be off,
woman! I'm armed. Enter at thy peril!" trebled the voice. Pedro
thrust in his head. The _veedor_ was intrenched behind his table, bathed
in perspiration.
"Oh, thy pardon, _Veedor_! I thought thou didst bid me enter," said
Pedro, and closed the door with a grin.
"Hold, good Pedro! Wait! Tarry a moment, I pray thee, my dear friend,"
called the _veedor_, but Pedro was gone. As he left the court the door
opened, and Rogelio protruded his head, calling again; espied the senora
across the court, and retired abruptly.
*CHAPTER XXIV*
_*Pedro Seeks Tidings of Cristoval*_
Pedro cantered into town and dismounted in front of the great, heavily
walled, low-roofed edifice that had been the Temple of the Sun,--the
Temple of the Sun for centuries, but now surmounted by a cross, the
interior shorn of its symbols of pagan worship and its splendor, and
consecrated to the Holy Faith. Beside the gray old building was the
ancient palace of the priestly attendants, now sheltering the good
Father Tendilla and his assistants in the pious work of saving heathen
souls.
The gentle-mannered old priest was shocked at Pedro's revelation of the
_veedor's_ iniquity, and made instant preparations.
"Good Father," said the cook, as he held the stirrup for Tendilla to
mount, "if you can learn aught of Cristoval----"
"I will, my son. Come to-night," and the priest rode away.
Arrived at the fortress, he went directly to the commandant, and in half
an hour was at Rogelio's door with a squad of halberdiers. It drew an
outbreak of squeaky protests from that worthy, but the priest, leaving
him grovelling in fear of the punishing hand of the Church, ordered a
sentinel posted at his door and sought the senora. She admitted him at
once to Rava's room.
The girl was asleep, her tear-stained cheek resting on her clasped
hands. Even unconsciousness did not release her from her sorrow, for
she sighed heavily and moaned as Tendilla knelt for a brief prayer
beside her. He arose, and stood regarding her with compassion. With
deeper compassion still, when, awakening, she drew back with eyes wide
and deep with the unutterable fear of a creature hunted and caught. But
her recognition of his silvery hair and benevolent face was quick, and
with a sigh, the faintest smile, and a movement entirely queenly, she
extended her hand. He took it, and touching the dark head, murmured a
benediction. Rava raised her eyes, studying his with the unconscious
intensity and directness of gaze that had often given Cristoval the
feeling that she looked beyond; then the lines of anxiety softened into
an expression of trust. But that kindly old face brought a train of
recollections of dreadful days, and she turned away in sudden weeping.
If Senora Bolio had at first impressed Father Tendilla with some doubt
of that lady's fitness for her post beside the prisoner, she dispelled
it now by the tenderness with which she soothed the storm of grief.
With whispered words--words that might have sounded strangely enough to
the priest could he have heard them,--she pressed the shaking form to
her bosom, while with moistened eyes he waited for the return of calm.
When the girl was able to hear him he approached.
"My child," he began, in Quichua, and Rava turned quickly with joy in
her tears at the sound of the tongue which she had not heard since the
wild night at Xilcala. "My child, I have come to tell thee thou hast
friends, and thy dangers are past. As soon as thou 'rt composed we will
go from this unhappy place to one of safety, and I hope in a few days to
place thee in thy brother's care."
"Oh, Viracocha--my father!" she cried, rising and nearing him with hands
pressed to her heart. "Is it true? is it true? Hath the sweet Virgin
Mother answered my prayers? Ah, Cristoval promised it would always be!
I believed him, and it is so! She hath heard me. She hath not turned
from Rava in her sorrow!" She drew the crucifix from her bosom and
kissed it passionately. "And he said thou wast good, and merciful, and
kind, my father. Oh, I know it is true. And thou wilt save me? Wilt
save me? Wilt take me from this wicked place--beyond the reach of these
cruel Viracochas? Ah, I thank thee, Blessed Mother! I thank thee, I
thank thee!" and she sank upon her knees, pressing the crucifix to her
breast.
Father Tendilla raised her gently and led her back to her couch. "It is
all true, my daughter. Thy prayers will never be in vain. Now, compose
thyself, and rest until I return. I go but for a moment."
He left the room, offering earnest thanks for her faith, and ordered the
_hamaca_. It was ready in a moment, and with the escort of halberdiers,
and the resolute senora riding close beside her litter, Rava left the
fortress.
Early in the evening Pedro went to the priest. He found his old
confessor pacing the floor and full of mild enthusiasm.
"Ah, my son," said the father, beaming upon his visitor, "we have done a
good work this day. I shudder to think of the infinite wrong that might
have been but for thy prompt action in placing so rare a guardian as
Senora Bolio over this injured girl, and apprising me of her peril. The
senora, Pedro, is a remarkable woman. Where didst find her?"
"Stew me!--your pardon, father--I found her not. She found me--as the
avalanche findeth the wayfarer." Pedro shook his head with a trace of
gloom in his jovial face, adding, "Yes, she is a remarkable woman. No
doubt of it! She hath powers and attributes, Father Tendilla. But, the
Nusta Rava--she doth well?"
"Much more tranquil, and though most unhappy, beginneth to show
commendable patience and resignation. I have talked with her as my time
allowed, and would say from what I have seen, Pedro, that she is one of
the earth's choicest blooms. Poor Peralta hath been a humble agent in
her salvation, but his task was well acquitted, and he shall have many
masses for his soul's repose."
"Ah, _Madre_!" faltered Pedro. "Then Cristoval is dead?"
Father Tendilla shook his head sadly. "I fear it, Pedro. Duero hath so
said to Saavedra. I have forborne to ask the Nusta, for the mention of
his name seemeth to pierce her heart. Alas! The old sad story of
mortal love and grief."
Pedro rose and stumped nervously about the room. When he seated himself
again his face was flushed and his hands were unsteady, but he said
nothing, and the father went on.
"I have told the Nusta of thy part in her rescue, Pedro, and she would
see thee. She holdeth thee in kindly recollection."
"I am easily remembered," said Pedro, briefly. "I'm pegged in memories
wherever I roam," and he looked glumly at his wooden leg.
"For more than that, my son," said the priest, kindly. "Peralta never
forgot thee, and made the Nusta partaker in full of his affection. But
thou must see her soon--not to-morrow, for she is much in need of quiet;
but possibly on the day following."
"_Bien!_" said Pedro, and his voice was hoarse.
"And now," continued Tendilla, "we must communicate with the Inca
Manco."
"No better way than by _chasqui_," said the cook, "though there is
uncertainty of his reaching Cuzco. It is said there are roving bands of
Quitoans--remnants of Atahualpa's troops--still in the mountains. Since
Manco's coronation they have been hostile. But have you learned,
father, where the Nusta was found?"
"Only that the place is called Xilcala, and is some six days' march from
here."
"Xilcala," repeated Pedro, and fixed the name in his memory. When he
pegged back to his _cantina_ he meditated a purpose.
Two days later the cook was admitted to Rava's presence. She was
expecting him, and if he had been disposed to think disparagingly of the
grounds on which he was favored in her recollection, his modesty was
gently reproved by her evident pleasure. He found her changed. Her
pallor was sadly heightened, and the proud fire had gone from the dark
eyes. Sorrow seemed indelibly impressed upon the gentle face; but with
it a dignity strangely at variance with her youthfulness, and a
refinement of beauty almost startling to the good Pedro, who whispered
to himself, "Blessed saints! 't is the face of an angel." As she
greeted him her eyes lighted with a faint smile, but he noted with a
twinge the quiver of lip and chin and the scarcely controlled tremor in
her voice.
"Ah, Pedro," she said, after bidding him to sit, and observing the
diffidence in his honest eyes, "Father Tendilla hath told me all. I
would that I could tell thee my gratitude, but thou knowest. Thou didst
come to mine aid at the moment of despair, when I thought that even
Heaven had forsaken me."
