CHAPTER XXXVIThe BarricadesThe fire had burned itself out and left two-thirds of Cuzco in ruins long before Cristoval was in condition to mount. In the meantime, it had required all of Pedro's persuasion, entreaty, expostulation, and threats, to keep him on his couch. Haunted by the conflagration and visions of Rava in the perils which he had just escaped, he taxed the cook's abundant patience to extremity. The Spaniards' daily sorties were inflicting heavy losses upon the Inca's devoted troops, most of whom, for the first time confronting cavalry and firearms, were led by ignorance into useless sacrifice. When Pedro brought accounts of these engagements the cavalier groaned and fumed, fumed and groaned, and at last declared vehemently that he would lie inactive no longer. The brunt of his unrest fell upon Pedro, for the old Morisco, having seen him in good hands, had stolen away with replenished quiver, to lurk among the ruins and spread death and terror among the ancient enemies of Granada.One day, intelligence came that the Sachsahuaman had been stormed by the Spaniards and taken. Juan Pizarro had lost his life leading the assault. Mocho and his Antis had been relieved a few days before, and Mayta, the new commander of the fortress, driven with a remnant of its defenders into the citadel, and seeing that the place was lost, had wrapped himself in his cloak and plunged from the battlements to death.Pedro brought the tidings,—a double sorrow to Cristoval, for Juan Pizarro had been steadfastly his friend. The cavalier rose abruptly. "Look thou, Pedro! To-morrow I ride. These poor devils of Indios are throwing brave lives away for want of knowledge. 'T is as if they were children dashing themselves over a precipice without warning. They know not even where a Spaniard is vulnerable in his armor. Why, man, were they mine enemies 't would sicken me to see them fight at such hopeless odds! And now, with Juan dead, Rava will be more than ever in danger. I go to-morrow."Pedro scrubbed his forehead vigorously and growled: "Cristoval, thou 'rt an unringed bull-calf, and I'm of a notion to choke-pear and strait-jacket thee. What canst do in thy condition? Thou'rt sore-footed from thy burns, and wilt shed thy blisters like a lizard his skin before thou 'rt in the saddle an hour. Thou 'rt bad enough, and not over-amusing as it is; but what wilt be with legs like two peeled carrots?""No worse than now," replied Cristoval, doggedly, "and at least not idle.""But what dost think to do?—to fight thy way to the Ñusta Rava?""That, if possible. At any rate, to teach these people that cavalry is not to be stopped with bodkins, nor chain-shot with wisps of straw.""Well," admitted Pedro, thoughtfully, "it would be a God's mercy."The next morning, with Markumi and Ocallo following, they made a long detour of the Peruvian lines to the camp of the Antis, east of the city. Although the ride was full of pain, the activity was a relief to Cristoval, and as the sun rose upon the valley full of martial sights and sounds, his spirits rose with it. Near midday they were guided to General Mocho, who was on the lines with his troops. They found him with a group of officers on a rise of ground in advance of his battalions, overlooking the ruined suburb, Toco Cachi. He hastened forward to meet them, greeting the cavalier with warmth. The latter lost no time in broaching the subject. Mocho interrupted to summon his officers. They gathered round, listening intently while the cavalier, with his usual brevity and clearness, laid the project before them.While Cristoval and Pedro refreshed themselves, Mocho went to the pavilion of the Inca on the heights east of the city. Soonchasquiswere flying to summon the generals in council.Evening came, with notes of evening calls from trumpets, conchs, and drums, and the movement of battalions relieving those on the line around the city. Then, night with its myriad stars, myriad fires on the hills, and silence. But in Cuzco's blackened purlieus the besiegers were toiling through the hours.Near midnight Cristoval returned with Pedro from observing the operations which his counsel had set afoot, to have a few hours' sleep. Toward morning he was roused by Pedro."Come, Cristoval! Up and helm. The thing's a-ready to simmer. Stir, man! Thou hast piped, bassooned, and hautboyed until the night hath shuddered and my mule hath wept. Stew me! Cristoval, had I a sleeping-voice like thine I'd gag myself with a saddle-bag, or wear a coffin for a night-robe. Wake up, thou scorched hurdy-gurdy! 'T is the prime hour of chilly misery and the last watch of ghosts and goblins. Ah, curse it! I would I were a barber, and no cook. See what it hath led to, this culinary art!Hola! Art awake at last? Well, here is a bite I've spread for thee. Eat, and ballast thy treason, since thou 'rt on treason bent, whilst I look to our saddles."He went out into the darkness where Ocallo and Markumi waited with their steeds, while Cristoval, now alive, attacked a cold luncheon laid by his thoughtful comrade. He finished hurriedly, and left the tent.The two Spaniards were quickly in saddle, and with Ocallo and Markumi following, crossed the camp toward the Antisuyu road. This highway, connecting the capital with the eastern provinces, becomes the street in which Cristoval and the Antis encountered the patrol on the first night of the fire. A few minutes' ride brought them to the road, now occupied by a waiting column. Turning toward the city, they were presently in its outskirts. Here they found Mocho with his staff, and dismounting to join them, Cristoval felt his arm touched. He glanced round and beheld a tall figure, clad and armed like the Antis, but wearing a turban."Abul Hassan!" exclaimed the cavalier, extending his hand. "I am rejoiced to see thee, old friend. Dost take part with us? I would thou hadst a horse and thine accoutrements.""With the help of Allah I shall have both before the sun setteth again," replied the Morisco, calmly. He motioned toward a group of twenty or more men with lassos standing near. "Thy herdsmen, Cristoval. I have heard of thine expedient—a most excellent one!""I pray it will prove so," said the other, "and that we soon shall see thee mounted. When equipped, seek us. We'll find thee occupation."The Morisco nodded grimly, and Cristoval and Pedro passed on to Mocho. In front were men at work in the darkness, and the general gave his hand, saying, "The task is well advanced, Viracocha Cristoval. Let us move forward."He led the way into the street, which had been made, in pursuance of Cristoval's instructions, a confusion, of half-burned timbers, pieces of furniture which had escaped the fire, and all manner ofdébris. Heaped, lashed together, and interlaced, they formed an entanglement difficult for men on foot, and for cavalry barely surmountable. The adobe walls on each side had been pierced with loopholes for the archers, and the side-streets barricaded against flanking.The party picked their way slowly, climbing over here, bending to pass under there, while Cristoval inspected, commended, or advised, until they had penetrated far into the suburb, where the workmen were still toiling. Until near dawn they directed the Antis pouring silently into the suburb and occupying the ruined buildings along the obstructed way. Cristoval saw the men with lassos properly placed, and the party returned to the outskirts.A few minutes later, a company of warriors made its way through the entanglement into the city, going forward to draw a Spanish attack.Cristoval and Pedro stood near the group around Mocho. The sky was light when far in the distant streets they heard the war-cry of the Antis. Immediately followed the hoarse shouts of the Spaniards, shots, and trumpets calling to arms. The sounds were faintly borne on the morning breeze, but full of portent, and echoed in many a warlike heart among the ruins of the suburbs. Mocho moved forward, giving