The Sun Virgin stood beside the terrace wall of Molina’s house gazing
sadly over the city of Quito at the setting sun. Days had passed and
the man she worshiped had not yielded. Almost, it was true, but his
troubled eyes and firm mouth had held her aloof. Her heart was heavy.
It was unthinkable that he should continue forever to repulse her.
The healing beauty of the tropic sunset stole over her at last and
brought a smile. Song birds softly twittered their evening prayers from
the branches of orchids. Brightly tinted humming birds were hurrying
from cup to cup sipping their nightcaps. Parrots, chattering, swung
from limb to limb of the trees.
Over all slowly settled the full glory of the sinking sun, touching
fruits, flowers and birds with subtle magic. The girl watched the
widening splendors with a throb of hope. Never had God painted a more
marvelous canvas in the skies than that on which her hungry eyes gazed.
On the horizon above the darkening line of the hills loomed a growing
mountain of soft white clouds. The sun, slowly sinking, shot through
them the miracles of a thousand colors. In their hearts, hot orange; on
the fringes gold, bright and flaming. The sky, a magnificent canopy of
crimson from horizon to horizon--slowly faded into the purple glories
of the Orient.
“An omen!” The girl smiled and turned into the house.
Yma had scarcely reached her room before the doorman entered it to
announce a visitor.
“Toparca?” she asked with trembling eagerness.
The guard nodded.
“Tell him to await me in the court beside the fountain.”
When she appeared, fully dressed, the youth was pacing the paved floor
restlessly.
“You have heard something?” she asked in a quick whisper.
“Yes. The chief priest has demanded a Council of State. It is now in
session. The chief priest, the Inca, the queen, the dowager mother are
there. They are trying the stranger for his life. If you would save it,
you must act quickly!”
“And you who love me bring this message?” she cried tenderly.
“Yes--”
She could only stare, but her eyes shone in misty gratitude.
“Oh, Yma, beloved,” he choked, “have you become the stranger’s bride?”
“No, Toparca. He loves another. He has repulsed me cruelly.”
The youth stared bewildered.
“How could he be so blind before your dazzling beauty?”
“He does not see with your eyes.”
“I’m sorry you grieve, my Yma. I’d give you your heart’s desire, if
I could. Yet I rejoice you are not his. And I shall pray our Sun God
daily to keep you until I shall claim you as my own. When I am of age
the Inca will grant my prayers--if you will only wait and love me,
dear?”
The girl pressed her fingers to his lips in a tender gesture and
hurried to the door.
“Come, we’ve no time to lose. You must help me.”
The boy obtained admission to the royal council chamber of his brother
without delay, and concealed Yma behind the folds of the curtained
doorway.
The chief priest was speaking sternly:
“I repeat my warning to you, Lord of the Sun. This man is a spy sent
among us to learn the strength of your kingdom. Your illustrious
father first heard of their skirting our coast in this very room, the
night he made his will, and divided the kingdom between you and your
brother Huascar. The Priests from Cuzco threatened and raved in vain.
And strange to say an earthquake shook the palace and a volcano burst
into eruption. Your father, Huyna Capac, defied the double warning and
reaffirmed his decree in favor of your mother, his beloved Pacha.”
The Priest paused and bowed to the stately Dowager Queen.
“He made you the Inca of the Northern Kingdom in spite of all croakings
from Cuzco. But I warn you, Lord of the Sun, your father confessed to
me in secret that in these strange beings who walk the earth in shining
shells, carrying thunderbolts in their hands, he foresaw the doom of
the empire. I vote for the man’s death to-night.”
The dowager studied the high priest with a frown. The Inca lifted his
eyes to the queen who refused to act without his lead.
“I wait your decision, my Lord,” she humbly said.
The Inca’s slanting eyes narrowed in a piercing glance at his mother.
“But if this strange god-man is endowed with such power can we not use
him? Two Incas cannot rule. A war between us now threatens. If the
stranger will give to me his magic, I can win if these tales of his
prowess be true--”
“That depends,” his mother interrupted, “on the charms of Yma. If she
wins his love, he will fight for us--”
“But will she win?”
“If he resists her charms he is truly a god. She is the most beautiful
Virgin of the Sun in the history of the Kingdom.”
Yma pressed Toparca’s hand and whispered:
“Now, lead me to the Inca--”
The youth tremblingly led the girl before the royal Council, and
faltered:
“The Sun Virgin has an important message, Atahualpa.”
The girl threw Toparca a look of pity and faced the frowning ruler.
“I have come, my Lord of the Sun, to announce my triumph. The stranger
is mine. He loves me and takes me as his bride.”
Toparca rushed from the room.
The Council voted life to Molina, who was at the moment alone in his
apartment, a prey to fears of the future.
While on the great uncharted sea, the little fleet, like an approaching
cloud, flew southward and neared Tumbez.
Empires lay on the scales and a woman’s lie had turned the balance.