CHAPTER XXVIIThe Incarial Diadem on a Spanish Saddle-bowTavantinsuyu was rousing; was at last aroused. Dark masses of warriors, marching with grim purpose, without song, or drum, or horn, filled the defiles and roads leading toward the City of the Sun. Day after day, week after week, from the most distant quarters of the empire, the converging columns moved upon the capital, swelling as each village or province added its contingent. So rapid and secret was the concentration that before a whisper of their danger had reached the ears of the conquistadors, the fortified valley of Ollantaytambo, a few leagues from Cuzco, had become a vast encampment, and waited only the signal from the Inca to pour forth its avenging legions.Proud, gloomy, and taciturn; enduring the contemptuous indifference, the unconcealed scorn, and the open insult of the Spanish officers with the patient fortitude of a heart of iron, Manco bided the hour. During the long weeks of preparation, while his forces were gathering, he never left the palace. From dawn to darkness, and often from darkness to dawn again, he sat in his chamber, poring overquipos, or feverishly pacing his floor while he listened to the reports of officers or issued his commands. Daily intelligence borne by thechasquiskept him in touch with the advancing columns, and on a map roughly sketched with charcoal on a sheet of cotton lying on his table he marked their approach. His generals came and went unheeded by the quarrelling Spaniards, and the ominous councils held nightly within the palace were unsuspected.The day was near at hand. Manco was in midnight council with his officers and the Auqui Paullo. The final disposition of his troops was being considered, but the blow was withheld until word should come from the coast that the forces near the newly founded Spanish cities, Ciudad de los Reyes and Truxillo, were ready to strike simultaneously. At Xauxa preparations for investment were complete. All passes and lines of communication between the several Spanish posts were occupied. Already the women of the royal household were being sent, in twos and threes, and with all possible secrecy, to the protection of the fortress at Ollantaytambo. Rava had not gone, but would depart with Paullo on the following night.The group of nobles about the young Inca as he stood at the head of his table, was one which would have been distinguished in any council of warriors or statesmen. All were veterans of many wars; and all, with the exception of Yumaquilque, commander of the Amahuacas, a warlike mountain tribe to the northeast of Cuzco, were of the pure Inca blood. Two, the generals Mayta and Quehuar, were members of the royal family; the former a cousin, the latter an uncle, of Manco. Quehuar, the eldest and next of kin, stood beside the Auqui Paullo. At his side was Mayta, younger by years, and one of the handsomest of the nobility of Tavantinsuyu. He had the features and form of a Roman, every line indicative of the energy and alertness which had gained him the sobriquet of "The Puma" among his devoted soldiery. He commanded the Incarial Guard and was the head of the military school. Next was Mocho, chief of the fierce Antis. He was a short, dark, irritable genius of aggressiveness, known as the fiercest fighter in all Tavantinsuyu, and the most persistent. There were others of less distinction, but all were of tried courage and ability. Now they listened with close attention to the words of their young lord, whose force and spirit as developed in the last few months had inspired an admiration in which his youth was forgotten, and had filled them with high hope for their stricken country."My lords," said Manco, after the business of the council was finished, "I perceive that the current of things is bearing us to early victory. TheCañaresleft in the city number less than a thousand. We scarcely need count them. The Viracochas die hard, as we learned at Vilcaconga," he smiled grimly, "but they are not more than two hundred. Almagro is marching rapidly to the south, and he is now where no cry for help from Cuzco can reach. Should he seek to return he would find the passes closed. Ullulama is within five days' march, but we need not wait. The Villac Vmu will be with us to-morrow, and by the day following the household will be in safety at Ollantaytambo. Then, my lords, we strike. To thee, my Lord Mocho, it will please me to give the honor of taking the Sachsahuaman."Mocho bowed. "I would better like an honor more dearly gained, Sapa Inca. The place is but feebly garrisoned."The Inca smiled. "Thou'lt have opportunity, presently, for others less easily won, my lord; do not fear it. The fortress may not be so easily held as taken, for if I mistake not the Viracochas will not be slow to learn its importance. Thou wilt garrison it strongly, therefore, and see it amply supplied." He turned to the senior general. "My Lord Quehuar, thou wilt send achasquito Xauxa to-night——"He was interrupted by commotion and an excited voice in the antechamber. A frown crossed his face, and he motioned to Paullo. The prince hurried out, returned in a moment with precipitation, and as he threw open the door the Inca started. Paullo's face was drawn with horror. At his elbow was a soldier in the uniform of the guard, who, as Paullo strove to speak, sank upon his knees and bent to the floor."Manco! Manco!" cried the young prince, in agony. "In the name of Inti!—The Virgins of the Sun!"The Inca strode toward him, demanding sharply as he seized his arm, "What meanest thou, boy? Speak!""The Acllahuasi! The Viracochas are battering its doors!"Manco rushed across the anteroom to the court without a word. Paullo jerked the soldier to his feet, and followed by the generals, hurried after. As the Inca stepped into the open air a dull roar of voices in the street outside, the sound of blows, and fierce shouts shocked his hearing; then a rending crash of a falling door, and the clamor of a rush. For an instant he was motionless, strained and listening. He turned suddenly, and the light from the open door fell upon his face, distorted by fury."Mayta!" he shouted. "Mayta!—where is he?—Mayta, thy battalions! Fly!—Paullo, my arms!"As Mayta started the soldier grasped his arm. "Hold, my lord!" he said; then, rapidly to Manco: "Sapa Inca, the barracks are surrounded, and but twenty are within the quarters—the rest have gone to Ollantaytambo. I sought to enter, but was driven away."Manco stamped with impatience and rage, "Follow me!" he cried to his generals, seizing his arms from Paullo. "We will take the guard."Quehuar blocked his way determinedly. "Rashness, my Lord Inca! We are unarmed, and the guard may be needed at its post before the night is gone."Manco thrust him aside, maddened by women's shrieks from the convent, but the generals crowded about him. Quehuar laid a strong hand upon his shoulder."Prudence, prudence, my lord!" he urged. "A moment's folly now would undo all that hath been done."Manco shook off his grasp. "Prudence! Dost hear those cries, old man? Release me!""God of heaven! do I not hear them? But—hold!—wouldst have vengeance in full? Then abort it not by an act of madness! Dost forget thine army?" Manco checked himself with an effort, and Quehuar went on energetically: "The instrument for punishment is ready for thy hand. Beware thrusting that hand without it into the teeth of wild beasts! What couldst thou—what could our united strength do to-night? Thy death, or even a wound, would seal the fate of Tavantinsuyu. Bethink thee, Inca!"Manco drew his cloak over his face with a groan. He dropped it and exclaimed hoarsely: "My lords, I go to the army to-night! The hour hath come for action. Mayta, thou wilt go with me. Do you, my friends, remain until the women are in safety. You will join me at Ollantaytambo.""Sapa Inca——" began Quehuar; but Manco raised his hand and continued vehemently:—"I go to-night! What wouldst have? That I sit clutching mine ears, or shuffling my feet to drown the wails of these unfortunates? Hear them! Hear them! Oh, by the gods, they drive away my reason! Come, Mayta: we go!"He grasped the officer's arm, waved back the others, and hurried across the court. At the entrance of the next stood a sentinel, and the Inca halted, checking his salute. "Here, Mayta, thou 'rt unarmed. Take this." With his own hand he drew the soldier's sword and passed it to his companion. They hastened across another court filled with shuddering attendants, and through a third and smaller one to a narrow corridor along which they groped until halted by a door at its end. Manco hastily unbarred. It was a postern opening upon a terrace between the wall of the palace and the rivulet Huatenay. Opposite was a flight of steps leading to the bed of the stream, and they descended.Meanwhile, within the walls of the Convent of the Virgins and in the street without, a hell-carnival was in progress too hideous to dwell upon. At the moment the Inca was passing through the outskirts of the city Juan Pizarro, mounted bareback, unarmored, and bareheaded, was charging into the tumult, followed by his brother Gonzalo and a few other cavaliers, sword in hand. Bellowing oaths, laying about with the flat of their blades, not infrequently with the edge, and leaping their horses upon the obstinate, they cut their way to the convent and rode in to rescue the unhappy inmates. Behind followed a dozen of the guard, only to throw aside their pikes and join in the fiendish revel, leaving their duty to the black-robed priests and friars who struggled through in their wake. One bore a crucifix; but the stout Valverde did better work with a bludgeon, breaking many a wicked face and ruffianly head in his career through the desecrated halls and gardens.The night was far spent before the place was cleared, and its doors closed and guarded. Juan Pizarro was riding slowly back toward the square when a Cañare, who had lurked about the Spaniard for an hour in a vain effort to approach and be heard without a cleft skull for his pains, touched his leg and sprang back with hands upraised. Juan halted."Well?" he demanded brusquely, scowling at the Indio. "Hast business with me? If so, be brisk." The Cañare jabbered a stream of broken words in Quichua, not intelligible, but something, it seemed to be, about the Inca,—enough to arrest the attention of Juan Pizarro, and he demanded impatiently of his brother:—"What saith the dog, Gonzalo? Canst make it out? Here, thou, say it over and slowly."The Cañare repeated his words with better effect,—with immediate and startling effect, for Juan turned with a shout to his companions: "Dost hear, Gonzalo? Do ye hear, Caballeros? The Inca hath fled the city!" He kicked the ribs of his horse and galloped madly to the palace of Viracocha, across the great court and into the hall that served as a guard-room, filling it with the clamor of hoofs, and throwing its occupants into confusion. They seized their arms in a panic."Ho! The trumpeter!" he roared. "Out, and sound to horse! Out, and sound to horse!Presteza!Salta! To horse! To horse!" He went out like a whirlwind. Before he had reached his quarters the shrill, quick notes were rising from the square. Again, and again, and again the stirring measure, and the stable was alive with men, tossing saddles, tugging at straps, swearing, and panting in a frenzy. One after another, and by twos and threes, the mailed riders swung into saddle, seized lances from the rack, and clattered out into the plaza. The line formed rapidly, and the plunging, kicking, and head-tossing of the excited steeds had hardly subsided before it was in column and, led by Juan Pizarro, took