Cristoval a wave of the hand as he passed, and a rustling and shuffling rose in the road back of where the two Spaniards stood as the waiting warriors took their places in column.As Cristoval mounted, he heard a grunt and a sigh from Pedro, then the creaking of the saddle as the cook swung from the ground, and the two picked their way slowly down the littered street. Arquebuses were crackling, and now, the heavier and sharper report of a falconet. The firing ceased, and arose the nearing din of cavalry. The decoying party of Antis was flying before it in a dash for the fatal entanglement upon which the Spaniards were blindly rushing. The Antis reached it; were dimly seen by Cristoval as they leaped into thedébris; then came the crash of breaking timbers when the pursuing troop struck the obstruction, a confusion of yells and Spanish shouts of warning, drowned by the war-cries of the tribesmen behind the walls as they delivered their terrible volley. A wild, tossing disarray of horses and riders, plunging and falling among the snapping beams, ridden over by the resistless torrent from behind. Men and animals down and struggling in the wreckage, crushed beneath those borne onward by the momentum of the charge, and assailed by the hordes of Antis rushing from the buildings. Riderless steeds, maddened by fear and wounds, careered wildly forward, or turned to the rear and added to the chaos. Troopers retaining their seats were blinded by the tempest of arrows and javelins, and could only shelter themselves behind their shields, bending low over saddle-bows to avoid the hail. Still they were forced on up the narrow, encumbered street, which roared with tumult indescribable.Now Cristoval heard a Spanish voice rising above the clamor: "Forward! Forward! Forward!" and the notes of a trumpet, broken and faltering before it could blow the command. The column must fight through, or be crushed by those in the rear. The leading riders pressed on, sabring at the multitude crowding from all sides. Cristoval advanced with Pedro to meet them. A lasso serpentined through the haze of flying arrows, settled over the foremost trooper, and jerked him from his saddle, to be lost among the Antis as if swallowed by the sea. Other sinuous lines shot out, fastening upon the Spaniards and dragging them to quick obliteration. Those in advance paused, fear-struck by a weapon against which their blades were powerless. They saw comrades totter and go down; turned in panic, and Cristoval was among them.Fell and relentless purpose in this cavalier; his arm nerved and strength doubled by thought of Rava. The nearest troopers, dismayed and disordered, opposed feeble resistance to the furious onslaught of Cristoval and his comrade; while those behind, aware of a new check to the advance, the cause of which they could not see, raised the cry, "To the rear!" It was caught up at once; and now, panic and disorder tenfold.As Cristoval fought he heard a cry rising shrill, "Allah il Allah! Allah il Allah!" and Abul Hassan was beside him, mounted on the steed of some fallen Spaniard. Into the fray the Morisco, reckless of want of armor, fighting with the ferocity of a demon.The retreat was more disastrous than the advance; but slowly the troop fought back to the open street, shook itself free, and fled. The jaunty sorties were to be made no more.At Hernando's council that night, once more glum taciturnity. From dawn there has been, on every hand, sharp repulse unexampled since the siege began: many saddles empty for result, and a general call for surgery. Every street by which many a brisk sally has been made in previous weeks, now impassable for cavalry; and barricades pushed within bowshot of the square. The abrupt change in the tactics of the besiegers is ominous. The presence of Peralta—for the identity of the cavalier seen, and felt, fighting among the Antis, is not doubted—is significant, and the price on his head is doubled.Toward evening Cristoval was joined by Pedro at the edge of the barricade. The cavalier had laid off his helmet and was begrimed to the roots of his hair with ashes and black dust from the charred timbers, his face streaked with perspiration, his reddened eyes gleaming strangely through their surrounding sootiness. He turned to his comrade and said with a grim smile:—"Aha! Pedro, we seem to have put them on the defensive, yonder in the square. What sayst thou?""Why, I say first," returned Pedro, eying him sharply, "that if I caught myself with a grin as weird as that of thine, I'd wear a wooden face as well as a wooden leg. Untwist thy features, man! Thou hast the look of a devil. Ah! Now, I'll reply to thine observation by saying that I'm hungry; and as for those knaves in the square, we have them where they will stay for a spell, or longer, without being told. So let us go and eat."Cristoval, about to reply, noted a sudden silence among the Antis. Every one of them was on his knees and bending toward the three or four nobles who had just drawn near."Madre! The Inca!" exclaimed Pedro, then he growled beneath his breath, "Now look at these pagans! Every man doubled up like a razor, and everything dropped without a word of warning! Suppose the Inca had come about this morning, Cristoval! We had been undone."Cristoval made no answer, for an officer recognized as Quehuar was beckoning.The two Spaniards halted a few paces from the monarch and saluted, awaiting his pleasure to speak. His countenance, more bronzed and sterner in its lines, wore a trace of friendliness not there before. The Inca studied the grim, murky visage of the cavalier before he spoke."Viracocha Cristoval," he said, at length, "General Mocho hath told me of thy gallantry to-day—and thine, Viracocha Pedro—and I see evidence here of thy zeal and soldierly skill. My warriors owe thee a measure of success and hope thus far wanting. What thou hast accomplished hath mine appreciation and gratitude, as hath all thou hast done hitherto. There is more that I would say to you, Viracochas, but at a fitter time. To-night you will sup with me, both."The Inca gave a hand to each, and turned to continue his tour of the suburbs.The two Spaniards supped with the Inca at dark, in the open, at a table lighted by a circle of fires. Of the score present several were officers met at Ollantaytambo; among the strangers the Villac Vmu, now in warrior's garb. A number besides Mocho bore marks of recent fighting. The formality imposed by the presence of the monarch was lacking, and he met his guests with a revelation of his personality unexpectedly agreeable to Cristoval. As guest of honor the cavalier had opportunity to correct the impression gained at their first interview, that the young potentate was a mere barbarous tyrant. By the end of the meal, when Manco pledged first him, then Pedro, clinking their cups ofchichawith his own, a friendliness was established which neither Cristoval nor his host could have foreseen.In quiet moods the resemblance of Manco to his sister Rava was pronounced, and there were moments acutely painful to Cristoval, when some inflection of the Inca's voice, some gesture, or an evanescent expression of his eyes, brought a quick vision of the loved one. But the Ñusta Rava was not mentioned. Indeed, the captives within the city were not referred to, nor any of the losses sustained since the beginning of the siege. This was demanded by Peruvian stoicism; and for all said that night the misfortunes of Tavantinsuyu might have been unfelt. As they scorned manifestation of physical pain, so they hid mental suffering beneath an exterior of grave impassibility.At Mocho's tent, some hours later, when Cristoval was taking leave for the night, the general said abruptly: "Viracocha Cristoval, thou hast done for us to-day that for which words cannot thank thee. I will not try. But the Antis, their officers, and their general, are thine. Command them. Lead them whither thou wilt, and thou'lt find the last