Cristoval seized his hand, overcome with gratitude. "Pedro, thou'rt--"

"A cook!" interrupted Pedro, returning his grasp with sudden animation.

"A cook shorn of a leg by the iniquity of Fate. A cook with but half

his share of footprints. A pruned cook. A remnant. Naught more,

Cristoval. But what thinkst thou of it?"

"By Saint Michael! Pedro, thou'rt--"

"A cook!" said Pedro again. "Let it go. Come! Discuss, comment, bandy

a word or two about the plan. Thou 'rt staring like a choked calf."

Cristoval's face clouded. "It will not do, my good comrade," he said.

"Thou must have no part in it, save with thy counsel. Thou hast already

ventured too much for friendship's sake. The affair at Caxamalca might

have cost thee dearly." Pedro had not told him of the thumbscrews.

"And furthermore, I cannot use thy gold. I am penniless, and could

never repay thee. Advise, and no more."

"Why, stew me to rags, Cristoval!" retorted Pedro, with irritation,

"thou dost talk as if we were not friends."

"Nay! That is as far from my thoughts as from thine. But friendship--"

"Is friendship!" blurted the cook, and would hear no further objection.

They considered it long and in detail; foresaw difficulties, and

overcame them; wrought their plans into as great perfection as plans are

often wrought--and in the event, as shall be seen, carried them as near

to execution as human plans are often carried.

The project gave a fresh impulse to Cristoval's recovery. They disclosed

their purpose to nobody, though to Huallampo and Maytalca the cavalier

confided his wish to see the Nusta Rava before leaving the country, and

the _curaca_ proffered his aid. Markumi should go, and as many other

men as needed, with supplies for the journey to Cuzco.

At last Pedro admitted grudgingly that his companion was fit to take the

road; and against the _curaca's_ earnest advice they pushed their

preparations.

When the time for departure was at hand Cristoval found many an

unlooked-for pang. He was known to every man, woman, and child of the

valley; was looked upon by them with reverence, endeared to them as the

protector of their Nusta, by his unfailing courtesy, simplicity, and

helpful interest; and finally, by their sympathy when he was lying cut

to pieces by the Canares. All had received a kind word from the

Viracocha Cristoval, and not one of them but must bid him farewell with

a heart-felt wish that the Sun would brighten his way. When he took

leave of Maytalca the lady wept frankly, murmuring a prayer for his

welfare and a message of love to Rava when he should see her again. The

_curaca's_ daughters, who had sat many an hour at his bedside, were not

less affected.

Clad in armor which Markumi's zeal had brought to the splendor of

silver, Cristoval at last rode with Pedro through the crowded streets at

the head of their few retainers. They were attended to the edge of the

village by the people, and for a mile beyond by the old _curaca_, who

bade them farewell with warm assurance that while a roof remained in

Xilcala they should find there a welcome and refuge.

At the head of the canyon through which flowed Xilcala stream Cristoval

halted for a final look at the valley, here to find the sharpest pang of

all. He turned with a sigh from its tranquillity, its beauty, and the

thousand recollections, and rode into the defile with a presentiment

that in leaving its peace to enter the gloomy gorge was a foreshadowing

of what lay before him.

*CHAPTER XXIX*

_*A March and Another Reunion*_

The march down the canyon of the Xilcala was rapid, and on the second

day they were near its debouchment into the valley of the Maranon, close

to the great national highway leading to Cuzco. After this they

proceeded with the utmost circumspection. By the end of the fifth day

they had passed Lake Chinchaycocha and halted at Carhuacaya, in the

valley of the Xauxa. It was a hamlet of two dozen houses, regularly

laid out and with the usual _campata_, or square, on which stood the

residence of the _curaca_, where the two Viracochas were received for

the night. Like many another village they passed, this had suffered

severely at the hands of the ravaging Canares who had followed Pizarro's

march, and from Spaniards on their way to Cuzco, for recruits were

already flowing in; but Pedro had stopped there on his way to Xilcala,

and his reappearance was welcome.

On the following morning the party encountered an interruption wholly

deranging their plans. Cristoval and Pedro were preparing for the

journey when the _curaca_ entered, showing some embarrassment. He

greeted them cordially, but advised them not to leave that day. In

fact, it would be impossible. The roads were occupied. The town--it

was distressing--was surrounded by the troops of the Inca! Pedro

whistled.

"By the fighting San Miguel!" exploded Cristoval, in Spanish. "We are

prisoners, Pedro! What sayst thou to that?"

Pedro sat down. "Why, stew me!--like the ancient Roman soldier who was

hit in the belly by a stone from a catapult, I have very little to say."

"Viracochas," said the _curaca_, earnestly, "I pray you have no

uneasiness. The General Matopo commanding shall be informed of your

rescue of the Nusta Rava, Viracocha Cristoval, of which Markumi hath

told me. That service will insure you against any danger soever."

"Danger! Then we might be in danger, is it so, _Curaca_? Are these

troops marching against the Viracochas?"

"You will readily understand, Viracocha Cristoval, it is not permitted

me to know."

Cristoval resumed his arming. "Well, it might be worse. If Pizarro had

us pent in this fashion it would be a short shrift for me, Pedro, and

belike, would call for some painful lying from thee to explain thine

indiscretion in choice of company. But let us step out and see what is

to be seen."

They found several Xilcalans at the outer door, watching a battalion

just entering the square. The two Spaniards halted, struck by its

martial appearance as it massed in the plaza.

An officer of middle age wearing a noble's ear ornaments was followed by

a group of twenty or more, many with the same insignia, and all

brilliant in the uniform of the Conibos, a northern tribe from the

valley of the Huallaga. Beside the officer was the _curaca_, talking

earnestly. The party turned aside from the direct line of march to

permit the passage of their column, and halted. The _curaca_ approached

to summon the Spaniards.

The commander eyed the two mail-clad figures with interest, but the

sight of Pedro's wooden leg required all his self-possession to avoid a

display of astonishment. His salutation was not unfriendly, but the

Spaniards were aware that they were prisoners. "Viracochas," said he,

after the _curaca_ had presented them, "it seemeth an ill return for our

indebtedness, of which the _curaca_ informeth me, but it is necessary

that you accompany us. I assure you that one who hath befriended the

Nusta Rava need fear nothing more than inconvenience. Were it in my

discretion I would not impose even that; but I am responsible for the

secrecy of the movement of my troops and you will understand the

necessity which compelleth me. In order, however, to avoid undue

restraint, I will accept your words that you make no effort to escape."

"Thou mayst depend upon us, my lord," said Cristoval. "There is,

however, one request. I have an escort of Xilcalans whom I count as

friends. Will my lord permit that they accompany me?"

"Gladly," said the general, "if they so choose. We shall meet to-night,

Viracochas. May the Sun guard you!"

He moved off with his officers, leaving one to follow with the two

captives, and they hastened to saddle. Taking leave of the _curaca_,

they joined the waiting officer and, followed by the Xilcalans, fell

into an interval between battalions.

The command went into bivouac late at night, and Matopo sent for his

prisoners to join him at supper. Several subordinate officers shared the

meal, and to them and to the old noble it was an incident, for these

were the first they had seen of the Viracochas. Matopo soon became

assured of Cristoval's sympathy with the cause of Rava's people, though

the cavalier avoided direct expression, merely relating, at the

general's request, the details of his association with Atahualpa and the

subsequent enmity of Pizarro. When he remembered and drew forth the

Inca's last gift, the fringe from the royal _llautu_, the effect was

magical. The officers bent before it with reverence little less than

the actual presence of the monarch would have inspired, and Cristoval

found himself elevated to a dignity as great as it was unexpected. The

half-forgotten trifle was a talisman.

"Viracocha Cristoval," said Matopo, gravely, as the cavalier replaced

the potent cord, "thou bearest a warrant from the Inca. No man in

Tavantinsuyu will withhold from it his recognition. It is a rare

credential, and demandeth the confidence in its possessor reposed in him

by the Inca himself. The Inca Atahualpa won his throne by arms, but he

was the Inca. Thou hadst done well to show me the fringe this morning,

but I will make what reparation is possible. Thou 'rt free, Viracocha."

This result was so unforeseen that Cristoval failed to comprehend the

change in his situation, and the general repeated: "Thou 'rt free,

Viracocha Cristoval, and I have only to ask that I be allowed to make

thee amends."

"I thank thee, General Matopo. There hath been no inconvenience, for,

as I have said, we were journeying toward Cuzco. But--my comrade?"

Matopo shook his head. "Mine authority can go no farther. I shall be

compelled to retain him."

"Then with thy leave we will remain together."

Matopo's surprise was as evident as his relief. His relief was equal to

his uneasiness, what there was of it, lest the secret movement of his

troops might be imperilled by the Viracocha's liberation. "No need to

ask my leave," he replied, quickly; "but you will go as my guests, and I

believe I can promise that he will not be long deprived of his liberty."

Two weeks later the column approached the village of Abancay, where it

would cross the river Apurimac. Cristoval and Pedro were walking with

Matopo at the head of the main body, leading their steeds. As they

neared the village they could see that it was occupied by the advance

guard. As they descended into the plain a soldier came at top speed to

announce that there were two Viracochas in the village, apparently not

soldiers, and that there was some difficulty in securing them.

"Shall we ride forward, my Lord Matopo?" asked Cristoval.

"It would be well," replied the general, "else the Viracochas may lose

their lives in resisting."

The two Spaniards were off at a gallop. The soldiers scattered before

them, and they drew rein at the square. At the sight of the two

Viracochas Pedro raised a shout:--

"The senora, by the infernal cook of cooks!--and Father Tendilla!"

The square was full of excited soldiers, leaving a swaying ring in the

middle, occupied by the lady and the priest mounted on mules. The

father had the reins of her steed, which was facing his own, plunging,

rearing, and kicking incredibly at the surrounding line of Conibos who

repelled it with their javelins. Its rider, clinging frantically to her

pommel with one hand, half-blinded by her sombrero which had been jolted

over her eyes, fitfully whirled her battle-axe with the other in

fruitless efforts to reach the helmeted heads. She was red-faced,

shaken, and storming. The poor priest, hatless and nearly unseated by

every plunge of his companion's mule, tugged desperately at the reins,

while half-a-dozen officers circled about, dodging the heels of the

frenzied animal, and entirely helpless before a situation transcending

their wildest dreams.

"_Brava_, Bolio! _Brava_, Bolio!" roared Pedro, pushing forward.

"Strike for Spain! _Cristo y San Miguel_! Strike for Spain!

_Bravamente_!"

At the familiar voice the axe ceased to whirl, and between plunges the

senora tilted back her sombrero. "Pedro!" she shouted wildly, then gave

attention to retaining her seat, while the mule delivered another

succession of kicks. Cristoval motioned the soldiers back as he spurred

into the ring. Pedro rode up, slipped his hand along the reins of her

steed, seized them close to the bit, and stopped the plunging.

Cristoval assisted the flustered lady to the ground, too breathless to

speak. He quieted the blowing mule while Pedro and Father Tendilla

dismounted. The former hastened to the agitated senora, and at last she

was able to gasp:--

"Pedro--on my soul!--hast dropped from heaven?"

"Heaven forbid!" said Pedro, surveying her with concern. "I'm crippled

enough as 't is. But thou 'rt unhurt?"

"Oh, these heathens!" panted the senora.

"I've known Christians who were worse," said Pedro. "But, art sound and

whole?"

"If I could but have reached one of them! But, blessed name! how comest

thou here, Pedro?"

"Prisoner of war--like thyself. Art uninjured?"

"Like myself!" snorted the lady. "Who hath made me a prisoner of war?

Prisoner of fiddle-de-dee! Drum-sticks!" She glared vindictively at the

wondering soldiery. "Let one of them bite his tongue at me!"

"Bueno! There are only five thousand," remarked Pedro. "But tell me,

what dost thou here?"

"Oh, Pedro, I am going to Cuzco to see that angel of a girl! The father

took it in mind to go, so I came with him--but such a time! He hath

been as much care as a baby."

"Calm yourself, my dear Senora."

The senora sniffed scornfully. "Is that Peralta? I scarce knew him

without his beard. He seemeth friendly enough with these fripperied

Indians. He might be in better company--and so mightst thou, Pedro. 'T

is little credit to you both."

"We are prisoners, Senora."

