CHAPTER XXIVPedro Seeks Tidings of CristovalPedro cantered into town and dismounted in front of the great, heavily walled, low-roofed edifice that had been the Temple of the Sun,—the Temple of the Sun for centuries, but now surmounted by a cross, the interior shorn of its symbols of pagan worship and its splendor, and consecrated to the Holy Faith. Beside the gray old building was the ancient palace of the priestly attendants, now sheltering the good Father Tendilla and his assistants in the pious work of saving heathen souls.The gentle-mannered old priest was shocked at Pedro's revelation of theveedor'siniquity, and made instant preparations."Good Father," said the cook, as he held the stirrup for Tendilla to mount, "if you can learn aught of Cristoval——""I will, my son. Come to-night," and the priest rode away.Arrived at the fortress, he went directly to the commandant, and in half an hour was at Rogelio's door with a squad of halberdiers. It drew an outbreak of squeaky protests from that worthy, but the priest, leaving him grovelling in fear of the punishing hand of the Church, ordered a sentinel posted at his door and sought the señora. She admitted him at once to Rava's room.The girl was asleep, her tear-stained cheek resting on her clasped hands. Even unconsciousness did not release her from her sorrow, for she sighed heavily and moaned as Tendilla knelt for a brief prayer beside her. He arose, and stood regarding her with compassion. With deeper compassion still, when, awakening, she drew back with eyes wide and deep with the unutterable fear of a creature hunted and caught. But her recognition of his silvery hair and benevolent face was quick, and with a sigh, the faintest smile, and a movement entirely queenly, she extended her hand. He took it, and touching the dark head, murmured a benediction. Rava raised her eyes, studying his with the unconscious intensity and directness of gaze that had often given Cristoval the feeling that she looked beyond; then the lines of anxiety softened into an expression of trust. But that kindly old face brought a train of recollections of dreadful days, and she turned away in sudden weeping. If Señora Bolio had at first impressed Father Tendilla with some doubt of that lady's fitness for her post beside the prisoner, she dispelled it now by the tenderness with which she soothed the storm of grief. With whispered words—words that might have sounded strangely enough to the priest could he have heard them,—she pressed the shaking form to her bosom, while with moistened eyes he waited for the return of calm. When the girl was able to hear him he approached."My child," he began, in Quichua, and Rava turned quickly with joy in her tears at the sound of the tongue which she had not heard since the wild night at Xilcala. "My child, I have come to tell thee thou hast friends, and thy dangers are past. As soon as thou 'rt composed we will go from this unhappy place to one of safety, and I hope in a few days to place thee in thy brother's care.""Oh, Viracocha—my father!" she cried, rising and nearing him with hands pressed to her heart. "Is it true? is it true? Hath the sweet Virgin Mother answered my prayers? Ah, Cristoval promised it would always be! I believed him, and it is so! She hath heard me. She hath not turned from Rava in her sorrow!" She drew the crucifix from her bosom and kissed it passionately. "And he said thou wast good, and merciful, and kind, my father. Oh, I know it is true. And thou wilt save me? Wilt save me? Wilt take me from this wicked place—beyond the reach of these cruel Viracochas? Ah, I thank thee, Blessed Mother! I thank thee, I thank thee!" and she sank upon her knees, pressing the crucifix to her breast.Father Tendilla raised her gently and led her back to her couch. "It is all true, my daughter. Thy prayers will never be in vain. Now, compose thyself, and rest until I return. I go but for a moment."He left the room, offering earnest thanks for her faith, and ordered thehamaca. It was ready in a moment, and with the escort of halberdiers, and the resolute señora riding close beside her litter, Rava left the fortress.Early in the evening Pedro went to the priest. He found his old confessor pacing the floor and full of mild enthusiasm."Ah, my son," said the father, beaming upon his visitor, "we have done a good work this day. I shudder to think of the infinite wrong that might have been but for thy prompt action in placing so rare a guardian as Señora Bolio over this injured girl, and apprising me of her peril. The señora, Pedro, is a remarkable woman. Where didst find her?""Stew me!—your pardon, father—I found her not. She found me—as the avalanche findeth the wayfarer." Pedro shook his head with a trace of gloom in his jovial face, adding, "Yes, she is a remarkable woman. No doubt of it! She hath powers and attributes, Father Tendilla. But, the Ñusta Rava—she doth well?""Much more tranquil, and though most unhappy, beginneth to show commendable patience and resignation. I have talked with her as my time allowed, and would say from what I have seen, Pedro, that she is one of the earth's choicest blooms. Poor Peralta hath been a humble agent in her salvation, but his task was well acquitted, and he shall have many masses for his soul's repose.""Ah,Madre!" faltered Pedro. "Then Cristoval is dead?"Father Tendilla shook his head sadly. "I fear it, Pedro. Duero hath so said to Saavedra. I have forborne to ask the Ñusta, for the mention of his name seemeth to pierce her heart. Alas! The old sad story of mortal love and grief."Pedro rose and stumped nervously about the room. When he seated himself again his face was flushed and his hands were unsteady, but he said nothing, and the father went on."I have told the Ñusta of thy part in her rescue, Pedro, and she would see thee. She holdeth thee in kindly recollection.""I am easily remembered," said Pedro, briefly. "I'm pegged in memories wherever I roam," and he looked glumly at his wooden leg."For more than that, my son," said the priest, kindly. "Peralta never forgot thee, and made the Ñusta partaker in full of his affection. But thou must see her soon—not to-morrow, for she is much in need of quiet; but possibly on the day following.""Bien!" said Pedro, and his voice was hoarse."And now," continued Tendilla, "we must communicate with the Inca Manco.""No better way than bychasqui," said the cook, "though there is uncertainty of his reaching Cuzco. It is said there are roving bands of Quitoans—remnants of Atahualpa's troops—still in the mountains. Since Manco's coronation they have been hostile. But have you learned, father, where the Ñusta was found?""Only that the place is called Xilcala, and is some six days' march from here.""Xilcala," repeated Pedro, and fixed the name in his memory. When he pegged back to hiscantinahe meditated a purpose.Two days later the cook was admitted to Rava's presence. She was expecting him, and if he had been disposed to think disparagingly of the grounds on which he was favored in her recollection, his modesty was gently reproved by her evident pleasure. He found her changed. Her pallor was sadly heightened, and the proud fire had gone from the dark eyes. Sorrow seemed indelibly impressed upon the gentle face; but with it a dignity strangely at variance with her youthfulness, and a refinement of beauty almost startling to the good Pedro, who whispered to himself, "Blessed saints! 't is the face of an angel." As she greeted him her eyes lighted with a faint smile, but he noted with a twinge the quiver of lip and chin and the scarcely controlled tremor in her voice."Ah, Pedro," she said, after bidding him to sit, and observing the diffidence in his honest eyes, "Father Tendilla hath told me all. I would that I could tell thee my gratitude, but thou knowest. Thou didst come to mine aid at the moment of despair, when I thought that even Heaven had forsaken me.""I have done naught, Ñusta Rava. Father Tendilla and the señora——""Thou didst send them, Pedro; and it is twice, now, that I have owed thee the means of my rescue. But for thy help at Caxamalca——" She shuddered, then presently went on: "I know how our escape was made possible, my friend. Cristoval—Cristoval told me. Ah, Pedro, he loved thee well!" A choking sob shook her frame, and covering her face with her hands, she turned toward Señora Bolio, who hastened to her side. Poor Pedro dashed his hand across his eyes, and sat bolt upright, his lips compressed. In a moment Rava was able to proceed."He spoke of thee often, Pedro."Pedro bent forward. "Ñusta Rava, is there no hope that Cristoval still liveth? Do you know that it cannot be?""Oh, I know not, I know not! Once, on that dreadful night, I thought I heard his voice rising above the clamor. I heard no more." She covered her eyes as if to shut out the memory of the horror.Pedro silently cursed himself for the stupidity of the question, and it was moments before he could say something to divert her. He did so at last, and soon took his leave. Rava said earnestly, "Thou'lt come again, good Pedro?""I'll come again, Ñusta Rava; and meanwhile, keep courage." He added to himself as he crossed the court, "I would I might say, hope!Ay de mi, Cristoval! if I could but know."He tarried at thecantinaonly while Pedrillo was saddling his mule, then mounted and struck toward the fortress. Again his errand lay beyond; and he drew rein at thehuasiof Municancha. The old Indio gave him welcome, and to him Pedro narrated Rava's flight from Caxamalca with the gallant Viracocha Cristoval. He told of her recent perils and deliverance, and begged Municancha's aid in learning from Xilcala whether the good soldier still lived, and if not, where lay his grave. He found a willing helper. The old man, overjoyed by the news of the safety of Rava, who had been mourned as dead throughout the empire, did not hesitate. He had a nephew, Ocallo. Ocallo was summoned. He would gladly accompany, would organize a company at once, and would be ready to start the following dawn. They agreed upon a meeting place, and having enjoined secrecy, Pedro rode back to Xauxa, grateful to the peg which had won him so good a friend as Municancha.Night had fallen before he reached the town. He told his plan to Father Tendilla, arranged for his absence, received the confessor's blessing, and departed to prepare for the journey. Pedro worked late, completed his preparations, and lay down for a few hours' sleep. Long before dawn he was up, and having breakfasted, was assisted by Pedrillo to arm. His mule was brought, and with a few parting instructions, he was away. In half an hour he was clear of the town, on the road going north. A brisk trot for a mile or more, and he halted at a cross-road. A dim figure rose out of the darkness and was hailed by Pedro in Quichua. After a brief greeting, the man summoned half-a-dozen companions from a thicket beside the road."Are we all here?" asked Pedro, looking over the group."All here, Viracocha—four archers and two carriers," replied the one who had first approached."Good! Then we will move. Take the lead, Ocallo. We should be well in the mountains before the light."Thus Pedro set out on his search for Cristoval.CHAPTER XXVA Glimpse of CuzcoThe interest at first aroused by Pedro's disappearance gradually subsided, and was suddenly forgotten for a time, in the excitement following upon another departure. This was attended by tragic