living man of them behind thee."The cavalier replied with a grip of the hand. He had few words. But when he went to his quarters he felt a sudden hope. With those fierce battalions might he not search every nook of Cuzco? Mocho knew the object of his quest when he entered the burning city, and his tender was significant. That night there was little sleep for Cristoval.At dawn he sought the prisoners, found one whom he knew, and questioned him concerning the Ñusta Rava. Was she alive? Alive, and safe in the Acllahuasi with the rest of the royal household, Father Valverde guarding like a hawk. All had been removed from the Amarucancha before it burned, and the Acllahuasi was one of the few buildings to escape the conflagration.Cristoval waited to ask few more questions. With Mocho and Pedro he held council for an hour. At the end of it the two Spaniards mounted, and making a detour of the suburbs, entered the Rimac Pampa, crossed the Tullamayu, and reached the square called Coricancha, in front of the Temple of the Sun. This quarter was held by the Piros and Conibos, and once more Cristoval greeted Matopo, whom he had not seen since leaving the Urubamba. From the Coricancha a street led north to the square occupied by the Spaniards, and from the barricade thrown up by Matopo could be seen the Acllahuasi at the head of the thoroughfare, with the Amarucancha on its left, across the way. Plainly visible, also, was a Spanish breastwork defending the square, with a falconet scowling from its single embrasure.That night Cristoval and Mocho consulted with the Inca regarding the captives within the city.Day came with a heavy sky and threat of rain. During the morning sorties were attempted by the Spaniards, evidently for reconnaissance, for after brief skirmishing in the littered streets, the attacking parties withdrew. The afternoon was spent by Cristoval in making a tour of the suburbs with the Inca, inspecting the barricades, suggesting improvements, and perfecting or advancing the investment.With darkness came rain and a rising wind. The night would favor. Toward midnight Cristoval rode with Pedro to the Coricancha. The square was massed with Antis, and in advance, near the barricade across the street to the Acllahuasi, was a picked body, among them their general, equipped with captured arms and armor—a resolute band, which Cristoval surveyed with satisfaction.CHAPTER XXXVIIA Night Attack and a DeliveranceThe rain fell drearily, driven and swished by flaws of the wind, which, as the night deepened, increased to a gale, moaning and whistling mournfully through the ruins. The hours lagged, measured by the brusque challenging of the Spanish sentinels at each relief, distinctly heard above the storm. Still the cavalier withheld the word for the advance, biding the night's most sinister hour.He waited with apparent patience. But outwardly calm, within was a turbulence of mingled hope and anxiety, eagerness and doubt; throngs of dear anticipations, and clouds of dark misgivings. He was a lover with the possibility of meeting his beloved ere the night was spent; but while his heart palpitated at the thought, it sank at the attending uncertainties, and at all that must intervene. He turned abruptly, not daring to dwell upon a happiness so unassured. Mocho looked toward him. "Do we move, Viracocha Cristoval?""In God's name, yes! Let us go!"Mocho muttered a word to the nearest Antis; as it passed to the rear of the column a movement followed, barely audible. Cristoval unsheathed his sword and laid aside belt and scabbard. Pedro imitated with a sigh and murmured, "Well, this is what cometh of being a cook! Would I were—" He did not finish. He had muffled his peg, and followed the cavalier noiselessly as the latter stole out through a breach in the barricade to the open street. Mocho, Abul Hassan, and the squad of mail-clad Antis, were close behind; then, the main body. With the advance were two men armed with sledges.Cristoval moved forward in the darkness with caution, pausing at moments to bate his breath and listen. Along the wall of the roofless palace of the Priesthood of the Sun, past black doorways full of subdued echoings of the dismal plash and drip in the courts within, until they reached an intersecting street. Only this short distance covered! He seemed to have travelled an hour. Looking back he found his party close upon him, motionless, dimly seen in the faint light of the crossing. Forward again, counting his steps. Three hundred paces, and he halted. Here was the Acllahuasi, its thatch saved from the fire by miracle. On his left, the Amarucancha—blank walls with a few roof-timbers vaguely outlined against low-hanging clouds. The gate of the convent must be near, and he waited to allow the tribesmen to pass the barricade. The movement of those nearest him ceased; there was no sound from the rear, and for a time, as he stood looking back into the gloom, Cristoval feared the Antis were not following. A figure appeared before him as silently as a phantom, and stretching forth his hand, he felt a quilted tunic. At once another was beside him, and a third, and the cavalier could see the stealthy movement of hundreds, creeping forward with the still tread of pumas. Slowly they massed, and touching Pedro's arm, Cristoval advanced.In front, through the cleft between the black walls on either hand, was a pale flickering from the square, where the fires were struggling in the rain, ruddily lighting the mist when a blast started a few scattered sparks, subsiding to a feeble glow until the buildings melted into obscurity. He could descry the breastwork across the head of the street, and the embrasure from which a falconet commanded the approach. He looked in vain for a sentinel. But presently, the faint ring of a grounded halberd: the sentinel was there, and awake.Groping along the wall on his right, he came to a recess,—the gate! Pedro and Mocho halted beside him. Passing his hand over the doors, Cristoval felt the padlock, which rattled slightly under his trembling fingers, and he drew back. Mocho pushed the two sledge-men into the gateway, and they placed themselves with hammers poised.The Antis were now moving past, led by Abul Hassan, and a detail detached themselves and halted, ready to follow into the Acllahuasi. Minute after minute fled, and the warriors crept on toward the square, while Cristoval waited, shivering with excitement until he clenched his teeth to prevent their rattling. Hours, hours, he stood before the gates behind which he should find joy or despair, listening for what would be the signal. The movement of the Antis was hardly audible above the wind and rain, though as one after another brushed past he heard their breathing, strained with the tension of coming battle. The street was dense with them, their bent bodies and constrained, fearfully slow advance as expressive of fierce intentness as if it could be read in their faces. But, gods! would they never reach the square? Had the Morisco halted? Cristoval leaned forward and glanced up the street: a quivering level of brazen helmets, half luminous in the reflection from the firelit haze ahead.As he looked, a shout rose from the sentinel, hoarse and startled, cut short by the deafening war-cry of the Antis as they rushed."Strike! Strike!" shouted Cristoval, and the gates thundered and crashed under the sledges. Stroke after stroke fell upon the resonant panels, shattering them to fragments. The street bellowed and howled. From the square, wild shouts, the sharp blasts of a trumpet, the roar of the assaulting Antis. A shot, then a second, and a broken fusillade. A flash lighted the dripping walls, and an ear-stunning report rent the heavy air. The rampart was high, and before the Antis were over a soldier had seized a brand, rushed to the piece, uncovered the vent and fired. Unheeding wounds and death, the Antis were on the parapet, and the gun dismounted. They were over