"Prisoners, forsooth! Well, if I were a man! But thou 'rt too

good-natured, Pedro, for thine own good. And thou 'rt a love to rescue

me," she added, tenderly.

Pedro stepped back a pace and looked uneasily about. "Nay, Senora

Bolio," he said, hastily, "it was not I. It was Peralta. Wait. I'll

call him."

"Oh, thou'rt so modest, Pedro! I tell thee, it was thou! But hold!

God ha' mercy! I had almost forgotten to tell thee. Thou 'rt undone!

They have entered thy lodging in Xauxa, broken into thy chests, and

taken thy belongings."

"Furies and devils!" exclaimed the cook, sharply. "Who have?"

"Those runnion pikemen from the fortress."

At once flashed over him the use he had planned to make of his savings

in aiding Cristoval to escape. He spun around once on his peg and swore

with such violence that the cavalier and Father Tendilla hurried up.

"My son, my son!" cried the priest, placing a hand upon his shoulder.

"Thy tongue is imperilling thy soul."

"Name of a saint, Pedro! What hath happened?" demanded Cristoval,

anxiously.

"Happened!" shouted Pedro. "Scurviness hath happened. Thievery hath

happened. Sack, plunder, housebreaking, and depredation have happened.

Those rakehells of the infantry have robbed me. Oh, hoop me with hoops

lest I burst before I've killed a pikeman!"

He ceased abruptly and went to his mule, leaving the senora to explain.

She did so with brevity and emphasis, and Cristoval turned to the priest

in disgust: "We've brought a mangy pack, Father Tendilla, to set loose

upon these hapless people. They turn to robbing one another before

they've done robbing the country." The father shook his head sadly, but

made no reply.

The advance guard moved on, and Matopo passed with his officers, casting

a curious glance at the senora as he bowed. She responded with a

haughty inclination and compressed her lips. It required all the

persuasive eloquence of her three countrymen to induce her to mount and

enter the column; but finding separation from Pedro the alternative, she

at last consented, declaring vigorously that the barbarian who undertook

to make a prisoner of her would repent his insolence and remember the

circumstance. She swung into her saddle, disdaining assistance, and they

were soon on the march.

Now Cristoval's good heart was warmed by later news of Rava. He rode

with Father Tendilla, listening with eagerness to the tale of her

sojourn at Xauxa, given with detail and sympathy by the kindly old

priest, who was glowing in his eulogies of the gentle proselyte. The

cavalier's hundred repeated questions were patiently answered over and

over, and before an hour Cristoval had unbosomed himself, candidly

revealing his hope of escape with her from the country. The priest

listened to the plan, and said:--

"Well, my son, it will be for the child a hazardous undertaking.

However, it will be in the guidance of Heaven. I had thought the maiden

might find refuge from her sorrows in a life of holiness, for which her

spirit seemeth well adapted. If it be otherwise ordained, it would not

beseem me to oppose, and I will do all in my power to further thy

happiness and hers."

"I thank you, father," said Cristoval. "But do you know whether Rava is

aware that I am living?"

"I know not. I have written to Father Valverde since I learned it from

the youth whom thou didst send from Xilcala, but have had no reply.

Canares have been abroad, and communication uncertain. The messenger

may not have passed them. I have come myself, therefore, thinking to

bear the news, but it hath ended--thus,"--and he cast a look over the

battalions.

"Doubtless we can send her word," said Cristoval. "Matopo saith she is

likely to be at Yucay, where the Incas have a castle. I think we may

reach her, good father."

"I pray it may be so, surely," replied Tendilla.

That night the command encamped on the elevated plain of Curahuasi,

awaiting the morrow to cross the Apurimac. Before daylight it was

moving again, and shortly the head of the column was threading its way

down the wall of the chasm whence rose the faint murmur of the torrent,

thousands of feet below. The trail seemed to Cristoval a mere scratch

on the cliff. At his elbow rose the rock-mass, so steep that scarcely a

shrub found clinging-place, while almost beneath his stirrup the

precipice dropped away to an abyss. The descent, at first moderate,

became so rapid as it zig-zagged from point to point that every step

threatened to plunge horse and rider headlong. Generations of wayfarers

had worn the rock treacherously smooth, and he presently dismounted to

lead his horse. The others followed his example, and he heard the senora

whimpering to Pedro. Gingerly now he went, hugging closely to points

which so crowded the path that his saddlebow was scraped by the

overhanging wall. In places the descent was by steps hewn into the

granite, down which his horse blundered perilously, menaced at every

slip by a hideous fall into vacancy. Cristoval's eyes were drawn to the

brink in resistless fascination, and he crept along with shrinking soul.

He heard Pedro muttering: "Martyred saints--and spirits damned! This is

what cometh--of being a cook!"

They were hours descending, but the hours seemed days. At length the

path lost itself in the blackness of a cavern-mouth. Cristoval found

himself in a reverberating tunnel driven three hundred yards through

living rock. Openings on the right admitted air and the growing thunder

of the torrent. In the open again for another giddy, stumbling clamber

down a hundred fathoms; and the bridge! Cristoval whispered a prayer.

From a narrow shelf it swung out over the chasm in a long, sweeping

curve to its anchorage on the farther side, a mere gossamer swaying in

the breeze and vibrating fearfully beneath the soldiers' tread.

Cristoval quailed within his steel at its frailty. From a huge windlass

on the platform beside him stretched three cables of four or five inches

in thickness, forming the support for the narrow floor. Above and on

either side was a smaller cable connected with the floor supports by

ropes, and serving as guard-rails, though the security afforded was

largely moral, the vertical spaces between the cords being large enough

to admit of a fall through at any point.

As Cristoval looked out over the quivering one hundred and fifty feet of

fragility, listening to the lugubrious creaking of the cables at their

anchorage, his hardihood slowly oozed. The bridge was now clear for his

passage. He swore a little in undertone, piously consigned himself to

the Virgin's keeping, and led off. His horse sniffed at the footway

with deep-drawn breaths and long, tremulous expirations, but followed at

his word. A stiff breeze was blowing up the canyon, swinging the

structure rhythmically through an arc of six or eight feet, and

Cristoval's brain reeled as he glanced at the sinister, whirling rush of

green and foam bellowing a hundred feet below. Steadying his eyes on a

point ahead, he picked his way out into the air. An age in crossing, but

at last he neared the end. Here his weight and that of the horse

shifted the sag of the cables so that the last few feet were a steep

ascent with scant foothold; but he scrambled up, and with a sigh of

relief, stood on solid ground. He looked back. Father Tendilla was

following, leading his mule and holding his hat in place, the wind

tossing and tearing at his robe, and the cavalier turned giddy again as

he watched the old priest's slow advance over the narrow, swinging

floor. Cristoval gave him a hand at the end, and fairly jerked him to

safety on the shelf.

Pedro and the senora were to follow, and here occurred a pause. The

lady balked. She seated herself on the windlass, swelling with

negation.

"Cross that unholy thing of strings and straws, Pedro?" she exclaimed,

indignantly. "Not if I were a spider! 'T is a device of the devil, and

may the devil fly away with it, or roost upon it! It is no place for a

Christian. I'll go round, and that's an end to 't!"

"Go round!" retorted Pedro, impatiently. "Thou'lt march four hundred

leagues to go around, Senora."

"Then I'll go back."

"Impossible to go back. The trail is full."

"Then I'll sit here till 'tis empty."

"Oh, the fiend, woman! Dost not see they cannot pass for our mules?

The column is waiting."

"Then let the column wait and twiddle its fingers! The column can wait

till it turneth to a column of waiting mummies if it see fit, but I'll

not put foot to that bridge!"

Pedro stared at her helplessly. The way was blocked. Ocallo with his

mule was behind them, and the narrow platform was full, the column at a

standstill, its head at a safe distance from the heels of the rearmost

animal. Somewhere, Matopo was storming, his voice rising above the roar

of the stream, and echoing and reechoing weirdly between the granite

walls. Cristoval was hailing, and shortly began to swear. The lady

tossed her head, and pulling up a spear of grass, began to chew its end.

Pedro laughed with exasperation; opened his mouth, but finding no

expletives to fit the situation, closed it again and grew excessively

red. The soldiers in the rear began to murmur. Pedro contained himself

with an effort, and began sadly:--

"Well, so it must be, Senora! _Adios_! I shall remember thee. I shall

think of thee with a pang. I shall see thee ever in my darkest moments,

sitting dreary amid the lonely majesty of the eternal mountains on an

uncushioned windlass, a spear of grass thine only sustenance, whilst

tempest and avalanche thunder about thee throughout the drift of years.

_Adios_, Senora! Thou'lt be in my dreams, a silent, graceful, but

resolute form, waiting in solitude, holding the brittle remnants of a

pair of reins; at thy feet a shrunken, staring, decayed cadaver of a

mule, giving voiceless, desiccated testimony of thine inflexibility.

_Adios_! _Adios_! I go. Come, thou, my steadfast and faithful steed,

we obey the pointed finger of destiny. _Fata nos nolentes trahunt_!"

Pedro turned away, and straining to produce a sob, fetched a hiccough,

and led to the bridge. The lady, at first bewildered by his burst of

gloomy eloquence, then touched by the profound melancholy with which it

was delivered, melted from determination to tenderness. As he stepped

upon the floor she rose, glanced about despairingly, and shouted:--

"Hold, Pedro, thou dear love of a man! I follow! Wait for me, thou poor

thing--and the fiend take the bridge and its makers if it serve me not

across!"

But at the terror of the swaying structure she faltered, and Pedro

turned. "Nay, Senora!" he cried, in a voice of sad but gentle

deprecation, and raising his hand, "'t is too much. I ask it not. Turn

back."

For answer she sat down, and in her desperation heedless of exposure of

limb, began sliding down the steep incline, clutching and moaning

plaintively, the feminine now wholly uppermost. At last she neared

Pedro's mule, and he called:--

"Stand up, my dear, and grasp his tail."

"Oh--God's mercy!--he will kick!" she replied, in a shuddering wail.

"Nay, stew me! a fly would not venture to kick out here," answered

Pedro, with feeling. "Seize his tail!"

She did so, and with many a piteous whine and gasp, was at length across

the abyss.

*CHAPTER XXX*

_*An Encounter on the Plain of Chita*_

Within a few days after the passage of the Apurimac Matopo crossed, by a

rapid night march, the plateau of Chita, not many leagues from Cuzco.

He moved with caution, and halted, near morning, at the eastern edge of

the plain, awaiting daylight before the descent into the valley of the

Urubamba where lay Ollantaytambo, the rendezvous of the Inca's forces

and his objective.

The column moved at sunrise. Below, a full mile almost straight down,

spread the floor of the valley. The road was a masterpiece of

engineering. At points it was hewn out of the solid rock; at others,

supported by masonry; but everywhere of even breadth and gradient, and

smoothly paved. Cristoval soon had a view of a distant town which

Matopo said was Urubamba, clinging to the lower slopes of the opposite

mountains, and near it the palace of Yucay, faintly visible. He saw it

with a heart-throb, for here might be Rava.

Upon reaching the plain the command went into bivouac. Three days of

forced marches had been exhausting, and at the earliest moment possible

Cristoval disarmed, stretched himself upon his cloak under a terrace

wall, and was soon asleep. He was roused by a Conibo. The sun, far

past the meridian, apprised him that he had slept long.

"Viracocha," said the soldier, as the cavalier sat up, "the general

would see you at once."

Cristoval noticed the man's perturbation, and gathered up his cloak to

follow. He saw signs of unusual agitation among the Conibos, and that

the few still sleeping were being roused. Those awake were gathered in

knots, some conversing excitedly, but most were standing about, silent

and profoundly depressed. Those he passed glanced at him darkly and

turned away, some with muttered words which he could not hear. The

cavalier, though wondering, was little disturbed; but he grew more

concerned at the gloom and gravity of Matopo and his assembled officers.

As he drew near he saw several nobles in the group quite unknown to him,

who had apparently just arrived.

"_Dios_! Something hath gone awry," he said to himself, and hurried his

steps. Matopo said abruptly,

"Viracocha, the Inca hath been made a prisoner."

Cristoval stopped, thunderstruck, and looked about the grim-faced

circle. For a moment he was speechless, then demanded sharply: "A

prisoner, sayst thou! Where is he a prisoner? Who hath made him

prisoner?"