circumstance. Fray Mauricio, having established himself at Xauxa, at once denounced José to the commandant, Saavedra, as a heretic, demanding his arrest. Saavedra, intimidated by threats of the Inquisition's vengeance, unwillingly consented. He was not prompt, however, and word of the friar's efforts reached the armorer, who was almost recovered from his fever. The next morning Mauricio was found in his quarters, stabbed to the heart. José had vanished.Search was made in the town and neighboring mountains, but no trace of the armorer was found, and as no reward was offered, the hunt was given up.Pedro's absence was not unnoted by Rava, however, and her gratitude for his devotion and services inspired her persistent inquiries. To these Father Tendilla made evasive replies, deeming it unwise to suggest a hope which would probably renew her anguish when Pedro returned. But to Señora Bolio, so much exercised that she even proposed to take the field in search of the cook, he confided his mission, perplexed at that lady's attitude, which seemed too resolute to imply tenderness, but which nevertheless indicated something more than mere solicitude. Even had the good father been better versed in the gentle passion as manifested in the feminine breast, the señora's symptoms might easily have balked his diagnosis. When she learned that Pedro had left Xauxa she suspected it was prompted by his unconquerable coyness, and shocked the mild priest by a characteristic opinion of the apparent treachery. But, apprised of the fact, she melted in a manner no less surprising, blew her nose violently to abort a threatened tear, and broke into eulogy even more emphatic than her denunciation.Rava's spiritual growth had been such as to rejoice the good missionary's heart. She turned now with all the emotion born of grief, the yearning of a heart bereft, the ardent faith of a sincere and ingenuous mind, to the Mater Dolorosa and the Redeemer. Obedient to her preceptor, she conquered the despair which he saw was menacing her life itself. She found divine consolation, and in its realization her belief received new strength. She was baptized and received the sacrament. The occasion was one of utmost solemnity, and the garrison attended in body. The little flock of native converts and as many more of the people of Xauxa as the walls of the church would hold, gathered to see the daughter of an Inca repudiate the gods of her fathers in their ancient temple.One morning Father Tendilla hastened to Rava with the news that achasquihad arrived from Cuzco, announcing that the Inca Manco had despatched an escort to convey her to the capital. Not many days later the sun rose upon a city of tents on the plain outside the town. The escort had arrived at nightfall the day before—battalions of the Incarial Guard, a hundred nobles, a throng of maids for the Ñusta's attendance, and a long train of camp servants,hamacabearers, and carriers for the baggage. That morning the sacerdotal palace was a-glitter with the richly costumed members of the royal suite, bringing the Inca Manco's brotherly greetings and their own homage to the restored princess. Rava's simpler life was of the past, and once more she was a Daughter of the Sun.A fortnight later thecortègeof the Ñusta was descending by the great Chinchasuyu Road into the valley of Cuzco. As the column emerged from the pass, and the fertilebolsonopened out below, Rava drew aside the curtains of thehamaca. The arid slope dropped for hundreds of feet to the uppermost terraces of theandeneswhich clung to the mountain-sides and ended with their green the bleak wilderness of eroded rock. Beyond these the rolling floor of the valley, traversed by the stream Cachimayo; and on the left, rising abruptly from the plain, crowned by the ramparts and towers of its huge fortress, loomed the sullen mass of the hill Sachsahuaman. At its feet lay Cuzco, the "Navel," the centre of the universe, the ancient capital of the Incas; and still farther away, the bastions of the gigantic circumvallation of the Cordillera, its peaks delicately outlined against the azure of the cloudless sky or the white of more distant snow-clad summits.A faint haziness overhung the valley, with filmy spirals of white smoke rising languidly above the roofs into the air, a-quiver with the warmth of the lowland and lending lightness and unreality to the almost dreamlike splendor of the capital. It seemed not of the West. The bright walls of dwellings, the glare of street and plaza, the green of interior court and garden, and the gold of the roofs of palace and temple, were blended by distance into a harmonious beauty which might have belonged rather to some metropolis of the fabled Orient.As her escort wound slowly down, Rava looked forward with throbbing heart, her eyes seeking in the confusion of roofs the spots endeared to her by lifelong association. The palace, the Amarucancha, was easily found on the great square, and even her own court with its shade of quinuars. Beyond gleamed the golden roof of the Temple of the Sun, now to her a symbol of the darkness from which she had been led by loving hands, and whence she felt it her mission to rescue others. A turn hid the city from view, and she leaned back with closed eyes until the rhythmical tramp of the companies was echoed by the walls of houses, and she heard the murmur of a multitude. The street was full of her people, and as she looked from thehamacathey raised a mighty shout, waving hands and brightly colored scarfs and showering her with flowers. Her heart was full as she smiled back their greetings, and in her joy over theirs at beholding her again she could have embraced the humblest.Far down the street the bristling column of spears turned to the left, and the thunder of the drums at its head grew faint, to rise again as herhamacareached the corner. Now she could see the plaza with its expectant crowds, and shortly she emerged from the narrow way, while waiting companies fell in on the right and left to form a hollow square. Suddenly her eyes rested upon a group of bearded faces crowded close to the lines, and she drew back into the shadow of thehamaca. They stared with quiet insolence, and others were elbowing through the throng from the direction of a building on the farther side of the square, over whose door she saw with sinking heart the flag of Spain and the dark colors of the Army of the Conquest. In front of the building was a picketed line of horses and a loitering knot of Spaniards. Rava turned away with a shiver, her brief happiness gone.Before the Amarucancha the escort halted, and passing a double line of kneeling nobles, the Ñusta was borne beneath the sculptured serpents. The first court was crowded, but she had barely time for a glance before her hands were seized by the Auqui Paullo, her younger brother, who had sprung to the side of thehamaca. Rava embraced him fondly and was about to alight when she saw a familiar, swarthy countenance near the door of the audience chamber. The owner was looking intently, and as he caught her eyes, doffed his sombrero and started forward. Her heart seemed to cease beating. Paullo was startled by her suddenly heightened pallor."Great Inti!" he cried, in alarm. "What is it, Rava? Art ill?"She grasped his arm convulsively. "Quick, oh, quick!" she gasped. "Order my bearers forward—to my apartments!" and she sank, almost fainting, into the shadow of the curtains. Mendoza halted with a shrug as thehamacawas raised, replaced his sombrero, and turned back. "By the demon!" he muttered, with an unpleasant smile, "our haughty Señorita Ñusta seemeth to disdain old acquaintance.No importa!No importa! There are other days to follow."As he entered the hall he cast a glance over his shoulder at thehamacajust disappearing into another court, and clicked his tongue in his cheek.CHAPTER XXVIThe Inca MancoIgnoring the salutes of the two sentinels of the royal guard, Mendoza lounged into the audience room and stood leaning against the wall near the door. It was a spacious apartment, resplendent with the usual profusion and wealth of mural decoration thus far left undisturbed by Pizarro's rapacious followers. At the farther end of the hall an assemblage of natives stood at some distance from the throne, on which was seated the young Inca Manco. Behind him stood a group of nobles, and at his side, on a lower seat, was Almagro, commandant of the city in the absence of Pizarro, then on an expedition to the coast. On the left of the throne, in the front line of nobles, were Juan and Gonzalo Pizarro, recently superseded in command by Almagro, and now alcaldes of Cuzco. These three officials, with eight Spanish regidores, constituted the municipal government established by Pizarro. To the Inca had been left the insignia of sovereignty, and little more. He had the privilege of his councils and the conduct of his realm so far as these did not conflict with Spanish interests; but, as now, the Conquistadors were at his elbow in humiliating censorship.The Inca Manco was a youth of twenty years, though his serious and resolute expression made him look more mature. He resembled his half-brother Atahualpa, but his countenance, of a finer type, was lacking in the other's fierceness, and in its delicate modelling was more like that of the Ñusta Rava. As he sat listening to thecuracaof a distant town who had brought a case for adjudication, he wore an air of thoughtful gloom. The lines of care about his mouth and eyes vanished when he spoke, announcing his judgment in brisk, quiet tones, full of decision and confidence. The decree was favorable to the speaker, and as the latter uttered his gratitude the Inca spoke again briefly and in lowered voice, his face alight with a trace of pleasure. Thecuracaretired, and the next, an aged man, advanced with hesitation, and having knelt with head bowed to the floor, seemed unable to finish his obeisance, but remained prostrate. The Inca said kindly, the customary address strangely inconsistent with their disparity of age, "Rise, my son, rise! We are waiting."The old man rose painfully, and in a voice unsteady with age and emotion, told of outrage that brought hot blood to his sovereign's cheek. The night before—he had been waiting all day to make his complaint—his house had been broken into by a Viracocha soldier, and his granddaughter carried away. His voice rose as he finished, and he tottered forward to the dais, extending his trembling old hands in appeal."In the name of the God who shineth in mercy upon us both, Sapa Inca, I pray to you for vengeance! She is but a child—a mere child—and the light of mine old life. Grant that your just wrath shall fall upon the head accursed of the son of that wholly accursed race."The Inca had started partly to his feet, his dark eyes ablaze. He sat again. "Where is the girl?" he demanded, hoarsely."Cowering in the darkest corner of the darkest chamber of her home, Sapa Inca—half mad—a blighted bud—a blemished pearl!" He turned abruptly upon Almagro, who, unacquainted with the Quichua, had given him little heed, lolling wearily in his chair."O, thou Viracocha, offspring of Supay!" cried the old Indio, shaking his clenched hands toward the Spaniard, "dost yawn at my sorrow, monster? Hast the heart of a wolf—thou who wearest the aspect of a man? May the great Inti strike thee with thrice my grief, thrice mine infirmities!"Almagro, listening with some surprise