"I have done naught, Nusta Rava. Father Tendilla and the senora----"
"Thou didst send them, Pedro; and it is twice, now, that I have owed
thee the means of my rescue. But for thy help at Caxamalca----" She
shuddered, then presently went on: "I know how our escape was made
possible, my friend. Cristoval--Cristoval told me. Ah, Pedro, he loved
thee well!" A choking sob shook her frame, and covering her face with
her hands, she turned toward Senora Bolio, who hastened to her side.
Poor Pedro dashed his hand across his eyes, and sat bolt upright, his
lips compressed. In a moment Rava was able to proceed.
"He spoke of thee often, Pedro."
Pedro bent forward. "Nusta Rava, is there no hope that Cristoval still
liveth? Do you know that it cannot be?"
"Oh, I know not, I know not! Once, on that dreadful night, I thought I
heard his voice rising above the clamor. I heard no more." She covered
her eyes as if to shut out the memory of the horror.
Pedro silently cursed himself for the stupidity of the question, and it
was moments before he could say something to divert her. He did so at
last, and soon took his leave. Rava said earnestly, "Thou'lt come
again, good Pedro?"
"I'll come again, Nusta Rava; and meanwhile, keep courage." He added to
himself as he crossed the court, "I would I might say, hope! _Ay de
mi_, Cristoval! if I could but know."
He tarried at the _cantina_ only while Pedrillo was saddling his mule,
then mounted and struck toward the fortress. Again his errand lay
beyond; and he drew rein at the _huasi_ of Municancha. The old Indio
gave him welcome, and to him Pedro narrated Rava's flight from Caxamalca
with the gallant Viracocha Cristoval. He told of her recent perils and
deliverance, and begged Municancha's aid in learning from Xilcala
whether the good soldier still lived, and if not, where lay his grave.
He found a willing helper. The old man, overjoyed by the news of the
safety of Rava, who had been mourned as dead throughout the empire, did
not hesitate. He had a nephew, Ocallo. Ocallo was summoned. He would
gladly accompany, would organize a company at once, and would be ready
to start the following dawn. They agreed upon a meeting place, and
having enjoined secrecy, Pedro rode back to Xauxa, grateful to the peg
which had won him so good a friend as Municancha.
Night had fallen before he reached the town. He told his plan to Father
Tendilla, arranged for his absence, received the confessor's blessing,
and departed to prepare for the journey. Pedro worked late, completed
his preparations, and lay down for a few hours' sleep. Long before dawn
he was up, and having breakfasted, was assisted by Pedrillo to arm. His
mule was brought, and with a few parting instructions, he was away. In
half an hour he was clear of the town, on the road going north. A brisk
trot for a mile or more, and he halted at a cross-road. A dim figure
rose out of the darkness and was hailed by Pedro in Quichua. After a
brief greeting, the man summoned half-a-dozen companions from a thicket
beside the road.
"Are we all here?" asked Pedro, looking over the group.
"All here, Viracocha--four archers and two carriers," replied the one
who had first approached.
"Good! Then we will move. Take the lead, Ocallo. We should be well in
the mountains before the light."
Thus Pedro set out on his search for Cristoval.
*CHAPTER XXV*
_*A Glimpse of Cuzco*_
The interest at first aroused by Pedro's disappearance gradually
subsided, and was suddenly forgotten for a time, in the excitement
following upon another departure. This was attended by tragic
circumstance. Fray Mauricio, having established himself at Xauxa, at
once denounced Jose to the commandant, Saavedra, as a heretic, demanding
his arrest. Saavedra, intimidated by threats of the Inquisition's
vengeance, unwillingly consented. He was not prompt, however, and word
of the friar's efforts reached the armorer, who was almost recovered
from his fever. The next morning Mauricio was found in his quarters,
stabbed to the heart. Jose had vanished.
Search was made in the town and neighboring mountains, but no trace of
the armorer was found, and as no reward was offered, the hunt was given
up.
Pedro's absence was not unnoted by Rava, however, and her gratitude for
his devotion and services inspired her persistent inquiries. To these
Father Tendilla made evasive replies, deeming it unwise to suggest a
hope which would probably renew her anguish when Pedro returned. But to
Senora Bolio, so much exercised that she even proposed to take the field
in search of the cook, he confided his mission, perplexed at that lady's
attitude, which seemed too resolute to imply tenderness, but which
nevertheless indicated something more than mere solicitude. Even had
the good father been better versed in the gentle passion as manifested
in the feminine breast, the senora's symptoms might easily have balked
his diagnosis. When she learned that Pedro had left Xauxa she suspected
it was prompted by his unconquerable coyness, and shocked the mild
priest by a characteristic opinion of the apparent treachery. But,
apprised of the fact, she melted in a manner no less surprising, blew
her nose violently to abort a threatened tear, and broke into eulogy
even more emphatic than her denunciation.
Rava's spiritual growth had been such as to rejoice the good
missionary's heart. She turned now with all the emotion born of grief,
the yearning of a heart bereft, the ardent faith of a sincere and
ingenuous mind, to the Mater Dolorosa and the Redeemer. Obedient to her
preceptor, she conquered the despair which he saw was menacing her life
itself. She found divine consolation, and in its realization her belief
received new strength. She was baptized and received the sacrament.
The occasion was one of utmost solemnity, and the garrison attended in
body. The little flock of native converts and as many more of the
people of Xauxa as the walls of the church would hold, gathered to see
the daughter of an Inca repudiate the gods of her fathers in their
ancient temple.
One morning Father Tendilla hastened to Rava with the news that a
_chasqui_ had arrived from Cuzco, announcing that the Inca Manco had
despatched an escort to convey her to the capital. Not many days later
the sun rose upon a city of tents on the plain outside the town. The
escort had arrived at nightfall the day before--battalions of the
Incarial Guard, a hundred nobles, a throng of maids for the Nusta's
attendance, and a long train of camp servants, _hamaca_ bearers, and
carriers for the baggage. That morning the sacerdotal palace was
a-glitter with the richly costumed members of the royal suite, bringing
the Inca Manco's brotherly greetings and their own homage to the
restored princess. Rava's simpler life was of the past, and once more
she was a Daughter of the Sun.
A fortnight later the _cortege_ of the Nusta was descending by the great
Chinchasuyu Road into the valley of Cuzco. As the column emerged from
the pass, and the fertile _bolson_ opened out below, Rava drew aside the
curtains of the _hamaca_. The arid slope dropped for hundreds of feet
to the uppermost terraces of the _andenes_ which clung to the
mountain-sides and ended with their green the bleak wilderness of eroded
rock. Beyond these the rolling floor of the valley, traversed by the
stream Cachimayo; and on the left, rising abruptly from the plain,
crowned by the ramparts and towers of its huge fortress, loomed the
sullen mass of the hill Sachsahuaman. At its feet lay Cuzco, the
"Navel," the centre of the universe, the ancient capital of the Incas;
and still farther away, the bastions of the gigantic circumvallation of
the Cordillera, its peaks delicately outlined against the azure of the
cloudless sky or the white of more distant snow-clad summits.
A faint haziness overhung the valley, with filmy spirals of white smoke
rising languidly above the roofs into the air, a-quiver with the warmth
of the lowland and lending lightness and unreality to the almost
dreamlike splendor of the capital. It seemed not of the West. The
bright walls of dwellings, the glare of street and plaza, the green of
interior court and garden, and the gold of the roofs of palace and
temple, were blended by distance into a harmonious beauty which might
have belonged rather to some metropolis of the fabled Orient.