"Ah, who!" returned Matopo, fiercely. "Who but the Viracochas? He is

in the Sachsahuaman. He was taken on his way to Ollantaytambo. The

Auqui Paullo, the Nustas, and most of his household are held in the

palace at Cuzco, with--"

Cristoval interrupted him with a savage oath. "The Nusta Rava? Is she

again in the power of those hell-hounds?"

"All who were within the palace. Guards were put around it the moment

it was known that the Inca had left the city."

Cristoval stood glowering, observed with some astonishment by the

strangers, who, although already aware of his identity, were unprepared

for his demonstration, and still less so for his vehement demand:--

"Matopo, what dost purpose? Whatever it may be must be quickly done,

for I tell thee, the Inca's life is not worth a hair among those

miscreants, and should they suspect preparations for war it would not be

worth--" and he snapped his fingers. "What is thy purpose?"

"Viracocha, this is my Lord Quehuar," said Matopo, indicating the noble

beside him. "In the absence of the Inca he is in command."

The cavalier turned to him with as much force as he had addressed

Matopo. "Lord Quehuar, if the movement of thy troops is known in Cuzco,

there is not an hour to lose. The Pizarros will hesitate less to kill

the Inca than in killing Atahualpa. Thou must act without delay. Have

measures been taken for his rescue?"

The old noble hesitated before replying. But there was that in

Cristoval's manner, in his vigorous intensity of speech, and his total

unconsciousness of any consideration other than the Inca's danger, that

banished doubt and commanded deference. The old Indio felt it, and

without loss of dignity.

"No steps have yet been taken, Viracocha," he said, "for we have just

been released from Cuzco. Nothing is known of the assembling of the

Inca's troops. We have arrived at no determination. The calamity is

overpowering."

Cristoval took a step forward as he answered, "The calamity will grow

hourly, Lord Quehuar. The Inca must be released. Is the fortress

strongly garrisoned?"

"Not strongly. Some thirty Viracochas."

"Good!" cried Cristoval. "Give me a hundred men and some one who

knoweth the fortress, and we will release him.--_Hola_, Pedro!"

"_Aqui_! Here!" answered the approaching cook. "What is to do now? I

have been shaken and thumped, and despoiled of sleep worth a

_castellano_ the minute. What is wrong, Cristoval?"

Cristoval replied in Quichua, "The Inca hath been imprisoned, and the

Nusta Rava is again in toils." Pedro halted with an exclamation, and

Cristoval continued, "I say that with a hundred followers we can release

him, Pedro. What sayst thou--wilt go?"

"Thou knowest, Cristoval!" replied the cook, with force. "But hast

forgotten that I am myself a prisoner?"

Cristoval faced Matopo and demanded, "What of this, my lord? Wilt

accept his word?"

The general signified his willingness emphatically, and Cristoval again

turned to Quehuar with impetuosity: "My Lord Quehuar, permit us to march

to-night."

Mocho, the fiery, strode forward. "Let me take a battalion of my Antis,

General. I know the fortress to the last stone."

Quehuar deliberated, and turned to the other nobles. "My lords, we will

consider it. Viracochas, we thank you for the offer of your swords."

He bowed. Taking Pedro's arm, Cristoval withdrew.

The conference was prolonged. Doubts were expressed by some concerning

the prudence of trusting a Viracocha, and Matopo was questioned closely.

Markumi and the other Xilcalans were summoned, and finally, Cristoval

himself. His manifest sincerity determined the matter, and a _chasqui_

was sent speeding to Ollantaytambo, some hours away, bearing a command

from Mocho to his Antis.

Upon Pedro fell the task of apprising the senora of a short expedition

with Cristoval, and of persuading her to accompany Matopo to

Ollantaytambo. This the cook achieved with rare diplomacy. The lady,

vehement in her obduracy for a time, in the end consented, and with

Father Tendilla, marched with the Conibos that afternoon. The Antis

arrived at nightfall, two hundred strong, the pick of Mocho's warriors.

At dawn the expedition moved, with Cristoval and Pedro beside Mocho at

its head.

Leaving the valley for the plateau of Chita, they took the direct road

to the capital. Not long after midday a scout came in to say that two

mounted Viracochas, accompanied by a third man on foot, were approaching

from the direction of Cuzco. The two riders were in armor and bore

lances. The pedestrian was a native, and appeared to be captive. Mocho

heard the report and cast a critical glance over the country about.

Some distance ahead was a low plain, boggy in spots beside the road, and

surrounded by broken, rocky knolls. With a directness gratifying to

Cristoval's soldierly taste, Mocho broke his command into parties to

surround the plain, with orders to close upon it by squads when the

strangers had reached the middle, and to cover, especially, gullies and

slopes which might offer avenue for flight. Enough were retained to

hold the road, and they retired to a rise of ground which concealed them

from the oncoming party. Cristoval looked about in surprise. The two

hundred had vanished as if by magic.

The wait was not long, and as the strangers descended the opposite slope

Cristoval and Pedro spurred forward. There was some surprise at their

sudden appearance, but the trio did not halt. Cristoval and his

companion were first to reach the middle of the plain, and drew rein to

await the strangers, who advanced without suspicion. Cristoval observed

that the man on foot was a noble, and seemingly little more than a

youth.

Presently one of the two mounted Spaniards hailed, and Cristoval dropped

his visor with the word: "Mendoza, by the saints!" Pedro grunted his

surprise and followed the example, but neither replied. The movement

and silence seemed to excite uneasiness, for the trio slowed up, and

Mendoza called again:--

"_Hola, amigos_! How far to Chinchero?"

Cristoval was silent, and after consultation the others advanced

scowling. At a few paces they halted, and Mendoza demanded: "Come!

Have ye no tongues, you two? If ye have, find them; or move aside and

give us way. _Diablo_! Is it thou, cook?" He had caught sight of

Pedro's peg, and surveyed him in astonishment, then Cristoval, whom he

failed to recognize in De Valera's armor.

Cristoval saluted, first the noble, and then, with deliberation, each of

the two cavaliers, saying graciously: "Senores, your right of way endeth

here. We have waited to inform you."

Mendoza started. "Ha! Peralta! God's life!--wilt dispute me passage?

Stand aside, thou--"

"Gently, Senor!" interrupted Cristoval, with increased suavity. "Thy

way endeth here! Canst doubt it?" He waved his hand toward the hills,

and the two followed his gesture with an exclamation. The Antis were

closing rapidly from all sides. The young Indio looked at the advancing

warriors with no less astonishment. Cristoval went on:--

"However, Senor Mendoza, the circumstance need not prevent our personal

settlement of the question of thy right of way. Here is a fair level of

road--"

"Trapped, by the fiend!" bellowed Mendoza, and he turned savagely upon

the noble. "Hast played us, thou dog? Well done! But--" He cast aside

his lance and drew his sword--

A most sudden man, this Cristoval. He was upon Mendoza almost before

the sword was bared, mace in hand. His first blow crashed upon the

sword-wrist, and the murderous weapon clanged upon the roadway. The

second followed like lightning, and Mendoza rolled from his saddle with

a shattered helmet, while the riderless horse dashed across the plain.

The second cavalier whirled his steed to fly, when Pedro charged him,

struck him in mid-volt, and horse and rider went down before the impact.

The young noble had sprung back out of danger, bewildered, and hardly

less shocked by the unexpected violence and clangor than if the earth

had suddenly opened. Cristoval dismounted and was bending over Mendoza,

unable to determine whether the man was dead, and not much concerned.

The other rider was sitting up, in some disorder of mind, with Pedro

hovering over him, lance in rest, admonishing him gently that he was

expected to preserve a quiet demeanor. The Antis had closed upon the

group, and Cristoval became aware of a hush in the encircling line.

Every man was upon his knees. Mocho was just rising from a prostration

before the young Indio.

"_El Inca!_" ejaculated Pedro. "God bless my soul!"

Cristoval started. He had scarcely noticed the youth, except to observe

that he wore the ear ornaments of one of rank; but now he saw before him

a replica of the features of Rava, darker, ruggedly masculine, but still

the well-remembered traits. The _llauta_ was absent. The young monarch

turned from Mocho and spoke a word to the Antis, who rose with a shout,

tossing shields and javelins in a frenzy of jubilation, as he advanced

to the astonished Cristoval.

"Viracocha," he said, as he offered his hand, scrutinizing the

cavalier's face. "I owe thee my life. My Lord Mocho, tell me whom I am

to thank."

"The Viracocha Cristoval, Sapa Inca," replied Mocho, "to whom

Tavantinsuyu is--"

He stopped. The Inca had dropped Cristoval's hand as if stung, his face

suddenly darkening with enmity. Cristoval stiffened, and his face slowly

reddened at the affront. There was a flash in his eyes as they met the

frown, and he formally saluted, saying:--

"The Inca Manco oweth me nothing."

Manco turned away abruptly. Remembered his obligation, and again faced

the cavalier, as he said, without gratitude and with an effort plainly

visible: "You have saved my life, Viracocha. My Lord Mocho, see that he

and his companion are suitably rewarded. Assemble thy men."

He moved away burdened by a debt heavier upon his proud heart than all

the insults borne at Viracocha hands; haunted by the crucifix seen on

Rava's bosom--placed there by the one for whose death he had given

fervent thanks to Inti a hundred times: by the hand which had now saved

him from the sword of one whom he hated less. Black thoughts, with

blacker ones beneath: his liberty a loathed thing! He pushed on alone,

far in advance of the column which Mocho was hurriedly forming.

Cristoval glanced after him, watched the Antis gathering up Mendoza, who

was groaning feebly; saw the other Spaniard secured, and as the column

moved off, turned to Pedro who was regarding him with inquiry.

"By the saints, Pedro, I have little taste for such a host. I misdoubt

our welcome. However," he added, after a moment's gloomy thought, "I

see no help for it." He recovered his lance, which he had dropped to

catch up his mace, mounted, and they rode after the column.

Mocho joined them at the first halt. His manner betrayed his uneasiness

at the reception accorded the two Spaniards by his master, and he

hastened to say: "The Inca is not yet aware of all his indebtedness,

Viracochas; but I will make him so. You will not find him ungrateful."

Cristoval inclined his head gravely, presently asking how the monarch

had effected his release.

"By ruse," answered Mocho. "He confided to the new commander of the

Viracochas, Hernando Pizarro, that there is treasure concealed near

Yucay, and was freed to guide the two soldiers to the hiding-place."

"Aha!" said Cristoval. "Hernando back! Well, his greed hath

overreached. What is in store for the Viracochas who came with the

Inca?--death, no doubt?"

"They will be left at Chinchero to make their way back to Cuzco as soon

as the injured one is able to walk," replied Mocho. Cristoval was

surprised, but made no comment.

It was near midnight when Urubamba was reached, and having despatched

heralds to announce the Inca, the command moved on to Yucay. The palace

occupied a rocky shelf far above the valley. It was approached by a

road which wound upward from terrace to terrace through an immense park,

and after a tedious ascent the great rambling group of buildings rose at

the head of the avenue. In a brightly lighted court large enough for a

regiment the escort halted, and the Inca passed between prostrate

menials to his apartments, accompanied by Mocho. On the latter's return

the two Spaniards were led to quarters in a distant part of the

building, followed by a corps of servants.

Their apartment consisted of a large salon with sleeping-rooms

adjoining. It was already alight. Mocho was depressed, but took leave

with cordiality, promising to join them early the following day. A few

minutes later refreshments were brought. As they were about to sit

Pedro inquired,

"Canst feed thyself, Cristoval?"

"Assuredly!" replied Cristoval, with mild surprise. "Why not?"

"So can I," said Pedro. "Canst get to bed without assistance?"

"Nonsense, Pedro! What dost think?--that I may drink too much?"

"Then in the name of a saint, dismiss these servants! It neither aideth

me to eat to have twelve men observing me how I do it, nor my digestion

afterwards. Tell them to go. They need rest." Cristoval smiled,

indicated to the attendants that they were no longer needed, and Pedro

sat with evident relief. "That," he observed, "is one of the reasons

why I would not be a king. But now we can eat in comfort and

spontaneously as becometh hungry men, notwithstanding the iciness of His

Majesty. Hast guessed at the cause of that, Cristoval?"

"I've guessed in a hundred guesses, but can make naught of it. He

looked not unfriendly until he heard my name. It may be that Pizarro

hath smirched it with evil report. The name liked him not, 't is

certain, and we may cast about for the reason. Let it go. But now,

Pedro, he is free, and that meaneth war against Pizarro. Thou knowest my

purpose to offer my sword."