up a trot behind the Cañare.The gloomy walls of the violated convent were growing gray in the dawn as the cavalcade roared past down the narrow, echoing streets and through the suburbs.It was late afternoon when the troop reëntered Cuzco. It moved at a walk, and hanging on the pommel of the commander's saddle was thellautuof the Inca Manco. In the foremost rank of the column was a trooper without his helmet, with a bloody bandage across his face below the eyes. A weapon had passed the bars of his visor. Farther back was another, shorn of a pauldron and his right arm useless. In the rear, two Cañares carried a third on an improvised litter, dead. But in the middle of the column, between double files of troopers, marched the Inca and the Lord Mayta, blood-stained, bandaged, their arms bound behind their backs. Horses, riders, and the two prisoners, were splashed with mud.Manco walked with head erect, without a glance at the Cañares who hurried into the street as the cavalcade traversed the suburb Munaycenca. Nor did he more than glance at his grief-stricken subjects who cast themselves moaning upon the pavement. Not a line of his stern young face betrayed his emotion at entering the capital a prisoner, nor his torture of mind at the disaster thus befallen his people on the very eve of the stroke for their deliverance.From Munaycenca the news flew ahead. Cañares gathered, too stolid for manifestation, and knots of Spaniards, whom a sign from Juan Pizarro warned into silence. But throughout the remainder of the march every door was closed, and no native of Cuzco looked out upon the fallen majesty of their Inca.Crossing the bridge toward the Coricancha the column turned northward through the city, passing the palaces of the Yupanquis, of the Inca Rocca, the schools where Manco had won his youthful honors, and entered the road which mounted to the Sachsahuaman. The single company of pikemen constituting its garrison stood in front of the citadel, and to its commander Pizarro surrendered the prisoners. An hour later they were heavily ironed within the keep, and the troop was on its way back to Cuzco.In the Amarucancha the hours had dragged in a long nightmare. After Manco's departure his lords remained, racked by the shocking sounds to which they listened in helplessness. The war-hardened old Quehuar paced the court. Yumaquilque stood motionless against the wall, his mantle over his face. The others hearkened in silence broken only by an occasional fierce, whispered sentence from Mocho. But from those dreadful hours they imbibed a relentless ferocity of hate for the invaders which no amount of Spanish blood could ever mitigate, and which in the days to follow would send many a conquistador unshriven to his Maker.Upon the Auqui Paullo, young and uninured, the night's tragedy fell most cruelly; but the anguish of his sisters gathered in Rava's chamber, crouched in speechless horror, and surrounded by wailing maids, nerved him by its reminder of their dependence now upon him. By the time he had restored them to partial calmness the tumult beyond the walls had subsided.As he stepped into the court again, he heard the call to horse; and a few minutes later, the uproar of the passing troop. The circumstance was alarming. It stirred a sudden fear that Manco's flight had been detected. Paullo sent a page to learn its significance. The youth did not return. He despatched a second, and sought Quehuar. He found the old general with the others in the council room, and had hardly entered before the second messenger returned to announce that a guard of pikemen was at the outer door, and he had not been permitted to pass. The palace was surrounded by guards, and all within were prisoners.That night the humble native knelt at his evening prayer, shuddering at the infinite indifference of his god to the sorrows of Tavantinsuyu. As twilight came, a few muffled figures stole to the edge of the square, gazed in silence at the guarded doors and sombre walls of the Amarucancha, and slunk away. The capture of the Inca was told in whispers, stirring no cry for vengeance, no move to rescue. The calamity was as irremediable and appalling as if heaven itself had fallen. It was the wrath of Inti, not to be opposed.A few days later, the nobles were permitted to depart: were, in the case of Quehuar and Yumaquilque, even compelled to go; for these two would have shared the captivity of Paullo and the household, whom the Pizarros retained as hostages for the quiet of the empire, whose patience under this latest blow they doubted.CHAPTER XXVIIITwo Comrades ReunitedNever a knight rode forth with more of chivalry than dwelt beneath sturdy Pedro's breastplate when he set out in quest of Cristoval. He went with little hope of doing more than saying a few prayers at the grave of the cavalier and marking it with a cross; but for these offices he would have traversed a continent.Cristoval lay beneath an awning at the villa of the Curaca Huallampo, well bolstered and pillowed, and bandaged to a condition of almost total rigidity. He was looking moodily over the sparkling lake when his reverie was disturbed by the approach of his host, accompanied, unmistakably accompanied, by the familiar sound of a peg. The cavalier was startled half erect, but sank back weakly as Pedro appeared with Huallampo. The cook was breathless from a climb of the hill at his utmost speed. At sight of his friend he increased his pace across the terrace, grasped the extended hand, but instead of speaking, compressed his lips as a spasm crossed his face. Roaring his words to conceal his unsteadiness of voice, he exclaimed:—"Hola, Cristoval! Do I see thee in the flesh? Blessed Virgin, it is so! Why, man, I came to weep over thy grave! But 't is thou, in very truth!""God bless thee, Pedro," said Cristoval, with moistened eyes, pressing the cook's hand."So He hath done, old friend, in letting me see thee again. But,Santa Maria! thou 'lt wrapped, and swathed, and beragged, and swaddled, like a sore finger! Canst wiggle thy toes? Ah! 'T is a comfort. Any broken bones? No?Bueno! Just full of holes—pricked, punctured, pinked, and perforated! Hum! It might be worse. Thecuracasaith thou 'rt mending fast."Cristoval nodded. "Pedro," he began anxiously, then stopped."Well, say on,amigo," said the cook, seating himself."Dost know—aught of Rava?""That I do! She is safe in the care of Father Tendilla."Cristoval closed his eyes and turned away, his lips moving. Pedro eyed him curiously, and shook his head. Both were silent. "Tell me about it, Pedro," at last."Nay," said Pedro. "It is too long a story for the present. Thecuracawarneth me against much talking. Thou must be content to know that she is unharmed. Shortly I'll tell thee, and much history besides. But the Ñusta Rava is in good hands." Permitting no further conversation, he sat long, surveying the cavalier with great satisfaction while Huallampo gave him an inventory of the various hurts.Cristoval's recovery had been much impeded by his condition of mind. Fever ensued after he had been carried from Maytalca's ruined villa, and for days he lay between life and death. His depression told seriously against him, and later, as he gained strength, his progress was further hindered by restless longing to be in search of Rava. Huallampo's admonitions availed little against his fuming, but he was somewhat reassured by knowing that a party had already gone to gain intelligence of the Ñusta. Pedro's coming with the knowledge that Rava was safe made his convalescence rapid. Still, it was weeks before he could rise, weeks more before he could stir abroad, and the summer was gone before Pedro would discuss their future plans. The party brought back word that Rava had left Xauxa for Cuzco. Cristoval was with Pedro when he received the information."Then she is with the Inca, and her troubles are past," he sighed. "Pedro, how long, thinkst thou, before I can mount?"The cook looked at him sharply before replying. "That would depend," he said, presently, "upon thy purpose. Thou couldst amble about the valley to-morrow; but thou'lt not be fit to couch a lance for weeks to come, old friend, so make no plans for campaigning. What dost think of doing?""I must seek the Ñusta Rava," said Cristoval.Pedro was not surprised, but said: "There will be danger for thee too near Cuzco, Cristoval, and not a man in the pack whom thou mayst trust. De Soto hath gone to the coast with the general, sick of the conquest and on his way to Spain. But when thou hast seen the Ñusta—what then?"Cristoval looked at him earnestly. "After that—'t is a question. Help me with thy good head, Pedro. If she would flee with me to Xauxa we would go to Father Tendilla—" Cristoval paused."She would flee with thee to Xauxa, my head upon it!" replied Pedro, with assurance. "Or to the moon, or to the farthest star—couldst thou furnish transportation. But after Xauxa and Father Tendilla—what next?""Either refuge in some remote province of Tavantinsuyu, or Panama. We could harbor in some village near San Miguel until a ship came in; then get aboard in secret. Only one thought goeth against my conscience, and that is of the peril and hardship to which Rava would be again exposed. Ah,Madre! I know not, Pedro—I hesitate. This flight would be not only from Pizarro's men, but perhaps from the Inca as well. I doubt not that she could find faithful supporters in the venture—but it would be a struggle; to say naught of taking her from home, friends, and country, into another world. It is much to ask. But, what thinkst thou, old friend?""I think," replied Pedro, gravely, "that she could easier bear such suffering than her present sorrow. But you may not need to leave the country. The Inca may prove friendly.""I fear his friendship would help little with Pizarro dominating.""True!" said Pedro, shaking his head. "Thou must go to Panama—and thence to Spain, for thou'lt be safe no nearer. Now, weigh this for a plan: Thou'lt go to Cuzco. Doubtless Huallampo will furnish thee an escort. I will go with thee as far as Xauxa, wait for thy return with the Ñusta, then we will go to the coast together. I will watch at San Miguel for a ship, and will arrange thy passage with—the Señora de Peralta. I have some moderate savings, Cristoval,—enough to purchase the aid of a shipmaster. I can pay him double what he would get for thy head, and have some left to silence others. What sayst thou to't,amigo?"Cristoval seized his hand, overcome with gratitude. "Pedro, thou'rt—""A cook!" interrupted Pedro, returning his grasp with sudden animation. "A cook shorn of a leg by the iniquity of Fate. A cook with but half his share of footprints. A pruned cook. A remnant. Naught more, Cristoval. But what thinkst thou of it?""By Saint Michael! Pedro, thou'rt—""A cook!" said Pedro again. "Let it go. Come! Discuss, comment, bandy a word or two about the plan. Thou 'rt staring like a choked calf."Cristoval's face clouded. "It will not do, my good comrade," he said. "Thou must have no part in it, save with thy counsel. Thou hast already ventured too much for friendship's sake. The affair at Caxamalca might have cost thee dearly." Pedro had not told him of the thumbscrews. "And furthermore, I cannot use thy gold. I am penniless, and could never repay thee. Advise, and no more.""Why, stew me to rags, Cristoval!" retorted Pedro, with irritation, "thou dost talk as if we were not friends.""Nay! That is as far from my thoughts as from thine. But friendship—""Is friendship!" blurted the cook, and would hear no further objection. They considered it long and in detail; foresaw difficulties, and overcame them; wrought their plans into