AT THE FORTRESS GATE OF YUCAY
Although the four cavaliers found no difficulty in reconciling their
complicity in the Inca’s escape to their consciences, their generosity
did not therefore extend to the rest of his people. They knew from
what had already happened that the little force in Cuzco would soon be
called upon to fight desperately for its very existence. They knew too
from their Indian spies that all the approaches to the beautiful
valley were fast filling with detachments of Peruvian warriors, and
finally there had come rumours that Ruminavi, the last of Atahuallpa’s
great chieftains, had returned from Quito and had rallied all that
remained of the four great armies of the empire and had united all the
factions, Quitans and Cuscans, tribes of the Sierras and tribes of the
plains, under the banner of the Last of the Incas, and devoted them to
one supreme effort to crush the conquerors in the midst of their
conquests.
As they were now well on the road to Yucay they held a brief council
of war when they halted, and determined to spend the rest of the night
and the following day in reconnoitring the approaches to the valley
and discovering, as far as they could, the positions held by the
Peruvian army.
The first thing they did was to collect the Cañaris and rate them
soundly for permitting the Inca to escape, emphasising their
reproaches, lest they should be not fully understood, with their
rein-straps and the flats of their swords, promising them further that
if they went back to Cuzco without the information that was needed
they should every one be put to death as traitors. They then took up
the march again and rode on slowly and cautiously for the best part of
the night, but without discovering a sign of the enemy.
A couple of hours before dawn they halted for food and rest and then
with the earliest light rode on again. The bleak uplands over which
they had passed now began to slope downwards and become more fertile,
and as the light increased they saw that they were approaching the
entrance to a great valley walled in on all sides by huge and
precipitous mountains, and by the time the sun rose they had reached a
rocky ledge from which they beheld a scene whose strange and wonderful
loveliness told them at a glance that this could be nothing else than
the far-famed valley of Yucay.
The lower slopes of the seemingly impassable mountains were terraced
into gardens which glowed with a hundred shades of green and gold,
azure and scarlet. The broad plain which lay along the centre was
sprinkled with villas and temples and palaces bright with colours and
glittering with gold and silver, and through the midst of them rolled
a broad, winding river, glittering like a wide band of molten silver
in the rays of the sun, now streaming into the valley from the
eastward. All along the two sides rose ridge after ridge of bare,
brown mountains, apparently without a break for miles and miles, and
high above these towered into the sky, one to right and one to left,
two mighty snow-crowned peaks like twin Titans guarding this enchanted
realm.
But the keen eyes of the Spaniards soon discovered that the valley had
other guardians than these. At every bend of the river a dark fortress
rose tier above tier jutting out from the hillside and completely
commanding it. All along the heights there were watch-towers on which,
as the light grew stronger, they could see the sun glinting on
polished arms and waving plumes, and soon shrill, wailing cries rose
to right and left of them and ran along the ridges until they died
away in the distance, telling that the sun shining on their own armour
had already betrayed their presence and that the whole valley was
alert.
“A glorious spot, by the Saints!” said de Soto, as his eye ranged
delighted over the lovely prospect. “A very Garden of Eden, if such
might be in a heathen land, but well guarded. Methinks it would fare
badly with us even if we attacked it with all our forces. Still it is
our present business to find a way into it, if such there be, and that
can only be where the river flows out of it. Come, let us try the
sloping ground down here to the right.”
“Ay,” replied de Candia, “it were well to keep moving lest we find
ourselves surrounded, but for all that I doubt not that the Inca will
find a way of showing his gratitude for what we did for him last
night. He must have reached the army by this time.”
“That is certain,” said de Molina, “and I for one would so far trust
him that I would ride unarmed through his whole host. Ah, look
yonder,” he went on, pointing ahead past a spur of rock which they had
just cleared. “Yonder is the gate of Eden.”