to the violent apostrophe, looked toward the younger Pizarro: "What saith he, Juan?""By God, he hath told a tale of bitter wrong, Diego!" responded the other, vehemently. "One of our men hath stolen his girl. It calleth for the garrote, or I'm an Ethiopian!"Almagro sat up and glanced quickly at the Inca, who raised his hand to silence the complainant, and was now regarding the commandant with stern eyes and burning cheeks."Viracocha Almagro," said Manco, "before thy general went from Cuzco he engaged that neither house nor person of my subjects should suffer violation. Thy soldier hath committed a crime which is punished in Tavantinsuyu with death. I look to thee for vindication.""Why, blood and wounds!" exclaimed the cavalier, when Manco's words had been translated. "Tell him, Juan, that we will indemnify with—Fiends! but these people set no store by money. Say, then, that we will punish with any just severity—short of death. That is out of reason."The Inca's eyes were fixed steadily upon Almagro while the answer was being made known to him. "Viracocha," he said coldly, "this outrage is not the first of its kind. Now, I demand the penalty of death."Almagro's scarred face flushed as his single eye met the Inca's frown, and he replied bluntly: "I refuse! Tell him I refuse, Juan. We'll make what reparation lieth within our power, but curse me if we'll waste a soldier at any man's behest!" and Almagro glanced defiantly from the Inca to the stern faces of his nobles.Manco rose abruptly, dismissed his court with a few quick words, and left the dais. As he passed the old man he spoke to him in an undertone, and touching his white head lightly as he sank upon his knees, moved toward the door, followed by his suite.Almagro sprang to his feet. "How now, my puppet king! Dost turn us an angry back? For the price of a breath of air I'd trim the fringe from thy toy of a diadem!""Not so loud, Diego!" remonstrated Juan Pizarro. "He hath good offence. I tell thee, we are not wise to make light of this soldier's trespass,amigo. One such outrage unpunished will breed a thousand, and before we are aware the country will be about our ears. 'T is a cut at their tenderest sensibility. I say, hang the knave and keep the peace.""Kill a good fighting man for the sake of a twig of a heathen girl! Thou 'rt mad, Juan. I had as lief sacrifice a horse. We'll iron him for forty days, and the matter will be forgotten. Come! Set the business afoot. Have a public trial and advertise thy zeal, then keep the affair hanging until interest is worn out. Parade justice for a week, and these varlets will forget their grievance.Vamos!" They left the empty hall, and indifferent to the dark looks of the throng in front of the palace, sought their quarters in the old palace of the Inca Tupac Yupanqui.With the few nobles so privileged, Manco went to his apartments. Controlling his agitation, he faced his counsellors. For a moment he studied each, reading under their impassiveness the fire smouldering in his own breast. In the group was Villaoma, the Villac Vmu, or high priest of the empire, most sagacious of his advisers, as he had been before to Huayna Capac and to the ill-fated Huascar. The old priest met his look with one of keen scrutiny. Manco had been his favorite, and from boyhood had been watched with an interest as deep and hopeful as if of his own flesh and blood. Manco's admission to the military order came when Cuzco was prostrate before the conqueror Atahualpa, her armies scattered, and the Inca Huascar a prisoner in the fortress at Xauxa. When Pizarro, after the death of Atahualpa, marched upon the capital with the new Inca, Toparca, Manco reassembled the forces of Cuzco and prepared for resistance. Following the counsel of the Villac Vmu, Prince Manco had suspended hostilities after Toparca's death and laid before Pizarro his own claim to the imperialllautu, temporarily humiliating himself to forestall such other pretender as this king-maker might advance. If he had underestimated the cost of this surrender of dignity to policy, the Villac Vmu did not share his mistake; and when the monarch presently realized the penalty for his pawned manhood, the stings of injured pride, the chafing under arrogance, and the wounds of slighted majesty, it was with difficulty that the priest restrained a premature outbreak. Now he saw the fire long kept in check burning near the surface. He held his peace, however, and Manco said merely:—"I would have thee come hither to-night, Villac Vmu, after the third watch—and you, my generals, Quehuar, Mayta, and Mocho. And come prepared to counsel no longer caution, delay, but—action!" The effect of the last word was electrical—but as a flash of heat lightning, and as silent. It brightened their dark faces and fierce eyes for an instant, and was gone. But he knew them well, this young warrior-emperor; expected no reply, nor wished it. Presently he was alone.The lamps were being lighted before Manco was in a mood to greet the Ñusta Rava. He sent a page to advise her of his coming, requesting that she be alone. After the youth had gone, he stood at his table with eyes bent moodily upon the floor; then with quick impulse lifted thellautufrom his head, laid it aside, and quitted the apartment.The evening was quiet and warm, but at that hour the several courts were almost deserted, and he walked slowly, encountering few but the frequent sentinels posted since the coming of the Spaniards. Through intermediate patios, he gained the establishment devoted to the suite of Rava and her younger sisters, the Ñustas Ocllo and Alcaya, halting near a door through which came the notes of atinyaand of some fair one singing. The song was a sad one, and he walked on, thinking of the days when these gloomy courts were enlivened with music and laughter from hearts untouched by care. Would those days come again to the brooding old Amarucancha?—to stricken Cuzco? The question was like the thrust of a dagger, self-administered. Was not this air of sadness, this pervading gloom, directly due to his own supineness? Was not its source in his weak, nay, criminal, submission to the Viracochas. Ah, why was he lingering, inactive, under the goading of every crying hour? Why did he rest an instant while there remained an enemy in Cuzco, or in all Tavantinsuyu?He came to Rava's door, and passed it; returned and passed it again and again, the sweat starting under the flagellation of his conscience. How could he face the noble girl within? What would she say of the Cuzco she had left so fair: now so shorn of its glories? Would she not reproach him, and justly? And could she do otherwise than attribute to his neglect the suffering and dangers from which she had just escaped? He must explain—without another second of delay, he must explain!He recrossed the court impetuously, and pushing open the door without ceremony, entered the room. Rava arose, startled, and hurried forward with a cry of joy, alarmed again when she saw his pallor and the drawn lines of his countenance. But there was no reproach in her tone or bearing, only affection and gladness, and he embraced her with nervous fervor.Rava's arms were about his neck. "Oh, my brother! Oh, my brother! Do I really see thee again? Manco! Manco! How many, many times in these long months have I feared—but fears are gone. How thou hast changed, my dear! Thou 'rt troubled! Ah, me—" she stopped, regarding him with surprised concern. "Where is thyllautu, Manco? Why dost not wear it?"He reddened painfully as he kissed her forehead again. "I—I have laid it aside to-night," he said quickly, seating himself beside her. "To-night, I am Manco—not the Inca, my dearest.""But I would have seen thee wearing it. It should never be laid aside, save in privacy, brother dear; and thou wouldst still have been Manco to Rava, thou knowest well. That is not the reason."He looked at her with troubled eyes."Why didst thou leave it?" she persisted, studying his face."I have told thee, Rava. I have put it by that I might be to thee only Manco, as of old."The lightness of his words was forced, and Rava saw it. "Nay, it is not that," she said, gently. "Tell me why."His eyes left hers, and she laid a hand upon his arm. "Tell me why, Manco." He rose, but she detained him; and a glance at her anxious face forced a confession. He hesitated, then said with an effort: "I will tell thee why, Rava. It is because—oh, may the souls of the departed Incas look mercifully upon me!—it is because—it is stained, my sister: debased and dishonored! It came to me not from the hands of a priest of the Sun, but placed upon my head by the foul hand of a Viracocha. O, thou great Inti, why was I suffered to live to bring this shame upon my line? I wear thellautu, and look thou, Rava, the shadow of a Viracocha resteth ever upon my throne. When I speak to my people a Viracocha speaketh, and my voice is drowned. My laws have ceased to be. The very dogs of the streets look dumb question of mine authority." His words failed, but he resumed, his voice strained with agony: "But worse—worse hath befallen Tavantinsuyu. They have violated the Temple of the Sun, stripped it of its splendor, and polluted its halls. They have cast down the silent forms of our fathers, ravished of their sacred insignia. The golden effigy of the Sun hath been torn from the wall, crushed into ruin by Viracocha feet, and carried away to be gambled for. The gardens have been despoiled, and not one hand's-breadth of their hallowed soil hath been left unturned by these destroyers in their ravening for gold. The Inti-pampa is a desolation. Ah, Rava, Rava, ask me not why I lay aside thellautu! Ask me, rather, how I dare to wear it! Ask why the Sun doth rise and set upon my profanation!"He covered his face with his hands. Rava sat very still. She was prepared for his tale of ravage, and was less shocked by his words than by the intensity of his agitation. A strong man's anguish is always terrible to a woman or a child, and the stoicism of the Peruvian made this outburst the more harrowing. She stepped to his side and put her arms about his neck. The unspoken sympathy gave him strength, and he controlled himself and went on more calmly."Ah, my dearest sister, the sacredness of Cuzco is no more! Its palaces have been despoiled. The beasts of the Viracochas defile the halls of the Yupanquis. These very decorations on the walls that shelter thee are here only on sufferance." He paused long enough to steady his voice, pressing her hand to stay her from speaking. "A moment more, my dear, and I have done. I have told thee only of Cuzco. The cloud that darkeneth her sunshine hath spread to the four quarters of the empire. Quito hath fallen. Daily, as came the reports of the great pestilence, come now tales of new invasion. The great sea, vacant since the world began, disgorgeth fresh swarms with every tide, as some rotten pool its burden of vermin. The gaunt leader, Pizarro, is rearing cities, driving our children into slavery to hew his stone and build his walls. The fairest vales of Tavantinsuyu are being seized by strangers, their people banished from their homes, or lashed into servitude. Yet I am called the Inca! Oh, Rava, turn away thy face till Manco hath been worthy of his trust!"He sank into a chair, his head bowed. Rava touched him. "Manco, do I behold my brother in despair?"He looked up, his face reddening. "No, no! Not that, my sister, not