As her escort wound slowly down, Rava looked forward with throbbing
heart, her eyes seeking in the confusion of roofs the spots endeared to
her by lifelong association. The palace, the Amarucancha, was easily
found on the great square, and even her own court with its shade of
quinuars. Beyond gleamed the golden roof of the Temple of the Sun, now
to her a symbol of the darkness from which she had been led by loving
hands, and whence she felt it her mission to rescue others. A turn hid
the city from view, and she leaned back with closed eyes until the
rhythmical tramp of the companies was echoed by the walls of houses, and
she heard the murmur of a multitude. The street was full of her people,
and as she looked from the _hamaca_ they raised a mighty shout, waving
hands and brightly colored scarfs and showering her with flowers. Her
heart was full as she smiled back their greetings, and in her joy over
theirs at beholding her again she could have embraced the humblest.
Far down the street the bristling column of spears turned to the left,
and the thunder of the drums at its head grew faint, to rise again as
her _hamaca_ reached the corner. Now she could see the plaza with its
expectant crowds, and shortly she emerged from the narrow way, while
waiting companies fell in on the right and left to form a hollow square.
Suddenly her eyes rested upon a group of bearded faces crowded close to
the lines, and she drew back into the shadow of the _hamaca_. They
stared with quiet insolence, and others were elbowing through the throng
from the direction of a building on the farther side of the square, over
whose door she saw with sinking heart the flag of Spain and the dark
colors of the Army of the Conquest. In front of the building was a
picketed line of horses and a loitering knot of Spaniards. Rava turned
away with a shiver, her brief happiness gone.
Before the Amarucancha the escort halted, and passing a double line of
kneeling nobles, the Nusta was borne beneath the sculptured serpents.
The first court was crowded, but she had barely time for a glance before
her hands were seized by the Auqui Paullo, her younger brother, who had
sprung to the side of the _hamaca_. Rava embraced him fondly and was
about to alight when she saw a familiar, swarthy countenance near the
door of the audience chamber. The owner was looking intently, and as he
caught her eyes, doffed his sombrero and started forward. Her heart
seemed to cease beating. Paullo was startled by her suddenly heightened
pallor.
"Great Inti!" he cried, in alarm. "What is it, Rava? Art ill?"
She grasped his arm convulsively. "Quick, oh, quick!" she gasped.
"Order my bearers forward--to my apartments!" and she sank, almost
fainting, into the shadow of the curtains. Mendoza halted with a shrug
as the _hamaca_ was raised, replaced his sombrero, and turned back. "By
the demon!" he muttered, with an unpleasant smile, "our haughty Senorita
Nusta seemeth to disdain old acquaintance. _No importa_! _No importa_!
There are other days to follow."
As he entered the hall he cast a glance over his shoulder at the
_hamaca_ just disappearing into another court, and clicked his tongue in
his cheek.
*CHAPTER XXVI*
_*The Inca Manco*_
Ignoring the salutes of the two sentinels of the royal guard, Mendoza
lounged into the audience room and stood leaning against the wall near
the door. It was a spacious apartment, resplendent with the usual
profusion and wealth of mural decoration thus far left undisturbed by
Pizarro's rapacious followers. At the farther end of the hall an
assemblage of natives stood at some distance from the throne, on which
was seated the young Inca Manco. Behind him stood a group of nobles,
and at his side, on a lower seat, was Almagro, commandant of the city in
the absence of Pizarro, then on an expedition to the coast. On the left
of the throne, in the front line of nobles, were Juan and Gonzalo
Pizarro, recently superseded in command by Almagro, and now alcaldes of
Cuzco. These three officials, with eight Spanish regidores, constituted
the municipal government established by Pizarro. To the Inca had been
left the insignia of sovereignty, and little more. He had the privilege
of his councils and the conduct of his realm so far as these did not
conflict with Spanish interests; but, as now, the Conquistadors were at
his elbow in humiliating censorship.
The Inca Manco was a youth of twenty years, though his serious and
resolute expression made him look more mature. He resembled his
half-brother Atahualpa, but his countenance, of a finer type, was
lacking in the other's fierceness, and in its delicate modelling was
more like that of the Nusta Rava. As he sat listening to the _curaca_
of a distant town who had brought a case for adjudication, he wore an
air of thoughtful gloom. The lines of care about his mouth and eyes
vanished when he spoke, announcing his judgment in brisk, quiet tones,
full of decision and confidence. The decree was favorable to the
speaker, and as the latter uttered his gratitude the Inca spoke again
briefly and in lowered voice, his face alight with a trace of pleasure.
The _curaca_ retired, and the next, an aged man, advanced with
hesitation, and having knelt with head bowed to the floor, seemed unable
to finish his obeisance, but remained prostrate. The Inca said kindly,
the customary address strangely inconsistent with their disparity of
age, "Rise, my son, rise! We are waiting."
The old man rose painfully, and in a voice unsteady with age and
emotion, told of outrage that brought hot blood to his sovereign's
cheek. The night before--he had been waiting all day to make his
complaint--his house had been broken into by a Viracocha soldier, and
his granddaughter carried away. His voice rose as he finished, and he
tottered forward to the dais, extending his trembling old hands in
appeal.
"In the name of the God who shineth in mercy upon us both, Sapa Inca, I
pray to you for vengeance! She is but a child--a mere child--and the
light of mine old life. Grant that your just wrath shall fall upon the
head accursed of the son of that wholly accursed race."
The Inca had started partly to his feet, his dark eyes ablaze. He sat
again. "Where is the girl?" he demanded, hoarsely.
"Cowering in the darkest corner of the darkest chamber of her home, Sapa
Inca--half mad--a blighted bud--a blemished pearl!" He turned abruptly
upon Almagro, who, unacquainted with the Quichua, had given him little
heed, lolling wearily in his chair.
"O, thou Viracocha, offspring of Supay!" cried the old Indio, shaking
his clenched hands toward the Spaniard, "dost yawn at my sorrow,
monster? Hast the heart of a wolf--thou who wearest the aspect of a
man? May the great Inti strike thee with thrice my grief, thrice mine
infirmities!"
Almagro, listening with some surprise to the violent apostrophe, looked
toward the younger Pizarro: "What saith he, Juan?"
"By God, he hath told a tale of bitter wrong, Diego!" responded the
other, vehemently. "One of our men hath stolen his girl. It calleth
for the garrote, or I'm an Ethiopian!"
Almagro sat up and glanced quickly at the Inca, who raised his hand to
silence the complainant, and was now regarding the commandant with stern
eyes and burning cheeks.
"Viracocha Almagro," said Manco, "before thy general went from Cuzco he
engaged that neither house nor person of my subjects should suffer
violation. Thy soldier hath committed a crime which is punished in
Tavantinsuyu with death. I look to thee for vindication."
"Why, blood and wounds!" exclaimed the cavalier, when Manco's words had
been translated. "Tell him, Juan, that we will indemnify with--Fiends!
but these people set no store by money. Say, then, that we will punish
with any just severity--short of death. That is out of reason."
The Inca's eyes were fixed steadily upon Almagro while the answer was
being made known to him. "Viracocha," he said coldly, "this outrage is
not the first of its kind. Now, I demand the penalty of death."
Almagro's scarred face flushed as his single eye met the Inca's frown,
and he replied bluntly: "I refuse! Tell him I refuse, Juan. We'll make
what reparation lieth within our power, but curse me if we'll waste a
soldier at any man's behest!" and Almagro glanced defiantly from the
Inca to the stern faces of his nobles.
Manco rose abruptly, dismissed his court with a few quick words, and
left the dais. As he passed the old man he spoke to him in an
undertone, and touching his white head lightly as he sank upon his
knees, moved toward the door, followed by his suite.
Almagro sprang to his feet. "How now, my puppet king! Dost turn us an
angry back? For the price of a breath of air I'd trim the fringe from
thy toy of a diadem!"
"Not so loud, Diego!" remonstrated Juan Pizarro. "He hath good offence.