as great perfection as plans are often wrought—and in the event, as shall be seen, carried them as near to execution as human plans are often carried.The project gave a fresh impulse to Cristoval's recovery. They disclosed their purpose to nobody, though to Huallampo and Maytalca the cavalier confided his wish to see the Ñusta Rava before leaving the country, and thecuracaproffered his aid. Markumi should go, and as many other men as needed, with supplies for the journey to Cuzco.At last Pedro admitted grudgingly that his companion was fit to take the road; and against thecuraca'searnest advice they pushed their preparations.When the time for departure was at hand Cristoval found many an unlooked-for pang. He was known to every man, woman, and child of the valley; was looked upon by them with reverence, endeared to them as the protector of their Ñusta, by his unfailing courtesy, simplicity, and helpful interest; and finally, by their sympathy when he was lying cut to pieces by the Cañares. All had received a kind word from the Viracocha Cristoval, and not one of them but must bid him farewell with a heart-felt wish that the Sun would brighten his way. When he took leave of Maytalca the lady wept frankly, murmuring a prayer for his welfare and a message of love to Rava when he should see her again. Thecuraca'sdaughters, who had sat many an hour at his bedside, were not less affected.Clad in armor which Markumi's zeal had brought to the splendor of silver, Cristoval at last rode with Pedro through the crowded streets at the head of their few retainers. They were attended to the edge of the village by the people, and for a mile beyond by the oldcuraca, who bade them farewell with warm assurance that while a roof remained in Xilcala they should find there a welcome and refuge.At the head of the canyon through which flowed Xilcala stream Cristoval halted for a final look at the valley, here to find the sharpest pang of all. He turned with a sigh from its tranquillity, its beauty, and the thousand recollections, and rode into the defile with a presentiment that in leaving its peace to enter the gloomy gorge was a foreshadowing of what lay before him.CHAPTER XXIXA March and Another ReunionThe march down the canyon of the Xilcala was rapid, and on the second day they were near its debouchment into the valley of the Maranon, close to the great national highway leading to Cuzco. After this they proceeded with the utmost circumspection. By the end of the fifth day they had passed Lake Chinchaycocha and halted at Carhuacaya, in the valley of the Xauxa. It was a hamlet of two dozen houses, regularly laid out and with the usualcampata, or square, on which stood the residence of thecuraca, where the two Viracochas were received for the night. Like many another village they passed, this had suffered severely at the hands of the ravaging Cañares who had followed Pizarro's march, and from Spaniards on their way to Cuzco, for recruits were already flowing in; but Pedro had stopped there on his way to Xilcala, and his reappearance was welcome.On the following morning the party encountered an interruption wholly deranging their plans. Cristoval and Pedro were preparing for the journey when thecuracaentered, showing some embarrassment. He greeted them cordially, but advised them not to leave that day. In fact, it would be impossible. The roads were occupied. The town—it was distressing—was surrounded by the troops of the Inca! Pedro whistled."By the fighting San Miguel!" exploded Cristoval, in Spanish. "We are prisoners, Pedro! What sayst thou to that?"Pedro sat down. "Why, stew me!—like the ancient Roman soldier who was hit in the belly by a stone from a catapult, I have very little to say.""Viracochas," said thecuraca, earnestly, "I pray you have no uneasiness. The General Matopo commanding shall be informed of your rescue of the Ñusta Rava, Viracocha Cristoval, of which Markumi hath told me. That service will insure you against any danger soever.""Danger! Then we might be in danger, is it so,Curaca? Are these troops marching against the Viracochas?""You will readily understand, Viracocha Cristoval, it is not permitted me to know."Cristoval resumed his arming. "Well, it might be worse. If Pizarro had us pent in this fashion it would be a short shrift for me, Pedro, and belike, would call for some painful lying from thee to explain thine indiscretion in choice of company. But let us step out and see what is to be seen."They found several Xilcalans at the outer door, watching a battalion just entering the square. The two Spaniards halted, struck by its martial appearance as it massed in the plaza.An officer of middle age wearing a noble's ear ornaments was followed by a group of twenty or more, many with the same insignia, and all brilliant in the uniform of the Conibos, a northern tribe from the valley of the Huallaga. Beside the officer was thecuraca, talking earnestly. The party turned aside from the direct line of march to permit the passage of their column, and halted. Thecuracaapproached to summon the Spaniards.The commander eyed the two mail-clad figures with interest, but the sight of Pedro's wooden leg required all his self-possession to avoid a display of astonishment. His salutation was not unfriendly, but the Spaniards were aware that they were prisoners. "Viracochas," said he, after thecuracahad presented them, "it seemeth an ill return for our indebtedness, of which thecuracainformeth me, but it is necessary that you accompany us. I assure you that one who hath befriended the Ñusta Rava need fear nothing more than inconvenience. Were it in my discretion I would not impose even that; but I am responsible for the secrecy of the movement of my troops and you will understand the necessity which compelleth me. In order, however, to avoid undue restraint, I will accept your words that you make no effort to escape.""Thou mayst depend upon us, my lord," said Cristoval. "There is, however, one request. I have an escort of Xilcalans whom I count as friends. Will my lord permit that they accompany me?""Gladly," said the general, "if they so choose. We shall meet to-night, Viracochas. May the Sun guard you!"He moved off with his officers, leaving one to follow with the two captives, and they hastened to saddle. Taking leave of thecuraca, they joined the waiting officer and, followed by the Xilcalans, fell into an interval between battalions.The command went into bivouac late at night, and Matopo sent for his prisoners to join him at supper. Several subordinate officers shared the meal, and to them and to the old noble it was an incident, for these were the first they had seen of the Viracochas. Matopo soon became assured of Cristoval's sympathy with the cause of Rava's people, though the cavalier avoided direct expression, merely relating, at the general's request, the details of his association with Atahualpa and the subsequent enmity of Pizarro. When he remembered and drew forth the Inca's last gift, the fringe from the royalllautu, the effect was magical. The officers bent before it with reverence little less than the actual presence of the monarch would have inspired, and Cristoval found himself elevated to a dignity as great as it was unexpected. The half-forgotten trifle was a talisman."Viracocha Cristoval," said Matopo, gravely, as the cavalier replaced the potent cord, "thou bearest a warrant from the Inca. No man in Tavantinsuyu will withhold from it his recognition. It is a rare credential, and demandeth the confidence in its possessor reposed in him by the Inca himself. The Inca Atahualpa won his throne by arms, but he was the Inca. Thou hadst done well to show me the fringe this morning, but I will make what reparation is possible. Thou 'rt free, Viracocha."This result was so unforeseen that Cristoval failed to comprehend the change in his situation, and the general repeated: "Thou 'rt free, Viracocha Cristoval, and I have only to ask that I be allowed to make thee amends.""I thank thee, General Matopo. There hath been no inconvenience, for, as I have said, we were journeying toward Cuzco. But—my comrade?"Matopo shook his head. "Mine authority can go no farther. I shall be compelled to retain him.""Then with thy leave we will remain together."Matopo's surprise was as evident as his relief. His relief was equal to his uneasiness, what there was of it, lest the secret movement of his troops might be imperilled by the Viracocha's liberation. "No need to ask my leave," he replied, quickly; "but you will go as my guests, and I believe I can promise that he will not be long deprived of his liberty."Two weeks later the column approached the village of Abancay, where it would cross the river Apurimac. Cristoval and Pedro were walking with Matopo at the head of the main body, leading their steeds. As they neared the village they could see that it was occupied by the advance guard. As they descended into the plain a soldier came at top speed to announce that there were two Viracochas in the village, apparently not soldiers, and that there was some difficulty in securing them."Shall we ride forward, my Lord Matopo?" asked Cristoval."It would be well," replied the general, "else the Viracochas may lose their lives in resisting."The two Spaniards were off at a gallop. The soldiers scattered before them, and they drew rein at the square. At the sight of the two Viracochas Pedro raised a shout:—"The señora, by the infernal cook of cooks!—and Father Tendilla!"The square was full of excited soldiers, leaving a swaying ring in the middle, occupied by the lady and the priest mounted on mules. The father had the reins of her steed, which was facing his own, plunging, rearing, and kicking incredibly at the surrounding line of Conibos who repelled it with their javelins. Its rider, clinging frantically to her pommel with one hand, half-blinded by her sombrero which had been jolted over her eyes, fitfully whirled her battle-axe with the other in fruitless efforts to reach the helmeted heads. She was red-faced, shaken, and storming. The poor priest, hatless and nearly unseated by every plunge of his companion's mule, tugged desperately at the reins, while half-a-dozen officers circled about, dodging the heels of the frenzied animal, and entirely helpless before a situation transcending their wildest dreams."Brava, Bolio!Brava, Bolio!" roared Pedro, pushing forward. "Strike for Spain!Cristo y San Miguel! Strike for Spain!Bravamente!"At the familiar voice the axe ceased to whirl, and between plunges the señora tilted back her sombrero. "Pedro!" she shouted wildly, then gave attention to retaining her seat, while the mule delivered another succession of kicks. Cristoval motioned the soldiers back as he spurred into the ring. Pedro rode up, slipped his hand along the reins of her steed, seized them close to the bit, and stopped the plunging. Cristoval assisted the flustered lady to the ground, too breathless to speak. He quieted the blowing mule while Pedro and Father Tendilla dismounted. The former hastened to the agitated señora, and at last she was able to gasp:—"Pedro—on my soul!—hast dropped from heaven?""Heaven forbid!" said Pedro, surveying her with concern. "I'm crippled enough as 't is. But thou 'rt unhurt?""Oh, these heathens!" panted the señora."I've known Christians who were worse," said Pedro. "But, art sound and whole?""If I could but have reached one of them! But, blessed name! how comest thou here, Pedro?""Prisoner of war—like thyself. Art uninjured?""Like myself!" snorted the lady. "Who hath made me a prisoner of war? Prisoner of fiddle-de-dee! Drum-sticks!" She glared vindictively at the wondering soldiery. "Let one of them bite his tongue at me!""Bueno! There are only five thousand," remarked Pedro. "But tell me, what dost thou here?""Oh, Pedro, I am going to Cuzco to see that angel of a girl! The father took it in mind to go, so I came with him—but such a time! He hath been as much care as a baby.""Calm yourself, my dear Señora."The señora sniffed scornfully. "Is that Peralta? I scarce knew him without his beard. He seemeth friendly enough with these fripperied Indians. He might be in better company—and so mightst thou, Pedro. 