that! I have spoken of the past and the present. The curse hath fallen whilst I have been held by chains of circumstance—the great Inti knoweth how much against my will. Now, it is ended!" He rose and regarded her with steady eyes, his voice calm, but intense. "It is ended, Rava! To-night I meet the Villac Vmu and my generals. To-morrow at dawn, whilstchasquisare speeding the four roads from Cuzco, the priest will sacrifice to the Sun—not in his desecrated temple, but under his blue vault secretly in the mountains—invoking at last his dread ministers, the Thunder and Lightning. But, Rava," he exclaimed, seizing her hands, "think not that in the weakness thou hast seen to-night there was the plaint of a coward! My heart was full. My lips have been sealed in all these months of shame with links of bronze. No mortal but thee hath heard a sigh or a faltered word; but thy dear eyes have drawn from me what torture could not compel. Not even Amancay, sweetest of consorts, hath heard a whisper of the sorrow which hath made mine every night a harrowed year. But now, it is done!"He fell into gloomy reverie, while Rava, pale and quite silent, sat pressing his hand and looking far away, or anxiously at his sombre eyes. He was oblivious of her presence, until he roused with a faint smile."But now, dear girl, what of thyself? I have not even told thee my joy in having thee again. Forgive me."Rava placed her fingers on his lips. "No need, Manco, either for thee to tell me, or for me to say that I forgive. But mine is a long story. Be content to-night to know that I am safe.""No; but let me hear it, Rava. It is of concern to me, as thou knowest. How didst come to be at Xauxa?""Ah, that is near the end of the story, brother.""Then tell me from the beginning. I had thought thee in Toparca's suite until I met—Pizarro at Xaquixaguana. He told me, Rava, thou hadst fled from Caxamalca with a traitor Viracocha who had broken prison." Manco's voice was grave.Rava's eyes flashed as they met his. "Pizarro called him so, Manco?" she demanded; then after a pause, "Ah, yes—a traitor! But what wouldst say of a traitor to these men of evil?"Manco studied her face before he replied slowly, "Much worse even than they—or much better.""Then much better!" she said, with quiet emphasis. "His treason lay in this, my brother—that he fiercely resented Pizarro's perfidy to our kinsman, Atahualpa, whom he befriended in his darkest hours. And in this—that he saved me from worse than death when I was at the mercy of those vultures; that he fought for me, starved for me, kept hope alive when my heart was broken, and shielded me from a thousand perils, until he led me to safety. And all this, Manco, for the sake of a vow to Atahualpa, whom he promised to deliver me from mine enemies. A traitor! Oh, my brother, if thy nobles have virtues like his treason, thou 'rt a fortunate monarch!"While she was speaking, and afterward, Manco searched her deep eyes until, conscious of his scrutiny, they fell. Her hand was trembling, and his face darkened with displeasure. "Rava," he demanded, "where is this Viracocha?"She looked up, and the sorrow and desolation which had swept quickly over her gentle face brought generous remorse for his instant of sternness. Her lips trembled piteously. "Oh, Manco, Manco," she faltered, "he fell for me at last. He is no more!"With head bowed and form shaken by grief, her hands sought his neck; and whatever he would have said a moment before in reproof of her feeling for one of the hated race, it was forgotten in pity as he drew her into his arms. With affectionate sympathy he endeavored to moderate her anguish, but words were vain, and he could only hold her tight-clasped until its force was spent. Then he half carried her, benumbed and yielding, to her couch and called her maids, lingering helpless beside her while they ministered.Rava had grown more tranquil, and he was about to depart. She lay quiet, her eyes closed, their lashes yet moist, and he bent over to kiss the pallid cheek. As he did so she sighed deeply, and a small object slipped from her bosom and lay sparkling at the end of its slender chain. Its silvery gleam caught his eye. He started, looked more closely, and recoiled as if he had seen a serpent in the folds of her robe. He caught breath sharply, and an ashy paleness spread over his bronzed face. By a blessing of Heaven the girl did not open her eyes upon the mingled abhorrence, unbelief, and anger, with which he beheld the tiny image of the crucified Saviour—the emblem of all on the broad earth that he hated most savagely. He gazed for a fascinated instant, stood erect, glanced at the sad face once more, and left the room with features as rigid as if cast in the metal whose color they wore. The startled maids looked after him as he went, but none saw him stagger as he crossed the court with his hands pressed to his forehead. The Moon, goddess consort of the Sun, was rising over the dark roofs of the palace. He wavered out from the shadow into her rays and cowered beneath them, shuddering as if he felt her silent denunciation of his sister's apostasy. Gaining his apartments, he passed his attendants without a word, leaving them awed by a face they had hardly recognized.When his generals met him, near midnight, his eyes were fevered, his voice hoarse and dry, and his words, fraught with war, were uttered with an abrupt tensity that fired their warlike hearts. The council was long. At its close thechasquiswho were to bear his messages to the distant provinces, calling them to arms, were summoned to have the words from his own lips. They left it with nerves strung by their portentous import and the fierce, suppressed energy with which they were given.Before the sun rose above Cuzco the fiat had gone forth that would convulse the empire.Within the month every province, town, and hamlet within the realm was in secret preparation. Armorers doubled their industry. The great system of posts sprang to its highest activity, the tirelesschasquisspeeding day and night over every road and mountain trail, hurrying commands from the capital, bearing back reports of governors andcuracas, in ceaseless radiation and convergence. Magazines and armories were replenished of their stores, and trains of carriers toiled over every highway, concentrating provisions and material of war upon the strongholds in the mountains surrounding Cuzco. All the machinery of the most elaborately perfect organization the world has ever seen was in motion, but as silently as clouds gather before a tempest. The couriers stole in and out of the city under cover of darkness. Few of them went to the Amarucancha, but were received and despatched by the Villac Vmu at his own palace, their tidings andquipuscarried by him to the Inca. The impending cataclysm gave no faintest warning, and the Spaniards idled, caroused, and brawled, unconscious of its approach.The Ñusta Rava, quite unaware, fortunately, of the agitation with which Manco had quitted her, worn out by stress of mind and the weariness of her journey, at length found forgetfulness in sleep. The next day and evening were spent with her sisters and the Auqui Paullo, but Manco did not return, though he sent a page with inquiries for her health. The day following, and the next, her hope to see him was disappointed. At length he came.The first glance from his gloomy eyes chilled the warmth from her words as she started to meet him, and she stopped, her smile of welcome fading into startled inquiry. The Inca dismissed the maids, and motioned her to her seat, neither avoiding nor heeding her hand as she laid it hesitatingly upon his arm, nor replying to the question in her face.The interview was not long nor violent, but when he left and sent in her maids, they found her unconscious. The last of many woes had snapped the frail thread of courage that had sustained her. Manco had questioned her about the crucifix, had requested that she abjure the abhorred religion, had been refused as firmly as gently. His respect for her had prohibited command or reproach, but the coldness of his farewell and its finality had been a stab more cruel than the most passionate denunciation.The next day Rava did not rise, nor the next, nor for many days thereafter. Theamautascame—wise men—three of them. They noted her fever, listened a moment to her delirium, consulted, and administered the simple remedies known to the Peruvian pharmacopoeia. These were few and mostly harmless, so nature fought for her with few hindrances from drugs, and with all the assistance that nursing could give. But it was a long and dreary struggle before the unseeing eyes at last looked sadly but clearly at her attendants, and her whispered words grew intelligible. Almost the first were "Father Valverde," and the maids looked in wonder. But she repeated the name until the priest was sent for and came.Father Valverde, now Bishop of Cuzco, was an elderly man, well preserved and well fed, with a rugged, determined face, a great slit of a mouth with good lines about it; keen eyes which could look stern beneath their shaggy brows when occasion demanded, or amiably and humorously upon opportunity, and with an ability to storm at lawless soldiery in terms suited to their understanding and their needs with a vigor that would have been creditable to Chrysostom. He was a rabid hater of the devil. Next to the devil he hated an unbeliever. A missionary of fanatical type, he could burn a heathen at the stake for the good of his unassoilzied soul with easy conscience and some satisfaction. But he could, withal, rejoice sincerely over a soul rescued from damnation, and did rejoice over a letter from Father Tendilla regarding the Ñusta Rava. The missive, after the usual salutation and some preliminary words, ran as follows:—"I will leave her long story to a fitter time, and say merely that I found her already a Christian, having been brought to the Faith by the Caballero Cristoval de Peralta, whom thou knowest well. And not only a Christian in belief, but what is more admirable, in fibre, inclination, and bent of mind; being, in truth, a most gentle, saintly girl. I had the ineffable satisfaction of baptizing and receiving her into Holy Communion. Thereafter, she worked with me earnestly in the conversion of her people here, and departed with the hope of pursuing the same good work in Cuzco. I pray, therefore, that thou attend upon her. She hath many sorrows. One is the death of this Cristoval."Now, I have thought of this concerning the Ñusta Rava, and having broached it gently, found it received not with disfavor and even gratefully, to wit: that as thou dost plan to found, as soon as may be, a convent at Cuzco, she might be led to embrace a holy life. Her preparation, begun here, could be completed at Panama, or even at Seville, where she would doubtless enjoy the interest and favor to which her rank entitleth her."There followed items of personal concern, and the letter closed. The interest aroused in the mind of Father Valverde was immediate and effective, and once admitted to the palace, he devoted himself to the work so well begun by Cristoval and Tendilla. Like his brother missionaries, he possessed a knowledge of medicine, and was able to hasten Rava's convalescence. It need not be said that he found her all that Tendilla had described, and the desolate girl received his fatherly ministrations with a grateful heart.