Pedro nodded.

"It may be," continued Cristoval, "this enmity of the Inca will deny me

privilege, though I scarce can think it. If not, I will fight with

Mocho, and in that event, old friend, we are near to parting."

"Ah!" said Pedro, without looking up.

"Thy friendship," Cristoval went on, "hath dragged thee into rough

places and more dangers than one. Mine for thee is the only return I

have been able to make. It hath profited thee little, but I swear to

thee, Pedro, it is warmer than I ever felt for any other man, and it

will go sorely to part, _amigo_." Cristoval extended his hand over the

table. Pedro gave it a wrench, and starting to his feet, pegged rapidly

across the room and back. He halted before Cristoval with face slightly

flushed, and surveyed him sternly.

"Cristoval," he growled, "sometimes thou growest wearisome. Curse it,

dost think my friendship hath gone halt, like myself? Hath it travelled

so far and now can go no farther? Who hath said so?"

"Nay! God forbid that I should think it," said Cristoval, rising. "But

look thou, Pedro, this will be war, and against countrymen. Thou hast

no quarrel."

"No?" returned Pedro, remembering again his crushed thumbs and ravaged

chests. "But mayhap I have. If not, then one shall not be long

wanting."

What further protest Cristoval would have made was interrupted by a rap

on the door, and he opened it to Mocho. The general was disturbed and

said quickly, "My friend Cristoval, the Inca would see thee

immediately."

"What!" exclaimed the cavalier. "Doth he not sleep? It is near the

morning."

"He hath not slept," said Mocho.

Cristoval threw his cloak over his shoulders and followed him out.

*CHAPTER XXXI*

_*Inca and Conquistador*_

The Inca Manco did not sleep. His attendants dismissed, he found

himself alone with torturing thoughts. Lashed, stung, and seared by the

recollection of a thousand Spanish outrages, of the humiliations during

his imprisonment, his mind seethed with purpose of vengeance, with plans

of action, and impatience for their execution. Most merciless of all

was the thought that beneath his very roof were sheltered two of the

hated aliens, harbored through the demands of a gratitude which he could

not feel. And one of them (the one who had seduced Rava from her faith

in the ancient gods, whom he had seen her mourning with he knew not--O,

Inti!--what secret cause of grief, and whom he would have gladly given

to death) had imposed upon him the final obligation! The sense of it

bit to his proud soul like the thrust of a javelin. He would have seen

this Viracocha hurled from a precipice as he would a common criminal,

but the debt was there, burdening his heart like a monstrous incubus.

He strode about, clutching his head, now resolved to issue a fell

command, now restrained by the stern injunction of honor. The Viracocha

was his guest; had, moreover, said Mocho, been zealous for storming the

Sachsahuaman; had served Tavantinsuyu in other ways, and professed a

wish to serve still further. With what motive, this allegiance? Ah!

what motive could a Viracocha have but one?--the hope of gold! He was

merely more astute than his fellows, and of deeper cunning; but the

incentive was, could be nothing else. Then this debt could be

acquitted!--should be acquitted that very hour! The Viracocha should

have his gold and be gone. At once! Before the sun should find him

beneath the roofs of Yucay!

Manco hastened to the door. He threw it open, restrained the sentinels

with impatience from their obeisance, and sent one in hot haste for

Mocho. The general was soon in the royal chamber. Manco stood in the

middle of the floor, hot-eyed and scowling.

"Fetch the Viracocha!" he cried, impetuously, as Mocho appeared.

"Hasten--the one called Cristoval--and--I will see him alone, Mocho."

Mocho hurried away, wondering and disturbed. The Inca saw the door

closed, and became active. On his table was his untouched supper,

served on plates and salvers of massive gold. He seized them, opened an

outer door, flung out their contents, and stacked the utensils in a

glowing heap. In an adjoining room were toilet articles of precious

weight. They were piled beside the table service. From the niches in

the walls he snatched the vases, hurled out the plants and soil, and

bore them, an armful of wealth, to the stack on the table. From a chest

he tossed out a fortune in jewelled armlets, wristlets, and girdles.

From the walls he tore their decorations, bending and crushing them into

shapelessness.

He worked eagerly, casting the articles upon the heap with scorn for the

object for which they were being collected, and hating them for their

worth to his enemies. As he deposited the last he heard steps, and

turned to face the unwelcome guest. Cristoval was ushered in by Mocho,

who retired at once, closing the door. The cavalier saluted, observing

the half-suppressed agitation on the Inca's face. The monarch made

slight acknowledgment, noting quickly that he wore the native costume.

Manco stood beside the treasure, darkly watchful for the Spaniard's

expression at sight of the gold. Cristoval glanced at the pile as he

entered, but gave it no further look, regarding Manco with calm

attentiveness. Unexpectedly the latter found it not easy to begin.

There was a dignity in the bearing of this Viracocha which forbade the

tender of the treasure and abrupt dismissal ready to his tongue a second

before. The silence had become onerous when he said at last:--

"Viracocha, I have summoned you to say once more that I am in your debt.

Lord Mocho hath told me all he knoweth. I am aware of your service

to--to one of my kin. Yesterday you added further to my obligation, and

I desire to discharge it immediately, and if possible, to your

satisfaction."

The bitterness in the words and the curl of lip did not escape the

cavalier, who replied, coldly: "Lord Inca, there existeth no obligation

to be discharged. You will pardon my denial that any act of mine hath

imposed a debt upon the Inca Manco."

The Inca made no pretence of concealing the disdain with which he

received the answer and waved it aside. Stepping back from the table, he

pointed at the pile of gold and said brusquely, "Take it!"

But the execrable lighting of the Spaniard's face for which he looked,

and had seen so often on those of Pizarro and his companions, was

absent. Cristoval ignored the treasure, but the color flashed into his

face in resentment of Manco's tone and manner. "Your gold hath no worth

to me, my Lord Inca," he said, with slow emphasis. "I ask no favor but

your authority to pass, to-night, the guards about the palace."

"Do you reject it?" demanded Manco, with a frown.

"I beg my Lord Inca's gracious leave to decline it."

"It is not enough!" exclaimed Manco, with contempt. "Then I will

increase it."

"I fear my lord doth not get my meaning," replied Cristoval, with an

even voice that would have cautioned one acquainted with its

significance. "I repeat, the gold is of no use to me."

Manco's frown darkened. "Then what will you, Viracocha?" he cried,

impatiently. "Name it! It shall be yours. If this gold is not enough,

I will load your beast with all he can bear away. But let me acquit

this debt before the sun riseth upon it again."

The scorn was now Cristoval's. It burned in his steady eyes as he

replied quietly: "I fear, my lord, that you will compel me to speak

plainly, and I would not. If I have been of service, I beg you will

believe that I should feel it depreciated by the acceptance of reward.

It should be unnecessary for me to say more to a soldier, my Lord Inca."

Manco scarcely heeded his words. In his impatience to be done their

sense was quite lost. His experience with the sordid and greedy

Spaniards made it impossible for him to believe this one less so. He

rejoined hotly: "You saved my life, Viracocha! Why?"

Cristoval answered with patience. "I was unaware that it was you, my

lord. It calleth not even for your thanks."

Manco flushed, but went on. "You were about to take part in an

undertaking to release me from prison. Again, why? Lord Mocho hath

said that you would offer your sword to Tavantinsuyu. Why, Viracocha?

Is it without hope of reward, all this? Are you of so different fibre

from the plunderers of Cuzco?" He turned away with a gesture of

contemptuous disbelief.

Cristoval eyed him in silence, struggling to restrain his anger at the

imputation of venality. When he spoke the Inca faced him again, and met

a look grown intense.

"Lord Inca Manco," said the cavalier, "you have questioned my motives.

It is not my wont to defend them--with words; nor will I defend them now

further than to say that it was my purpose to offer my sword without

thought of reward, and less to aid you and your cause, just though it

is, than to rescue one whom you hold dear--the Nusta Rava."

At the name the Inca's face grew livid. "Ah!" he exclaimed, his voice

lowered and husky with passion. "One whom I hold dear! One whom I held

dear above all on earth until she came to me defiled by your accursed

love, broken-hearted, wearing the symbol of your damnable belief!"

His rage was not more quick than that of Cristoval, but the latter's

years gave him better self-control. The cavalier, pausing to hold

himself, replied: "Defiled, my Lord Inca! 'T is a black and shameful

word, applied to the Nusta Rava, and by the great Heaven, the man with

whom I could fight on equal footing should not leave this room alive

with the word unswallowed!"

The Inca snatched the _llautu_ from his head and cast it aside. He went

out, returning instantly with a pair of the short native swords. He

thrust the hilts toward the cavalier.

"Choose!" he cried, hoarsely.

Cristoval's eyes blazed, and he stretched out his hand to seize the

weapon. Arrested the motion, and drawing back, stood surveying the

maddened youth in silence. Fight this prince, already laden with

unnumbered cares, the victim of inconceivable wrongs, and on the eve of

leading a life-and-death struggle to save his people? Turn a sword upon

the brother of Rava?

"Choose!" commanded Manco, passionately. "Doth the Viracocha hesitate?"

Cristoval grasped a sword, and as the Inca stepped back to guard, threw

it upon the table. "My lord," he said, "I have no mind to fight."

Manco's surprise gave way to quick access of anger. "What mean you,

Viracocha?" he demanded, hotly. "Is this some new form of insult?"

"God forbid!" said Cristoval.

For a moment the monarch glared at him, speechless with rage and

uncertainty. "Do I look upon a coward?" he asked, slowly, the scorn

deepening in his eyes.

Cristoval knew that the stigma must follow his refusal, yet he started

and reddened at the word. "A coward! No, my Lord Inca, not that!" he

replied, meeting steadily the look of contempt and enmity. "Not a

coward; and I believe you cannot think it." During a fraction of a

second he felt the penetrating gaze which might have been Rava's. It

passed, and Manco's brow darkened again. He was about to speak, but

Cristoval raised his hand. "Lord Inca Manco," he said, gravely, "we

have no quarrel. I divined but now the nature of what you hold as

grievance. I call upon Heaven to witness that the Nusta Rava hath had

from me naught but honor in mine every thought."

"Honor!" repeated Manco, with renewed scorn. "Honor in a Viracocha?"

"Nay, my lord! You have heard me say that I will not fight," returned

the cavalier. Manco colored under the reproof, and Cristoval went on,

"There is honor even among Viracochas, and something more than lust of

gold, God knoweth!" He paused again. "You spoke of the symbol the

Nusta Rava wore. I tell you, Prince, that if you come not to the faith,

it betokeneth you will go upon your bended knees on the hot pavement of

hell and give up thanks that your sister hath been spared your fate!"

Then, with a gesture: "But I say once more, Lord Inca, we have no

quarrel. We have a common enemy."

Again Manco's searching look, but he was silent, studying the man before

him. Here, assuredly, was a Viracocha who differed from his kind. He

had neither swaggered nor sneered. He spoke with a dignity and candor

that forced respect. In his bearing was a calm pride and consciousness

of strength which had baffled the unconcealed hate and bitterness with

which he had been received. The frank honesty of his eyes had lent

support to his words. Manco's youth had not given him a knowledge of

men, and least of all could he fathom a Spaniard; but his own ingenuous

temperament, shamefully as it had been abused, made him quick in an

intuition that he had misjudged. But this was in his thoughts as an

under-current. Before him still was a Viracocha. He tossed his sword

beside its fellow, and demanded:--

"Why are you here? Of what concern to you is the rescue of the Nusta

Rava?"

Candidly Cristoval faced the rights of a brother. "Of deep concern, my

lord. So deep that I overlook the manner of your questions and answer

them," he replied, bluntly. "So deep that I have proffered my service,

my life, if need be, to Tavantinsuyu in her behalf."

Hostility returned to Manco's eyes. He surveyed the cavalier for a

moment before replying coldly, "The Nusta Rava is the daughter of an

Inca, Viracocha."

"I am a _caballero_ of Spain, my Lord Inca."

In silence contended the pride of two races. On the one hand, an

autocrat absolute, master of an empire, ruler of multitudes--but an

Indian. On the other, a soldier, an adventurer, but a Caucasian--a

Conquistador. Upon the monarch, unseen, unfelt, fell the shadow of

Destiny.