'T is little credit to you both.""We are prisoners, Señora.""Prisoners, forsooth! Well, if I were a man! But thou 'rt too good-natured, Pedro, for thine own good. And thou 'rt a love to rescue me," she added, tenderly.Pedro stepped back a pace and looked uneasily about. "Nay, Señora Bolio," he said, hastily, "it was not I. It was Peralta. Wait. I'll call him.""Oh, thou'rt so modest, Pedro! I tell thee, it was thou! But hold! God ha' mercy! I had almost forgotten to tell thee. Thou 'rt undone! They have entered thy lodging in Xauxa, broken into thy chests, and taken thy belongings.""Furies and devils!" exclaimed the cook, sharply. "Who have?""Those runnion pikemen from the fortress."At once flashed over him the use he had planned to make of his savings in aiding Cristoval to escape. He spun around once on his peg and swore with such violence that the cavalier and Father Tendilla hurried up."My son, my son!" cried the priest, placing a hand upon his shoulder. "Thy tongue is imperilling thy soul.""Name of a saint, Pedro! What hath happened?" demanded Cristoval, anxiously."Happened!" shouted Pedro. "Scurviness hath happened. Thievery hath happened. Sack, plunder, housebreaking, and depredation have happened. Those rakehells of the infantry have robbed me. Oh, hoop me with hoops lest I burst before I've killed a pikeman!"He ceased abruptly and went to his mule, leaving the señora to explain. She did so with brevity and emphasis, and Cristoval turned to the priest in disgust: "We've brought a mangy pack, Father Tendilla, to set loose upon these hapless people. They turn to robbing one another before they've done robbing the country." The father shook his head sadly, but made no reply.The advance guard moved on, and Matopo passed with his officers, casting a curious glance at the señora as he bowed. She responded with a haughty inclination and compressed her lips. It required all the persuasive eloquence of her three countrymen to induce her to mount and enter the column; but finding separation from Pedro the alternative, she at last consented, declaring vigorously that the barbarian who undertook to make a prisoner of her would repent his insolence and remember the circumstance. She swung into her saddle, disdaining assistance, and they were soon on the march.Now Cristoval's good heart was warmed by later news of Rava. He rode with Father Tendilla, listening with eagerness to the tale of her sojourn at Xauxa, given with detail and sympathy by the kindly old priest, who was glowing in his eulogies of the gentle proselyte. The cavalier's hundred repeated questions were patiently answered over and over, and before an hour Cristoval had unbosomed himself, candidly revealing his hope of escape with her from the country. The priest listened to the plan, and said:—"Well, my son, it will be for the child a hazardous undertaking. However, it will be in the guidance of Heaven. I had thought the maiden might find refuge from her sorrows in a life of holiness, for which her spirit seemeth well adapted. If it be otherwise ordained, it would not beseem me to oppose, and I will do all in my power to further thy happiness and hers.""I thank you, father," said Cristoval. "But do you know whether Rava is aware that I am living?""I know not. I have written to Father Valverde since I learned it from the youth whom thou didst send from Xilcala, but have had no reply. Cañares have been abroad, and communication uncertain. The messenger may not have passed them. I have come myself, therefore, thinking to bear the news, but it hath ended—thus,"—and he cast a look over the battalions."Doubtless we can send her word," said Cristoval. "Matopo saith she is likely to be at Yucay, where the Incas have a castle. I think we may reach her, good father.""I pray it may be so, surely," replied Tendilla.That night the command encamped on the elevated plain of Curahuasi, awaiting the morrow to cross the Apurimac. Before daylight it was moving again, and shortly the head of the column was threading its way down the wall of the chasm whence rose the faint murmur of the torrent, thousands of feet below. The trail seemed to Cristoval a mere scratch on the cliff. At his elbow rose the rock-mass, so steep that scarcely a shrub found clinging-place, while almost beneath his stirrup the precipice dropped away to an abyss. The descent, at first moderate, became so rapid as it zig-zagged from point to point that every step threatened to plunge horse and rider headlong. Generations of wayfarers had worn the rock treacherously smooth, and he presently dismounted to lead his horse. The others followed his example, and he heard the señora whimpering to Pedro. Gingerly now he went, hugging closely to points which so crowded the path that his saddlebow was scraped by the overhanging wall. In places the descent was by steps hewn into the granite, down which his horse blundered perilously, menaced at every slip by a hideous fall into vacancy. Cristoval's eyes were drawn to the brink in resistless fascination, and he crept along with shrinking soul. He heard Pedro muttering: "Martyred saints—and spirits damned! This is what cometh—of being a cook!"They were hours descending, but the hours seemed days. At length the path lost itself in the blackness of a cavern-mouth. Cristoval found himself in a reverberating tunnel driven three hundred yards through living rock. Openings on the right admitted air and the growing thunder of the torrent. In the open again for another giddy, stumbling clamber down a hundred fathoms; and the bridge! Cristoval whispered a prayer. From a narrow shelf it swung out over the chasm in a long, sweeping curve to its anchorage on the farther side, a mere gossamer swaying in the breeze and vibrating fearfully beneath the soldiers' tread. Cristoval quailed within his steel at its frailty. From a huge windlass on the platform beside him stretched three cables of four or five inches in thickness, forming the support for the narrow floor. Above and on either side was a smaller cable connected with the floor supports by ropes, and serving as guard-rails, though the security afforded was largely moral, the vertical spaces between the cords being large enough to admit of a fall through at any point.As Cristoval looked out over the quivering one hundred and fifty feet of fragility, listening to the lugubrious creaking of the cables at their anchorage, his hardihood slowly oozed. The bridge was now clear for his passage. He swore a little in undertone, piously consigned himself to the Virgin's keeping, and led off. His horse sniffed at the footway with deep-drawn breaths and long, tremulous expirations, but followed at his word. A stiff breeze was blowing up the canyon, swinging the structure rhythmically through an arc of six or eight feet, and Cristoval's brain reeled as he glanced at the sinister, whirling rush of green and foam bellowing a hundred feet below. Steadying his eyes on a point ahead, he picked his way out into the air. An age in crossing, but at last he neared the end. Here his weight and that of the horse shifted the sag of the cables so that the last few feet were a steep ascent with scant foothold; but he scrambled up, and with a sigh of relief, stood on solid ground. He looked back. Father Tendilla was following, leading his mule and holding his hat in place, the wind tossing and tearing at his robe, and the cavalier turned giddy again as he watched the old priest's slow advance over the narrow, swinging floor. Cristoval gave him a hand at the end, and fairly jerked him to safety on the shelf.Pedro and the señora were to follow, and here occurred a pause. The lady balked. She seated herself on the windlass, swelling with negation."Cross that unholy thing of strings and straws, Pedro?" she exclaimed, indignantly. "Not if I were a spider! 'T is a device of the devil, and may the devil fly away with it, or roost upon it! It is no place for a Christian. I'll go round, and that's an end to 't!""Go round!" retorted Pedro, impatiently. "Thou'lt march four hundred leagues to go around, Señora.""Then I'll go back.""Impossible to go back. The trail is full.""Then I'll sit here till 'tis empty.""Oh, the fiend, woman! Dost not see they cannot pass for our mules? The column is waiting.""Then let the column wait and twiddle its fingers! The column can wait till it turneth to a column of waiting mummies if it see fit, but I'll not put foot to that bridge!"Pedro stared at her helplessly. The way was blocked. Ocallo with his mule was behind them, and the narrow platform was full, the column at a standstill, its head at a safe distance from the heels of the rearmost animal. Somewhere, Matopo was storming, his voice rising above the roar of the stream, and echoing and reëchoing weirdly between the granite walls. Cristoval was hailing, and shortly began to swear. The lady tossed her head, and pulling up a spear of grass, began to chew its end. Pedro laughed with exasperation; opened his mouth, but finding no expletives to fit the situation, closed it again and grew excessively red. The soldiers in the rear began to murmur. Pedro contained himself with an effort, and began sadly:—"Well, so it must be, Señora!Adiós! I shall remember thee. I shall think of thee with a pang. I shall see thee ever in my darkest moments, sitting dreary amid the lonely majesty of the eternal mountains on an uncushioned windlass, a spear of grass thine only sustenance, whilst tempest and avalanche thunder about thee throughout the drift of years.Adiós, Señora! Thou'lt be in my dreams, a silent, graceful, but resolute form, waiting in solitude, holding the brittle remnants of a pair of reins; at thy feet a shrunken, staring, decayed cadaver of a mule, giving voiceless, desiccated testimony of thine inflexibility.Adiós!Adiós! I go. Come, thou, my steadfast and faithful steed, we obey the pointed finger of destiny.Fata nos nolentes trahunt!"Pedro turned away, and straining to produce a sob, fetched a hiccough, and led to the bridge. The lady, at first bewildered by his burst of gloomy eloquence, then touched by the profound melancholy with which it was delivered, melted from determination to tenderness. As he stepped upon the floor she rose, glanced about despairingly, and shouted:—"Hold, Pedro, thou dear love of a man! I follow! Wait for me, thou poor thing—and the fiend take the bridge and its makers if it serve me not across!"But at the terror of the swaying structure she faltered, and Pedro turned. "Nay, Señora!" he cried, in a voice of sad but gentle deprecation, and raising his hand, "'t is too much. I ask it not. Turn back."For answer she sat down, and in her desperation heedless of exposure of limb, began sliding down the steep incline, clutching and moaning plaintively, the feminine now wholly uppermost. At last she neared Pedro's mule, and he called:—"Stand up, my dear, and grasp his tail.""Oh—God's mercy!—he will kick!" she replied, in a shuddering wail."Nay, stew me! a fly would not venture to kick out here," answered Pedro, with feeling. "Seize his tail!"She did so, and with many a piteous whine and gasp, was at length across the abyss.
