THE OATH OF THE BLOOD
That same night, when the last of the escort had returned, the
bridge was taken up out of the river and all the dispositions for the
defence of the valley against an attacking force were made as complete
as possible. The Inca and his General personally inspected the vast
stores of arrows, javelins, and spears that were accumulated in the
fortresses. Between twenty and thirty sets and half-sets of armour,
with as many swords, pikes, and battle-axes which had been taken from
the Spaniards in the skirmishes of the last six months, were
distributed among the bravest and most stalwart of Manco’s body-guard,
and great stones and fragments of rock were laboriously carried up
from the river bed and collected from the mountains and plateaus
surrounding the valley, to be piled up on all the points of vantage
ready to be hurled down on the heads of the attacking force.
Then towards midnight, when all the preparations had at length been
completed, Manco and Ruminavi assembled their princes and chieftains
on a high plateau of bare rock overlooking the valley.
Three hundred torchbearers formed a wide circle round them, and in the
midst were two huge golden vases full of chicha. About these the
nobles and chief warriors were grouped, and between them stood Manco
clad in his Spanish armour, saving only for the helmet, in place of
which he wore the scarlet Llautu surmounted by a plume of coraquenque
feathers.
He looked round the ring of torchbearers and then upon the two groups
of princes and warriors which had silently ranged themselves round
either of the vases. But for the space of several minutes not a word
was spoken. At length the broad yellow disc of the full moon began to
show itself above the eastern ridge of the mountains. Instantly all
eyes were turned towards it; then every head was bowed as the
brilliant orb rose into full view.
As soon as its lower edge was clear of the mountain-tops Manco drew
his sword and held it aloft so that the moonlight fell upon the long,
polished blade, making it look like a slim shaft of burnished silver,
and then he began to speak in tones very different from those in which
he had that morning bidden his Spanish guests farewell. Then they had
been gentle and courteous; now they were deep and full, instinct with
majesty, and thrilling with indignant emotion.
“Brothers of the Sacred Blood and warriors of the Four Regions,” he
said, addressing each of the groups in turn, “the ancient glories of
our race and nation lie behind us, and between us and them there is
the shame of division and the sorrow of defeat. But if the division
had not gone before the defeat would not have followed after. Had not
the Usurper--whose name shall be for ever accursed in the ears of the
Children of the Sun--divided the armies of my conquering father into
hostile factions, these calamities could never have fallen upon us. Is
it to be believed that if the great Huayna-Capac had still commanded
the united armies of the Sun these strangers, falsely called the sons
of Viracocha, would have crossed those mountains which our Father in
his wisdom raised up as bulwarks to guard the homes of his children?
Would not they have been overwhelmed in the narrow passes? Would not
they and their war-beasts have been starved on the bare and wind-swept
punas; and would not those who might have been left have perished
amidst the ice and snows through which the servants of the Usurper
guided them in safety?
“But all that is past now,” he went on, with an added note of passion
in his voice. “The conquering Strangers are here in our midst. They
have plundered our treasure-houses, they have defiled our temples, and
dishonoured the holy vestals of the Sun. They have proved themselves,
not the descendants of gods, but of demons, and yonder, in the heart
of the empire of our fathers, in the sacred City of the Sun itself,
they are even now perpetrating their vilest abominations and wreaking
their cruel will and sating their foulest lusts like masters and
conquerors in a land of slaves!”
The Inca paused for a moment, and as he looked about him he saw by the
light of the torches frowning brows, dark, gleaming eyes, and white,
clenched teeth shining through parted lips, and he heard a low,
growling, hissing sound that would have boded but ill in the
Spaniards’ ears. Then he went on again--
“But as the Ancient Wisdom says, out of evil there may often come
good, and out of the grave evils that have befallen us and our people
there has come this good--that, though defeated and broken, we have
become united, and so are still unconquerable. Now, for the first time
since the death of the great Huayna, the heart of every warrior within
the Four Regions is beating high and true for his lawful Lord and his
beloved country. It has fallen to me, the unworthy bearer of the
Divine Name, to lead you, my brothers of the Blood, in the last
struggle with the invader of our country and the dishonourer of our
holy things. Before two more suns have risen and set that struggle
will have begun, and we have come here unto this holy place, where the
Divine Manco held his first war-council, to take the most solemn oath
that the lips of the Children of the Sun can utter that, when that
struggle has once begun, it shall not end while an invader is left
alive in the land or one of us has power to do him harm.
“Henceforth there is war without rest or mercy between us. Where any
of this accursed race are found within the confines of the Four
Regions, be they man, woman, or child, death, swift and pitiless, must
overtake them. As they have dealt with us, so shall we deal with them.
We will give blow for blow, death for death, and dishonour for
dishonour, until the last of us shall have fallen in the holy strife
or the last of them shall have paid the last penalty of their
countless crimes--and that I, Manco-Capac, Inca and lawful Lord of the
Four Regions, swear by the glory of our Father the Sun and his
sister-wife the Moon, who now beholds my oath, and by the might and
Majesty of That which may not be named, and in token of my oath I give
my blood that it may bear witness for me or against me as I keep my
oath or break it in that hour, be it soon or late, when my foot
crosses the threshold of the Mansions of the Sun!”