the work and into the square, driving the half-formed infantry before them. But for days no horse had been unsaddled, no trooper out of his armor. In a moment the earth was trembling with their onset, and the Antis were hurled back to the barricade. Here they stopped and fought, hand to hand. At other points, now, the yells and turmoil of assault, the flash and roar of guns. A few defences were carried, and the Peruvians plunged into the square, to be met and broken by flying squads of horse, driven back into the streets and slaughtered by the artillery.But the Antis held the rampart, and the gate of the Acllahuasi was broken through. Followed by Pedro, Mocho, and a score of warriors, Cristoval dashed into the enclosure. The darkness was pitchy, and he went headlong into a copse of shrubbery, stumbled through into a path, lost it at once, and lost himself in another thicket. Half a minute had separated him from his friends. He groped about in bewilderment, blundering on. Heard voices, and shouted: answered, as it seemed, from every point of the compass. One voice was Pedro's, but Heaven alone could have sent a clue to its direction. He was in a great garden, dark with foliage intersected by a maze of paths. He crashed forward into another gravelled walk, and brought up against a wall. He was across the enclosure, and felt a pavement beneath his feet. He could discern doorways, numbers of them, all alike; some open, with empty dark chambers, some closed. He followed to the right, trying the closed ones, finding them unlocked and the rooms vacant. No sign of life, and he hurried on with sinking heart, sick with the fear that he had come too late. The night was hideous with the clamor outside, but he gave little heed, intent only on his quest. He heard a step, and ran against someone in the gloom, who sprang back with a familiar exclamation and engaged him. "Pedro!" he shouted, and the cook responded: "Thou, Cristoval! Heaven be praised! Where the fiend are we? Where are the others?""Only the fiend knoweth. Come!" They hastened along, throwing open doors, but finding everywhere darkness and vacancy. Cristoval's hope was fast going. "Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" he muttered over and over. "Where is she? Rava! Rava!" he called. "Answer, in the name of Heaven!"Suddenly a gruff voice commanded in Spanish, "Halt!" Cristoval sprang forward. Again the summons, "Halt!" and a burly form loomed in the darkness with a mace raised to strike. "Halt! I command you in the name of the Holy Church!""Father Valverde!" cried the cavalier. "Hold, man! I am—"The mace descended with sturdy force, dexterously caught on Cristoval's buckler. In an instant the priest's heels were kicked from under him, and Cristoval strode past, while Pedro seated himself upon the prostrate ecclesiastic. Without hesitation Cristoval tried the door Valverde had been guarding. It was fast, and he hurled his weight against it. At the second assault it yielded, burst open at the next, and the cavalier found himself in a dimly-lighted room, facing a group of shrieking women clinging about one who confronted him with unwavering, courageous eyes, but with no sign of recognition.He stepped forward and halted, strove to speak, and failed, and stood overcome, while the women, made hysterical by the tumult beyond the convent walls, wailed at his dread appearance. He had forgotten his lowered visor, his bared sword, and the seeming menace of his attitude, and could only murmur hoarsely as he advanced: "Rava! Rava! Dost not know me—Cristoval?"She cowered away, glaring in terror and anger, but with no word. He halted again, and lost his voice, standing before her helpless in a sudden fear. "Rava!" he cried in desperation. "Rava! in God's name, child, hast forgotten me?"—Then thought of his visor and raised it.Her expression changed slowly to one of wonder and unbelief, and she raised her hand to her heart, growing suddenly more pallid. In the semi-darkness of the room she was uncertain until he spoke her name again. Then she stretched forth her hands, took a step forward, and sank with a sob into the arms of the Ñusta Ocllo.In a second Cristoval had her in his own, pressing his lips to hers, to her forehead, and to her eyes until she opened them; but quite too choked himself to speak—this stalwart cavalier!—and half blinded by something he feared she would see."Oh—is it thou, my Cristoval?" she murmured, raising her hand to touch his swarthy cheek, only half-convinced by her eyes. "Ah, my love, I thought thee forever lost!" and in a passion of weeping she put her arms about the steel-covered neck, pressing her cheek upon his breastplate, insensible to its cold and hardness, conscious only of a joy beyond belief.They were oblivious of those around them, of the din of battle coming through the open door; forgetful of all but one another, and might have remained fatally so, had not the Auqui Paullo rushed in, followed at once by Pedro and Father Valverde. The bishop had been disarmed, and was flaming with rage. The youth, wild-eyed, and pale with the excitement of the night, halted at the astounding spectacle of his sister embracing a Viracocha. Before he had recovered, Mocho dashed in and seized his arm."Auqui Paullo," cried the general, "there is no moment to lose! Assemble the women and get them to the gate. Hasten!"Mocho in armor was unrecognized. Paullo wrenched himself free and demanded angrily, "Who art thou?""Oh, Supay!—I am Mocho! Fly, Paullo!—Cristoval; do not tarry. Lead the Ñusta to the gate."Paullo stared for a second, then hurried out to collect the rest of the household. Mocho turned to the wailing women. Cristoval was gently forcing Rava toward the door when Father Valverde, as suspicious of the cavalier as of any other soldier, interposed. Planting himself in front of the two, he commanded sternly:—"Peralta, forbear! Release the maiden. She remaineth here."Cristoval surveyed him in astonishment and anger. "Remaineth here, priest! Art mad? Out of the way!""Release her!" commanded Valverde, advancing to restrain her. Cristoval interposed his buckler and thrust him roughly back."Release her!" thundered the bishop. "Pass me on pain of the wrath of the Church, her holy guardian! Rava, beware this man, and remember thy promise! Peralta, this maiden is for no man."The cavalier laughed in his face. "Stand aside!" he cried, savagely. "Thou'rt in peril, Valverde!"Valverde raised his hand in menace. "Excommunicabo te—" he began solemnly; and Cristoval blanched, then replied, fiercely:—"Excommunicate and be damned! I defy thee! By what right this interference? Aside! lest I forget thy gown." He strode past. Valverde, white with passion, would have sprung upon him, but Mocho, furious at delay, thrust himself between with his sword at the bishop's breast, his eyes blazing with vindictiveness. "Back, Viracocha, or by the great Inti, I will lay thee open!"Valverde recoiled, and Cristoval hurried to the door with Rava, followed by the women, whom Mocho drove after them with scant ceremony.They were soon at the gate with all of the household that could be collected. But many of the terrified women had hidden themselves, and there was no time to search. Outside, the conflict was still raging. The Antis were holding the breastwork with desperate valor and determination, Abul Hassan at the front, for the hour a madman, a Moslem fanatic: pity the Spaniard who came within reach of his terrible blade. Ocallo and Markumi, with the other armored Antis, fought beside him, tigers. At the gate the street was a mere madness of warriors struggling to the places of those who fell.Mocho and Cristoval forced themselves into the throng, leading the convoy of women surrounded by the detail which had followed into the Acllahuasi. It was minutes before they could make an avenue through the tribesmen, but at length they gave way, and leaving the two Spaniards to take the rescued to the rear, Mocho