CHAPTER XXVII
The Incarial Diadem on a Spanish Saddle-bow
Tavantinsuyu was rousing; was at last aroused. Dark masses of warriors, marching with grim purpose, without song, or drum, or horn, filled the defiles and roads leading toward the City of the Sun. Day after day, week after week, from the most distant quarters of the empire, the converging columns moved upon the capital, swelling as each village or province added its contingent. So rapid and secret was the concentration that before a whisper of their danger had reached the ears of the conquistadors, the fortified valley of Ollantaytambo, a few leagues from Cuzco, had become a vast encampment, and waited only the signal from the Inca to pour forth its avenging legions.
Proud, gloomy, and taciturn; enduring the contemptuous indifference, the unconcealed scorn, and the open insult of the Spanish officers with the patient fortitude of a heart of iron, Manco bided the hour. During the long weeks of preparation, while his forces were gathering, he never left the palace. From dawn to darkness, and often from darkness to dawn again, he sat in his chamber, poring overquipos, or feverishly pacing his floor while he listened to the reports of officers or issued his commands. Daily intelligence borne by thechasquiskept him in touch with the advancing columns, and on a map roughly sketched with charcoal on a sheet of cotton lying on his table he marked their approach. His generals came and went unheeded by the quarrelling Spaniards, and the ominous councils held nightly within the palace were unsuspected.
The day was near at hand. Manco was in midnight council with his officers and the Auqui Paullo. The final disposition of his troops was being considered, but the blow was withheld until word should come from the coast that the forces near the newly founded Spanish cities, Ciudad de los Reyes and Truxillo, were ready to strike simultaneously. At Xauxa preparations for investment were complete. All passes and lines of communication between the several Spanish posts were occupied. Already the women of the royal household were being sent, in twos and threes, and with all possible secrecy, to the protection of the fortress at Ollantaytambo. Rava had not gone, but would depart with Paullo on the following night.
The group of nobles about the young Inca as he stood at the head of his table, was one which would have been distinguished in any council of warriors or statesmen. All were veterans of many wars; and all, with the exception of Yumaquilque, commander of the Amahuacas, a warlike mountain tribe to the northeast of Cuzco, were of the pure Inca blood. Two, the generals Mayta and Quehuar, were members of the royal family; the former a cousin, the latter an uncle, of Manco. Quehuar, the eldest and next of kin, stood beside the Auqui Paullo. At his side was Mayta, younger by years, and one of the handsomest of the nobility of Tavantinsuyu. He had the features and form of a Roman, every line indicative of the energy and alertness which had gained him the sobriquet of "The Puma" among his devoted soldiery. He commanded the Incarial Guard and was the head of the military school. Next was Mocho, chief of the fierce Antis. He was a short, dark, irritable genius of aggressiveness, known as the fiercest fighter in all Tavantinsuyu, and the most persistent. There were others of less distinction, but all were of tried courage and ability. Now they listened with close attention to the words of their young lord, whose force and spirit as developed in the last few months had inspired an admiration in which his youth was forgotten, and had filled them with high hope for their stricken country.
"My lords," said Manco, after the business of the council was finished, "I perceive that the current of things is bearing us to early victory. TheCañaresleft in the city number less than a thousand. We scarcely need count them. The Viracochas die hard, as we learned at Vilcaconga," he smiled grimly, "but they are not more than two hundred. Almagro is marching rapidly to the south, and he is now where no cry for help from Cuzco can reach. Should he seek to return he would find the passes closed. Ullulama is within five days' march, but we need not wait. The Villac Vmu will be with us to-morrow, and by the day following the household will be in safety at Ollantaytambo. Then, my lords, we strike. To thee, my Lord Mocho, it will please me to give the honor of taking the Sachsahuaman."
Mocho bowed. "I would better like an honor more dearly gained, Sapa Inca. The place is but feebly garrisoned."
The Inca smiled. "Thou'lt have opportunity, presently, for others less easily won, my lord; do not fear it. The fortress may not be so easily held as taken, for if I mistake not the Viracochas will not be slow to learn its importance. Thou wilt garrison it strongly, therefore, and see it amply supplied." He turned to the senior general. "My Lord Quehuar, thou wilt send achasquito Xauxa to-night——"
He was interrupted by commotion and an excited voice in the antechamber. A frown crossed his face, and he motioned to Paullo. The prince hurried out, returned in a moment with precipitation, and as he threw open the door the Inca started. Paullo's face was drawn with horror. At his elbow was a soldier in the uniform of the guard, who, as Paullo strove to speak, sank upon his knees and bent to the floor.
"Manco! Manco!" cried the young prince, in agony. "In the name of Inti!—The Virgins of the Sun!"
The Inca strode toward him, demanding sharply as he seized his arm, "What meanest thou, boy? Speak!"
"The Acllahuasi! The Viracochas are battering its doors!"
Manco rushed across the anteroom to the court without a word. Paullo jerked the soldier to his feet, and followed by the generals, hurried after. As the Inca stepped into the open air a dull roar of voices in the street outside, the sound of blows, and fierce shouts shocked his hearing; then a rending crash of a falling door, and the clamor of a rush. For an instant he was motionless, strained and listening. He turned suddenly, and the light from the open door fell upon his face, distorted by fury.
"Mayta!" he shouted. "Mayta!—where is he?—Mayta, thy battalions! Fly!—Paullo, my arms!"
As Mayta started the soldier grasped his arm. "Hold, my lord!" he said; then, rapidly to Manco: "Sapa Inca, the barracks are surrounded, and but twenty are within the quarters—the rest have gone to Ollantaytambo. I sought to enter, but was driven away."
Manco stamped with impatience and rage, "Follow me!" he cried to his generals, seizing his arms from Paullo. "We will take the guard."
Quehuar blocked his way determinedly. "Rashness, my Lord Inca! We are unarmed, and the guard may be needed at its post before the night is gone."
Manco thrust him aside, maddened by women's shrieks from the convent, but the generals crowded about him. Quehuar laid a strong hand upon his shoulder.
"Prudence, prudence, my lord!" he urged. "A moment's folly now would undo all that hath been done."
Manco shook off his grasp. "Prudence! Dost hear those cries, old man? Release me!"
"God of heaven! do I not hear them? But—hold!—wouldst have vengeance in full? Then abort it not by an act of madness! Dost forget thine army?" Manco checked himself with an effort, and Quehuar went on energetically: "The instrument for punishment is ready for thy hand. Beware thrusting that hand without it into the teeth of wild beasts! What couldst thou—what could our united strength do to-night? Thy death, or even a wound, would seal the fate of Tavantinsuyu. Bethink thee, Inca!"
Manco drew his cloak over his face with a groan. He dropped it and exclaimed hoarsely: "My lords, I go to the army to-night! The hour hath come for action. Mayta, thou wilt go with me. Do you, my friends, remain until the women are in safety. You will join me at Ollantaytambo."
"Sapa Inca——" began Quehuar; but Manco raised his hand and continued vehemently:—
"I go to-night! What wouldst have? That I sit clutching mine ears, or shuffling my feet to drown the wails of these unfortunates? Hear them! Hear them! Oh, by the gods, they drive away my reason! Come, Mayta: we go!"
He grasped the officer's arm, waved back the others, and hurried across the court. At the entrance of the next stood a sentinel, and the Inca halted, checking his salute. "Here, Mayta, thou 'rt unarmed. Take this." With his own hand he drew the soldier's sword and passed it to his companion. They hastened across another court filled with shuddering attendants, and through a third and smaller one to a narrow corridor along which they groped until halted by a door at its end. Manco hastily unbarred. It was a postern opening upon a terrace between the wall of the palace and the rivulet Huatenay. Opposite was a flight of steps leading to the bed of the stream, and they descended.
Meanwhile, within the walls of the Convent of the Virgins and in the street without, a hell-carnival was in progress too hideous to dwell upon. At the moment the Inca was passing through the outskirts of the city Juan Pizarro, mounted bareback, unarmored, and bareheaded, was charging into the tumult, followed by his brother Gonzalo and a few other cavaliers, sword in hand. Bellowing oaths, laying about with the flat of their blades, not infrequently with the edge, and leaping their horses upon the obstinate, they cut their way to the convent and rode in to rescue the unhappy inmates. Behind followed a dozen of the guard, only to throw aside their pikes and join in the fiendish revel, leaving their duty to the black-robed priests and friars who struggled through in their wake. One bore a crucifix; but the stout Valverde did better work with a bludgeon, breaking many a wicked face and ruffianly head in his career through the desecrated halls and gardens.
The night was far spent before the place was cleared, and its doors closed and guarded. Juan Pizarro was riding slowly back toward the square when a Cañare, who had lurked about the Spaniard for an hour in a vain effort to approach and be heard without a cleft skull for his pains, touched his leg and sprang back with hands upraised. Juan halted.
"Well?" he demanded brusquely, scowling at the Indio. "Hast business with me? If so, be brisk." The Cañare jabbered a stream of broken words in Quichua, not intelligible, but something, it seemed to be, about the Inca,—enough to arrest the attention of Juan Pizarro, and he demanded impatiently of his brother:—
"What saith the dog, Gonzalo? Canst make it out? Here, thou, say it over and slowly."
The Cañare repeated his words with better effect,—with immediate and startling effect, for Juan turned with a shout to his companions: "Dost hear, Gonzalo? Do ye hear, Caballeros? The Inca hath fled the city!" He kicked the ribs of his horse and galloped madly to the palace of Viracocha, across the great court and into the hall that served as a guard-room, filling it with the clamor of hoofs, and throwing its occupants into confusion. They seized their arms in a panic.
"Ho! The trumpeter!" he roared. "Out, and sound to horse! Out, and sound to horse!Presteza!Salta! To horse! To horse!" He went out like a whirlwind. Before he had reached his quarters the shrill, quick notes were rising from the square. Again, and again, and again the stirring measure, and the stable was alive with men, tossing saddles, tugging at straps, swearing, and panting in a frenzy. One after another, and by twos and threes, the mailed riders swung into saddle, seized lances from the rack, and clattered out into the plaza. The line formed rapidly, and the plunging, kicking, and head-tossing of the excited steeds had hardly subsided before it was in column and, led by Juan Pizarro, took up a trot behind the Cañare.
The gloomy walls of the violated convent were growing gray in the dawn as the cavalcade roared past down the narrow, echoing streets and through the suburbs.