“And the mouth of the River of Paradise!” said ben-Alcazar. “But
methinks for all that the mouth of Hell for the enemy that should seek
to get into it. Were those forts guarded by well-served artillery not
all the Spaniards in Peru could force the entrance.”
“I, for one,” added de Candia grimly, “would pledge my life on holding
it with a dozen culverins against a thousand men.”
They had now come within full view of the entrance to the valley. It
was some five or six hundred yards wide. On either side rose a
steeply-sloping hill and on each of these a huge fortress of black
stone built in angles like the Sacsahuaman and crowned with lofty
towers dominated the little level, sandy plain through which the river
flowed. The stream itself was some thirty yards wide and apparently
deep and swift flowing. The moment that they came in sight the loud,
shrill blast of a horn rang out, and instantly thousands of warriors,
armed and plumed, sprang into view. They lined the tiers of the
fortresses in perfect order, and far up the terraces of the hills were
swarming in a moment with their glittering ranks. The notes of the
horn had hardly died away before they were taken up and echoed far
along the valley, and as they went fort after fort in endless
succession was manned in full view by the glittering ranks of its
garrisons.
Instinctively the whole troop pulled up, horse and foot. It was the
first time that the Spaniards had ever seen a Peruvian army so
splendid in appearance and so impregnable in position, and it was a
sight that might have inspired the boldest heart with both admiration
and awe. While they were standing thus gazing at the splendid
spectacle, half inclined to wheel about and make the best of their way
back to Cuzco, if indeed the way were still open, de Molina threw up
his right hand and cried--
“Ah, did I not tell you, Caballeros? There is the Inca himself if I
mistake not. By the Saints, does he not look as goodly a figure as any
Christian knight amongst us, and how well he sits that good steed of
mine! See, he is waving a white scarf and beckoning to us. Come, let
us forward, comrades. That means a truce at least.”
The apparition that had called forth this exclamation was that of the
Inca himself. He was clad from head to foot in shining steel. Round
his helmet was bound the scarlet llautu but without the imperial
borla, and from it rose two lofty nodding feathers of the Coraquenque,
which only the chief of the royal House might wear. In his right hand
he carried a broad white scarf or kerchief, and with his left he
guided his charger with perfect ease down the narrow, winding causeway
which led from the rear of the fortress on to the plain. As he crossed
this towards the brink of the river the Spaniards rode up to the other
bank, each of them waving his scarf in reply to his signal. Then
across the river there came, in the clear, high-pitched tone in which
the Peruvians send their signal-cries from mountain to mountain, the
words--
“Why have you followed me so far, my friends? Every moment your lives
have been in danger. Do you not know that the City of the Sun is
already beleaguered, and that you stand between two of my armies?”
“Cuerpo de Cristo! That is bad news!” growled de Candia. “It will be
no light matter getting back to our quarters if that is so.”
“And if it be so it were well to learn the worst at once,” said de
Molina. “I will go and speak with his Majesty.”
And before any of them could stay him the gallant young cavalier had
leapt his horse into the stream and was swimming across. A
half-suppressed cry of wonder broke from the Peruvian soldiers, and
two or three companies of them, armed with bows and slings and spears,
marched swiftly down out of the fortress which guarded the bank on
which the Spaniards were, as though to cut off their retreat, while
others marched out from the other fortress as though to close round
the sacred person of the Inca. But he instantly waved them back and
rode alone to a point on the bank which de Molina was rapidly nearing.
As he reached it the dripping horse scrambled out of the water, and de
Molina, holding out his hand, said with a laugh--
“A good morrow to your Majesty! This is a strong place and a gallant
array that you have here.”
Manco took his hand and replied gravely--
“You and your comrades have done unwisely, my friend. If you had not
forced me to leave you so suddenly last night I would have warned you
that by sunrise this morning every pathway to it would have been
filled by our warriors. Moreover, if I had not been in this part of
the valley Ruminavi would certainly have taken you for spies, and my
people are now so incensed against yours that you would have been
slain if it had cost a thousand lives, and then,” he went on more
gently, “how would you have kept your promise, and who would have
saved Nahua from her doom? But now you have not a moment to lose. The
higher the sun rises the greater will be the peril of your return.