I tell thee, we are not wise to make light of this soldier's trespass,
_amigo_. One such outrage unpunished will breed a thousand, and before
we are aware the country will be about our ears. 'T is a cut at their
tenderest sensibility. I say, hang the knave and keep the peace."
"Kill a good fighting man for the sake of a twig of a heathen girl!
Thou 'rt mad, Juan. I had as lief sacrifice a horse. We'll iron him
for forty days, and the matter will be forgotten. Come! Set the
business afoot. Have a public trial and advertise thy zeal, then keep
the affair hanging until interest is worn out. Parade justice for a
week, and these varlets will forget their grievance. _Vamos_!" They
left the empty hall, and indifferent to the dark looks of the throng in
front of the palace, sought their quarters in the old palace of the Inca
Tupac Yupanqui.
With the few nobles so privileged, Manco went to his apartments.
Controlling his agitation, he faced his counsellors. For a moment he
studied each, reading under their impassiveness the fire smouldering in
his own breast. In the group was Villaoma, the Villac Vmu, or high
priest of the empire, most sagacious of his advisers, as he had been
before to Huayna Capac and to the ill-fated Huascar. The old priest met
his look with one of keen scrutiny. Manco had been his favorite, and
from boyhood had been watched with an interest as deep and hopeful as if
of his own flesh and blood. Manco's admission to the military order
came when Cuzco was prostrate before the conqueror Atahualpa, her armies
scattered, and the Inca Huascar a prisoner in the fortress at Xauxa.
When Pizarro, after the death of Atahualpa, marched upon the capital
with the new Inca, Toparca, Manco reassembled the forces of Cuzco and
prepared for resistance. Following the counsel of the Villac Vmu,
Prince Manco had suspended hostilities after Toparca's death and laid
before Pizarro his own claim to the imperial _llautu_, temporarily
humiliating himself to forestall such other pretender as this king-maker
might advance. If he had underestimated the cost of this surrender of
dignity to policy, the Villac Vmu did not share his mistake; and when
the monarch presently realized the penalty for his pawned manhood, the
stings of injured pride, the chafing under arrogance, and the wounds of
slighted majesty, it was with difficulty that the priest restrained a
premature outbreak. Now he saw the fire long kept in check burning near
the surface. He held his peace, however, and Manco said merely:--
"I would have thee come hither to-night, Villac Vmu, after the third
watch--and you, my generals, Quehuar, Mayta, and Mocho. And come
prepared to counsel no longer caution, delay, but--action!" The effect
of the last word was electrical--but as a flash of heat lightning, and
as silent. It brightened their dark faces and fierce eyes for an
instant, and was gone. But he knew them well, this young
warrior-emperor; expected no reply, nor wished it. Presently he was
alone.
The lamps were being lighted before Manco was in a mood to greet the
Nusta Rava. He sent a page to advise her of his coming, requesting that
she be alone. After the youth had gone, he stood at his table with eyes
bent moodily upon the floor; then with quick impulse lifted the _llautu_
from his head, laid it aside, and quitted the apartment.
The evening was quiet and warm, but at that hour the several courts were
almost deserted, and he walked slowly, encountering few but the frequent
sentinels posted since the coming of the Spaniards. Through
intermediate patios, he gained the establishment devoted to the suite of
Rava and her younger sisters, the Nustas Ocllo and Alcaya, halting near
a door through which came the notes of a _tinya_ and of some fair one
singing. The song was a sad one, and he walked on, thinking of the days
when these gloomy courts were enlivened with music and laughter from
hearts untouched by care. Would those days come again to the brooding
old Amarucancha?--to stricken Cuzco? The question was like the thrust
of a dagger, self-administered. Was not this air of sadness, this
pervading gloom, directly due to his own supineness? Was not its source
in his weak, nay, criminal, submission to the Viracochas. Ah, why was
he lingering, inactive, under the goading of every crying hour? Why did
he rest an instant while there remained an enemy in Cuzco, or in all
Tavantinsuyu?
He came to Rava's door, and passed it; returned and passed it again and
again, the sweat starting under the flagellation of his conscience. How
could he face the noble girl within? What would she say of the Cuzco
she had left so fair: now so shorn of its glories? Would she not
reproach him, and justly? And could she do otherwise than attribute to
his neglect the suffering and dangers from which she had just escaped?
He must explain--without another second of delay, he must explain!
He recrossed the court impetuously, and pushing open the door without
ceremony, entered the room. Rava arose, startled, and hurried forward
with a cry of joy, alarmed again when she saw his pallor and the drawn
lines of his countenance. But there was no reproach in her tone or
bearing, only affection and gladness, and he embraced her with nervous
fervor.
Rava's arms were about his neck. "Oh, my brother! Oh, my brother! Do I
really see thee again? Manco! Manco! How many, many times in these
long months have I feared--but fears are gone. How thou hast changed,
my dear! Thou 'rt troubled! Ah, me--" she stopped, regarding him with
surprised concern. "Where is thy _llautu_, Manco? Why dost not wear
it?"
He reddened painfully as he kissed her forehead again. "I--I have laid
it aside to-night," he said quickly, seating himself beside her.
"To-night, I am Manco--not the Inca, my dearest."
"But I would have seen thee wearing it. It should never be laid aside,
save in privacy, brother dear; and thou wouldst still have been Manco to
Rava, thou knowest well. That is not the reason."
He looked at her with troubled eyes.
"Why didst thou leave it?" she persisted, studying his face.
"I have told thee, Rava. I have put it by that I might be to thee only
Manco, as of old."
The lightness of his words was forced, and Rava saw it. "Nay, it is not
that," she said, gently. "Tell me why."
His eyes left hers, and she laid a hand upon his arm. "Tell me why,
Manco." He rose, but she detained him; and a glance at her anxious face
forced a confession. He hesitated, then said with an effort: "I will
tell thee why, Rava. It is because--oh, may the souls of the departed
Incas look mercifully upon me!--it is because--it is stained, my sister:
debased and dishonored! It came to me not from the hands of a priest of
the Sun, but placed upon my head by the foul hand of a Viracocha. O,
thou great Inti, why was I suffered to live to bring this shame upon my
line? I wear the _llautu_, and look thou, Rava, the shadow of a
Viracocha resteth ever upon my throne. When I speak to my people a
Viracocha speaketh, and my voice is drowned. My laws have ceased to be.
The very dogs of the streets look dumb question of mine authority." His
words failed, but he resumed, his voice strained with agony: "But
worse--worse hath befallen Tavantinsuyu. They have violated the Temple
of the Sun, stripped it of its splendor, and polluted its halls. They
have cast down the silent forms of our fathers, ravished of their sacred
insignia. The golden effigy of the Sun hath been torn from the wall,
crushed into ruin by Viracocha feet, and carried away to be gambled for.
The gardens have been despoiled, and not one hand's-breadth of their
hallowed soil hath been left unturned by these destroyers in their
ravening for gold. The Inti-pampa is a desolation. Ah, Rava, Rava, ask
me not why I lay aside the _llautu_! Ask me, rather, how I dare to wear
it! Ask why the Sun doth rise and set upon my profanation!"
He covered his face with his hands. Rava sat very still. She was
prepared for his tale of ravage, and was less shocked by his words than
by the intensity of his agitation. A strong man's anguish is always
terrible to a woman or a child, and the stoicism of the Peruvian made
this outburst the more harrowing. She stepped to his side and put her
arms about his neck. The unspoken sympathy gave him strength, and he
controlled himself and went on more calmly.
"Ah, my dearest sister, the sacredness of Cuzco is no more! Its palaces
have been despoiled. The beasts of the Viracochas defile the halls of
the Yupanquis. These very decorations on the walls that shelter thee
are here only on sufferance." He paused long enough to steady his
voice, pressing her hand to stay her from speaking. "A moment more, my
dear, and I have done. I have told thee only of Cuzco. The cloud that
darkeneth her sunshine hath spread to the four quarters of the empire.