It was late afternoon when the troop reëntered Cuzco. It moved at a walk, and hanging on the pommel of the commander's saddle was thellautuof the Inca Manco. In the foremost rank of the column was a trooper without his helmet, with a bloody bandage across his face below the eyes. A weapon had passed the bars of his visor. Farther back was another, shorn of a pauldron and his right arm useless. In the rear, two Cañares carried a third on an improvised litter, dead. But in the middle of the column, between double files of troopers, marched the Inca and the Lord Mayta, blood-stained, bandaged, their arms bound behind their backs. Horses, riders, and the two prisoners, were splashed with mud.
Manco walked with head erect, without a glance at the Cañares who hurried into the street as the cavalcade traversed the suburb Munaycenca. Nor did he more than glance at his grief-stricken subjects who cast themselves moaning upon the pavement. Not a line of his stern young face betrayed his emotion at entering the capital a prisoner, nor his torture of mind at the disaster thus befallen his people on the very eve of the stroke for their deliverance.
From Munaycenca the news flew ahead. Cañares gathered, too stolid for manifestation, and knots of Spaniards, whom a sign from Juan Pizarro warned into silence. But throughout the remainder of the march every door was closed, and no native of Cuzco looked out upon the fallen majesty of their Inca.
Crossing the bridge toward the Coricancha the column turned northward through the city, passing the palaces of the Yupanquis, of the Inca Rocca, the schools where Manco had won his youthful honors, and entered the road which mounted to the Sachsahuaman. The single company of pikemen constituting its garrison stood in front of the citadel, and to its commander Pizarro surrendered the prisoners. An hour later they were heavily ironed within the keep, and the troop was on its way back to Cuzco.
In the Amarucancha the hours had dragged in a long nightmare. After Manco's departure his lords remained, racked by the shocking sounds to which they listened in helplessness. The war-hardened old Quehuar paced the court. Yumaquilque stood motionless against the wall, his mantle over his face. The others hearkened in silence broken only by an occasional fierce, whispered sentence from Mocho. But from those dreadful hours they imbibed a relentless ferocity of hate for the invaders which no amount of Spanish blood could ever mitigate, and which in the days to follow would send many a conquistador unshriven to his Maker.
Upon the Auqui Paullo, young and uninured, the night's tragedy fell most cruelly; but the anguish of his sisters gathered in Rava's chamber, crouched in speechless horror, and surrounded by wailing maids, nerved him by its reminder of their dependence now upon him. By the time he had restored them to partial calmness the tumult beyond the walls had subsided.
As he stepped into the court again, he heard the call to horse; and a few minutes later, the uproar of the passing troop. The circumstance was alarming. It stirred a sudden fear that Manco's flight had been detected. Paullo sent a page to learn its significance. The youth did not return. He despatched a second, and sought Quehuar. He found the old general with the others in the council room, and had hardly entered before the second messenger returned to announce that a guard of pikemen was at the outer door, and he had not been permitted to pass. The palace was surrounded by guards, and all within were prisoners.
That night the humble native knelt at his evening prayer, shuddering at the infinite indifference of his god to the sorrows of Tavantinsuyu. As twilight came, a few muffled figures stole to the edge of the square, gazed in silence at the guarded doors and sombre walls of the Amarucancha, and slunk away. The capture of the Inca was told in whispers, stirring no cry for vengeance, no move to rescue. The calamity was as irremediable and appalling as if heaven itself had fallen. It was the wrath of Inti, not to be opposed.
A few days later, the nobles were permitted to depart: were, in the case of Quehuar and Yumaquilque, even compelled to go; for these two would have shared the captivity of Paullo and the household, whom the Pizarros retained as hostages for the quiet of the empire, whose patience under this latest blow they doubted.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Two Comrades Reunited
Never a knight rode forth with more of chivalry than dwelt beneath sturdy Pedro's breastplate when he set out in quest of Cristoval. He went with little hope of doing more than saying a few prayers at the grave of the cavalier and marking it with a cross; but for these offices he would have traversed a continent.
Cristoval lay beneath an awning at the villa of the Curaca Huallampo, well bolstered and pillowed, and bandaged to a condition of almost total rigidity. He was looking moodily over the sparkling lake when his reverie was disturbed by the approach of his host, accompanied, unmistakably accompanied, by the familiar sound of a peg. The cavalier was startled half erect, but sank back weakly as Pedro appeared with Huallampo. The cook was breathless from a climb of the hill at his utmost speed. At sight of his friend he increased his pace across the terrace, grasped the extended hand, but instead of speaking, compressed his lips as a spasm crossed his face. Roaring his words to conceal his unsteadiness of voice, he exclaimed:—
"Hola, Cristoval! Do I see thee in the flesh? Blessed Virgin, it is so! Why, man, I came to weep over thy grave! But 't is thou, in very truth!"
"God bless thee, Pedro," said Cristoval, with moistened eyes, pressing the cook's hand.
"So He hath done, old friend, in letting me see thee again. But,Santa Maria! thou 'lt wrapped, and swathed, and beragged, and swaddled, like a sore finger! Canst wiggle thy toes? Ah! 'T is a comfort. Any broken bones? No?Bueno! Just full of holes—pricked, punctured, pinked, and perforated! Hum! It might be worse. Thecuracasaith thou 'rt mending fast."
Cristoval nodded. "Pedro," he began anxiously, then stopped.
"Well, say on,amigo," said the cook, seating himself.
"Dost know—aught of Rava?"
"That I do! She is safe in the care of Father Tendilla."
Cristoval closed his eyes and turned away, his lips moving. Pedro eyed him curiously, and shook his head. Both were silent. "Tell me about it, Pedro," at last.
"Nay," said Pedro. "It is too long a story for the present. Thecuracawarneth me against much talking. Thou must be content to know that she is unharmed. Shortly I'll tell thee, and much history besides. But the Ñusta Rava is in good hands." Permitting no further conversation, he sat long, surveying the cavalier with great satisfaction while Huallampo gave him an inventory of the various hurts.
Cristoval's recovery had been much impeded by his condition of mind. Fever ensued after he had been carried from Maytalca's ruined villa, and for days he lay between life and death. His depression told seriously against him, and later, as he gained strength, his progress was further hindered by restless longing to be in search of Rava. Huallampo's admonitions availed little against his fuming, but he was somewhat reassured by knowing that a party had already gone to gain intelligence of the Ñusta. Pedro's coming with the knowledge that Rava was safe made his convalescence rapid. Still, it was weeks before he could rise, weeks more before he could stir abroad, and the summer was gone before Pedro would discuss their future plans. The party brought back word that Rava had left Xauxa for Cuzco. Cristoval was with Pedro when he received the information.
"Then she is with the Inca, and her troubles are past," he sighed. "Pedro, how long, thinkst thou, before I can mount?"
The cook looked at him sharply before replying. "That would depend," he said, presently, "upon thy purpose. Thou couldst amble about the valley to-morrow; but thou'lt not be fit to couch a lance for weeks to come, old friend, so make no plans for campaigning. What dost think of doing?"
"I must seek the Ñusta Rava," said Cristoval.
Pedro was not surprised, but said: "There will be danger for thee too near Cuzco, Cristoval, and not a man in the pack whom thou mayst trust. De Soto hath gone to the coast with the general, sick of the conquest and on his way to Spain. But when thou hast seen the Ñusta—what then?"
Cristoval looked at him earnestly. "After that—'t is a question. Help me with thy good head, Pedro. If she would flee with me to Xauxa we would go to Father Tendilla—" Cristoval paused.
"She would flee with thee to Xauxa, my head upon it!" replied Pedro, with assurance. "Or to the moon, or to the farthest star—couldst thou furnish transportation. But after Xauxa and Father Tendilla—what next?"
"Either refuge in some remote province of Tavantinsuyu, or Panama. We could harbor in some village near San Miguel until a ship came in; then get aboard in secret. Only one thought goeth against my conscience, and that is of the peril and hardship to which Rava would be again exposed. Ah,Madre! I know not, Pedro—I hesitate. This flight would be not only from Pizarro's men, but perhaps from the Inca as well. I doubt not that she could find faithful supporters in the venture—but it would be a struggle; to say naught of taking her from home, friends, and country, into another world. It is much to ask. But, what thinkst thou, old friend?"
"I think," replied Pedro, gravely, "that she could easier bear such suffering than her present sorrow. But you may not need to leave the country. The Inca may prove friendly."
"I fear his friendship would help little with Pizarro dominating."
"True!" said Pedro, shaking his head. "Thou must go to Panama—and thence to Spain, for thou'lt be safe no nearer. Now, weigh this for a plan: Thou'lt go to Cuzco. Doubtless Huallampo will furnish thee an escort. I will go with thee as far as Xauxa, wait for thy return with the Ñusta, then we will go to the coast together. I will watch at San Miguel for a ship, and will arrange thy passage with—the Señora de Peralta. I have some moderate savings, Cristoval,—enough to purchase the aid of a shipmaster. I can pay him double what he would get for thy head, and have some left to silence others. What sayst thou to't,amigo?"
Cristoval seized his hand, overcome with gratitude. "Pedro, thou'rt—"
"A cook!" interrupted Pedro, returning his grasp with sudden animation. "A cook shorn of a leg by the iniquity of Fate. A cook with but half his share of footprints. A pruned cook. A remnant. Naught more, Cristoval. But what thinkst thou of it?"
"By Saint Michael! Pedro, thou'rt—"
"A cook!" said Pedro again. "Let it go. Come! Discuss, comment, bandy a word or two about the plan. Thou 'rt staring like a choked calf."
Cristoval's face clouded. "It will not do, my good comrade," he said. "Thou must have no part in it, save with thy counsel. Thou hast already ventured too much for friendship's sake. The affair at Caxamalca might have cost thee dearly." Pedro had not told him of the thumbscrews. "And furthermore, I cannot use thy gold. I am penniless, and could never repay thee. Advise, and no more."
"Why, stew me to rags, Cristoval!" retorted Pedro, with irritation, "thou dost talk as if we were not friends."
"Nay! That is as far from my thoughts as from thine. But friendship—"
"Is friendship!" blurted the cook, and would hear no further objection. They considered it long and in detail; foresaw difficulties, and overcame them; wrought their plans into as great perfection as plans are often wrought—and in the event, as shall be seen, carried them as near to execution as human plans are often carried.