turned back to the rampart, which must be held until the women were in safety. Slowly Cristoval forged through the press, keeping close to the wall, and at length the worst was past. A hundred yards more, and they were at Matopo's barricade and through the breach: Rava was delivered from her peril.Cristoval sought her in the crowd of hysterical women, and reached her side. No time for words. He embraced her once, and before she knew his purpose he was gone. Now she was safe, his duty lay elsewhere. The Antis must be withdrawn.Once more to the front, crowding, staggering, almost fighting his way through the mass, Cristoval became aware that Pedro was behind. He turned and shouted into the cook's ear: "Back, Pedro! For the sake of Heaven, go to the rear!"There was scorn in Pedro's voice as he leaned forward and roared, "Infierno!"Of damnable obstinacy, this cook! Cristoval pushed on, every step more difficult. Here was an officer. The cavalier seized him by the shoulder, bellowing and gesticulating that the Antis must be retired. Hopeless! Mocho was at the front. Retreat and leave their general?Forward, then, the cavalier, and at last the breastwork. Here was hell's own fury. The work had been lost and retaken repeatedly by the Antis, and was half demolished, its crest a rampart of dead. Mocho's men had just been swept from it and the Spaniards were in the street. The square and its approaches at other points had been cleared, and many of the troopers had dismounted to fight here. Their weight had turned the tide, and Mocho had lost some dozen yards. Cristoval reached the point of contact, Pedro close behind and roaring a battle-cry. In the pressure, the foremost of the foes fought shield against shield in a swaying, howling death-struggle of men bereft of reason, the more horrible for the darkness. Cristoval could see nothing, or, vaguely, a wild surging around him. Knew that he was in touch with the enemy only when his buckler rang with the blow of a mace. Then he fought.For the rest, a mere delirium, hardly to be remembered. He heard Mocho's war-cry, the Morisco's howl, and knew they were alive. Pedro was beside him. Their two fresh blades in the narrow thoroughfare turned the tide once more, slowly at first, then with a rush, and Cristoval was atop of the breastwork. Battled here a brief minute, and was hurled back by a fresh charge from the square—but with the memory of having seen a spark of fire!A spark of fire! Trivial! But what if it were a lighted gunner's match?Cristoval gave voice. Found Mocho, and roared a warning. A Spanish trumpet was blowing the recall, and the charge had been arrested. Mocho was ordering back his men, but as well shout at a mountain torrent. They bore forward with resistless pressure, and Cristoval was forced against the rampart, fighting them back and shouting with all the strength of his lungs. Futile! They passed and were mounting the rampart. As he stood on thedébrisat the foot of the scarp he was head and shoulders above the work, and glancing up, saw again the spark of fire, just as he felt himself seized by a strong hand and dragged back toward the wall of the Acllahuasi. Pedro shouted something, drowned by an explosion that shook the earth, and in the flash he saw—horror not to be told. A gun had been dragged to the top of the breastwork and fired in the very faces of the Antis.Horror not to be told, not to be imagined, while falconet and arquebus raked the street. Pedro held the cavalier with firm grip as they crouched beneath the spurts and flashes of the fire overhead, their ears benumbed by the repeated shocks.At length the rush and yells of the retreating Antis died away, and the arquebus-fire was stopped; but the falconet still roared, though with longer intervals between the shots. Cristoval counted the seconds intervening. There would be time enough to allow a dash to the gate of the Acllahuasi, where they would have cover until the firing ceased. He spoke to Pedro,—no fear of being overheard, for the night was full of voices raised in every intonation which agony could wrench from human lips. Between explosions they reached the gate through the stinging atmosphere, but as they turned into its shelter Cristoval halted his comrade with a hand upon his arm. From the enclosure came the sound of Spanish voices, and lights were flitting. Valverde had reported the invasion, and the place had been entered through another door. A party was coming toward the gate. No alternative, then, but to keep the street, count the seconds, and before each discharge, throw themselves upon the pavement behind their bucklers. These, faced with steel, might deflect the slugs and fragments with which the gun was charged.The intervals lengthened to near a minute, the firing being a mere warning against renewed attack; and the street had not ceased to reverberate after the next explosion before the two were away. Poor Pedro's speed was not high, and Cristoval moderated his own, counting as he ran. "Down!" he cried, at the limit of the period of safety, and they went upon the ground full length. Now the report, and the deadly blast flew over. Cristoval was up and speeding, the cook close in his rear, then down once more and waiting with nerves a-quiver. Again the report, but this time with a thick patter of the projectiles on every hand as the charge spread with the increase of range. With a call to Pedro, the cavalier sprang to his feet and dashed on. Twice more he dropped and covered himself: gained the barricade, and was through the breach. He turned with a shout to his comrade. There was no reply.Cristoval called again, answered by the moaning of the wind, a sound unnoticed since they had left the barricade, he could not have said how many hours ago. Some one laid hand upon his shoulder:—Mocho, bandaged. Cristoval gave his hand a silent pressure, and shouted again. There was a flash far up the street, the report, and the barricade sputtered. Antis gathered round, and the cavalier turned to them, seeking hope against despair."Hath he been seen—the Viracocha Pedro? Quick!—hath he been seen?"They communed among themselves, and the question was passed back. Mocho answered after a silence, but Cristoval was straining his eyes toward the square. He knew the reply before the question had left his lips. "God have mercy! I fear for him!" he was muttering. "Oh, God have mercy!"Once more the street flashed and roared, and Cristoval started forward. Mocho halted him."Stay, friend!" cried the general. "Hast lost thy mind? Whither?""I must find him," said Cristoval, and was gone.The way was littered with wounded and dead, grewsome obstacles over which he stumbled as he crouched along, groping among the bodies for one in steel, but counting with diligence. He had not gone twenty paces before Mocho was beside him. The cavalier dragged him into a doorway: "Lord Mocho, thou must return!""With thee: not before!" replied the general. The falconet spoke again. Cristoval stood irresolute, then exclaimed: "Rashness, my lord!—but I am grateful. Come! Keep close, and drop at my word."They sallied forth on their desperate, almost hopeless errand, searching for a few brief, fevered seconds, then prone to wait for the deadly flurry. Thus they proceeded slowly, far up the street. The interval between the shots had grown—near five minutes, was the cavalier's rough guess—and they covered the ground more rapidly. At last the firing ceased. The searchers were in front of the Acllahuasi, and turned back. They must hasten, for dawn was at hand, and through the powder-smoke the mangled forms on the pavement were indistinctly visible, a grievous sight to Mocho. Should the veil lift, the hunt would end abruptly. Now, however, it went on without interruption.Somewhere near the cross-street a suppressed exclamation from the cavalier drew Mocho to his side. He was bending over a prostrate form in armor, and the general, as he neared, heard a sound very like a sob. Pedro lay face downward and quite still, but as Cristoval gently rolled him over he groaned slightly, and they knew him to be alive. Silently they raised him and started on their return.In the last few minutes the light had grown appreciably, and the street was almost clear of smoke. In the direction of the square they heard voices: a Spanish search-party, looking for their own wounded. Cristoval glanced back, and they pressed on. The barricade was but a few yards away when there was a shout near the Acllahuasi. They had been observed. Another shout, and the report of an arquebus.