Quito hath fallen. Daily, as came the reports of the great pestilence,
come now tales of new invasion. The great sea, vacant since the world
began, disgorgeth fresh swarms with every tide, as some rotten pool its
burden of vermin. The gaunt leader, Pizarro, is rearing cities, driving
our children into slavery to hew his stone and build his walls. The
fairest vales of Tavantinsuyu are being seized by strangers, their
people banished from their homes, or lashed into servitude. Yet I am
called the Inca! Oh, Rava, turn away thy face till Manco hath been
worthy of his trust!"
He sank into a chair, his head bowed. Rava touched him. "Manco, do I
behold my brother in despair?"
He looked up, his face reddening. "No, no! Not that, my sister, not
that! I have spoken of the past and the present. The curse hath fallen
whilst I have been held by chains of circumstance--the great Inti
knoweth how much against my will. Now, it is ended!" He rose and
regarded her with steady eyes, his voice calm, but intense. "It is
ended, Rava! To-night I meet the Villac Vmu and my generals. To-morrow
at dawn, whilst _chasquis_ are speeding the four roads from Cuzco, the
priest will sacrifice to the Sun--not in his desecrated temple, but
under his blue vault secretly in the mountains--invoking at last his
dread ministers, the Thunder and Lightning. But, Rava," he exclaimed,
seizing her hands, "think not that in the weakness thou hast seen
to-night there was the plaint of a coward! My heart was full. My lips
have been sealed in all these months of shame with links of bronze. No
mortal but thee hath heard a sigh or a faltered word; but thy dear eyes
have drawn from me what torture could not compel. Not even Amancay,
sweetest of consorts, hath heard a whisper of the sorrow which hath made
mine every night a harrowed year. But now, it is done!"
He fell into gloomy reverie, while Rava, pale and quite silent, sat
pressing his hand and looking far away, or anxiously at his sombre eyes.
He was oblivious of her presence, until he roused with a faint smile.
"But now, dear girl, what of thyself? I have not even told thee my joy
in having thee again. Forgive me."
Rava placed her fingers on his lips. "No need, Manco, either for thee
to tell me, or for me to say that I forgive. But mine is a long story.
Be content to-night to know that I am safe."
"No; but let me hear it, Rava. It is of concern to me, as thou knowest.
How didst come to be at Xauxa?"
"Ah, that is near the end of the story, brother."
"Then tell me from the beginning. I had thought thee in Toparca's suite
until I met--Pizarro at Xaquixaguana. He told me, Rava, thou hadst fled
from Caxamalca with a traitor Viracocha who had broken prison." Manco's
voice was grave.
Rava's eyes flashed as they met his. "Pizarro called him so, Manco?"
she demanded; then after a pause, "Ah, yes--a traitor! But what wouldst
say of a traitor to these men of evil?"
Manco studied her face before he replied slowly, "Much worse even than
they--or much better."
"Then much better!" she said, with quiet emphasis. "His treason lay in
this, my brother--that he fiercely resented Pizarro's perfidy to our
kinsman, Atahualpa, whom he befriended in his darkest hours. And in
this--that he saved me from worse than death when I was at the mercy of
those vultures; that he fought for me, starved for me, kept hope alive
when my heart was broken, and shielded me from a thousand perils, until
he led me to safety. And all this, Manco, for the sake of a vow to
Atahualpa, whom he promised to deliver me from mine enemies. A traitor!
Oh, my brother, if thy nobles have virtues like his treason, thou 'rt a
fortunate monarch!"
While she was speaking, and afterward, Manco searched her deep eyes
until, conscious of his scrutiny, they fell. Her hand was trembling,
and his face darkened with displeasure. "Rava," he demanded, "where is
this Viracocha?"
She looked up, and the sorrow and desolation which had swept quickly
over her gentle face brought generous remorse for his instant of
sternness. Her lips trembled piteously. "Oh, Manco, Manco," she
faltered, "he fell for me at last. He is no more!"
With head bowed and form shaken by grief, her hands sought his neck; and
whatever he would have said a moment before in reproof of her feeling
for one of the hated race, it was forgotten in pity as he drew her into
his arms. With affectionate sympathy he endeavored to moderate her
anguish, but words were vain, and he could only hold her tight-clasped
until its force was spent. Then he half carried her, benumbed and
yielding, to her couch and called her maids, lingering helpless beside
her while they ministered.
Rava had grown more tranquil, and he was about to depart. She lay
quiet, her eyes closed, their lashes yet moist, and he bent over to kiss
the pallid cheek. As he did so she sighed deeply, and a small object
slipped from her bosom and lay sparkling at the end of its slender
chain. Its silvery gleam caught his eye. He started, looked more
closely, and recoiled as if he had seen a serpent in the folds of her
robe. He caught breath sharply, and an ashy paleness spread over his
bronzed face. By a blessing of Heaven the girl did not open her eyes
upon the mingled abhorrence, unbelief, and anger, with which he beheld
the tiny image of the crucified Saviour--the emblem of all on the broad
earth that he hated most savagely. He gazed for a fascinated instant,
stood erect, glanced at the sad face once more, and left the room with
features as rigid as if cast in the metal whose color they wore. The
startled maids looked after him as he went, but none saw him stagger as
he crossed the court with his hands pressed to his forehead. The Moon,
goddess consort of the Sun, was rising over the dark roofs of the
palace. He wavered out from the shadow into her rays and cowered
beneath them, shuddering as if he felt her silent denunciation of his
sister's apostasy. Gaining his apartments, he passed his attendants
without a word, leaving them awed by a face they had hardly recognized.
When his generals met him, near midnight, his eyes were fevered, his
voice hoarse and dry, and his words, fraught with war, were uttered with
an abrupt tensity that fired their warlike hearts. The council was
long. At its close the _chasquis_ who were to bear his messages to the
distant provinces, calling them to arms, were summoned to have the words
from his own lips. They left it with nerves strung by their portentous
import and the fierce, suppressed energy with which they were given.
Before the sun rose above Cuzco the fiat had gone forth that would
convulse the empire.
Within the month every province, town, and hamlet within the realm was
in secret preparation. Armorers doubled their industry. The great
system of posts sprang to its highest activity, the tireless _chasquis_
speeding day and night over every road and mountain trail, hurrying
commands from the capital, bearing back reports of governors and
_curacas_, in ceaseless radiation and convergence. Magazines and
armories were replenished of their stores, and trains of carriers toiled
over every highway, concentrating provisions and material of war upon
the strongholds in the mountains surrounding Cuzco. All the machinery
of the most elaborately perfect organization the world has ever seen was
in motion, but as silently as clouds gather before a tempest. The
couriers stole in and out of the city under cover of darkness. Few of
them went to the Amarucancha, but were received and despatched by the
Villac Vmu at his own palace, their tidings and _quipus_ carried by him
to the Inca. The impending cataclysm gave no faintest warning, and the
Spaniards idled, caroused, and brawled, unconscious of its approach.
The Nusta Rava, quite unaware, fortunately, of the agitation with which
Manco had quitted her, worn out by stress of mind and the weariness of
her journey, at length found forgetfulness in sleep. The next day and
evening were spent with her sisters and the Auqui Paullo, but Manco did
not return, though he sent a page with inquiries for her health. The
day following, and the next, her hope to see him was disappointed. At
length he came.
The first glance from his gloomy eyes chilled the warmth from her words
as she started to meet him, and she stopped, her smile of welcome fading
into startled inquiry. The Inca dismissed the maids, and motioned her
to her seat, neither avoiding nor heeding her hand as she laid it
hesitatingly upon his arm, nor replying to the question in her face.