The project gave a fresh impulse to Cristoval's recovery. They disclosed their purpose to nobody, though to Huallampo and Maytalca the cavalier confided his wish to see the Ñusta Rava before leaving the country, and thecuracaproffered his aid. Markumi should go, and as many other men as needed, with supplies for the journey to Cuzco.
At last Pedro admitted grudgingly that his companion was fit to take the road; and against thecuraca'searnest advice they pushed their preparations.
When the time for departure was at hand Cristoval found many an unlooked-for pang. He was known to every man, woman, and child of the valley; was looked upon by them with reverence, endeared to them as the protector of their Ñusta, by his unfailing courtesy, simplicity, and helpful interest; and finally, by their sympathy when he was lying cut to pieces by the Cañares. All had received a kind word from the Viracocha Cristoval, and not one of them but must bid him farewell with a heart-felt wish that the Sun would brighten his way. When he took leave of Maytalca the lady wept frankly, murmuring a prayer for his welfare and a message of love to Rava when he should see her again. Thecuraca'sdaughters, who had sat many an hour at his bedside, were not less affected.
Clad in armor which Markumi's zeal had brought to the splendor of silver, Cristoval at last rode with Pedro through the crowded streets at the head of their few retainers. They were attended to the edge of the village by the people, and for a mile beyond by the oldcuraca, who bade them farewell with warm assurance that while a roof remained in Xilcala they should find there a welcome and refuge.
At the head of the canyon through which flowed Xilcala stream Cristoval halted for a final look at the valley, here to find the sharpest pang of all. He turned with a sigh from its tranquillity, its beauty, and the thousand recollections, and rode into the defile with a presentiment that in leaving its peace to enter the gloomy gorge was a foreshadowing of what lay before him.
CHAPTER XXIX
A March and Another Reunion
The march down the canyon of the Xilcala was rapid, and on the second day they were near its debouchment into the valley of the Maranon, close to the great national highway leading to Cuzco. After this they proceeded with the utmost circumspection. By the end of the fifth day they had passed Lake Chinchaycocha and halted at Carhuacaya, in the valley of the Xauxa. It was a hamlet of two dozen houses, regularly laid out and with the usualcampata, or square, on which stood the residence of thecuraca, where the two Viracochas were received for the night. Like many another village they passed, this had suffered severely at the hands of the ravaging Cañares who had followed Pizarro's march, and from Spaniards on their way to Cuzco, for recruits were already flowing in; but Pedro had stopped there on his way to Xilcala, and his reappearance was welcome.
On the following morning the party encountered an interruption wholly deranging their plans. Cristoval and Pedro were preparing for the journey when thecuracaentered, showing some embarrassment. He greeted them cordially, but advised them not to leave that day. In fact, it would be impossible. The roads were occupied. The town—it was distressing—was surrounded by the troops of the Inca! Pedro whistled.
"By the fighting San Miguel!" exploded Cristoval, in Spanish. "We are prisoners, Pedro! What sayst thou to that?"
Pedro sat down. "Why, stew me!—like the ancient Roman soldier who was hit in the belly by a stone from a catapult, I have very little to say."
"Viracochas," said thecuraca, earnestly, "I pray you have no uneasiness. The General Matopo commanding shall be informed of your rescue of the Ñusta Rava, Viracocha Cristoval, of which Markumi hath told me. That service will insure you against any danger soever."
"Danger! Then we might be in danger, is it so,Curaca? Are these troops marching against the Viracochas?"
"You will readily understand, Viracocha Cristoval, it is not permitted me to know."
Cristoval resumed his arming. "Well, it might be worse. If Pizarro had us pent in this fashion it would be a short shrift for me, Pedro, and belike, would call for some painful lying from thee to explain thine indiscretion in choice of company. But let us step out and see what is to be seen."
They found several Xilcalans at the outer door, watching a battalion just entering the square. The two Spaniards halted, struck by its martial appearance as it massed in the plaza.
An officer of middle age wearing a noble's ear ornaments was followed by a group of twenty or more, many with the same insignia, and all brilliant in the uniform of the Conibos, a northern tribe from the valley of the Huallaga. Beside the officer was thecuraca, talking earnestly. The party turned aside from the direct line of march to permit the passage of their column, and halted. Thecuracaapproached to summon the Spaniards.
The commander eyed the two mail-clad figures with interest, but the sight of Pedro's wooden leg required all his self-possession to avoid a display of astonishment. His salutation was not unfriendly, but the Spaniards were aware that they were prisoners. "Viracochas," said he, after thecuracahad presented them, "it seemeth an ill return for our indebtedness, of which thecuracainformeth me, but it is necessary that you accompany us. I assure you that one who hath befriended the Ñusta Rava need fear nothing more than inconvenience. Were it in my discretion I would not impose even that; but I am responsible for the secrecy of the movement of my troops and you will understand the necessity which compelleth me. In order, however, to avoid undue restraint, I will accept your words that you make no effort to escape."
"Thou mayst depend upon us, my lord," said Cristoval. "There is, however, one request. I have an escort of Xilcalans whom I count as friends. Will my lord permit that they accompany me?"
"Gladly," said the general, "if they so choose. We shall meet to-night, Viracochas. May the Sun guard you!"
He moved off with his officers, leaving one to follow with the two captives, and they hastened to saddle. Taking leave of thecuraca, they joined the waiting officer and, followed by the Xilcalans, fell into an interval between battalions.
The command went into bivouac late at night, and Matopo sent for his prisoners to join him at supper. Several subordinate officers shared the meal, and to them and to the old noble it was an incident, for these were the first they had seen of the Viracochas. Matopo soon became assured of Cristoval's sympathy with the cause of Rava's people, though the cavalier avoided direct expression, merely relating, at the general's request, the details of his association with Atahualpa and the subsequent enmity of Pizarro. When he remembered and drew forth the Inca's last gift, the fringe from the royalllautu, the effect was magical. The officers bent before it with reverence little less than the actual presence of the monarch would have inspired, and Cristoval found himself elevated to a dignity as great as it was unexpected. The half-forgotten trifle was a talisman.
"Viracocha Cristoval," said Matopo, gravely, as the cavalier replaced the potent cord, "thou bearest a warrant from the Inca. No man in Tavantinsuyu will withhold from it his recognition. It is a rare credential, and demandeth the confidence in its possessor reposed in him by the Inca himself. The Inca Atahualpa won his throne by arms, but he was the Inca. Thou hadst done well to show me the fringe this morning, but I will make what reparation is possible. Thou 'rt free, Viracocha."
This result was so unforeseen that Cristoval failed to comprehend the change in his situation, and the general repeated: "Thou 'rt free, Viracocha Cristoval, and I have only to ask that I be allowed to make thee amends."
"I thank thee, General Matopo. There hath been no inconvenience, for, as I have said, we were journeying toward Cuzco. But—my comrade?"
Matopo shook his head. "Mine authority can go no farther. I shall be compelled to retain him."
"Then with thy leave we will remain together."
Matopo's surprise was as evident as his relief. His relief was equal to his uneasiness, what there was of it, lest the secret movement of his troops might be imperilled by the Viracocha's liberation. "No need to ask my leave," he replied, quickly; "but you will go as my guests, and I believe I can promise that he will not be long deprived of his liberty."
Two weeks later the column approached the village of Abancay, where it would cross the river Apurimac. Cristoval and Pedro were walking with Matopo at the head of the main body, leading their steeds. As they neared the village they could see that it was occupied by the advance guard. As they descended into the plain a soldier came at top speed to announce that there were two Viracochas in the village, apparently not soldiers, and that there was some difficulty in securing them.
"Shall we ride forward, my Lord Matopo?" asked Cristoval.
"It would be well," replied the general, "else the Viracochas may lose their lives in resisting."
The two Spaniards were off at a gallop. The soldiers scattered before them, and they drew rein at the square. At the sight of the two Viracochas Pedro raised a shout:—
"The señora, by the infernal cook of cooks!—and Father Tendilla!"
The square was full of excited soldiers, leaving a swaying ring in the middle, occupied by the lady and the priest mounted on mules. The father had the reins of her steed, which was facing his own, plunging, rearing, and kicking incredibly at the surrounding line of Conibos who repelled it with their javelins. Its rider, clinging frantically to her pommel with one hand, half-blinded by her sombrero which had been jolted over her eyes, fitfully whirled her battle-axe with the other in fruitless efforts to reach the helmeted heads. She was red-faced, shaken, and storming. The poor priest, hatless and nearly unseated by every plunge of his companion's mule, tugged desperately at the reins, while half-a-dozen officers circled about, dodging the heels of the frenzied animal, and entirely helpless before a situation transcending their wildest dreams.
"Brava, Bolio!Brava, Bolio!" roared Pedro, pushing forward. "Strike for Spain!Cristo y San Miguel! Strike for Spain!Bravamente!"
At the familiar voice the axe ceased to whirl, and between plunges the señora tilted back her sombrero. "Pedro!" she shouted wildly, then gave attention to retaining her seat, while the mule delivered another succession of kicks. Cristoval motioned the soldiers back as he spurred into the ring. Pedro rode up, slipped his hand along the reins of her steed, seized them close to the bit, and stopped the plunging. Cristoval assisted the flustered lady to the ground, too breathless to speak. He quieted the blowing mule while Pedro and Father Tendilla dismounted. The former hastened to the agitated señora, and at last she was able to gasp:—
"Pedro—on my soul!—hast dropped from heaven?"
"Heaven forbid!" said Pedro, surveying her with concern. "I'm crippled enough as 't is. But thou 'rt unhurt?"
"Oh, these heathens!" panted the señora.
"I've known Christians who were worse," said Pedro. "But, art sound and whole?"
"If I could but have reached one of them! But, blessed name! how comest thou here, Pedro?"
"Prisoner of war—like thyself. Art uninjured?"
"Like myself!" snorted the lady. "Who hath made me a prisoner of war? Prisoner of fiddle-de-dee! Drum-sticks!" She glared vindictively at the wondering soldiery. "Let one of them bite his tongue at me!"
"Bueno! There are only five thousand," remarked Pedro. "But tell me, what dost thou here?"