—Poor marksmanship, thought Cristoval. A second shot, and a ball struck the pavement close by, and with a vicious sing and spat hit the barricade. A third, and Cristoval stumbled to his knees with a quick catch of breath. He staggered up at once, his face white. "It is naught," he replied hurriedly to Mocho's startled question, and glanced anxiously at Pedro, from whom the jolt had started a groan.They passed the barricade, laid their burden on the ground, and kneeling beside him, Cristoval rapidly removed the armor. There was a ragged hole through Pedro's corselet beneath his right arm, one more ragged and terrible in his side where a projectile had torn its way, but a hasty examination showed that it had passed entirely through. Cristoval worked quickly, cutting away the clothing, and while water and bandages were being sought, laid aside his own helmet, conscious that a numbness in his shoulder had given place to pain. But he finished with Pedro's wound, and rose, somewhat giddy, to ask assistance in disarming. Matopo was beside him. Cristoval grasped his arm."She is safe, Matopo—the Ñusta Rava?" demanded the cavalier. "Speak! Thou hast seen her in safety?""She is safe, Viracocha Cristoval," answered an even voice behind him, and turning, he beheld the Inca. Paullo was at his side, and near by, a group of nobles. Manco extended his hand and continued: "She is safe—I thank the great Inti, and thee!"Cristoval took the proffered hand, but the reaction from hours of strain was upon him, with the realization that he had found his love and led her out of danger. The agony of months was ended. "Sapa Inca," he began, unsteadily, but could say no more, and Manco, as he released his hand, felt it shaking.The young monarch eyed him gravely, his sombre eyes growing thoughtful, then kindly, when he said as if in obedience to an impulse:—"Viracocha, should I try to tell thee my gratitude the words could but make it seem unequal to thy gallant service. Once, I offered thee a gift. Now, I offer thee another which hath no value but the honor which it beareth with it, and the esteem which I wish it to express." He drew from his bosom allautu, woven of vari-colored cords and threads of gold and silver. Braided in the fringe were strands of the imperial red of which his own diadem was made. He stepped forward, and pausing slightly, said, "I beg thou wilt accept it, Viracocha Cristoval."The cavalier replied earnestly, with a quick rise of color, "My Lord Inca Manco, I accept it most gratefully and proudly.""Then I make thee an Inca of Tavantinsuyu by Privilege," said the monarch, and placed thellautuupon Cristoval's head. He touched the red in the fringe. "This, my Lord Cristoval, I bestow as a mark of especial confidence. Thou knowest its significance and power, for I am not the first to give it thee." He turned to Pedro. "For thy brave comrade I shall find another expression of my gratitude. He must be brought to my headquarters, where there are tents for you both." He made a slight gesture to stay Cristoval's words of thanks, and giving his hand once more, added: "The Ñusta Rava, my lord, will thank thee for herself."As the Inca moved away, his nobles gathered round the cavalier with words of friendship. Paullo had taken both his hands, saying something eagerly, but his voice seemed strangely far away. The earth was rolling and whirling, and Cristoval heard some one exclaim, "Great Inti, he is hurt!" Mocho was supporting him, and he knew no more.They found a wounded shoulder, not dangerous, but much blood had flowed, as they discovered by his saturated clothing.
CHAPTER XXXVI
The Barricades
The fire had burned itself out and left two-thirds of Cuzco in ruins long before Cristoval was in condition to mount. In the meantime, it had required all of Pedro's persuasion, entreaty, expostulation, and threats, to keep him on his couch. Haunted by the conflagration and visions of Rava in the perils which he had just escaped, he taxed the cook's abundant patience to extremity. The Spaniards' daily sorties were inflicting heavy losses upon the Inca's devoted troops, most of whom, for the first time confronting cavalry and firearms, were led by ignorance into useless sacrifice. When Pedro brought accounts of these engagements the cavalier groaned and fumed, fumed and groaned, and at last declared vehemently that he would lie inactive no longer. The brunt of his unrest fell upon Pedro, for the old Morisco, having seen him in good hands, had stolen away with replenished quiver, to lurk among the ruins and spread death and terror among the ancient enemies of Granada.
One day, intelligence came that the Sachsahuaman had been stormed by the Spaniards and taken. Juan Pizarro had lost his life leading the assault. Mocho and his Antis had been relieved a few days before, and Mayta, the new commander of the fortress, driven with a remnant of its defenders into the citadel, and seeing that the place was lost, had wrapped himself in his cloak and plunged from the battlements to death.
Pedro brought the tidings,—a double sorrow to Cristoval, for Juan Pizarro had been steadfastly his friend. The cavalier rose abruptly. "Look thou, Pedro! To-morrow I ride. These poor devils of Indios are throwing brave lives away for want of knowledge. 'T is as if they were children dashing themselves over a precipice without warning. They know not even where a Spaniard is vulnerable in his armor. Why, man, were they mine enemies 't would sicken me to see them fight at such hopeless odds! And now, with Juan dead, Rava will be more than ever in danger. I go to-morrow."
Pedro scrubbed his forehead vigorously and growled: "Cristoval, thou 'rt an unringed bull-calf, and I'm of a notion to choke-pear and strait-jacket thee. What canst do in thy condition? Thou'rt sore-footed from thy burns, and wilt shed thy blisters like a lizard his skin before thou 'rt in the saddle an hour. Thou 'rt bad enough, and not over-amusing as it is; but what wilt be with legs like two peeled carrots?"
"No worse than now," replied Cristoval, doggedly, "and at least not idle."
"But what dost think to do?—to fight thy way to the Ñusta Rava?"
"That, if possible. At any rate, to teach these people that cavalry is not to be stopped with bodkins, nor chain-shot with wisps of straw."
"Well," admitted Pedro, thoughtfully, "it would be a God's mercy."
The next morning, with Markumi and Ocallo following, they made a long detour of the Peruvian lines to the camp of the Antis, east of the city. Although the ride was full of pain, the activity was a relief to Cristoval, and as the sun rose upon the valley full of martial sights and sounds, his spirits rose with it. Near midday they were guided to General Mocho, who was on the lines with his troops. They found him with a group of officers on a rise of ground in advance of his battalions, overlooking the ruined suburb, Toco Cachi. He hastened forward to meet them, greeting the cavalier with warmth. The latter lost no time in broaching the subject. Mocho interrupted to summon his officers. They gathered round, listening intently while the cavalier, with his usual brevity and clearness, laid the project before them.
While Cristoval and Pedro refreshed themselves, Mocho went to the pavilion of the Inca on the heights east of the city. Soonchasquiswere flying to summon the generals in council.