As he said this the Inca lowered his sword and sheathed it. Then he
drew his dagger, and baring his left arm he made a slight cut in it
and held it over one of the bowls of chicha until a few drops of his
blood had fallen into it. Then he gave the dagger to Ruminavi, who did
the same and passed it on to the prince next in rank to himself, and
so the dagger went round until a few drops from the veins of each one
of the Blood had fallen into the vase. Then the dagger was passed to
the other group, for it was not lawful that the pure blood should be
mingled with any other, however slightly tainted, and the same
ceremony was performed over the second bowl.
Then Manco raised the great goblet to his lips and drank and gave it
to Ruminavi, and so the two goblets were passed round the two groups
till they were drained to the last drop. And so the taking of the Oath
of the Blood was completed.
There was not much rest that night for prince or warrior in the valley
of Yucay and its guardian fortresses, for every hour runners came in
from all parts of the country, some bringing news of new regiments
marching up to the scene of action, some telling of isolated
settlements of the Strangers cut off and given over to fire and sword,
of detachments of the enemy making their way to the mountains
overwhelmed in narrow gorges and on the brink of precipices, or caught
on bridges and flung headlong into the torrents, and others again of
the safe removal of stores and flocks of animals into parts of the
mountains inaccessible to the heavy-footed Strangers and their
war-beasts.
The next day the defences of the valley were once more inspected,
outposts were thrown out, and ambushes laid, and so another day and
another night passed, and at length, in the twilight of the second
morning, there came runners in from the way of Cuzco bringing the news
that a body of nearly a hundred horse were within two leagues of the
fortress of Chinchero.
There was no need to give any further orders, for every man already
knew what was to be done. All the way from Cuzco the Spaniards had not
seen a single living thing. The whole country was silent and seemingly
deserted. The great guardian fortress was as still and lifeless as a
house of the dead.
They halted before it, and Juan Pizarro, who was in command of the
troop, ordered half a score of his men to dismount and summon it to
surrender. There was no answer to the summons, and when at length they
entered it they found the vast halls of the palace stripped bare and
deserted. Then they cautiously entered the fortress, only to find it
in the same state. They had no men to spare for a garrison, for they
knew not what work lay before them, and so, not a little mystified and
not without some misgivings, Juan Pizarro ordered his men to re-mount,
and then the difficult descent of the zigzag road began.
“I would sooner have seen that fortress swarming with men and have
fought our first battle under its walls,” said de Soto, who was riding
beside Pizarro, “than leave it empty like that in our rear. Methinks
we shall find it full enough when we come back.”
“Ay, that is like enough,” said Juan, “but we could spare no men to
keep it. We should have had a half-score of archers and as many
arquebusiers to hold it for us, but they could ill be spared from
Cuzco now, so we must take our chances of the retreat, if retreat we
must.”
They accomplished the descent amidst an unbroken and ominous silence,
and even by the time they reached the river they had not seen a single
warrior. Fortress, palace, and terrace seemed alike deserted, and as
they halted about thirty yards from the river-bank, Juan Pizarro said
to de Soto--
“I like this but little. Yonder valley looks to me more of a trap than
a battlefield. What if the Inca has left us to entangle ourselves here
among these unknown mountains while he has gone to Cuzco? He knows
full well that the city can ill spare as many swords as we have here
from its defence.”
“That may be so,” replied de Soto, “yet the daylight is precious to
us, and it were not wise to lose too much of it making vain guesses
here. Would it not be well to send a party across the river to
reconnoitre?”
“The river looks deep and flows fast,” said Pizarro, shaking his head.
“It would make a bad way of retreat were this bank well held by the
enemy.”
“I have swum it twice, Señor, and will answer for taking a troop
across and back safely.”
It was Alonso de Molina who spoke, though few would have recognised
the gallant young cavalier who was wont to take such fastidious pride
in his armour and accoutrements in the meanly-armed trooper who now
reigned his horse up alongside Pizarro’s.
The reason for this strange freak may be told in a few words. After
the council Hernando Pizarro had jested with him somewhat rudely on
the promise that the Inca had made to spare him when he gave him the
sacred plume, and de Molina, who had been strangely silent and cast
down ever since he had left the palace of Chinchero, had there and
then sworn that he would go into the first battle that should be
fought so disguised that not even his own companions should know him.
Among themselves his three companions had said more than this--that he
had resolved to make this disguise of his a short way to death, for it
was plain to all of them that he was sorely stricken with hopeless
love for the Princess Nahua, who was now, through his own act, lost to
him for ever.
Juan Pizarro gladly accepted his offer, and he called for twelve
volunteers, on which a score immediately rode out of the ranks, and
among them Michael Asterre, looking very gay and gallant in his
captain’s armour. He chose his twelve men, Asterre among them, and at
once rode to the brink of the river and plunged in at the same spot
where he had entered it before.