CHAPTER XXIV
Pedro Seeks Tidings of Cristoval
Pedro cantered into town and dismounted in front of the great, heavily walled, low-roofed edifice that had been the Temple of the Sun,—the Temple of the Sun for centuries, but now surmounted by a cross, the interior shorn of its symbols of pagan worship and its splendor, and consecrated to the Holy Faith. Beside the gray old building was the ancient palace of the priestly attendants, now sheltering the good Father Tendilla and his assistants in the pious work of saving heathen souls.
The gentle-mannered old priest was shocked at Pedro's revelation of theveedor'siniquity, and made instant preparations.
"Good Father," said the cook, as he held the stirrup for Tendilla to mount, "if you can learn aught of Cristoval——"
"I will, my son. Come to-night," and the priest rode away.
Arrived at the fortress, he went directly to the commandant, and in half an hour was at Rogelio's door with a squad of halberdiers. It drew an outbreak of squeaky protests from that worthy, but the priest, leaving him grovelling in fear of the punishing hand of the Church, ordered a sentinel posted at his door and sought the señora. She admitted him at once to Rava's room.
The girl was asleep, her tear-stained cheek resting on her clasped hands. Even unconsciousness did not release her from her sorrow, for she sighed heavily and moaned as Tendilla knelt for a brief prayer beside her. He arose, and stood regarding her with compassion. With deeper compassion still, when, awakening, she drew back with eyes wide and deep with the unutterable fear of a creature hunted and caught. But her recognition of his silvery hair and benevolent face was quick, and with a sigh, the faintest smile, and a movement entirely queenly, she extended her hand. He took it, and touching the dark head, murmured a benediction. Rava raised her eyes, studying his with the unconscious intensity and directness of gaze that had often given Cristoval the feeling that she looked beyond; then the lines of anxiety softened into an expression of trust. But that kindly old face brought a train of recollections of dreadful days, and she turned away in sudden weeping. If Señora Bolio had at first impressed Father Tendilla with some doubt of that lady's fitness for her post beside the prisoner, she dispelled it now by the tenderness with which she soothed the storm of grief. With whispered words—words that might have sounded strangely enough to the priest could he have heard them,—she pressed the shaking form to her bosom, while with moistened eyes he waited for the return of calm. When the girl was able to hear him he approached.
"My child," he began, in Quichua, and Rava turned quickly with joy in her tears at the sound of the tongue which she had not heard since the wild night at Xilcala. "My child, I have come to tell thee thou hast friends, and thy dangers are past. As soon as thou 'rt composed we will go from this unhappy place to one of safety, and I hope in a few days to place thee in thy brother's care."
"Oh, Viracocha—my father!" she cried, rising and nearing him with hands pressed to her heart. "Is it true? is it true? Hath the sweet Virgin Mother answered my prayers? Ah, Cristoval promised it would always be! I believed him, and it is so! She hath heard me. She hath not turned from Rava in her sorrow!" She drew the crucifix from her bosom and kissed it passionately. "And he said thou wast good, and merciful, and kind, my father. Oh, I know it is true. And thou wilt save me? Wilt save me? Wilt take me from this wicked place—beyond the reach of these cruel Viracochas? Ah, I thank thee, Blessed Mother! I thank thee, I thank thee!" and she sank upon her knees, pressing the crucifix to her breast.
Father Tendilla raised her gently and led her back to her couch. "It is all true, my daughter. Thy prayers will never be in vain. Now, compose thyself, and rest until I return. I go but for a moment."
He left the room, offering earnest thanks for her faith, and ordered thehamaca. It was ready in a moment, and with the escort of halberdiers, and the resolute señora riding close beside her litter, Rava left the fortress.
Early in the evening Pedro went to the priest. He found his old confessor pacing the floor and full of mild enthusiasm.
"Ah, my son," said the father, beaming upon his visitor, "we have done a good work this day. I shudder to think of the infinite wrong that might have been but for thy prompt action in placing so rare a guardian as Señora Bolio over this injured girl, and apprising me of her peril. The señora, Pedro, is a remarkable woman. Where didst find her?"
"Stew me!—your pardon, father—I found her not. She found me—as the avalanche findeth the wayfarer." Pedro shook his head with a trace of gloom in his jovial face, adding, "Yes, she is a remarkable woman. No doubt of it! She hath powers and attributes, Father Tendilla. But, the Ñusta Rava—she doth well?"
"Much more tranquil, and though most unhappy, beginneth to show commendable patience and resignation. I have talked with her as my time allowed, and would say from what I have seen, Pedro, that she is one of the earth's choicest blooms. Poor Peralta hath been a humble agent in her salvation, but his task was well acquitted, and he shall have many masses for his soul's repose."
"Ah,Madre!" faltered Pedro. "Then Cristoval is dead?"
Father Tendilla shook his head sadly. "I fear it, Pedro. Duero hath so said to Saavedra. I have forborne to ask the Ñusta, for the mention of his name seemeth to pierce her heart. Alas! The old sad story of mortal love and grief."
Pedro rose and stumped nervously about the room. When he seated himself again his face was flushed and his hands were unsteady, but he said nothing, and the father went on.
"I have told the Ñusta of thy part in her rescue, Pedro, and she would see thee. She holdeth thee in kindly recollection."
"I am easily remembered," said Pedro, briefly. "I'm pegged in memories wherever I roam," and he looked glumly at his wooden leg.
"For more than that, my son," said the priest, kindly. "Peralta never forgot thee, and made the Ñusta partaker in full of his affection. But thou must see her soon—not to-morrow, for she is much in need of quiet; but possibly on the day following."
"Bien!" said Pedro, and his voice was hoarse.
"And now," continued Tendilla, "we must communicate with the Inca Manco."
"No better way than bychasqui," said the cook, "though there is uncertainty of his reaching Cuzco. It is said there are roving bands of Quitoans—remnants of Atahualpa's troops—still in the mountains. Since Manco's coronation they have been hostile. But have you learned, father, where the Ñusta was found?"
"Only that the place is called Xilcala, and is some six days' march from here."
"Xilcala," repeated Pedro, and fixed the name in his memory. When he pegged back to hiscantinahe meditated a purpose.
Two days later the cook was admitted to Rava's presence. She was expecting him, and if he had been disposed to think disparagingly of the grounds on which he was favored in her recollection, his modesty was gently reproved by her evident pleasure. He found her changed. Her pallor was sadly heightened, and the proud fire had gone from the dark eyes. Sorrow seemed indelibly impressed upon the gentle face; but with it a dignity strangely at variance with her youthfulness, and a refinement of beauty almost startling to the good Pedro, who whispered to himself, "Blessed saints! 't is the face of an angel." As she greeted him her eyes lighted with a faint smile, but he noted with a twinge the quiver of lip and chin and the scarcely controlled tremor in her voice.
"Ah, Pedro," she said, after bidding him to sit, and observing the diffidence in his honest eyes, "Father Tendilla hath told me all. I would that I could tell thee my gratitude, but thou knowest. Thou didst come to mine aid at the moment of despair, when I thought that even Heaven had forsaken me."
"I have done naught, Ñusta Rava. Father Tendilla and the señora——"
"Thou didst send them, Pedro; and it is twice, now, that I have owed thee the means of my rescue. But for thy help at Caxamalca——" She shuddered, then presently went on: "I know how our escape was made possible, my friend. Cristoval—Cristoval told me. Ah, Pedro, he loved thee well!" A choking sob shook her frame, and covering her face with her hands, she turned toward Señora Bolio, who hastened to her side. Poor Pedro dashed his hand across his eyes, and sat bolt upright, his lips compressed. In a moment Rava was able to proceed.
"He spoke of thee often, Pedro."
Pedro bent forward. "Ñusta Rava, is there no hope that Cristoval still liveth? Do you know that it cannot be?"
"Oh, I know not, I know not! Once, on that dreadful night, I thought I heard his voice rising above the clamor. I heard no more." She covered her eyes as if to shut out the memory of the horror.
Pedro silently cursed himself for the stupidity of the question, and it was moments before he could say something to divert her. He did so at last, and soon took his leave. Rava said earnestly, "Thou'lt come again, good Pedro?"
"I'll come again, Ñusta Rava; and meanwhile, keep courage." He added to himself as he crossed the court, "I would I might say, hope!Ay de mi, Cristoval! if I could but know."
He tarried at thecantinaonly while Pedrillo was saddling his mule, then mounted and struck toward the fortress. Again his errand lay beyond; and he drew rein at thehuasiof Municancha. The old Indio gave him welcome, and to him Pedro narrated Rava's flight from Caxamalca with the gallant Viracocha Cristoval. He told of her recent perils and deliverance, and begged Municancha's aid in learning from Xilcala whether the good soldier still lived, and if not, where lay his grave. He found a willing helper. The old man, overjoyed by the news of the safety of Rava, who had been mourned as dead throughout the empire, did not hesitate. He had a nephew, Ocallo. Ocallo was summoned. He would gladly accompany, would organize a company at once, and would be ready to start the following dawn. They agreed upon a meeting place, and having enjoined secrecy, Pedro rode back to Xauxa, grateful to the peg which had won him so good a friend as Municancha.
Night had fallen before he reached the town. He told his plan to Father Tendilla, arranged for his absence, received the confessor's blessing, and departed to prepare for the journey. Pedro worked late, completed his preparations, and lay down for a few hours' sleep. Long before dawn he was up, and having breakfasted, was assisted by Pedrillo to arm. His mule was brought, and with a few parting instructions, he was away. In half an hour he was clear of the town, on the road going north. A brisk trot for a mile or more, and he halted at a cross-road. A dim figure rose out of the darkness and was hailed by Pedro in Quichua. After a brief greeting, the man summoned half-a-dozen companions from a thicket beside the road.
"Are we all here?" asked Pedro, looking over the group.
"All here, Viracocha—four archers and two carriers," replied the one who had first approached.
"Good! Then we will move. Take the lead, Ocallo. We should be well in the mountains before the light."
Thus Pedro set out on his search for Cristoval.