There was no wavering in the eyes of either. In the stern,

self-possessed cavalier the Inca saw and was compelled to acknowledge,

an indefinable superiority which eluded him--the genius of a breed of

subjugators. Withal, there was no arrogance in this Spaniard's face;

only the grave serenity of a lofty mind, a strength of spirit which rose

above the distinction of the temporal rank of the Peruvian and all his

might. On his own part, Cristoval beheld a kingliness ingrained: a

majesty as natural as the air that Manco breathed.

Cristoval broke the pause. "My Lord Inca, I requested, a moment ago,

your gracious leave to pass the guards."

Manco seemed not to have heard, but stood in gloomy meditation.

Cristoval was about to speak again when the Inca replied with

abruptness, "It is my will, Viracocha, that you remain within the

palace."

Cristoval bowed, and again encountered the look of profound scrutiny.

Manco inclined his head, and the cavalier withdrew.

*CHAPTER XXXII*

_*The Storm Breaks*_

Pedro was asleep in his chair, but roused when Cristoval laid a hand

upon his shoulder.

"Old friend," said the latter, "we are prisoners."

Pedro sat up, regarding his companion with incredulity. "Prisoners

again, sayst thou, Cristoval?"

"Prisoners! I asked the Inca's leave to quit the palace at once, and

was denied."

"At once! To-night?" demanded Pedro. "Well, then stew me if I'm not

glad thou wast denied! Here is our supper, scarce touched. Here are

two beds, immaculate. Cristoval, thou 'rt rash, hot-headed, and too

impetuous by far! Now what if the Inca had given thee thy leave?"

"We should have taken it and gone," replied Cristoval.

"_Como asi_! Just so," said the cook, in a tone of reproach. "We

should have taken it and gone--supperless, bedless, two wanderers by

night. As for being prisoners, the news would have kept until morning,

and I for one, would have slept none the worse."

Cristoval regarded him moodily. "Gods, but thou hast philosophy, for a

captive cook!"

"Philosophy!" retorted Pedro; "'t is common sense. But come! Let us

fall to, and thou tell me whilst we eat."

They fell to, and Cristoval recounted the interview. At its close Pedro

remarked comfortingly: "Well, if this is durance, Cristoval, I've

experienced worse, and so hast thou. Which bed wilt have? They're

alike. Shall we toss for it? I have a _maravedi_."

"_Madre_! Thou'rt a cheerful cook," returned Cristoval, glumly.

They tossed for beds, sought them presently, and while Cristoval lay

restless and pondering, Pedro's peaceful snore resounded through the

halls of the Incas.

The cavalier was awakened next morning by the voice of Pedro in the

outer room, addressing an attendant and apparently amending his

salutation into Christian terms.

"Say, rather, 'May the Virgin guard you'; or, more briefly, '_Dominus

vobiscum_.' Either is good, and the sooner thou learnest them the

better for thy soul. Is that our breakfast? Art sure? Hast not

strayed into the wrong room? Hum! Well, it hath little of the look of

the prison fare I've--heard tell of, for a surety! Pleased with it,

boy! Why, I'm pleased from crop to tail-feathers, and that's clear

through! A mere saying, my lad. Heed it not. Ah! My leg? It hath

thine admiration? In my country 't is worn as a mark of transcendent

virtue. Few attain it. That will do. Just leave the door open when

thou goest out."

Presently Cristoval heard a low whistle of surprise, and Pedro stumped

hurriedly to his door. "Cristoval!" whispered the cook, "Cristoval! He

did it!"

"He did what?" demanded Cristoval.

"Left the door open, or I'm a scullion! Stir thyself!"

The cavalier stepped out. The door was broad open, admitting sunlight,

perfume, and the sound of the fountain in the court. "Move, man, and

we're free!" exclaimed Pedro, urgently. "There is not a soul in the

patio."

"Useless, Pedro!" said Cristoval, turning away. "The place is surrounded

by guards, and the valley full of troops. We should not stir five

hundred yards."

"Oh, the fiend! We can try. 'T is a flaunt in the face of Providence

not to try!" He looked stealthily into the court and drew back with an

exclamation. "Here cometh Mocho! Shall I throttle him?"

"No!" thundered Cristoval.

Pedro shrugged. "_Amigo_, thou 'rt an ass!--with asinine propensities

for thorns and thistles." He pegged across the room and seated himself

with some violence, muttering, "This is what cometh of being a cook."

Mocho entered. "My friends," said he hastily, after their greetings,

"we move in an hour toward Cuzco. The Inca hath gone to Ollantaytambo

with Quehuar and Yumaquilque, who came this morning. The Antis are on

the march."

"We, my Lord Mocho!" said Cristoval. "We--Pedro and myself--are

prisoners. The Inca refused liberty to leave the palace."

Mocho shook his head with a smile. "No, Viracocha Cristoval. There was

a council at dawn when the generals arrived, and the Inca hath accepted

your service. In truth, you were not prisoners. The Inca could not so

soon forget."

Within the hour the two Spaniards were leading down through the park to

the valley with Mocho, and the latter said, "Viracocha Cristoval, the

Antis are to take the Sachsahuaman."

Cristoval nodded. "Count us with them, Lord Mocho," he said briefly.

A few days later a foraging party of Spanish pikemen and Canares leaving

Cuzco by the Cuntisuyu road at dawn found its way opposed outside the

suburb of Chaquill-Chaca by a body of Peruvian archers. The sergeant in

command halted in astonishment, then with an imprecation ordered his men

forward to cut a way through. Before half-a-dozen paces had been

covered a flurry of arrows whizzed into their ranks. The sergeant

ordered a charge, met at quarter bow-shot by a volley, and the head of

his detail melted. Another discharge, and the foragers reeled, broke,

and stampeded toward the city. They dashed through the dim streets

crying the alarm and reached the square just as the garrison of the

Sachsahuaman rushed into it from the north in wild disorder. The

fortress had been surprised by an overwhelming force, and the Spaniards

had fled without a blow. A few minutes later half a score of wounded

straggled in, some borne by comrades. A number had been left within the

fortification, dead or captive, and others had dropped along the road.

Now, from the suburbs on the west and south came the distant howling of

the Canares. A soldier burst into the sleeping-room of Hernando

Pizarro, admitting with him a confusion of shouts from the square and

the blare of trumpets sounding to arms.

"We are attacked!" cried the soldier. "The fortress hath fallen, and

the city is surrounded."

Hernando was out of bed at a bound. As he rushed out half-dressed, a

horde of retreating Canares swarmed into the square, some wounded, some

naked, many unarmed, and all in panic, their savage clamor drowning the

shouts of the Spanish officers struggling to form the companies. For a

space it was a scene of madness. The Canares, part terror-stricken by

the suddenness of the attack, part infuriated by wounds and the sight of

blood, whirled in the square like wild cattle, breaking the forming

lines of the infantry, struck at by angry pikemen, fighting back, and

howling. In a moment began a sputtering zip of arrows from outside,

with here and there an answering shriek and plunge of some man hit, and

the confusion rose to pandemonium. The sputtering increased; became a

steady rain of missiles searching every yard of the place, their flight

invisible in the twilight, making the vicious whir, or sharp, angry snap

as they glanced on the pavement or from the walls, the more sinister.

The Canares broke for shelter in the halls of the palace of Viracocha,

followed by the infantry and Candia's men dragging their guns. Here the

lines were hastily reformed. A few cavaliers were in the court, already

mounted; but a few only, for Juan Pizarro had gone, three days before,

with almost the entire strength of the horse in a fruitless pursuit of

the Inca Manco, whose rescue had been reported by the battered Mendoza

and his companion.

Hernando had gotten into armor in some fashion, and was now in the

saddle, adjusting his helmet while he bellowed commands. His handful of

cavalry clattered after him into the hail-swept square. The infantry,

not two hundred of them in all, closed in behind. No hesitancy here,

but grim resolution to fight whatever odds they might find; an

unreserved, deadly willingness to fight, though the legions of all

heathendom were arrayed against them.

For an hour the plaza roared, thundered, and trembled; was finally

cleared. The warriors of the Inca had fought with courage almost

superhuman, but had been met with steel, by the crushing weight of

cavalry, by the fire and havoc of guns. They retreated to the streets,

and the streets were swept by falconet and arquebus. They were driven

to the suburbs--and the attack had failed.

But gloom, almost despair, was with the victors. Toward night, as the

city grew quiet, Hernando summoned his officers in council in the

square. They gathered about him, wounded, exhausted, and filthy with

carnage, scowling sullenly beneath their lifted visors, morose and

taciturn. The little said was scarcely heeded, their sombre glances

turning to the grim walls of the Sachsahuaman, or to the hills around

the city, now dark with the legions of the Inca. Hernando heard the

reports of the wounded and dead, made no comment, and the council grew

dumb. The storm had broken with such fury, with unexpectedness so

entire, and its apparent magnitude was so great, that hearts before

unknown to fear were filled with dread. The minds of the counsellors

were stunned. The few words ventured by one or another were flat in

their inadequacy, and were answered by silence. Hernando at last forced

some phrases of encouragement, issued instructions for the disposition

of what force there was, and the council gradually dissolved without

words of dismissal.

Cuzco was invested. To oppose the thousands Hernando had only his

infantry, a battery short of ammunition, with a thousand or more Canares

whom nothing could induce to go into action that day, and whose fidelity

in the emergency was doubtful. Of the infantry, only the arquebusiers

had signal superiority over the foe, and these were few, their powder

limited. What fate had befallen Juan Pizarro and his troopers he feared

to guess. Whether they should be able to make their way back to the city

was a conjecture which gave little cheer.

As evening came on patrols were kept moving through the deserted

streets, saluted with an occasional flight of arrows when they

approached the suburbs, but there seemed no disposition on the part of

the Peruvians to renew encounter. Night fell as calmly over the

brooding mountains as if it were not curtaining the prelude of a weary

length of tragedy whose last act would mean the destruction of a

civilization.

For one heart within the besieged city, crushed and broken by sorrows

that had searched and torn its every fibre, the rise of the sun upon the

outburst of clamor of conflict saw the last flickering of the desire to

live. Shocked and terrified by the tumult outside, the yells of fighting

men, the roar of charging horse, and the thunder of guns--dread sounds

which told her of agony and death for her beloved people--she closed her

ears and prayed to die. Life was too full of horrors. Hers had been

shadowed by a pall, lifted once by love, only to fall again with

deepened blackness. Behind closed doors, with darkened windows,

surrounded by cowering and weeping maids, she knelt through the long

hours of anguish, offering up shuddering appeals to be taken away.

The Auqui Paullo came, flushed with excitement and fierce cheerfulness.

He knew the dire significance of the turmoil, and bade Rava partake his

own hope. The army of the Inca was afield, and deliverance at hand.

Alas! no deliverance to Rava from her bondage of grief. She waved him

away and wept afresh.

Late in the day came Father Valverde from his ministrations to dying

Spaniards, and she knelt at his feet, imploring his prayers for her

relief. The good priest, shocked at her longing for death, hastened to

banish this vestige of her barbarism; prayed beside her for the renewing

of her resignation; told her again of His agony and gentle patience, of

the Mother bereaved, and gave her support. Once more he spoke of the

saintly lives of nuns, and she listened with yearning for their holy

peacefulness. He left her at last with new hope and a resolution fast

growing. Rava would take the veil.

The night which closed the first day's struggle was without alarm. The

Spaniards slept beside their arms, the troopers in armor and at the

picket line of their saddled steeds. Guards were doubled, and patrols

kept the streets. The stars came out, but they seemed rivalled in

multitude and brilliancy by the fires of the besieging army, sparkling

in a vast circle on the surrounding hills, and beheld with awe by the

beleaguered conquistadors.

To one Spaniard, however,--to Cristoval,--viewing them from the ramparts

of the Sachsahuaman, they gave hope and promise. Beside Mocho, and

followed by Pedro as closely as his wooden member would permit, he had

taken part in the storming of the fortress. Later, they watched the

struggle in the streets below, and Mocho pointed out the Amarucancha,

beneath whose roof was Rava. With strained nerves and fevered blood the

cavalier had seen the conflict raging at the very doors of the palace,

hardly to be withheld from descending to join in the battle, and

deterred only by the manifest impossibility of reaching its front

through the masses in the streets. Sick at heart he had witnessed the

repulse, but with new resolution and a solemn, whispered oath. All day

he had lingered on the parapet studying the city spread out like a map

below him, and at nightfall the sight of the great girdle of campfires

brought fresh courage. With such a host the Inca must triumph.