There is indeed only one means by which you can reach the city alive.
Take this feather,” he said, pulling one of the sacred plumes from his
turban. “There is not one of the Children of the Sun who would dare to
touch the wearer of that. Put it in your helmet and go. With it I give
you and your comrades your lives in payment for mine. Should we come
to battle, still wear it and you will be harmless, however thick the
fight. Tell your leader what you have seen here, and save Nahua and
the queen as quickly as maybe, for soon there will be bitter and
relent less war between us to the end. Now farewell. Go quickly if you
would go safely.”
“Fear not for the queen and princess, friend Manco!” replied de Molina
as he gripped his hand again. “If we could not bring them out of Cuzco
in safety we should not ourselves return, since we four have pledged
ourselves each to the other by our Christian faith and knightly honour
to be hostages for them. If they are not here on this river bank
before another sun has set then thou wilt see us here or know that
thou hast four Spanish knights the less to fight against. And now
farewell, and till we meet again in battle God speed thee!”
Then with a last clasp of the hand he pulled his horse round and
plunged into the river again. As he regained the opposite bank all
four turned and saluted the Inca, still resting motionless on his
horse. He returned the salute, and as he did so ten thousand warriors
rent the still morning air with a great cry, and thousands of
burnished weapons flashed in the now ardent sunbeams.
“Was that a farewell?” said de Soto, as they turned their horses and
rode away up the hill. “To my ears it sounded more like a bidding to
battle, and such battle as we have not had yet. Methinks that, despite
all our easy-won triumph, the real work of conquest is only just
beginning.”
“For one thing,” said de Candia, “this friend Manco of ours would seem
to be the only man they have so far had to lead them. He will give us
trouble. Old Carvahal said to me not long since that the Governor, if
he had been wise, would have treated him as he did Atahuallpa when he
had the chance.”
“Carvahal is a Christian savage,” laughed ben-Alcazar. “I have ever
had a presentiment that that man will die neither on a field of battle
nor in his bed, good soldier and huge drinker as he is.”
The lightly-spoken words were prophetic, although their fulfilment
does not come within the limits of this narrative, for there came a
day seven years afterwards when the fierce old swashbuckler was
dragged in a basket to the scaffold in company with the last of the
Pizarros without a fear in his heart and with a homely jest on his
lips.
So, talking of the chances of the war which, with de Soto, they all
believed to be only now about to commence in earnest, they made their
way back with all possible speed to Cuzco. The sacred feather in de
Molina’s helmet was saluted again and again on the road by armed
detachments of Peruvian warriors, hundreds of whom they saw, not a
little to their disquiet, posted with perfect skill and knowledge of
the country, so as to command all the most difficult parts of the
road. They rightly guessed that where they saw hundreds there were
really thousands, but although, as they well knew, part of the great
debt of vengeance that they had piled up might well have been paid off
on them, not a hand was raised or a spear lowered to bar their path.
The instant that the sacred plume was seen the leaders of the
detachments bowed their heads and ordered their men back, leaving the
road clear, and so with hard riding they came shortly after sundown
within sight of Cuzco. When they had nearly reached the bottom of the
steep causeway that winds round the western shoulder of the great
fortress, de Molina turned in his saddle and said--
“And now, Caballeros, as the Inca has kept faith with us, so, I take
it, must we now keep faith with him. There is little time to be lost
if all these hosts are closing about us. Are you agreed, then, that we
shall go at once and perform what remains of our oath to be
fulfilled?”
“Yes,” the other three replied almost in a breath.
And then de Soto dismissed the Indian escort, and the four cavaliers,
entering the city, turned their horses’ heads in the direction of the
palace which Hernando Pizarro had taken for his headquarters.