CHAPTER XXV
A Glimpse of Cuzco
The interest at first aroused by Pedro's disappearance gradually subsided, and was suddenly forgotten for a time, in the excitement following upon another departure. This was attended by tragic circumstance. Fray Mauricio, having established himself at Xauxa, at once denounced José to the commandant, Saavedra, as a heretic, demanding his arrest. Saavedra, intimidated by threats of the Inquisition's vengeance, unwillingly consented. He was not prompt, however, and word of the friar's efforts reached the armorer, who was almost recovered from his fever. The next morning Mauricio was found in his quarters, stabbed to the heart. José had vanished.
Search was made in the town and neighboring mountains, but no trace of the armorer was found, and as no reward was offered, the hunt was given up.
Pedro's absence was not unnoted by Rava, however, and her gratitude for his devotion and services inspired her persistent inquiries. To these Father Tendilla made evasive replies, deeming it unwise to suggest a hope which would probably renew her anguish when Pedro returned. But to Señora Bolio, so much exercised that she even proposed to take the field in search of the cook, he confided his mission, perplexed at that lady's attitude, which seemed too resolute to imply tenderness, but which nevertheless indicated something more than mere solicitude. Even had the good father been better versed in the gentle passion as manifested in the feminine breast, the señora's symptoms might easily have balked his diagnosis. When she learned that Pedro had left Xauxa she suspected it was prompted by his unconquerable coyness, and shocked the mild priest by a characteristic opinion of the apparent treachery. But, apprised of the fact, she melted in a manner no less surprising, blew her nose violently to abort a threatened tear, and broke into eulogy even more emphatic than her denunciation.
Rava's spiritual growth had been such as to rejoice the good missionary's heart. She turned now with all the emotion born of grief, the yearning of a heart bereft, the ardent faith of a sincere and ingenuous mind, to the Mater Dolorosa and the Redeemer. Obedient to her preceptor, she conquered the despair which he saw was menacing her life itself. She found divine consolation, and in its realization her belief received new strength. She was baptized and received the sacrament. The occasion was one of utmost solemnity, and the garrison attended in body. The little flock of native converts and as many more of the people of Xauxa as the walls of the church would hold, gathered to see the daughter of an Inca repudiate the gods of her fathers in their ancient temple.
One morning Father Tendilla hastened to Rava with the news that achasquihad arrived from Cuzco, announcing that the Inca Manco had despatched an escort to convey her to the capital. Not many days later the sun rose upon a city of tents on the plain outside the town. The escort had arrived at nightfall the day before—battalions of the Incarial Guard, a hundred nobles, a throng of maids for the Ñusta's attendance, and a long train of camp servants,hamacabearers, and carriers for the baggage. That morning the sacerdotal palace was a-glitter with the richly costumed members of the royal suite, bringing the Inca Manco's brotherly greetings and their own homage to the restored princess. Rava's simpler life was of the past, and once more she was a Daughter of the Sun.
A fortnight later thecortègeof the Ñusta was descending by the great Chinchasuyu Road into the valley of Cuzco. As the column emerged from the pass, and the fertilebolsonopened out below, Rava drew aside the curtains of thehamaca. The arid slope dropped for hundreds of feet to the uppermost terraces of theandeneswhich clung to the mountain-sides and ended with their green the bleak wilderness of eroded rock. Beyond these the rolling floor of the valley, traversed by the stream Cachimayo; and on the left, rising abruptly from the plain, crowned by the ramparts and towers of its huge fortress, loomed the sullen mass of the hill Sachsahuaman. At its feet lay Cuzco, the "Navel," the centre of the universe, the ancient capital of the Incas; and still farther away, the bastions of the gigantic circumvallation of the Cordillera, its peaks delicately outlined against the azure of the cloudless sky or the white of more distant snow-clad summits.
A faint haziness overhung the valley, with filmy spirals of white smoke rising languidly above the roofs into the air, a-quiver with the warmth of the lowland and lending lightness and unreality to the almost dreamlike splendor of the capital. It seemed not of the West. The bright walls of dwellings, the glare of street and plaza, the green of interior court and garden, and the gold of the roofs of palace and temple, were blended by distance into a harmonious beauty which might have belonged rather to some metropolis of the fabled Orient.
As her escort wound slowly down, Rava looked forward with throbbing heart, her eyes seeking in the confusion of roofs the spots endeared to her by lifelong association. The palace, the Amarucancha, was easily found on the great square, and even her own court with its shade of quinuars. Beyond gleamed the golden roof of the Temple of the Sun, now to her a symbol of the darkness from which she had been led by loving hands, and whence she felt it her mission to rescue others. A turn hid the city from view, and she leaned back with closed eyes until the rhythmical tramp of the companies was echoed by the walls of houses, and she heard the murmur of a multitude. The street was full of her people, and as she looked from thehamacathey raised a mighty shout, waving hands and brightly colored scarfs and showering her with flowers. Her heart was full as she smiled back their greetings, and in her joy over theirs at beholding her again she could have embraced the humblest.
Far down the street the bristling column of spears turned to the left, and the thunder of the drums at its head grew faint, to rise again as herhamacareached the corner. Now she could see the plaza with its expectant crowds, and shortly she emerged from the narrow way, while waiting companies fell in on the right and left to form a hollow square. Suddenly her eyes rested upon a group of bearded faces crowded close to the lines, and she drew back into the shadow of thehamaca. They stared with quiet insolence, and others were elbowing through the throng from the direction of a building on the farther side of the square, over whose door she saw with sinking heart the flag of Spain and the dark colors of the Army of the Conquest. In front of the building was a picketed line of horses and a loitering knot of Spaniards. Rava turned away with a shiver, her brief happiness gone.
Before the Amarucancha the escort halted, and passing a double line of kneeling nobles, the Ñusta was borne beneath the sculptured serpents. The first court was crowded, but she had barely time for a glance before her hands were seized by the Auqui Paullo, her younger brother, who had sprung to the side of thehamaca. Rava embraced him fondly and was about to alight when she saw a familiar, swarthy countenance near the door of the audience chamber. The owner was looking intently, and as he caught her eyes, doffed his sombrero and started forward. Her heart seemed to cease beating. Paullo was startled by her suddenly heightened pallor.
"Great Inti!" he cried, in alarm. "What is it, Rava? Art ill?"
She grasped his arm convulsively. "Quick, oh, quick!" she gasped. "Order my bearers forward—to my apartments!" and she sank, almost fainting, into the shadow of the curtains. Mendoza halted with a shrug as thehamacawas raised, replaced his sombrero, and turned back. "By the demon!" he muttered, with an unpleasant smile, "our haughty Señorita Ñusta seemeth to disdain old acquaintance.No importa!No importa! There are other days to follow."
As he entered the hall he cast a glance over his shoulder at thehamacajust disappearing into another court, and clicked his tongue in his cheek.
CHAPTER XXVI
The Inca Manco
Ignoring the salutes of the two sentinels of the royal guard, Mendoza lounged into the audience room and stood leaning against the wall near the door. It was a spacious apartment, resplendent with the usual profusion and wealth of mural decoration thus far left undisturbed by Pizarro's rapacious followers. At the farther end of the hall an assemblage of natives stood at some distance from the throne, on which was seated the young Inca Manco. Behind him stood a group of nobles, and at his side, on a lower seat, was Almagro, commandant of the city in the absence of Pizarro, then on an expedition to the coast. On the left of the throne, in the front line of nobles, were Juan and Gonzalo Pizarro, recently superseded in command by Almagro, and now alcaldes of Cuzco. These three officials, with eight Spanish regidores, constituted the municipal government established by Pizarro. To the Inca had been left the insignia of sovereignty, and little more. He had the privilege of his councils and the conduct of his realm so far as these did not conflict with Spanish interests; but, as now, the Conquistadors were at his elbow in humiliating censorship.
The Inca Manco was a youth of twenty years, though his serious and resolute expression made him look more mature. He resembled his half-brother Atahualpa, but his countenance, of a finer type, was lacking in the other's fierceness, and in its delicate modelling was more like that of the Ñusta Rava. As he sat listening to thecuracaof a distant town who had brought a case for adjudication, he wore an air of thoughtful gloom. The lines of care about his mouth and eyes vanished when he spoke, announcing his judgment in brisk, quiet tones, full of decision and confidence. The decree was favorable to the speaker, and as the latter uttered his gratitude the Inca spoke again briefly and in lowered voice, his face alight with a trace of pleasure. Thecuracaretired, and the next, an aged man, advanced with hesitation, and having knelt with head bowed to the floor, seemed unable to finish his obeisance, but remained prostrate. The Inca said kindly, the customary address strangely inconsistent with their disparity of age, "Rise, my son, rise! We are waiting."
The old man rose painfully, and in a voice unsteady with age and emotion, told of outrage that brought hot blood to his sovereign's cheek. The night before—he had been waiting all day to make his complaint—his house had been broken into by a Viracocha soldier, and his granddaughter carried away. His voice rose as he finished, and he tottered forward to the dais, extending his trembling old hands in appeal.
"In the name of the God who shineth in mercy upon us both, Sapa Inca, I pray to you for vengeance! She is but a child—a mere child—and the light of mine old life. Grant that your just wrath shall fall upon the head accursed of the son of that wholly accursed race."
The Inca had started partly to his feet, his dark eyes ablaze. He sat again. "Where is the girl?" he demanded, hoarsely.
"Cowering in the darkest corner of the darkest chamber of her home, Sapa Inca—half mad—a blighted bud—a blemished pearl!" He turned abruptly upon Almagro, who, unacquainted with the Quichua, had given him little heed, lolling wearily in his chair.
"O, thou Viracocha, offspring of Supay!" cried the old Indio, shaking his clenched hands toward the Spaniard, "dost yawn at my sorrow, monster? Hast the heart of a wolf—thou who wearest the aspect of a man? May the great Inti strike thee with thrice my grief, thrice mine infirmities!"