The next morning news came that Manco had engaged the Spanish cavalry

near Yucay. Later, that the Spaniards were in full retreat toward

Cuzco, and an order was received from the Inca permitting them to enter

the city. On the following day they appeared on the Chinchasuyu road,

uncovered for their passage. The highway passed at the foot of a spur

of the hill Sachsahuaman, and from the height Cristoval and Pedro

watched the entry of the cavalcade. Had it not been for a dozen empty

saddles and the litters borne by Canares in the rear, the return might

have been from a victory. Pennons fluttered, plumes tossed jauntily on

helmets, and as they passed the lines a trumpeter blew a quickstep.

Shortly after the column had entered the city a _chasqui_ arrived at the

fortress announcing the approach of the Inca, and Mocho paraded his

Antis to receive him. Messengers were sent to the several generals of

the divisions surrounding the city, and the afternoon was spent in

council with the monarch in the citadel.

*CHAPTER XXXIII*

_*The Doomed City*_

About two hours after darkness had fallen Pedro appeared at Cristoval's

door and beckoned him out. The cook's face was grave.

"What is it, _amigo_?" asked Cristoval, as they stepped upon the terrace

surrounding the tower.

"I know not, nor can I learn; but something is afoot. Come!" He led

toward the rampart nearest the city.

The plain within the fortress was now covered with tents, but as they

traversed the encampment its streets were deserted. From the midst rose

the pile of the citadel, Moyoc Marca, dimly outlined in the starlight,

and showing a single lighted window below the battlements. At the edge

of the camp they passed the embers at the kitchens, and beyond these

were a few silent groups of camp attendants looking toward the south,

where presently Cristoval descried the motionless masses of the garrison

drawn up under arms and facing the ramparts. The cavalier looked about

in surprise.

"What is the meaning of it, Pedro?" he demanded.

Pedro shook his head and stumped on without reply. Passing between two

of the battalions, they reached the margin of the plain, and skirting

it, drew near the battlements. Three fires were burning brightly, and

the two Spaniards caught the pungent, resinous odor of boiling pitch

rising from kettles suspended over the flames. Between these and the

parapet was a group of officers, and a few paces in their front stood a

cloaked figure, motionless and alone. The firelight flashed on the

golden eagle of the helmet, and Cristoval recognized the Inca. Halting

at a short distance from the fires, the cavalier looked over the scene

in mystification. Again he demanded:--

"What is to do, Pedro? Canst guess? They are heating pitch! _Madre_!

Is there to be torture?"

"God knoweth!" said Pedro. "Wait!"

With the exception of a small party of soldiers around the kettles, no

man was moving. No word was spoken, unless by these, and their tense,

suppressed tones added to the pervading air of mystery. Two were

feeding the fires, while the rest were kneeling or bending over some

task whose nature Cristoval could not discern. Presently he saw three

or four rise to string their bows. Aside from their whispers and

muttering and the crackling of the fires, the only sound was the sighing

of the rising wind; and now, from the shadowy city far below, the sweet,

distant wail of a Spanish bugle blowing an evening call. Out in the

dark valley, beyond the dim reticulation of black streets and pale

roofs, was the great cincture of watch-fires, glimmering and twinkling

as cheerfully as if their omen were as peaceful as the stars. But the

night, even in its placidity, seemed portentous, and Cristoval felt a

sense of dread as he glanced from the kettles with their wizard-like

attendants to the silent, muffled figure of the Inca.

"God's mercy, Pedro!" he whispered, with a sign of the cross, "what is

doing? What hell's broth do they brew? Not--"

Pedro gripped his arm as a soldier stepped to a kettle, holding an arrow

swathed in cotton, and turned toward the Inca. The monarch made a sign,

and thrusting the missile into the boiling pitch, the archer drew it

forth and held it to the flames. It burst into instant blaze, and he

strode hastily to the parapet, set it to his bowstring, and drew until

the flame licked his hand. He shot, and with a fluttering hiss the

burning arrow soared high into the darkness, leaving a trail of falling

sparks, paused for an instant against the firmament, and fell with

ever-increasing swiftness into the city.

Cristoval had uttered an exclamation of horror as the meaning burst upon

him, and had taken a stride forward, to be jerked forcibly back by Pedro

with a hand over his mouth.

"Silence!" muttered the cook. "Dost think to hinder?"

"They are firing the city!" gasped the cavalier.

"Canst prevent it? Beware!"

"Rava--"

"Safe with Valverde! Come!" Pedro dragged him out of ear-shot of the

Inca, warning him to hold his tongue. A second arrow sped its flaming

course, then a third; and at once, from a hundred points around the

doomed capital, mounted thin pencillings of fire answering those from

the fortress and falling like a shower of meteors. Arrow after arrow

flashed out from the parapet into the surrounding gloom, and Cristoval

gazed spellbound. Below, where the first had descended, was a tiny,

wavering flame. While he watched, speechless, breathless, it grew with

every second, its base spreading rapidly with ragged outline over the

tinder-like thatch of one of the nearer buildings. Beyond, another

feeble blaze was springing, and not far from this, a third. The first

was now leaping, sending up a tenuous column of smoke which grew ruddy

momentarily, and was seized by the wind and swept away toward the

eastern hills. The flame waxed with incredible swiftness, lost its

brilliance, turned deep and angry, with a lurid veil around it, through

which darted red tongues, whipping plumes, and forked lashes. In a

moment the smoke was rolling upward in volumes, showing whirling gaps

with depths of murky incandescence, masses of black rising heavily after

eddying sprays of sparks and burning fragments of straw. Where the

first arrow had fallen was a volcano of fire with smaller craters

bursting out on every hand.

In the distant suburbs were splashes of flame and towers of smoke in a

huge, infernal circle, and the watch-fires on the hills were gradually

blotted out by a broken, rufous curtain. Now the roofs of palaces stood

out in pallid relief against the inky blackness of the streets, and the

golden thatch of the Temple of the Sun was gleaming fitfully in the

wavering illumination. From the square, at the first outbreak of the

fire, had risen shouts of alarm, the startled clamor of trumpets, then

the dismal howling of Canares. But shortly these had ceased, the

beleaguered stricken into dumbness by the terrific vengeance with which

they were menaced. The city had grown strangely still, as if waiting,

aghast, for its fate.

Cristoval gazed in stupefaction, held in a paralysis by thought of the

danger to the loved one within the swiftly growing chain of

conflagration. It seemed an age before his tense muscles obeyed his

will. A suppressed exclamation from Pedro at last dissolved the spell,

and with a groan he dashed toward his quarters.

Mocho was approaching, and the cavalier ran against him. "Whither,

friend?" demanded the general, detaining him forcibly.

Cristoval made a wild gesture toward the fire. "To arm--into the

city--the Nusta Rava!" He broke away.

Mocho looked after him, dumbfounded, then hastened to his command and

called an officer. "Take fifty, Rimachi," he said, hurriedly, "and

follow the Viracocha Cristoval. Obey his orders as mine. He goeth into

Cuzco in aid of the Nusta Rava. Go first to his quarters in the Paucar

Marca. Speed!"

Rimachi entered Cristoval's apartment and reported his orders. Pedro

followed him in. The cook had come at his best speed, but the cavalier

was finishing his arming as he entered.

"Wait for me, Cristoval!" he panted, as he donned his corselet.

"Nay!" said Cristoval, latching his helmet and seizing his buckler.

"This time we part, good old comrade. Thou hast risked thyself too often

for friendship's sake. I go alone. Farewell!" Pedro wrung his extended

hand, swearing and almost weeping at being left behind, but before he

could protest, Cristoval was gone.

Outside, the whole world to the south seemed aflame. A monstrous,

reddened cloud leaped and surged toward the heavens, apparently against

the very ramparts of the fortress. The plain, its tents, the towers,

the battalions of the garrison, and every inequality of the ground, were

as clearly marked in the ruddy, reflected glow as if by dawn. Cristoval

paused for an instant, overcome by the terrible magnificence of the

spectacle and the grewsome roar and crackle of the fire, which had grown

apace in the short time it had taken him to arm; then consigned himself

to the Virgin's care and hurried to the southernmost gate, followed by

the Antis.

Here the road drops abruptly down the cliff to the terraces of the

Colcampata, several hundred feet below. Part of the way was by steps

made treacherous by the unusual lights and shadows, and uncertain by the

dense smoke drifting from the western suburbs; but Cristoval descended

at a run, and was soon at the foot of the declivity. Here he was

overtaken by his party, and paused to consider with Rimachi the possible

avenues of entry. In front, the nearest buildings were a mass of

flames. To the right, he could see the district called Huaca Puncu,

already burning fiercely in a score of places. On the left, he

remembered, was the stream Tullamayu, and after a brief consultation

they hastened across the terraces. Through gardens and over walls, they

were presently following a street to the eastward, stumbling in the

murk. At the edge of the ravine was a low wall, surmounted in a second,

and they rushed down the terraced bank to the stream. Cristoval was

harrowed by a fear that the almost solid belt of fire before him would

prove impassable. The few gaps were closing momentarily, forming a

nearly continuous sheet of leaping, whirling flame whose heat reached

even to where he stood. The narrow course of the Tullamayu presented

the only breach, and this was already perilous, dense with smoke and

illumined by a storm of falling sparks and burning brands. He glanced

about at the Antis. Their faces were alight and their eyes gleaming

with the fire, but they showed no sign of fear, and with a word to

Rimachi, Cristoval started down the stream.

Shortly they were within the fire-belt, heads bent forward, groping

through the stinging smoke and rain of embers, blundering and slipping

on the water-worn bowlders, under an appalling canopy. The bed of the

stream was pent between walls of masonry with a narrow quay along either

bank. The structures on both sides were now topped with spouting flames

whipped out overhead by the wind in huge streamers and pennons. The

sound of the stream was drowned by the roar and snapping of the

conflagration, the crash of falling timbers, and the incessant hiss of

firebrands showering into the water. The air grew hotter and more

stifling, until they breathed in gasps, but pushed on, dashing water

over their apparel to save themselves from being burned alive. Panting

and floundering, kneeling from time to time to cool his scorching armor

and fill his lungs from the lower air, Cristoval led onward.

At length he could see that the glare in advance was growing less. They

had gained the inner edge of the fire-zone. A few yards more, and they

were in a freer atmosphere and partial darkness, and they halted,

leaning against the walls or crouching in the stream to recover from the

exhaustion of the ordeal. Cristoval anxiously counted his men. None

were wanting, and they groped on, presently passing beneath a bridge.

Below was a flight of steps leading to the quay. Cristoval mounted, and

motioned the Antis to follow. The air was thick with smoke beaten down

by the wind, but still dangerously light from the blazing buildings they

had passed, and the cavalier felt the insecurity. A few yards away was

the entrance of a street leading westward, somewhat darker by reason of

being parallel to the line of fire, and he ran his men into its shadow.

Now he wished with fervency that he had a guide; for he learned that

neither Rimachi nor his Antis were acquainted with Cuzco.

Cristoval knew where the Amarucancha must lie, and that the street they

were on would lead toward it; further than this he was ignorant. He

knew, moreover, that the palace stood beside the stream Huatenay, and

trusted that, the rivulet once gained, he could find his objective with

little difficulty. Once within with his Antis, he could wait for a

favorable moment to escape with Rava.

Cristoval pushed forward through the half-dark, straining eyes and ears.

Little could be seen but dim walls looming on either side, with a flying

drift of smoke above, racing before the wind and weirdly lighted,

curling over roofs, and sucked down in ghostly swirls into the street

before them. Now, it happened that, deceived by the apparent length of

time during which they had struggled down the course of the Tullamayu,

Cristoval fancied himself in the lower part of the city. But the street

they were following was the one in all Cuzco which should have been

avoided. It was the highway leading from the Antisuyu road directly to

the great square. It was deserted now, however, and Cristoval pressed

rapidly on, passing cavernous doorways of palaces, many of them standing

broad open as they had been left by their Spanish occupants when the

starting conflagration had hastened them to the open plaza. Cristoval

passed them cautiously, peering into the dark courts to make sure there

were no lingerers. But all seemed vacant, and save for the murmur of

fountains caught occasionally, all were silent.