Evening came, with notes of evening calls from trumpets, conchs, and drums, and the movement of battalions relieving those on the line around the city. Then, night with its myriad stars, myriad fires on the hills, and silence. But in Cuzco's blackened purlieus the besiegers were toiling through the hours.
Near midnight Cristoval returned with Pedro from observing the operations which his counsel had set afoot, to have a few hours' sleep. Toward morning he was roused by Pedro.
"Come, Cristoval! Up and helm. The thing's a-ready to simmer. Stir, man! Thou hast piped, bassooned, and hautboyed until the night hath shuddered and my mule hath wept. Stew me! Cristoval, had I a sleeping-voice like thine I'd gag myself with a saddle-bag, or wear a coffin for a night-robe. Wake up, thou scorched hurdy-gurdy! 'T is the prime hour of chilly misery and the last watch of ghosts and goblins. Ah, curse it! I would I were a barber, and no cook. See what it hath led to, this culinary art!Hola! Art awake at last? Well, here is a bite I've spread for thee. Eat, and ballast thy treason, since thou 'rt on treason bent, whilst I look to our saddles."
He went out into the darkness where Ocallo and Markumi waited with their steeds, while Cristoval, now alive, attacked a cold luncheon laid by his thoughtful comrade. He finished hurriedly, and left the tent.
The two Spaniards were quickly in saddle, and with Ocallo and Markumi following, crossed the camp toward the Antisuyu road. This highway, connecting the capital with the eastern provinces, becomes the street in which Cristoval and the Antis encountered the patrol on the first night of the fire. A few minutes' ride brought them to the road, now occupied by a waiting column. Turning toward the city, they were presently in its outskirts. Here they found Mocho with his staff, and dismounting to join them, Cristoval felt his arm touched. He glanced round and beheld a tall figure, clad and armed like the Antis, but wearing a turban.
"Abul Hassan!" exclaimed the cavalier, extending his hand. "I am rejoiced to see thee, old friend. Dost take part with us? I would thou hadst a horse and thine accoutrements."
"With the help of Allah I shall have both before the sun setteth again," replied the Morisco, calmly. He motioned toward a group of twenty or more men with lassos standing near. "Thy herdsmen, Cristoval. I have heard of thine expedient—a most excellent one!"
"I pray it will prove so," said the other, "and that we soon shall see thee mounted. When equipped, seek us. We'll find thee occupation."
The Morisco nodded grimly, and Cristoval and Pedro passed on to Mocho. In front were men at work in the darkness, and the general gave his hand, saying, "The task is well advanced, Viracocha Cristoval. Let us move forward."
He led the way into the street, which had been made, in pursuance of Cristoval's instructions, a confusion, of half-burned timbers, pieces of furniture which had escaped the fire, and all manner ofdébris. Heaped, lashed together, and interlaced, they formed an entanglement difficult for men on foot, and for cavalry barely surmountable. The adobe walls on each side had been pierced with loopholes for the archers, and the side-streets barricaded against flanking.
The party picked their way slowly, climbing over here, bending to pass under there, while Cristoval inspected, commended, or advised, until they had penetrated far into the suburb, where the workmen were still toiling. Until near dawn they directed the Antis pouring silently into the suburb and occupying the ruined buildings along the obstructed way. Cristoval saw the men with lassos properly placed, and the party returned to the outskirts.
A few minutes later, a company of warriors made its way through the entanglement into the city, going forward to draw a Spanish attack.
Cristoval and Pedro stood near the group around Mocho. The sky was light when far in the distant streets they heard the war-cry of the Antis. Immediately followed the hoarse shouts of the Spaniards, shots, and trumpets calling to arms. The sounds were faintly borne on the morning breeze, but full of portent, and echoed in many a warlike heart among the ruins of the suburbs. Mocho moved forward, giving Cristoval a wave of the hand as he passed, and a rustling and shuffling rose in the road back of where the two Spaniards stood as the waiting warriors took their places in column.
As Cristoval mounted, he heard a grunt and a sigh from Pedro, then the creaking of the saddle as the cook swung from the ground, and the two picked their way slowly down the littered street. Arquebuses were crackling, and now, the heavier and sharper report of a falconet. The firing ceased, and arose the nearing din of cavalry. The decoying party of Antis was flying before it in a dash for the fatal entanglement upon which the Spaniards were blindly rushing. The Antis reached it; were dimly seen by Cristoval as they leaped into thedébris; then came the crash of breaking timbers when the pursuing troop struck the obstruction, a confusion of yells and Spanish shouts of warning, drowned by the war-cries of the tribesmen behind the walls as they delivered their terrible volley. A wild, tossing disarray of horses and riders, plunging and falling among the snapping beams, ridden over by the resistless torrent from behind. Men and animals down and struggling in the wreckage, crushed beneath those borne onward by the momentum of the charge, and assailed by the hordes of Antis rushing from the buildings. Riderless steeds, maddened by fear and wounds, careered wildly forward, or turned to the rear and added to the chaos. Troopers retaining their seats were blinded by the tempest of arrows and javelins, and could only shelter themselves behind their shields, bending low over saddle-bows to avoid the hail. Still they were forced on up the narrow, encumbered street, which roared with tumult indescribable.
Now Cristoval heard a Spanish voice rising above the clamor: "Forward! Forward! Forward!" and the notes of a trumpet, broken and faltering before it could blow the command. The column must fight through, or be crushed by those in the rear. The leading riders pressed on, sabring at the multitude crowding from all sides. Cristoval advanced with Pedro to meet them. A lasso serpentined through the haze of flying arrows, settled over the foremost trooper, and jerked him from his saddle, to be lost among the Antis as if swallowed by the sea. Other sinuous lines shot out, fastening upon the Spaniards and dragging them to quick obliteration. Those in advance paused, fear-struck by a weapon against which their blades were powerless. They saw comrades totter and go down; turned in panic, and Cristoval was among them.
Fell and relentless purpose in this cavalier; his arm nerved and strength doubled by thought of Rava. The nearest troopers, dismayed and disordered, opposed feeble resistance to the furious onslaught of Cristoval and his comrade; while those behind, aware of a new check to the advance, the cause of which they could not see, raised the cry, "To the rear!" It was caught up at once; and now, panic and disorder tenfold.
As Cristoval fought he heard a cry rising shrill, "Allah il Allah! Allah il Allah!" and Abul Hassan was beside him, mounted on the steed of some fallen Spaniard. Into the fray the Morisco, reckless of want of armor, fighting with the ferocity of a demon.
The retreat was more disastrous than the advance; but slowly the troop fought back to the open street, shook itself free, and fled. The jaunty sorties were to be made no more.
At Hernando's council that night, once more glum taciturnity. From dawn there has been, on every hand, sharp repulse unexampled since the siege began: many saddles empty for result, and a general call for surgery. Every street by which many a brisk sally has been made in previous weeks, now impassable for cavalry; and barricades pushed within bowshot of the square. The abrupt change in the tactics of the besiegers is ominous. The presence of Peralta—for the identity of the cavalier seen, and felt, fighting among the Antis, is not doubted—is significant, and the price on his head is doubled.