The interview was not long nor violent, but when he left and sent in her
maids, they found her unconscious. The last of many woes had snapped
the frail thread of courage that had sustained her. Manco had
questioned her about the crucifix, had requested that she abjure the
abhorred religion, had been refused as firmly as gently. His respect
for her had prohibited command or reproach, but the coldness of his
farewell and its finality had been a stab more cruel than the most
passionate denunciation.
The next day Rava did not rise, nor the next, nor for many days
thereafter. The _amautas_ came--wise men--three of them. They noted
her fever, listened a moment to her delirium, consulted, and
administered the simple remedies known to the Peruvian pharmacopoeia.
These were few and mostly harmless, so nature fought for her with few
hindrances from drugs, and with all the assistance that nursing could
give. But it was a long and dreary struggle before the unseeing eyes at
last looked sadly but clearly at her attendants, and her whispered words
grew intelligible. Almost the first were "Father Valverde," and the
maids looked in wonder. But she repeated the name until the priest was
sent for and came.
Father Valverde, now Bishop of Cuzco, was an elderly man, well preserved
and well fed, with a rugged, determined face, a great slit of a mouth
with good lines about it; keen eyes which could look stern beneath their
shaggy brows when occasion demanded, or amiably and humorously upon
opportunity, and with an ability to storm at lawless soldiery in terms
suited to their understanding and their needs with a vigor that would
have been creditable to Chrysostom. He was a rabid hater of the devil.
Next to the devil he hated an unbeliever. A missionary of fanatical
type, he could burn a heathen at the stake for the good of his
unassoilzied soul with easy conscience and some satisfaction. But he
could, withal, rejoice sincerely over a soul rescued from damnation, and
did rejoice over a letter from Father Tendilla regarding the Nusta Rava.
The missive, after the usual salutation and some preliminary words, ran
as follows:--
"I will leave her long story to a fitter time, and say merely that I
found her already a Christian, having been brought to the Faith by the
Caballero Cristoval de Peralta, whom thou knowest well. And not only a
Christian in belief, but what is more admirable, in fibre, inclination,
and bent of mind; being, in truth, a most gentle, saintly girl. I had
the ineffable satisfaction of baptizing and receiving her into Holy
Communion. Thereafter, she worked with me earnestly in the conversion
of her people here, and departed with the hope of pursuing the same good
work in Cuzco. I pray, therefore, that thou attend upon her. She hath
many sorrows. One is the death of this Cristoval.
"Now, I have thought of this concerning the Nusta Rava, and having
broached it gently, found it received not with disfavor and even
gratefully, to wit: that as thou dost plan to found, as soon as may be,
a convent at Cuzco, she might be led to embrace a holy life. Her
preparation, begun here, could be completed at Panama, or even at
Seville, where she would doubtless enjoy the interest and favor to which
her rank entitleth her."
There followed items of personal concern, and the letter closed. The
interest aroused in the mind of Father Valverde was immediate and
effective, and once admitted to the palace, he devoted himself to the
work so well begun by Cristoval and Tendilla. Like his brother
missionaries, he possessed a knowledge of medicine, and was able to
hasten Rava's convalescence. It need not be said that he found her all
that Tendilla had described, and the desolate girl received his fatherly
ministrations with a grateful heart.
*CHAPTER XXVII*
_*The Incarial Diadem on a Spanish Saddle-bow*_
Tavantinsuyu was rousing; was at last aroused. Dark masses of warriors,
marching with grim purpose, without song, or drum, or horn, filled the
defiles and roads leading toward the City of the Sun. Day after day,
week after week, from the most distant quarters of the empire, the
converging columns moved upon the capital, swelling as each village or
province added its contingent. So rapid and secret was the
concentration that before a whisper of their danger had reached the ears
of the conquistadors, the fortified valley of Ollantaytambo, a few
leagues from Cuzco, had become a vast encampment, and waited only the
signal from the Inca to pour forth its avenging legions.
Proud, gloomy, and taciturn; enduring the contemptuous indifference, the
unconcealed scorn, and the open insult of the Spanish officers with the
patient fortitude of a heart of iron, Manco bided the hour. During the
long weeks of preparation, while his forces were gathering, he never
left the palace. From dawn to darkness, and often from darkness to dawn
again, he sat in his chamber, poring over _quipos_, or feverishly pacing
his floor while he listened to the reports of officers or issued his
commands. Daily intelligence borne by the _chasquis_ kept him in touch
with the advancing columns, and on a map roughly sketched with charcoal
on a sheet of cotton lying on his table he marked their approach. His
generals came and went unheeded by the quarrelling Spaniards, and the
ominous councils held nightly within the palace were unsuspected.
The day was near at hand. Manco was in midnight council with his
officers and the Auqui Paullo. The final disposition of his troops was
being considered, but the blow was withheld until word should come from
the coast that the forces near the newly founded Spanish cities, Ciudad
de los Reyes and Truxillo, were ready to strike simultaneously. At
Xauxa preparations for investment were complete. All passes and lines
of communication between the several Spanish posts were occupied.
Already the women of the royal household were being sent, in twos and
threes, and with all possible secrecy, to the protection of the fortress
at Ollantaytambo. Rava had not gone, but would depart with Paullo on
the following night.
The group of nobles about the young Inca as he stood at the head of his
table, was one which would have been distinguished in any council of
warriors or statesmen. All were veterans of many wars; and all, with the
exception of Yumaquilque, commander of the Amahuacas, a warlike mountain
tribe to the northeast of Cuzco, were of the pure Inca blood. Two, the
generals Mayta and Quehuar, were members of the royal family; the former
a cousin, the latter an uncle, of Manco. Quehuar, the eldest and next
of kin, stood beside the Auqui Paullo. At his side was Mayta, younger
by years, and one of the handsomest of the nobility of Tavantinsuyu. He
had the features and form of a Roman, every line indicative of the
energy and alertness which had gained him the sobriquet of "The Puma"
among his devoted soldiery. He commanded the Incarial Guard and was the
head of the military school. Next was Mocho, chief of the fierce Antis.
He was a short, dark, irritable genius of aggressiveness, known as the
fiercest fighter in all Tavantinsuyu, and the most persistent. There
were others of less distinction, but all were of tried courage and
ability. Now they listened with close attention to the words of their
young lord, whose force and spirit as developed in the last few months
had inspired an admiration in which his youth was forgotten, and had
filled them with high hope for their stricken country.
"My lords," said Manco, after the business of the council was finished,
"I perceive that the current of things is bearing us to early victory.
The _Canares_ left in the city number less than a thousand. We scarcely
need count them. The Viracochas die hard, as we learned at Vilcaconga,"
he smiled grimly, "but they are not more than two hundred. Almagro is
marching rapidly to the south, and he is now where no cry for help from
Cuzco can reach. Should he seek to return he would find the passes
closed. Ullulama is within five days' march, but we need not wait. The
Villac Vmu will be with us to-morrow, and by the day following the
household will be in safety at Ollantaytambo. Then, my lords, we
strike. To thee, my Lord Mocho, it will please me to give the honor of
taking the Sachsahuaman."
Mocho bowed. "I would better like an honor more dearly gained, Sapa
Inca. The place is but feebly garrisoned."
The Inca smiled. "Thou'lt have opportunity, presently, for others less
easily won, my lord; do not fear it. The fortress may not be so easily
held as taken, for if I mistake not the Viracochas will not be slow to
learn its importance. Thou wilt garrison it strongly, therefore, and
see it amply supplied." He turned to the senior general. "My Lord
Quehuar, thou wilt send a _chasqui_ to Xauxa to-night----"
He was interrupted by commotion and an excited voice in the antechamber.
A frown crossed his face, and he motioned to Paullo. The prince hurried
out, returned in a moment with precipitation, and as he threw open the
door the Inca started. Paullo's face was drawn with horror. At his
elbow was a soldier in the uniform of the guard, who, as Paullo strove
to speak, sank upon his knees and bent to the floor.