At a broad street crossing he halted, half disposed to make farther

toward lower Cuzco, suspecting from the nearness of the fire, now only a

few hundred yards to the north, that he was closer to the square than

was prudent. But the brighter illumination of the intersecting street

decided him to continue his way. He was about to advance when Rimachi

seized his arm. The keener ears of the Indio had caught a sound. The

cavalier listened with concentration. From somewhere in the obscurity

came the ordered tramp of soldiers and the murmur of voices, but in the

confusion of sounds from the fire he was unable to determine the

direction. Anxious, above all things, to avoid the mishap of an

encounter that would be most certain, whatever the result, to abort his

plans, he turned to motion the Antis back into the shadow of the street

from which they had emerged, when an abrupt challenge from the darkness

ahead left no doubt of the source of the sounds. Standing in the

half-light of the crossing, he and the group about him were more plainly

visible than he had thought. Before he could effect a retirement, he

received a second challenge, and a party advanced from the darkness at a

run. It was too late to retreat. A score of pikes and halberds charged

into the light. With a shout to his men Cristoval drew and attacked.

The Antis, excited by the conflagration, and maddened by burns, needed

but the word. They rushed with a yell that startled even Cristoval by

its ferocity, and drove into the Spanish patrol with a savage impetus

which would have shaken a regiment.

The fight was terribly brief. Cristoval had hardly flashed his blade in

the first collision before the party was swept away from him by the

charge of the Antis. The Spaniards recovered, resisted sharply for an

instant, then broke for the square with the Antis in hot pursuit.

But a stubborn opposition would have been less disastrous than this

victory. Already a trumpet was sounding, alarmingly close at hand. In

quick realization, Cristoval rushed after his men, ordering them back,

collaring a few whom he was able to overtake, only partly successful in

staying the chase. Before he ceased he saw the dim lights of the open

square a few steps distant, heard the shouts of the startled Spaniards

and the uproar of moving cavalry. The Antis in front, aware of their

peril, came flying back, and he joined their retreat just as a party of

horse entered the head of the street.

It was a dash, now, for life. Cristoval noted the interval before the

trot behind broke into a gallop. Weighted by his armor, his speed was

slow, and he heard the Antis pass him in the darkness. The street was

clamoring with the din of hoofs, nearing every instant. He stumbled

over a prostrate form and almost fell; recovered, and sped on. The

fleet Antis had left him far behind, and he was flying alone with death

at his back. Now the troop was almost upon him. He was lost!--No! A

doorway! He flung himself into its shadow headlong, and the charging

column went past with a roar that shook the earth. By the grace of

Heaven, he had not been seen. Or, if seen by the foremost troopers,

those behind had forced them past, and for a moment he was safe. For a

moment only, for infantry would follow; and as the last files thundered

by he staggered to his feet and hurried after.

Ahead was the broad thoroughfare where he had stood with Rimachi, and in

its light he could see the glint of the helmets of the troop. An

instant, and they had vanished into the darkness beyond. Could he cross

the lighted space unseen? He was panting with the weight of his steel

and the previous exertion, and his pace slackened. When he reached the

corner he was stumbling and plunging with weariness, and he paused to

breathe and reconnoitre before venturing to cross. Toward the Tullamayu

he heard the uproar of the still receding troop, and a glance up and

down the lighted street showed him that all had kept on in that

direction. But behind was the rushing of many feet. The infantry were

following. He dashed across the open, conscious of the fierce glare in

the north, already perceptibly more intense, and gained the farther

obscurity. He remembered the open doorways, and struggled forward with

desperation. As he turned into the shelter of one of them at last, a

glance over his shoulder showed him morions gleaming in the firelight at

the crossing.

He had strength to swing the ponderous door and place the bar, but no

more, and sank down beneath armor that weighed a ton. He lay straining

to suppress his heavy breathing that he might listen for the approach of

the infantry. He heard them presently, and rose to his knees, gripping

his sword. They seemed so long in passing that he fancied they were

gathering about the door; and expecting every instant to hear it

assaulted, he gained his feet, praying for new strength to fight. But

they passed, and the street grew quiet. Still he hearkened, minute

after minute, for sounds which might indicate whether the Antis had been

struck, until, after what must have been an hour, he heard the troop

straggling by on its return to the square. An interval, and a party of

the infantry tramped by in the same direction, and he surmised from the

smallness of the number that it had divided into squads to search the

streets. After this, a welcome silence.

Exhausted, desperate at the catastrophe which had so abruptly blocked

his project, the cavalier entered the court to seek the fountain whose

plash had been torturing his thirst. The place, evidently one of the

numerous palaces, was quite deserted. Doors stood open upon dark

chambers, but there was neither light, sound, nor sign of life, and he

traversed the dusky courts in solitude.

*CHAPTER XXXIV*

_*In the Burning Palace*_

On the rampart of the Sachsahuaman, apart from his generals, wrapped in

his cloak, and shrouded more impenetrably by something which forbade

approach; a dark silhouette against a sky wilder and more terrible than

words can describe; unspeakably solemn before the havoc wrought at his

command, stood the Inca. In his grim silence and immobility, in his

relentless wielding of a power little less absolute than that of a god,

he took on the sinister majesty of the spectacle his fiat had created.

When flame followed the fall of the first arrow, he had buried his face

in his cloak. Slowly lowering his arm, he had looked on with

countenance inflexible as bronze while destruction progressed in leaps

and bounds. After this, not the tremor of a muscle. To his nobles,

quailing and awe-stricken at the sublime horror of the scene, he was

never before so much a king.

Such his aspect. For the emotions sternly repressed, but racking him to

the soul--what words! The sacred city, the favored of the Sun, the home

and the monument of the loving care of a mighty line of monarchs,

perishing under his hand. The city whose splendor had been the work of

generations of great kings; for whose glory countless thousands of their

subjects had toiled, had fought, had died, given by him to

demolition!--doomed by the mandate of one who had received the _llautu_

from the profane hand of a ravager; who had suffered the scorn of an

ignoble band of licentious and greedy invaders and had lived; who had

worn fetters like a criminal and had lain in prison under the eyes of

scoffing guards! That he--O, Inti!--that he, still wearing the marks of

his bonds like a released slave, should be the destroyer! Could Cuzco

but have fallen beneath the hand of a hero, even an enemy, and could he

have fallen with it, its defender, he had been worthy to take his place

with the shades of his ancestors. But he had himself led the enemy to

its palace doors, had seen them plunder its temples, ravish its vestals,

and befoul its most sacred spots. And now he was giving Cuzco to the

flames! Would the Sun ever rise upon him again?

Ah--but--could he dare to address a prayer to that god while Cuzco

remained unpurged? By the great Inti, the fire should do its purifying

work! From cottage, palace, and temple, the stench of the Viracocha

should be burned! Should the last wall be levelled to the earth, the

last stone of its streets upturned, no vestige of their defilement

should remain. Cuzco would rise again, and the Viracochas be forgotten.

Let the dead Incas look on whilst he wiped out the stain of the ancient

city's dishonor and his own!

When at length the sky was graying and he turned away, facing his

generals, but seeing none of them, they beheld a countenance aged as by

years since he had last spoken. In a night the torture of mind and

heart had moulded lines usually beaten in only by the blows of long and

hard experience.

At the door of his apartments he dismissed his attendants with a word.

But, alas! a king before men, alone he was a mortal man. He knelt and

prayed for tears. Resting upon his shoulders, with the burden of an

empire, was now the weight of a monstrous tragedy; but upon his heart,

the unutterable sorrow of a brother and a lover. Within that dread

circle of fire were loved ones, and among them the sweetest of consorts.

No man looked upon his grief. No man but can know what his grief must

have been.

The sun rose upon a scene of devastation shorn of its splendor. Around

the city was a belt of blackened ruins from which rolled a volume of

smoke which partly obscured the fiercer burning within. To the

westward, the direction from which the wind had blown, this district was

broad. The fire had been driven rapidly across the suburbs toward Cuzco

proper, and the houses being largely of adobe, the destruction was

complete. Below the fortress, in the quarter of the palaces, the fire

had to fight its way across the wind, and its advance had been less

swift. Here the buildings were of stone, and through breaks in the murk

were visible walls intact, surrounding desolate courts with charred

skeletons of trees. To the east the city was hidden in the huge surging

cloud drifting sluggishly off toward the mountains. From the ramparts

little could be seen of the fire except occasional glimpses of flame

through the rifts; and as Pedro stumped to and fro on the parapet,

fuming and praying, harassed by fears, he could only guess at the perils

by which Cristoval was surrounded. Before the sun had lifted above the

mountains the Antis began straggling in, smoked, scorched, and many of

them wounded, bearing the tale of their encounter. Ten or more did not

return. Rimachi was one of the last to come, and having reported to

Mocho, the latter sought the cook with the news of the probable fate of

the cavalier. Pedro made no reply, but turning with his face painfully

twitching, he hastened to his quarters--to be seen no more that day.

Once more to Cristoval. Assuring himself that he was the sole occupant

of the building, he explored the several courts for its exits, and

found, in the rear, the door of a passage which led to the broad street

he had recently crossed. This might serve as a line of retreat. Patrols

were still moving in the streets, and fixing the location of the passage

among the intricacies of dark chambers and courts, he sought next, like

a prudent soldier, for the kitchens and larder. This quest was

difficult, for the operation of making a light, even could he have found

a lamp, would have demanded more time than he could spare. Trusting to

his sense of smell, blunted though it was by smoke, he wandered from one

room to another, his steps, the rustle of his armor, and the clank of

his sword rousing uncanny echoes from the lofty walls of stone. At last

he stumbled upon a table still spread with an abandoned supper, and

groping among the viands, he hastily made a meal.

A glance at the sky from the court showed a noticeable advance of the

fire, though the direction of the wind held it in check and carried the

sparks and brands off to the eastward. While he stood he heard the

clatter of troopers in the street; but it died away presently, and he

made his way to the postern. At the end of the passage he reconnoitred

the street, now more brightly illumined than before, and was about to

leave his hiding, when two horsemen trotted into the light and halted at

the crossing, their lance-heads glittering in the firelight. They were

too near to leave a possibility of his quitting the passage unseen.

Furthermore, he recognized the unwelcome fact that they were there _en

vedette_, and would remain. Evidently, the attack upon the patrol had

made the Spaniards vigilant. Cristoval set his teeth. Here was a

situation, by the fighting saint! Trapped in a building which would be

afire before many hours, with a prospective choice of being burned

alive, or run through by a Spanish lance in the effort to escape! For a

bad quarter of an hour he watched the troopers with an interest his

countrymen had seldom roused in him before, consigning them in vigorous

whispers to divers painful fates, until, observing one of them hitch

himself in his saddle into a lounging seat, he gave it up and groped

back into the palace.

There was one other exit: the door by which he entered. The darkness of

that street might favor. He would try it. In the main court nearest

the entrance was the fountain, a pool of some ten feet in diameter with

steps descending to the water a yard below the level, and surrounded by

seats and parterres full of shrubbery. He stopped there and drank deep,

for the fire and cinders would not out from his throat. Then to the

door. He laid aside his buckler and put hand to the bar. Cautiously

now, Cristoval; for with sentinels near, this business should be of an

inconspicuous kind. The timber stuck slightly, then yielded, slipped

from his grasp, and fell with a crash loud as the crack of doom.

It was answered at once by the sound of a horse spurred to a trot, and

snatching up his buckler, Cristoval retreated to the parterres. He

gained the shelter just as the trooper pushed open the door. He rode in

and halted near the entrance; peered about in the obscurity, called

twice or thrice, then rode slowly about the enclosure, looking into the

darkness of the open doors. Cristoval watched him, praying that he

might push on into the interior courts, or that he might dismount. In

the latter event he should find what he sought with a vengeance, and

that horse would change owners. But the trooper soon returned, scanning

the parterres as he passed. At the entrance he halted and surveyed the

place again, only half satisfied. Finally he rode out. Cristoval

followed cautiously, to have a look at the street. No hope there. The

soldier had taken position a few yards away, and there remained, while

the prisoner returned to the fountain and had another bad quarter of an

hour. There was no choice but to stay where he was and pray that the

sentinels might be withdrawn at daylight, or be driven from their posts

by the approaching fire. Then, provided he was not roasted to death in

the meantime, he might escape.