"Oh, Pedro, I am going to Cuzco to see that angel of a girl! The father took it in mind to go, so I came with him—but such a time! He hath been as much care as a baby."
"Calm yourself, my dear Señora."
The señora sniffed scornfully. "Is that Peralta? I scarce knew him without his beard. He seemeth friendly enough with these fripperied Indians. He might be in better company—and so mightst thou, Pedro. 'T is little credit to you both."
"We are prisoners, Señora."
"Prisoners, forsooth! Well, if I were a man! But thou 'rt too good-natured, Pedro, for thine own good. And thou 'rt a love to rescue me," she added, tenderly.
Pedro stepped back a pace and looked uneasily about. "Nay, Señora Bolio," he said, hastily, "it was not I. It was Peralta. Wait. I'll call him."
"Oh, thou'rt so modest, Pedro! I tell thee, it was thou! But hold! God ha' mercy! I had almost forgotten to tell thee. Thou 'rt undone! They have entered thy lodging in Xauxa, broken into thy chests, and taken thy belongings."
"Furies and devils!" exclaimed the cook, sharply. "Who have?"
"Those runnion pikemen from the fortress."
At once flashed over him the use he had planned to make of his savings in aiding Cristoval to escape. He spun around once on his peg and swore with such violence that the cavalier and Father Tendilla hurried up.
"My son, my son!" cried the priest, placing a hand upon his shoulder. "Thy tongue is imperilling thy soul."
"Name of a saint, Pedro! What hath happened?" demanded Cristoval, anxiously.
"Happened!" shouted Pedro. "Scurviness hath happened. Thievery hath happened. Sack, plunder, housebreaking, and depredation have happened. Those rakehells of the infantry have robbed me. Oh, hoop me with hoops lest I burst before I've killed a pikeman!"
He ceased abruptly and went to his mule, leaving the señora to explain. She did so with brevity and emphasis, and Cristoval turned to the priest in disgust: "We've brought a mangy pack, Father Tendilla, to set loose upon these hapless people. They turn to robbing one another before they've done robbing the country." The father shook his head sadly, but made no reply.
The advance guard moved on, and Matopo passed with his officers, casting a curious glance at the señora as he bowed. She responded with a haughty inclination and compressed her lips. It required all the persuasive eloquence of her three countrymen to induce her to mount and enter the column; but finding separation from Pedro the alternative, she at last consented, declaring vigorously that the barbarian who undertook to make a prisoner of her would repent his insolence and remember the circumstance. She swung into her saddle, disdaining assistance, and they were soon on the march.
Now Cristoval's good heart was warmed by later news of Rava. He rode with Father Tendilla, listening with eagerness to the tale of her sojourn at Xauxa, given with detail and sympathy by the kindly old priest, who was glowing in his eulogies of the gentle proselyte. The cavalier's hundred repeated questions were patiently answered over and over, and before an hour Cristoval had unbosomed himself, candidly revealing his hope of escape with her from the country. The priest listened to the plan, and said:—
"Well, my son, it will be for the child a hazardous undertaking. However, it will be in the guidance of Heaven. I had thought the maiden might find refuge from her sorrows in a life of holiness, for which her spirit seemeth well adapted. If it be otherwise ordained, it would not beseem me to oppose, and I will do all in my power to further thy happiness and hers."
"I thank you, father," said Cristoval. "But do you know whether Rava is aware that I am living?"
"I know not. I have written to Father Valverde since I learned it from the youth whom thou didst send from Xilcala, but have had no reply. Cañares have been abroad, and communication uncertain. The messenger may not have passed them. I have come myself, therefore, thinking to bear the news, but it hath ended—thus,"—and he cast a look over the battalions.
"Doubtless we can send her word," said Cristoval. "Matopo saith she is likely to be at Yucay, where the Incas have a castle. I think we may reach her, good father."
"I pray it may be so, surely," replied Tendilla.
That night the command encamped on the elevated plain of Curahuasi, awaiting the morrow to cross the Apurimac. Before daylight it was moving again, and shortly the head of the column was threading its way down the wall of the chasm whence rose the faint murmur of the torrent, thousands of feet below. The trail seemed to Cristoval a mere scratch on the cliff. At his elbow rose the rock-mass, so steep that scarcely a shrub found clinging-place, while almost beneath his stirrup the precipice dropped away to an abyss. The descent, at first moderate, became so rapid as it zig-zagged from point to point that every step threatened to plunge horse and rider headlong. Generations of wayfarers had worn the rock treacherously smooth, and he presently dismounted to lead his horse. The others followed his example, and he heard the señora whimpering to Pedro. Gingerly now he went, hugging closely to points which so crowded the path that his saddlebow was scraped by the overhanging wall. In places the descent was by steps hewn into the granite, down which his horse blundered perilously, menaced at every slip by a hideous fall into vacancy. Cristoval's eyes were drawn to the brink in resistless fascination, and he crept along with shrinking soul. He heard Pedro muttering: "Martyred saints—and spirits damned! This is what cometh—of being a cook!"
They were hours descending, but the hours seemed days. At length the path lost itself in the blackness of a cavern-mouth. Cristoval found himself in a reverberating tunnel driven three hundred yards through living rock. Openings on the right admitted air and the growing thunder of the torrent. In the open again for another giddy, stumbling clamber down a hundred fathoms; and the bridge! Cristoval whispered a prayer. From a narrow shelf it swung out over the chasm in a long, sweeping curve to its anchorage on the farther side, a mere gossamer swaying in the breeze and vibrating fearfully beneath the soldiers' tread. Cristoval quailed within his steel at its frailty. From a huge windlass on the platform beside him stretched three cables of four or five inches in thickness, forming the support for the narrow floor. Above and on either side was a smaller cable connected with the floor supports by ropes, and serving as guard-rails, though the security afforded was largely moral, the vertical spaces between the cords being large enough to admit of a fall through at any point.
As Cristoval looked out over the quivering one hundred and fifty feet of fragility, listening to the lugubrious creaking of the cables at their anchorage, his hardihood slowly oozed. The bridge was now clear for his passage. He swore a little in undertone, piously consigned himself to the Virgin's keeping, and led off. His horse sniffed at the footway with deep-drawn breaths and long, tremulous expirations, but followed at his word. A stiff breeze was blowing up the canyon, swinging the structure rhythmically through an arc of six or eight feet, and Cristoval's brain reeled as he glanced at the sinister, whirling rush of green and foam bellowing a hundred feet below. Steadying his eyes on a point ahead, he picked his way out into the air. An age in crossing, but at last he neared the end. Here his weight and that of the horse shifted the sag of the cables so that the last few feet were a steep ascent with scant foothold; but he scrambled up, and with a sigh of relief, stood on solid ground. He looked back. Father Tendilla was following, leading his mule and holding his hat in place, the wind tossing and tearing at his robe, and the cavalier turned giddy again as he watched the old priest's slow advance over the narrow, swinging floor. Cristoval gave him a hand at the end, and fairly jerked him to safety on the shelf.
Pedro and the señora were to follow, and here occurred a pause. The lady balked. She seated herself on the windlass, swelling with negation.
"Cross that unholy thing of strings and straws, Pedro?" she exclaimed, indignantly. "Not if I were a spider! 'T is a device of the devil, and may the devil fly away with it, or roost upon it! It is no place for a Christian. I'll go round, and that's an end to 't!"
"Go round!" retorted Pedro, impatiently. "Thou'lt march four hundred leagues to go around, Señora."
"Then I'll go back."
"Impossible to go back. The trail is full."
"Then I'll sit here till 'tis empty."
"Oh, the fiend, woman! Dost not see they cannot pass for our mules? The column is waiting."
"Then let the column wait and twiddle its fingers! The column can wait till it turneth to a column of waiting mummies if it see fit, but I'll not put foot to that bridge!"
Pedro stared at her helplessly. The way was blocked. Ocallo with his mule was behind them, and the narrow platform was full, the column at a standstill, its head at a safe distance from the heels of the rearmost animal. Somewhere, Matopo was storming, his voice rising above the roar of the stream, and echoing and reëchoing weirdly between the granite walls. Cristoval was hailing, and shortly began to swear. The lady tossed her head, and pulling up a spear of grass, began to chew its end. Pedro laughed with exasperation; opened his mouth, but finding no expletives to fit the situation, closed it again and grew excessively red. The soldiers in the rear began to murmur. Pedro contained himself with an effort, and began sadly:—
"Well, so it must be, Señora!Adiós! I shall remember thee. I shall think of thee with a pang. I shall see thee ever in my darkest moments, sitting dreary amid the lonely majesty of the eternal mountains on an uncushioned windlass, a spear of grass thine only sustenance, whilst tempest and avalanche thunder about thee throughout the drift of years.Adiós, Señora! Thou'lt be in my dreams, a silent, graceful, but resolute form, waiting in solitude, holding the brittle remnants of a pair of reins; at thy feet a shrunken, staring, decayed cadaver of a mule, giving voiceless, desiccated testimony of thine inflexibility.Adiós!Adiós! I go. Come, thou, my steadfast and faithful steed, we obey the pointed finger of destiny.Fata nos nolentes trahunt!"
Pedro turned away, and straining to produce a sob, fetched a hiccough, and led to the bridge. The lady, at first bewildered by his burst of gloomy eloquence, then touched by the profound melancholy with which it was delivered, melted from determination to tenderness. As he stepped upon the floor she rose, glanced about despairingly, and shouted:—
"Hold, Pedro, thou dear love of a man! I follow! Wait for me, thou poor thing—and the fiend take the bridge and its makers if it serve me not across!"
But at the terror of the swaying structure she faltered, and Pedro turned. "Nay, Señora!" he cried, in a voice of sad but gentle deprecation, and raising his hand, "'t is too much. I ask it not. Turn back."
For answer she sat down, and in her desperation heedless of exposure of limb, began sliding down the steep incline, clutching and moaning plaintively, the feminine now wholly uppermost. At last she neared Pedro's mule, and he called:—
"Stand up, my dear, and grasp his tail."
"Oh—God's mercy!—he will kick!" she replied, in a shuddering wail.
"Nay, stew me! a fly would not venture to kick out here," answered Pedro, with feeling. "Seize his tail!"
She did so, and with many a piteous whine and gasp, was at length across the abyss.