"Manco! Manco!" cried the young prince, in agony. "In the name of
Inti!--The Virgins of the Sun!"
The Inca strode toward him, demanding sharply as he seized his arm,
"What meanest thou, boy? Speak!"
"The Acllahuasi! The Viracochas are battering its doors!"
Manco rushed across the anteroom to the court without a word. Paullo
jerked the soldier to his feet, and followed by the generals, hurried
after. As the Inca stepped into the open air a dull roar of voices in
the street outside, the sound of blows, and fierce shouts shocked his
hearing; then a rending crash of a falling door, and the clamor of a
rush. For an instant he was motionless, strained and listening. He
turned suddenly, and the light from the open door fell upon his face,
distorted by fury.
"Mayta!" he shouted. "Mayta!--where is he?--Mayta, thy battalions!
Fly!--Paullo, my arms!"
As Mayta started the soldier grasped his arm. "Hold, my lord!" he said;
then, rapidly to Manco: "Sapa Inca, the barracks are surrounded, and but
twenty are within the quarters--the rest have gone to Ollantaytambo. I
sought to enter, but was driven away."
Manco stamped with impatience and rage, "Follow me!" he cried to his
generals, seizing his arms from Paullo. "We will take the guard."
Quehuar blocked his way determinedly. "Rashness, my Lord Inca! We are
unarmed, and the guard may be needed at its post before the night is
gone."
Manco thrust him aside, maddened by women's shrieks from the convent,
but the generals crowded about him. Quehuar laid a strong hand upon his
shoulder.
"Prudence, prudence, my lord!" he urged. "A moment's folly now would
undo all that hath been done."
Manco shook off his grasp. "Prudence! Dost hear those cries, old man?
Release me!"
"God of heaven! do I not hear them? But--hold!--wouldst have vengeance
in full? Then abort it not by an act of madness! Dost forget thine
army?" Manco checked himself with an effort, and Quehuar went on
energetically: "The instrument for punishment is ready for thy hand.
Beware thrusting that hand without it into the teeth of wild beasts!
What couldst thou--what could our united strength do to-night? Thy
death, or even a wound, would seal the fate of Tavantinsuyu. Bethink
thee, Inca!"
Manco drew his cloak over his face with a groan. He dropped it and
exclaimed hoarsely: "My lords, I go to the army to-night! The hour hath
come for action. Mayta, thou wilt go with me. Do you, my friends,
remain until the women are in safety. You will join me at
Ollantaytambo."
"Sapa Inca----" began Quehuar; but Manco raised his hand and continued
vehemently:--
"I go to-night! What wouldst have? That I sit clutching mine ears, or
shuffling my feet to drown the wails of these unfortunates? Hear them!
Hear them! Oh, by the gods, they drive away my reason! Come, Mayta: we
go!"
He grasped the officer's arm, waved back the others, and hurried across
the court. At the entrance of the next stood a sentinel, and the Inca
halted, checking his salute. "Here, Mayta, thou 'rt unarmed. Take
this." With his own hand he drew the soldier's sword and passed it to
his companion. They hastened across another court filled with
shuddering attendants, and through a third and smaller one to a narrow
corridor along which they groped until halted by a door at its end.
Manco hastily unbarred. It was a postern opening upon a terrace between
the wall of the palace and the rivulet Huatenay. Opposite was a flight
of steps leading to the bed of the stream, and they descended.
Meanwhile, within the walls of the Convent of the Virgins and in the
street without, a hell-carnival was in progress too hideous to dwell
upon. At the moment the Inca was passing through the outskirts of the
city Juan Pizarro, mounted bareback, unarmored, and bareheaded, was
charging into the tumult, followed by his brother Gonzalo and a few
other cavaliers, sword in hand. Bellowing oaths, laying about with the
flat of their blades, not infrequently with the edge, and leaping their
horses upon the obstinate, they cut their way to the convent and rode in
to rescue the unhappy inmates. Behind followed a dozen of the guard,
only to throw aside their pikes and join in the fiendish revel, leaving
their duty to the black-robed priests and friars who struggled through
in their wake. One bore a crucifix; but the stout Valverde did better
work with a bludgeon, breaking many a wicked face and ruffianly head in
his career through the desecrated halls and gardens.
The night was far spent before the place was cleared, and its doors
closed and guarded. Juan Pizarro was riding slowly back toward the
square when a Canare, who had lurked about the Spaniard for an hour in a
vain effort to approach and be heard without a cleft skull for his
pains, touched his leg and sprang back with hands upraised. Juan halted.
"Well?" he demanded brusquely, scowling at the Indio. "Hast business
with me? If so, be brisk." The Canare jabbered a stream of broken
words in Quichua, not intelligible, but something, it seemed to be,
about the Inca,--enough to arrest the attention of Juan Pizarro, and he
demanded impatiently of his brother:--
"What saith the dog, Gonzalo? Canst make it out? Here, thou, say it
over and slowly."
The Canare repeated his words with better effect,--with immediate and
startling effect, for Juan turned with a shout to his companions: "Dost
hear, Gonzalo? Do ye hear, Caballeros? The Inca hath fled the city!"
He kicked the ribs of his horse and galloped madly to the palace of
Viracocha, across the great court and into the hall that served as a
guard-room, filling it with the clamor of hoofs, and throwing its
occupants into confusion. They seized their arms in a panic.
"Ho! The trumpeter!" he roared. "Out, and sound to horse! Out, and
sound to horse! _Presteza_! _Salta_! To horse! To horse!" He went
out like a whirlwind. Before he had reached his quarters the shrill,
quick notes were rising from the square. Again, and again, and again
the stirring measure, and the stable was alive with men, tossing
saddles, tugging at straps, swearing, and panting in a frenzy. One
after another, and by twos and threes, the mailed riders swung into
saddle, seized lances from the rack, and clattered out into the plaza.
The line formed rapidly, and the plunging, kicking, and head-tossing of
the excited steeds had hardly subsided before it was in column and, led
by Juan Pizarro, took up a trot behind the Canare.
The gloomy walls of the violated convent were growing gray in the dawn
as the cavalcade roared past down the narrow, echoing streets and
through the suburbs.
It was late afternoon when the troop reentered Cuzco. It moved at a
walk, and hanging on the pommel of the commander's saddle was the
_llautu_ of the Inca Manco. In the foremost rank of the column was a
trooper without his helmet, with a bloody bandage across his face below
the eyes. A weapon had passed the bars of his visor. Farther back was
another, shorn of a pauldron and his right arm useless. In the rear,
two Canares carried a third on an improvised litter, dead. But in the
middle of the column, between double files of troopers, marched the Inca
and the Lord Mayta, blood-stained, bandaged, their arms bound behind
their backs. Horses, riders, and the two prisoners, were splashed with
mud.
Manco walked with head erect, without a glance at the Canares who
hurried into the street as the cavalcade traversed the suburb
Munaycenca. Nor did he more than glance at his grief-stricken subjects
who cast themselves moaning upon the pavement. Not a line of his stern
young face betrayed his emotion at entering the capital a prisoner, nor
his torture of mind at the disaster thus befallen his people on the very
eve of the stroke for their deliverance.
From Munaycenca the news flew ahead. Canares gathered, too stolid for
manifestation, and knots of Spaniards, whom a sign from Juan Pizarro
warned into silence. But throughout the remainder of the march every
door was closed, and no native of Cuzco looked out upon the fallen
majesty of their Inca.
Crossing the bridge toward the Coricancha the column turned northward
through the city, passing the palaces of the Yupanquis, of the Inca
Rocca, the schools where Manco had won his youthful honors, and entered
the road which mounted to the Sachsahuaman. The single company of
pikemen constituting its garrison stood in front of the citadel, and to
its commander Pizarro surrendered the prisoners. An hour later they
were heavily ironed within the keep, and the troop was on its way back
to Cuzco.