He sat through the night, going at intervals to the doors in faint hope,

returning with disquietude more profound, to watch the relentless

nearing of the conflagration. At last came the dawn, more depressing in

its ghastly light than the night. He stretched himself beneath the

shrubbery. As the morning advanced the wind veered farther to the

south, and this, he hoped, would retard the progress of the fire in his

direction until the evening.

Cristoval was blessed with a sanguine temperament, and was, moreover,

like most men who follow peril, a fatalist. Death had stood so often

beside him, and had so often withheld the blow, that he had lost the

appreciation of danger while he could look forward to another minute of

life. Now, there were hours before him, at least, and faith that good

fortune or resourcefulness would open a way of deliverance. Therefore,

why not be comfortable while comforts were at hand? He remembered the

spread table. He crept from concealment, went to the door for another

look at the sentinels, and entered the dining-hall. He had seated

himself when he perceived that the tableware was silver. He rose

abruptly. "Oho! that meaneth the tenant will return, else the tenant is

not a Spaniard." He selected a generous double handful of the victuals

and returned to the fountain. Going to another chamber, he brought

forth a rug which he deposited beneath the thickest of the shrubbery,

and there made his breakfast calmly.

Now began a weary watch, broken by short spells of uneasy sleep and

startled awakenings. Once, roused by voices in the court and hurried

steps, he saw two Canares, evidently servants, enter the dining-hall.

They came out with the silver, just as a cavalier, a stranger to

Cristoval, emerged from another room with a bundle of papers and wearing

apparel. The man was in full armor and looked haggard and anxious, but

seemed intent only upon the movements of the Canares, whom he ordered

impatiently to hasten. He followed them out at length, and again the

court was quiet. After a glance at the whirling bank of smoke to the

north, Cristoval stretched himself out once more and soon was

slumbering.

Toward midday he started out of a tortured dream and sat up. The sun

was high in the north, rushing, as it seemed to his bewildered eyes,

madly across the sky, a mere disc of burnished copper, now deepening

into bronze, now flashing into a brazen glare through the scurrying

cloud, but unutterably strange and unnatural. Before he had fully gained

his startled senses, he was on his feet and had crossed himself a dozen

times, only to grin blankly at his own consternation. Another instant

revealed the real peril, grave enough. The flames seemed leaping from

the roofs across the street, and the sinister roar and crackle were

terribly distinct. Cristoval crossed himself again, took up sword and

buckler, and ran to the door. The roofs opposite were untouched, but

their immunity would be short. The crossing where the sentinels had

stood was vacant. A glance in the opposite direction promptly dashed

his hope. The street partly cleared of smoke for a moment, and at its

foot were cannoneers and one of Candia's guns covering the bridge across

the Tullamayu. They were looking alertly toward the suburbs, and one

held a lighted match. Cristoval rushed to the door in the rear. A

survey from the end of the passage was sufficient. At the first corner

to the south was a cluster of pikemen, evidently part of a column which

occupied the cross-street. The prisoner slowly regained his

concealment. For the next hour he gloomily watched the fire, until,

convinced by the rate of its approach that it was farther away than he

had thought, he dozed again. While he slept, the wind shifted to the

north.

Sometime in the afternoon--late, it seemed from the uncertain light--he

was awakened by the report of a falconet, and smiled grimly. "The

Inca's forces are attacking," he muttered. "May no man of them fail to

duck in time--and may they come this far! It would--Mother of God!"

A crackling sound, heard vaguely, had started him to his feet. He

struck aside the foliage. There was no sky!--only a flying mass of gray

and white, near enough, it looked, to be touched with his hand. The

palace was afire. At a bound he was clear of the shrubbery. The roof

over the entrance was a solid flame. While he stood, transfixed, it

swept forward right and left with the speed of wind. He dashed through

a shower of fire to the doors. The building opposite was a furnace.

"Bang!" snapped the falconet at the foot of the street.

He rushed to the rear, racing with the flames roaring along the roofs on

both sides of the court, and reached the passage, now full of smoke.

From its mouth he saw the pikemen looking toward him at the fire.

Should he venture a dash to cut through their lines? Hopeless,

hopeless! But to be burned alive! Yet the main court was broad. Would

he not be out of reach of the flames in its centre? It was the one

chance. A flash of fire overhead drove him back into the palace. The

passages and rooms were dense and stifling, and once he lost his way;

found it again, and crept the rest of the distance to the court on his

hands and knees; reached it, blind, and half stupefied.

Gasping and choking, he dragged himself to the shrubbery, only half

conscious of the leaping, blazing tumult surrounding him. The entrance

had disappeared, curtained by burning thatch fallen from the eaves. The

air was growing hot, and the open doorways which before had been

obscure, now showed a dull illumination. For a few minutes the

atmosphere was fairly free to breathe, but as the roof timbers began to

give way the rooms filled with burning straw from above, and great

spurts and volumes of smoke rolled into the court from the doors and

windows.

Cristoval lay with face pressed to the earth for its coolness and the

stratum of purer air. Overhead the leaves were shrivelling and

drooping. Burning wisps of thatch, then sheaves and armfuls, were

soaring upward in the blast and strewing the ground about him. He was

protected by his armor, but in danger of suffocation, and his breathing

grew momentarily more labored, until every inspiration was like a

draught of fire itself.

Cristoval was coughing and breathing stertorously, sweating in his mail.

Nothing was visible now but the hot, white shroud through which the

nearest shrubs showed like dim skeletons. Strangely, at times they were

all in motion, going round and round; vanishing for moments, to reappear

slowly and resume their wavering reel. He wondered at it very little,

occupied mostly with the effort to breathe, the pain of it, and the

torture of the heat. He had ceased to think, connectedly, of anything;

but a series of rapidly moving pictures traversed his brain, chiefly of

Rava and Xilcala, with others interspersed, of no relevancy. His head

was aching, and singing wildly--or, was it the whistling of wind through

a ship's rigging? It was that, for he felt the roll and plunge.

_Madre_!--dreaming! He saw Pedro, then Father Tendilla, then Rogelio.

Something was burrowing beneath his chest, squeaking pitifully, and

roused him. A _coy_--guinea pig! Another scurried past, and languidly

he wondered whither. Toward the fountain! _Jesu_! At once his mind

cleared. Why had he not thought of it before? He began crawling toward

the water, reanimated by hope which, but now, had gone. Slowly, for his

way was strewn with fire, and his steel of crushing weight. Miles away,

the pool; hardly to be attained, but reached at last, and he rolled in

at full length.

The shock revived him, but before he could struggle to his knees he

thought he must drown. Once upright, he found the air cooler and far

less stifling. As he knelt, the water came to his breast, and now he

was safe at least from being burned to death, if not from asphyxiation.

It was minutes before his thoughts became connected, and then he saw the

_coys_ cowering on the steps in front of him.

Beyond the rim of the pool nothing could be seen for the smoke. On

every side was the roar of the burning and the muffled crash of falling

beams. The air was full of dropping brands, spitting and hissing as

they touched the water, or starting frenzied squeaks when they fell upon

the rodents. Moved by their common suffering with himself, he dashed

water over them with his hands, only half sensible of the mercy of the

impulse.

The smoke thickened from minute to minute, and the heat, even in the

pool, grew maddening; but by frequent immersions of his head and face he

retained his senses, wondering in a stupid, dreamy way, how long he

could endure.

At last, daylight was waning. The thatch had burned out by this, and

the smoke become less dense, permitting occasional glimpses of the

flames still tossing about him. He was growing chilled and stiffened by

long immersion, and rose to his feet from time to time, first dropping

his visor to protect his face. Through the obscurity he could see the

dull red of the doorways, and the walls with their topping of fire, but

as evening came on the heat grew less intense, and he found that he

could stand, dipping at intervals to cool his armor.

Night fell and grew late. The worst of the fire had passed to the

southward. Around him the flames barely reached above the blackened

walls, though the glare from the doors revealed the desolation of the

court. It was hideous and infernal, and he was seized with a frantic

longing to be away from its horror, but hours dragged before he could

even quit the pool. Slowly, however, the fire subsided, and he mounted

the steps unheeded by his fellow refugees. Now he could see the

entrance, with fragments of the doors hanging to the hinges and still

feebly burning. He would attempt it.

He found his sword and shield, among the leafless stalks of the bushes,

and after a final plunge in the pool, left the court. Filling his

lungs, he bolted through the door and into the street. It was full of

embers, starting into flame and swirled about by eddies of hot wind. He

could see but a short distance ahead, but with a hurried prayer he

dashed forward through the stifling heat. The end of the street was not

far, but before he had reached it his feet and legs were blistered. In

his struggles for breath, and in the dread doubt whether he would attain

his goal, he hardly felt the pain, but rushed blindly on, ploughing up a

spray of fire in his passage. At length, the foot of the street, and he

staggered into the open, across the quay, and down the steps to the

stream.

At the farther end of the bridge was the falconet with its gunners. The

fire had not crossed the rivulet, but the heat had driven them to the

opposite side. One of the cannoneers beheld Cristoval rushing through

the fiery dusk of the street, and his affrighted exclamation drew the

attention of his mates. They saw the arch-fiend, clad in red-hot steel,

with blazing eyes, and brandishing a sword of flame, charging toward

them through a burst of fire. There was one gasping yell, and they fled

into the darkness.

*CHAPTER XXXV*

_*The Lurking Morisco*_

During the half-hour it took the sergeant commanding the gun to

reassemble his panic-stricken cannoneers, Cristoval was passing slowly

down the Tullamayu, secure in its shadows. In his thankfulness for

escape from death his scorched feet and legs seemed naught, and he was

eager only to pass the fire ahead, cross the city to the other stream,

and find the Amarucancha. To find the Amarucancha; for not an instant

did his purpose flag, nor would while he had strength to creep.

He reached the point where the stream is bridged by the Rimac Pampa,

climbed a stairway, and found himself at the edge of that square. The

entire district south and east had burned the night before, and the

ruins were still smouldering, with small fires here and there in the

_debris_ lighting up the plaza, but rendering its greater extent the

more obscure. To the north-east, the suburbs of Toco Cachi and Munay

Cenca were burning fiercely, but the advance of the conflagration thence

had been retarded by the wind, so that between the burning zone and the

Tullamayu lay an area yet untouched, while the fire which had swept over

him was now in the rear. In the west was a huge, roseate bank of smoke,

rolling upward in colossal and endless transformation. Overhead were

fragments of sky, densely black, with sickly stars briefly seen, then

extinguished by the pallid fleece whirled and driven by the wind.

Everywhere above the horizon, a stupendous activity impressive in its

silence.

Cristoval turned from it oppressed, to listen and reconnoitre before

venturing from shelter. About him, gloom and stillness profound, the

desolation of vacant streets, the mournfulness of abandonment; and over

all, a wan, unnatural twilight. He felt the weight of loneliness and a

vague dread of the shadowy thoroughfares and sombre buildings. He shook

it off with resolution, and stole out into the street. Not far ahead an

intersecting way admitted a narrow illumination from the north. He was

within fifty paces of this when a dim figure crossed the light and

vanished in the darkness beyond. It appeared and disappeared so quickly

and silently that he was uncertain lest he had been deceived by a swirl

of smoke. He paused uneasily, unresolved whether to advance or go back.

"No Spaniard, that," he reflected, "and _cierto_, not a sentinel! A

mere rag of a figure--if not a rag of mine imagination. But what an

unholy, shivery manner of gait!--a flit, and 't was gone. Murder! I

had liefer seen a pikeman." He stood for a moment peering and

hearkening, then advanced with drawn sword.

Arriving at the strip of light, he crossed it hastily, and halted by the

wall. Farther up the street was another lighted spot, and he watched it

with vigilance. Again the form, seen for an instant, and lost in the

gloom. Now, Cristoval's courage was proof as his own mail against

tangible danger, but volatile as ether before the uncanny or mysterious.

The fleeting form was both. The cavalier was daunted, and admitted it

to himself. But he braced himself with a sign of the cross and stole

forward. "After all," he muttered, "belike 't is naught but some poor

devil of a native, burned out and homeless. But the fiend take a man

who moveth with so ghastly locomotion! Neither a walk, trot, nor

canter. Anyway, he seemeth to have as little appetite for me as I for

him, and man or spook, I'll not crowd him, I swear it!"