They reached the other side without catching a sight of an enemy or
hearing a hostile sound, and when they had got on to firm ground again
de Molina said to Asterre--
“Now, Michael, thou art leader for the time being. Keep thine eyes and
ears open, and do not believe that there are no enemies here because
thou canst hear and see none.”
They rode past the guardian fortress, scanning it closely and
listening intently without seeing the glint of a weapon or hearing
anything but the wash of the river behind them. As they rounded the
angle the ground became rougher, and presently they came to a very
narrow place where there was nothing but a steep, rugged footway
leading close under an ancient and seemingly tottering fortress wall,
and fenced in on the other side by the fast-flowing river. Beyond this
they came to another bend in the river, and here the valley widened
out again, leaving a broad and fairly level plain of some considerable
size on either side of the stream. This plain was completely walled in
on all sides, save the one on which they had entered it, with tiered
fortresses built into the rocky mountain-sides, and as they came in
sight of it Asterre pointed ahead with his sword and said to de
Molina--
“Ha! yonder they are at last, Señor! And this is the death-trap in
which they would fain give us battle.”
De Molina looked ahead as he rounded the point and saw the whole of
the upper end of the valley covered with glittering ranks of silent
warriors, conspicuous in the midst of whom were the figures of Manco
and Ruminavi mounted on their Spanish war-horses and clad in their
shining Spanish mail.
“A goodly array and well posted, friend Manco!” he exclaimed, “yet if
you do but bring it out to fight us on the plain the end will not be
long in doubt.”
“It is not the fight, Señor,” said Asterre, “but rather the getting
back after it that looks the worst to my eyes. If they give us battle
here it will be but as a feint. They will entangle us here with their
multitudes. Yonder fortresses are unscaleable for us who have no
ladders. The horses cannot work among those rock-strewn slopes that
line the hills, and some time, whether victors or vanquished, we must
get back.”
“Then let us get back now, good Michael,” said de Molina abruptly.
“Those are matters for the commander to decide, not for us.”
And with that he turned his horse’s head and led the way back through
the narrow path under the fortress wall. Their retreat was watched
without a sound or a sign from the hosts of the Inca, which remained
under their entrenchments silent, terrible, and portentous.
When they reached the main body again de Molina told the commander
exactly what they had seen without proffering any advice.
“Well, friend Alonso, that is not very good hearing,” said Juan
Pizarro when he had finished his description of the valley and the
preparations that the Inca had made for their reception in it. “It
would seem to me that, unless some miracle like that of Cajamarca
happens, we shall discover that our erstwhile guest in Cuzco has
invited us to a feast where we shall find the viands somewhat hard of
digestion. Hast thou any advice to offer--or let me say rather, what
wouldst thou do wert thou in my place?”
“To put it quite plainly, Señor,” said de Molina bluntly, “and to
speak as one who has already devoted himself to such death as may be
honourably found in battle, were I myself commanding this troop I
would send my men back to Cuzco under a trusty lieutenant, then I
would swim the river and fight the champions of the Inca, beginning
with himself, on the condition that if I overcome three of them in
succession this whole land should henceforth be held as tributary to
our Sovereign Lord. But if I were Juan Pizarro, and yet knew as much
as I do of the Inca and the dispositions he has most evidently made to
receive us, I should without further ado turn my horses’ heads back to
Cuzco and fight my way thither with as little loss and delay as might
be.”
The young captain looked at him long and seriously before he replied,
then he said, almost solemnly for him--
“De Molina, that sounds but little like counsel of thine--thou whose
blade was ever wont to show red earliest in the battle. Moreover, it
is such counsel as I, entrusted now with my first command, could not
accept without dishonour. I have been sent here to bring this proud
young Inca back a captive, and I must do it. To return without
striking a blow would be to make my name--and that is his Highness’s
name, mind you--a by-word in the camp. No, whatever be the odds or the
hazards, we must fight.”
“Very well, Señor,” replied de Molina, with a somewhat ceremonious
bow, “you asked for my candid counsel and I have given it. The rest is
nothing to me. Did you go back I would cross the river alone and
fulfil my oath. If you fight, I may still hope to do so. But in this
case, since you have more than half the day left, I would most
earnestly counsel you to lose no time. Cross the river at once. It may
be that the Inca’s troops, flushed with conquest, may give us battle
in the plain. If so we may inflict so crushing a defeat on them that
Yucay will be another Jauja, though you will never take the Inca
alive. If we camp here till morning we shall find the fortresses
behind us occupied, and, when we are in the thick of the battle,
another host behind us waiting till we are wearied with fighting to
cut us off from all retreat. Nevertheless,” he went on, speaking still
more earnestly, “my best counsel to you is to go back to Cuzco, for by
the time you reached it you would find it already beleaguered. That is
my reading of the Inca’s last words to us.”
“Nay, friend Alonso,” replied Juan Pizarro, reaching out his hand and
laying it on de Molina’s shoulder, “that cannot be. We were sent here
to fight, and fight we must, whatever the odds and whatever the
upshot.”