In the Amarucancha the hours had dragged in a long nightmare. After
Manco's departure his lords remained, racked by the shocking sounds to
which they listened in helplessness. The war-hardened old Quehuar paced
the court. Yumaquilque stood motionless against the wall, his mantle
over his face. The others hearkened in silence broken only by an
occasional fierce, whispered sentence from Mocho. But from those
dreadful hours they imbibed a relentless ferocity of hate for the
invaders which no amount of Spanish blood could ever mitigate, and which
in the days to follow would send many a conquistador unshriven to his
Maker.
Upon the Auqui Paullo, young and uninured, the night's tragedy fell most
cruelly; but the anguish of his sisters gathered in Rava's chamber,
crouched in speechless horror, and surrounded by wailing maids, nerved
him by its reminder of their dependence now upon him. By the time he
had restored them to partial calmness the tumult beyond the walls had
subsided.
As he stepped into the court again, he heard the call to horse; and a
few minutes later, the uproar of the passing troop. The circumstance
was alarming. It stirred a sudden fear that Manco's flight had been
detected. Paullo sent a page to learn its significance. The youth did
not return. He despatched a second, and sought Quehuar. He found the
old general with the others in the council room, and had hardly entered
before the second messenger returned to announce that a guard of pikemen
was at the outer door, and he had not been permitted to pass. The
palace was surrounded by guards, and all within were prisoners.
That night the humble native knelt at his evening prayer, shuddering at
the infinite indifference of his god to the sorrows of Tavantinsuyu. As
twilight came, a few muffled figures stole to the edge of the square,
gazed in silence at the guarded doors and sombre walls of the
Amarucancha, and slunk away. The capture of the Inca was told in
whispers, stirring no cry for vengeance, no move to rescue. The
calamity was as irremediable and appalling as if heaven itself had
fallen. It was the wrath of Inti, not to be opposed.
A few days later, the nobles were permitted to depart: were, in the case
of Quehuar and Yumaquilque, even compelled to go; for these two would
have shared the captivity of Paullo and the household, whom the Pizarros
retained as hostages for the quiet of the empire, whose patience under
this latest blow they doubted.
*CHAPTER XXVIII*
_*Two Comrades Reunited*_
Never a knight rode forth with more of chivalry than dwelt beneath
sturdy Pedro's breastplate when he set out in quest of Cristoval. He
went with little hope of doing more than saying a few prayers at the
grave of the cavalier and marking it with a cross; but for these offices
he would have traversed a continent.
Cristoval lay beneath an awning at the villa of the Curaca Huallampo,
well bolstered and pillowed, and bandaged to a condition of almost total
rigidity. He was looking moodily over the sparkling lake when his
reverie was disturbed by the approach of his host, accompanied,
unmistakably accompanied, by the familiar sound of a peg. The cavalier
was startled half erect, but sank back weakly as Pedro appeared with
Huallampo. The cook was breathless from a climb of the hill at his
utmost speed. At sight of his friend he increased his pace across the
terrace, grasped the extended hand, but instead of speaking, compressed
his lips as a spasm crossed his face. Roaring his words to conceal his
unsteadiness of voice, he exclaimed:--
"_Hola_, Cristoval! Do I see thee in the flesh? Blessed Virgin, it is
so! Why, man, I came to weep over thy grave! But 't is thou, in very
truth!"
"God bless thee, Pedro," said Cristoval, with moistened eyes, pressing
the cook's hand.
"So He hath done, old friend, in letting me see thee again. But, _Santa
Maria_! thou 'lt wrapped, and swathed, and beragged, and swaddled, like
a sore finger! Canst wiggle thy toes? Ah! 'T is a comfort. Any
broken bones? No? _Bueno_! Just full of holes--pricked, punctured,
pinked, and perforated! Hum! It might be worse. The _curaca_ saith
thou 'rt mending fast."
Cristoval nodded. "Pedro," he began anxiously, then stopped.
"Well, say on, _amigo_," said the cook, seating himself.
"Dost know--aught of Rava?"
"That I do! She is safe in the care of Father Tendilla."
Cristoval closed his eyes and turned away, his lips moving. Pedro eyed
him curiously, and shook his head. Both were silent. "Tell me about it,
Pedro," at last.
"Nay," said Pedro. "It is too long a story for the present. The
_curaca_ warneth me against much talking. Thou must be content to know
that she is unharmed. Shortly I'll tell thee, and much history besides.
But the Nusta Rava is in good hands." Permitting no further
conversation, he sat long, surveying the cavalier with great
satisfaction while Huallampo gave him an inventory of the various hurts.
Cristoval's recovery had been much impeded by his condition of mind.
Fever ensued after he had been carried from Maytalca's ruined villa, and
for days he lay between life and death. His depression told seriously
against him, and later, as he gained strength, his progress was further
hindered by restless longing to be in search of Rava. Huallampo's
admonitions availed little against his fuming, but he was somewhat
reassured by knowing that a party had already gone to gain intelligence
of the Nusta. Pedro's coming with the knowledge that Rava was safe made
his convalescence rapid. Still, it was weeks before he could rise,
weeks more before he could stir abroad, and the summer was gone before
Pedro would discuss their future plans. The party brought back word
that Rava had left Xauxa for Cuzco. Cristoval was with Pedro when he
received the information.
"Then she is with the Inca, and her troubles are past," he sighed.
"Pedro, how long, thinkst thou, before I can mount?"
The cook looked at him sharply before replying. "That would depend," he
said, presently, "upon thy purpose. Thou couldst amble about the valley
to-morrow; but thou'lt not be fit to couch a lance for weeks to come,
old friend, so make no plans for campaigning. What dost think of
doing?"
"I must seek the Nusta Rava," said Cristoval.
Pedro was not surprised, but said: "There will be danger for thee too
near Cuzco, Cristoval, and not a man in the pack whom thou mayst trust.
De Soto hath gone to the coast with the general, sick of the conquest
and on his way to Spain. But when thou hast seen the Nusta--what then?"
Cristoval looked at him earnestly. "After that--'t is a question. Help
me with thy good head, Pedro. If she would flee with me to Xauxa we
would go to Father Tendilla--" Cristoval paused.
"She would flee with thee to Xauxa, my head upon it!" replied Pedro,
with assurance. "Or to the moon, or to the farthest star--couldst thou
furnish transportation. But after Xauxa and Father Tendilla--what next?"
"Either refuge in some remote province of Tavantinsuyu, or Panama. We
could harbor in some village near San Miguel until a ship came in; then
get aboard in secret. Only one thought goeth against my conscience, and
that is of the peril and hardship to which Rava would be again exposed.
Ah, _Madre_! I know not, Pedro--I hesitate. This flight would be not
only from Pizarro's men, but perhaps from the Inca as well. I doubt not
that she could find faithful supporters in the venture--but it would be
a struggle; to say naught of taking her from home, friends, and country,
into another world. It is much to ask. But, what thinkst thou, old
friend?"
"I think," replied Pedro, gravely, "that she could easier bear such
suffering than her present sorrow. But you may not need to leave the
country. The Inca may prove friendly."
"I fear his friendship would help little with Pizarro dominating."
"True!" said Pedro, shaking his head. "Thou must go to Panama--and
thence to Spain, for thou'lt be safe no nearer. Now, weigh this for a
plan: Thou'lt go to Cuzco. Doubtless Huallampo will furnish thee an
escort. I will go with thee as far as Xauxa, wait for thy return with
the Nusta, then we will go to the coast together. I will watch at San
Miguel for a ship, and will arrange thy passage with--the Senora de
Peralta. I have some moderate savings, Cristoval,--enough to purchase
the aid of a shipmaster. I can pay him double what he would get for thy
head, and have some left to silence others. What sayst thou to't,
_amigo_?"