Almagro, listening with some surprise to the violent apostrophe, looked toward the younger Pizarro: "What saith he, Juan?"
"By God, he hath told a tale of bitter wrong, Diego!" responded the other, vehemently. "One of our men hath stolen his girl. It calleth for the garrote, or I'm an Ethiopian!"
Almagro sat up and glanced quickly at the Inca, who raised his hand to silence the complainant, and was now regarding the commandant with stern eyes and burning cheeks.
"Viracocha Almagro," said Manco, "before thy general went from Cuzco he engaged that neither house nor person of my subjects should suffer violation. Thy soldier hath committed a crime which is punished in Tavantinsuyu with death. I look to thee for vindication."
"Why, blood and wounds!" exclaimed the cavalier, when Manco's words had been translated. "Tell him, Juan, that we will indemnify with—Fiends! but these people set no store by money. Say, then, that we will punish with any just severity—short of death. That is out of reason."
The Inca's eyes were fixed steadily upon Almagro while the answer was being made known to him. "Viracocha," he said coldly, "this outrage is not the first of its kind. Now, I demand the penalty of death."
Almagro's scarred face flushed as his single eye met the Inca's frown, and he replied bluntly: "I refuse! Tell him I refuse, Juan. We'll make what reparation lieth within our power, but curse me if we'll waste a soldier at any man's behest!" and Almagro glanced defiantly from the Inca to the stern faces of his nobles.
Manco rose abruptly, dismissed his court with a few quick words, and left the dais. As he passed the old man he spoke to him in an undertone, and touching his white head lightly as he sank upon his knees, moved toward the door, followed by his suite.
Almagro sprang to his feet. "How now, my puppet king! Dost turn us an angry back? For the price of a breath of air I'd trim the fringe from thy toy of a diadem!"
"Not so loud, Diego!" remonstrated Juan Pizarro. "He hath good offence. I tell thee, we are not wise to make light of this soldier's trespass,amigo. One such outrage unpunished will breed a thousand, and before we are aware the country will be about our ears. 'T is a cut at their tenderest sensibility. I say, hang the knave and keep the peace."
"Kill a good fighting man for the sake of a twig of a heathen girl! Thou 'rt mad, Juan. I had as lief sacrifice a horse. We'll iron him for forty days, and the matter will be forgotten. Come! Set the business afoot. Have a public trial and advertise thy zeal, then keep the affair hanging until interest is worn out. Parade justice for a week, and these varlets will forget their grievance.Vamos!" They left the empty hall, and indifferent to the dark looks of the throng in front of the palace, sought their quarters in the old palace of the Inca Tupac Yupanqui.
With the few nobles so privileged, Manco went to his apartments. Controlling his agitation, he faced his counsellors. For a moment he studied each, reading under their impassiveness the fire smouldering in his own breast. In the group was Villaoma, the Villac Vmu, or high priest of the empire, most sagacious of his advisers, as he had been before to Huayna Capac and to the ill-fated Huascar. The old priest met his look with one of keen scrutiny. Manco had been his favorite, and from boyhood had been watched with an interest as deep and hopeful as if of his own flesh and blood. Manco's admission to the military order came when Cuzco was prostrate before the conqueror Atahualpa, her armies scattered, and the Inca Huascar a prisoner in the fortress at Xauxa. When Pizarro, after the death of Atahualpa, marched upon the capital with the new Inca, Toparca, Manco reassembled the forces of Cuzco and prepared for resistance. Following the counsel of the Villac Vmu, Prince Manco had suspended hostilities after Toparca's death and laid before Pizarro his own claim to the imperialllautu, temporarily humiliating himself to forestall such other pretender as this king-maker might advance. If he had underestimated the cost of this surrender of dignity to policy, the Villac Vmu did not share his mistake; and when the monarch presently realized the penalty for his pawned manhood, the stings of injured pride, the chafing under arrogance, and the wounds of slighted majesty, it was with difficulty that the priest restrained a premature outbreak. Now he saw the fire long kept in check burning near the surface. He held his peace, however, and Manco said merely:—
"I would have thee come hither to-night, Villac Vmu, after the third watch—and you, my generals, Quehuar, Mayta, and Mocho. And come prepared to counsel no longer caution, delay, but—action!" The effect of the last word was electrical—but as a flash of heat lightning, and as silent. It brightened their dark faces and fierce eyes for an instant, and was gone. But he knew them well, this young warrior-emperor; expected no reply, nor wished it. Presently he was alone.
The lamps were being lighted before Manco was in a mood to greet the Ñusta Rava. He sent a page to advise her of his coming, requesting that she be alone. After the youth had gone, he stood at his table with eyes bent moodily upon the floor; then with quick impulse lifted thellautufrom his head, laid it aside, and quitted the apartment.
The evening was quiet and warm, but at that hour the several courts were almost deserted, and he walked slowly, encountering few but the frequent sentinels posted since the coming of the Spaniards. Through intermediate patios, he gained the establishment devoted to the suite of Rava and her younger sisters, the Ñustas Ocllo and Alcaya, halting near a door through which came the notes of atinyaand of some fair one singing. The song was a sad one, and he walked on, thinking of the days when these gloomy courts were enlivened with music and laughter from hearts untouched by care. Would those days come again to the brooding old Amarucancha?—to stricken Cuzco? The question was like the thrust of a dagger, self-administered. Was not this air of sadness, this pervading gloom, directly due to his own supineness? Was not its source in his weak, nay, criminal, submission to the Viracochas. Ah, why was he lingering, inactive, under the goading of every crying hour? Why did he rest an instant while there remained an enemy in Cuzco, or in all Tavantinsuyu?
He came to Rava's door, and passed it; returned and passed it again and again, the sweat starting under the flagellation of his conscience. How could he face the noble girl within? What would she say of the Cuzco she had left so fair: now so shorn of its glories? Would she not reproach him, and justly? And could she do otherwise than attribute to his neglect the suffering and dangers from which she had just escaped? He must explain—without another second of delay, he must explain!
He recrossed the court impetuously, and pushing open the door without ceremony, entered the room. Rava arose, startled, and hurried forward with a cry of joy, alarmed again when she saw his pallor and the drawn lines of his countenance. But there was no reproach in her tone or bearing, only affection and gladness, and he embraced her with nervous fervor.
Rava's arms were about his neck. "Oh, my brother! Oh, my brother! Do I really see thee again? Manco! Manco! How many, many times in these long months have I feared—but fears are gone. How thou hast changed, my dear! Thou 'rt troubled! Ah, me—" she stopped, regarding him with surprised concern. "Where is thyllautu, Manco? Why dost not wear it?"
He reddened painfully as he kissed her forehead again. "I—I have laid it aside to-night," he said quickly, seating himself beside her. "To-night, I am Manco—not the Inca, my dearest."
"But I would have seen thee wearing it. It should never be laid aside, save in privacy, brother dear; and thou wouldst still have been Manco to Rava, thou knowest well. That is not the reason."
He looked at her with troubled eyes.
"Why didst thou leave it?" she persisted, studying his face.
"I have told thee, Rava. I have put it by that I might be to thee only Manco, as of old."
The lightness of his words was forced, and Rava saw it. "Nay, it is not that," she said, gently. "Tell me why."
His eyes left hers, and she laid a hand upon his arm. "Tell me why, Manco." He rose, but she detained him; and a glance at her anxious face forced a confession. He hesitated, then said with an effort: "I will tell thee why, Rava. It is because—oh, may the souls of the departed Incas look mercifully upon me!—it is because—it is stained, my sister: debased and dishonored! It came to me not from the hands of a priest of the Sun, but placed upon my head by the foul hand of a Viracocha. O, thou great Inti, why was I suffered to live to bring this shame upon my line? I wear thellautu, and look thou, Rava, the shadow of a Viracocha resteth ever upon my throne. When I speak to my people a Viracocha speaketh, and my voice is drowned. My laws have ceased to be. The very dogs of the streets look dumb question of mine authority." His words failed, but he resumed, his voice strained with agony: "But worse—worse hath befallen Tavantinsuyu. They have violated the Temple of the Sun, stripped it of its splendor, and polluted its halls. They have cast down the silent forms of our fathers, ravished of their sacred insignia. The golden effigy of the Sun hath been torn from the wall, crushed into ruin by Viracocha feet, and carried away to be gambled for. The gardens have been despoiled, and not one hand's-breadth of their hallowed soil hath been left unturned by these destroyers in their ravening for gold. The Inti-pampa is a desolation. Ah, Rava, Rava, ask me not why I lay aside thellautu! Ask me, rather, how I dare to wear it! Ask why the Sun doth rise and set upon my profanation!"
He covered his face with his hands. Rava sat very still. She was prepared for his tale of ravage, and was less shocked by his words than by the intensity of his agitation. A strong man's anguish is always terrible to a woman or a child, and the stoicism of the Peruvian made this outburst the more harrowing. She stepped to his side and put her arms about his neck. The unspoken sympathy gave him strength, and he controlled himself and went on more calmly.
"Ah, my dearest sister, the sacredness of Cuzco is no more! Its palaces have been despoiled. The beasts of the Viracochas defile the halls of the Yupanquis. These very decorations on the walls that shelter thee are here only on sufferance." He paused long enough to steady his voice, pressing her hand to stay her from speaking. "A moment more, my dear, and I have done. I have told thee only of Cuzco. The cloud that darkeneth her sunshine hath spread to the four quarters of the empire. Quito hath fallen. Daily, as came the reports of the great pestilence, come now tales of new invasion. The great sea, vacant since the world began, disgorgeth fresh swarms with every tide, as some rotten pool its burden of vermin. The gaunt leader, Pizarro, is rearing cities, driving our children into slavery to hew his stone and build his walls. The fairest vales of Tavantinsuyu are being seized by strangers, their people banished from their homes, or lashed into servitude. Yet I am called the Inca! Oh, Rava, turn away thy face till Manco hath been worthy of his trust!"
He sank into a chair, his head bowed. Rava touched him. "Manco, do I behold my brother in despair?"
He looked up, his face reddening. "No, no! Not that, my sister, not that! I have spoken of the past and the present. The curse hath fallen whilst I have been held by chains of circumstance—the great Inti knoweth how much against my will. Now, it is ended!" He rose and regarded her with steady eyes, his voice calm, but intense. "It is ended, Rava! To-night I meet the Villac Vmu and my generals. To-morrow at dawn, whilstchasquisare speeding the four roads from Cuzco, the priest will sacrifice to the Sun—not in his desecrated temple, but under his blue vault secretly in the mountains—invoking at last his dread ministers, the Thunder and Lightning. But, Rava," he exclaimed, seizing her hands, "think not that in the weakness thou hast seen to-night there was the plaint of a coward! My heart was full. My lips have been sealed in all these months of shame with links of bronze. No mortal but thee hath heard a sigh or a faltered word; but thy dear eyes have drawn from me what torture could not compel. Not even Amancay, sweetest of consorts, hath heard a whisper of the sorrow which hath made mine every night a harrowed year. But now, it is done!"
He fell into gloomy reverie, while Rava, pale and quite silent, sat pressing his hand and looking far away, or anxiously at his sombre eyes. He was oblivious of her presence, until he roused with a faint smile.
"But now, dear girl, what of thyself? I have not even told thee my joy in having thee again. Forgive me."
Rava placed her fingers on his lips. "No need, Manco, either for thee to tell me, or for me to say that I forgive. But mine is a long story. Be content to-night to know that I am safe."
"No; but let me hear it, Rava. It is of concern to me, as thou knowest. How didst come to be at Xauxa?"
"Ah, that is near the end of the story, brother."
"Then tell me from the beginning. I had thought thee in Toparca's suite until I met—Pizarro at Xaquixaguana. He told me, Rava, thou hadst fled from Caxamalca with a traitor Viracocha who had broken prison." Manco's voice was grave.
Rava's eyes flashed as they met his. "Pizarro called him so, Manco?" she demanded; then after a pause, "Ah, yes—a traitor! But what wouldst say of a traitor to these men of evil?"
Manco studied her face before he replied slowly, "Much worse even than they—or much better."
"Then much better!" she said, with quiet emphasis. "His treason lay in this, my brother—that he fiercely resented Pizarro's perfidy to our kinsman, Atahualpa, whom he befriended in his darkest hours. And in this—that he saved me from worse than death when I was at the mercy of those vultures; that he fought for me, starved for me, kept hope alive when my heart was broken, and shielded me from a thousand perils, until he led me to safety. And all this, Manco, for the sake of a vow to Atahualpa, whom he promised to deliver me from mine enemies. A traitor! Oh, my brother, if thy nobles have virtues like his treason, thou 'rt a fortunate monarch!"
While she was speaking, and afterward, Manco searched her deep eyes until, conscious of his scrutiny, they fell. Her hand was trembling, and his face darkened with displeasure. "Rava," he demanded, "where is this Viracocha?"
She looked up, and the sorrow and desolation which had swept quickly over her gentle face brought generous remorse for his instant of sternness. Her lips trembled piteously. "Oh, Manco, Manco," she faltered, "he fell for me at last. He is no more!"
With head bowed and form shaken by grief, her hands sought his neck; and whatever he would have said a moment before in reproof of her feeling for one of the hated race, it was forgotten in pity as he drew her into his arms. With affectionate sympathy he endeavored to moderate her anguish, but words were vain, and he could only hold her tight-clasped until its force was spent. Then he half carried her, benumbed and yielding, to her couch and called her maids, lingering helpless beside her while they ministered.
Rava had grown more tranquil, and he was about to depart. She lay quiet, her eyes closed, their lashes yet moist, and he bent over to kiss the pallid cheek. As he did so she sighed deeply, and a small object slipped from her bosom and lay sparkling at the end of its slender chain. Its silvery gleam caught his eye. He started, looked more closely, and recoiled as if he had seen a serpent in the folds of her robe. He caught breath sharply, and an ashy paleness spread over his bronzed face. By a blessing of Heaven the girl did not open her eyes upon the mingled abhorrence, unbelief, and anger, with which he beheld the tiny image of the crucified Saviour—the emblem of all on the broad earth that he hated most savagely. He gazed for a fascinated instant, stood erect, glanced at the sad face once more, and left the room with features as rigid as if cast in the metal whose color they wore. The startled maids looked after him as he went, but none saw him stagger as he crossed the court with his hands pressed to his forehead. The Moon, goddess consort of the Sun, was rising over the dark roofs of the palace. He wavered out from the shadow into her rays and cowered beneath them, shuddering as if he felt her silent denunciation of his sister's apostasy. Gaining his apartments, he passed his attendants without a word, leaving them awed by a face they had hardly recognized.
When his generals met him, near midnight, his eyes were fevered, his voice hoarse and dry, and his words, fraught with war, were uttered with an abrupt tensity that fired their warlike hearts. The council was long. At its close thechasquiswho were to bear his messages to the distant provinces, calling them to arms, were summoned to have the words from his own lips. They left it with nerves strung by their portentous import and the fierce, suppressed energy with which they were given.
Before the sun rose above Cuzco the fiat had gone forth that would convulse the empire.
Within the month every province, town, and hamlet within the realm was in secret preparation. Armorers doubled their industry. The great system of posts sprang to its highest activity, the tirelesschasquisspeeding day and night over every road and mountain trail, hurrying commands from the capital, bearing back reports of governors andcuracas, in ceaseless radiation and convergence. Magazines and armories were replenished of their stores, and trains of carriers toiled over every highway, concentrating provisions and material of war upon the strongholds in the mountains surrounding Cuzco. All the machinery of the most elaborately perfect organization the world has ever seen was in motion, but as silently as clouds gather before a tempest. The couriers stole in and out of the city under cover of darkness. Few of them went to the Amarucancha, but were received and despatched by the Villac Vmu at his own palace, their tidings andquipuscarried by him to the Inca. The impending cataclysm gave no faintest warning, and the Spaniards idled, caroused, and brawled, unconscious of its approach.
The Ñusta Rava, quite unaware, fortunately, of the agitation with which Manco had quitted her, worn out by stress of mind and the weariness of her journey, at length found forgetfulness in sleep. The next day and evening were spent with her sisters and the Auqui Paullo, but Manco did not return, though he sent a page with inquiries for her health. The day following, and the next, her hope to see him was disappointed. At length he came.
The first glance from his gloomy eyes chilled the warmth from her words as she started to meet him, and she stopped, her smile of welcome fading into startled inquiry. The Inca dismissed the maids, and motioned her to her seat, neither avoiding nor heeding her hand as she laid it hesitatingly upon his arm, nor replying to the question in her face.
The interview was not long nor violent, but when he left and sent in her maids, they found her unconscious. The last of many woes had snapped the frail thread of courage that had sustained her. Manco had questioned her about the crucifix, had requested that she abjure the abhorred religion, had been refused as firmly as gently. His respect for her had prohibited command or reproach, but the coldness of his farewell and its finality had been a stab more cruel than the most passionate denunciation.
The next day Rava did not rise, nor the next, nor for many days thereafter. Theamautascame—wise men—three of them. They noted her fever, listened a moment to her delirium, consulted, and administered the simple remedies known to the Peruvian pharmacopoeia. These were few and mostly harmless, so nature fought for her with few hindrances from drugs, and with all the assistance that nursing could give. But it was a long and dreary struggle before the unseeing eyes at last looked sadly but clearly at her attendants, and her whispered words grew intelligible. Almost the first were "Father Valverde," and the maids looked in wonder. But she repeated the name until the priest was sent for and came.
Father Valverde, now Bishop of Cuzco, was an elderly man, well preserved and well fed, with a rugged, determined face, a great slit of a mouth with good lines about it; keen eyes which could look stern beneath their shaggy brows when occasion demanded, or amiably and humorously upon opportunity, and with an ability to storm at lawless soldiery in terms suited to their understanding and their needs with a vigor that would have been creditable to Chrysostom. He was a rabid hater of the devil. Next to the devil he hated an unbeliever. A missionary of fanatical type, he could burn a heathen at the stake for the good of his unassoilzied soul with easy conscience and some satisfaction. But he could, withal, rejoice sincerely over a soul rescued from damnation, and did rejoice over a letter from Father Tendilla regarding the Ñusta Rava. The missive, after the usual salutation and some preliminary words, ran as follows:—
"I will leave her long story to a fitter time, and say merely that I found her already a Christian, having been brought to the Faith by the Caballero Cristoval de Peralta, whom thou knowest well. And not only a Christian in belief, but what is more admirable, in fibre, inclination, and bent of mind; being, in truth, a most gentle, saintly girl. I had the ineffable satisfaction of baptizing and receiving her into Holy Communion. Thereafter, she worked with me earnestly in the conversion of her people here, and departed with the hope of pursuing the same good work in Cuzco. I pray, therefore, that thou attend upon her. She hath many sorrows. One is the death of this Cristoval.
"Now, I have thought of this concerning the Ñusta Rava, and having broached it gently, found it received not with disfavor and even gratefully, to wit: that as thou dost plan to found, as soon as may be, a convent at Cuzco, she might be led to embrace a holy life. Her preparation, begun here, could be completed at Panama, or even at Seville, where she would doubtless enjoy the interest and favor to which her rank entitleth her."
There followed items of personal concern, and the letter closed. The interest aroused in the mind of Father Valverde was immediate and effective, and once admitted to the palace, he devoted himself to the work so well begun by Cristoval and Tendilla. Like his brother missionaries, he possessed a knowledge of medicine, and was able to hasten Rava's convalescence. It need not be said that he found her all that Tendilla had described, and the desolate girl received his fatherly ministrations with a grateful heart.