Toward evening Cristoval was joined by Pedro at the edge of the barricade. The cavalier had laid off his helmet and was begrimed to the roots of his hair with ashes and black dust from the charred timbers, his face streaked with perspiration, his reddened eyes gleaming strangely through their surrounding sootiness. He turned to his comrade and said with a grim smile:—
"Aha! Pedro, we seem to have put them on the defensive, yonder in the square. What sayst thou?"
"Why, I say first," returned Pedro, eying him sharply, "that if I caught myself with a grin as weird as that of thine, I'd wear a wooden face as well as a wooden leg. Untwist thy features, man! Thou hast the look of a devil. Ah! Now, I'll reply to thine observation by saying that I'm hungry; and as for those knaves in the square, we have them where they will stay for a spell, or longer, without being told. So let us go and eat."
Cristoval, about to reply, noted a sudden silence among the Antis. Every one of them was on his knees and bending toward the three or four nobles who had just drawn near.
"Madre! The Inca!" exclaimed Pedro, then he growled beneath his breath, "Now look at these pagans! Every man doubled up like a razor, and everything dropped without a word of warning! Suppose the Inca had come about this morning, Cristoval! We had been undone."
Cristoval made no answer, for an officer recognized as Quehuar was beckoning.
The two Spaniards halted a few paces from the monarch and saluted, awaiting his pleasure to speak. His countenance, more bronzed and sterner in its lines, wore a trace of friendliness not there before. The Inca studied the grim, murky visage of the cavalier before he spoke.
"Viracocha Cristoval," he said, at length, "General Mocho hath told me of thy gallantry to-day—and thine, Viracocha Pedro—and I see evidence here of thy zeal and soldierly skill. My warriors owe thee a measure of success and hope thus far wanting. What thou hast accomplished hath mine appreciation and gratitude, as hath all thou hast done hitherto. There is more that I would say to you, Viracochas, but at a fitter time. To-night you will sup with me, both."
The Inca gave a hand to each, and turned to continue his tour of the suburbs.
The two Spaniards supped with the Inca at dark, in the open, at a table lighted by a circle of fires. Of the score present several were officers met at Ollantaytambo; among the strangers the Villac Vmu, now in warrior's garb. A number besides Mocho bore marks of recent fighting. The formality imposed by the presence of the monarch was lacking, and he met his guests with a revelation of his personality unexpectedly agreeable to Cristoval. As guest of honor the cavalier had opportunity to correct the impression gained at their first interview, that the young potentate was a mere barbarous tyrant. By the end of the meal, when Manco pledged first him, then Pedro, clinking their cups ofchichawith his own, a friendliness was established which neither Cristoval nor his host could have foreseen.
In quiet moods the resemblance of Manco to his sister Rava was pronounced, and there were moments acutely painful to Cristoval, when some inflection of the Inca's voice, some gesture, or an evanescent expression of his eyes, brought a quick vision of the loved one. But the Ñusta Rava was not mentioned. Indeed, the captives within the city were not referred to, nor any of the losses sustained since the beginning of the siege. This was demanded by Peruvian stoicism; and for all said that night the misfortunes of Tavantinsuyu might have been unfelt. As they scorned manifestation of physical pain, so they hid mental suffering beneath an exterior of grave impassibility.
At Mocho's tent, some hours later, when Cristoval was taking leave for the night, the general said abruptly: "Viracocha Cristoval, thou hast done for us to-day that for which words cannot thank thee. I will not try. But the Antis, their officers, and their general, are thine. Command them. Lead them whither thou wilt, and thou'lt find the last living man of them behind thee."
The cavalier replied with a grip of the hand. He had few words. But when he went to his quarters he felt a sudden hope. With those fierce battalions might he not search every nook of Cuzco? Mocho knew the object of his quest when he entered the burning city, and his tender was significant. That night there was little sleep for Cristoval.
At dawn he sought the prisoners, found one whom he knew, and questioned him concerning the Ñusta Rava. Was she alive? Alive, and safe in the Acllahuasi with the rest of the royal household, Father Valverde guarding like a hawk. All had been removed from the Amarucancha before it burned, and the Acllahuasi was one of the few buildings to escape the conflagration.
Cristoval waited to ask few more questions. With Mocho and Pedro he held council for an hour. At the end of it the two Spaniards mounted, and making a detour of the suburbs, entered the Rimac Pampa, crossed the Tullamayu, and reached the square called Coricancha, in front of the Temple of the Sun. This quarter was held by the Piros and Conibos, and once more Cristoval greeted Matopo, whom he had not seen since leaving the Urubamba. From the Coricancha a street led north to the square occupied by the Spaniards, and from the barricade thrown up by Matopo could be seen the Acllahuasi at the head of the thoroughfare, with the Amarucancha on its left, across the way. Plainly visible, also, was a Spanish breastwork defending the square, with a falconet scowling from its single embrasure.
That night Cristoval and Mocho consulted with the Inca regarding the captives within the city.
Day came with a heavy sky and threat of rain. During the morning sorties were attempted by the Spaniards, evidently for reconnaissance, for after brief skirmishing in the littered streets, the attacking parties withdrew. The afternoon was spent by Cristoval in making a tour of the suburbs with the Inca, inspecting the barricades, suggesting improvements, and perfecting or advancing the investment.
With darkness came rain and a rising wind. The night would favor. Toward midnight Cristoval rode with Pedro to the Coricancha. The square was massed with Antis, and in advance, near the barricade across the street to the Acllahuasi, was a picked body, among them their general, equipped with captured arms and armor—a resolute band, which Cristoval surveyed with satisfaction.
CHAPTER XXXVII
A Night Attack and a Deliverance
The rain fell drearily, driven and swished by flaws of the wind, which, as the night deepened, increased to a gale, moaning and whistling mournfully through the ruins. The hours lagged, measured by the brusque challenging of the Spanish sentinels at each relief, distinctly heard above the storm. Still the cavalier withheld the word for the advance, biding the night's most sinister hour.
He waited with apparent patience. But outwardly calm, within was a turbulence of mingled hope and anxiety, eagerness and doubt; throngs of dear anticipations, and clouds of dark misgivings. He was a lover with the possibility of meeting his beloved ere the night was spent; but while his heart palpitated at the thought, it sank at the attending uncertainties, and at all that must intervene. He turned abruptly, not daring to dwell upon a happiness so unassured. Mocho looked toward him. "Do we move, Viracocha Cristoval?"
"In God's name, yes! Let us go!"
Mocho muttered a word to the nearest Antis; as it passed to the rear of the column a movement followed, barely audible. Cristoval unsheathed his sword and laid aside belt and scabbard. Pedro imitated with a sigh and murmured, "Well, this is what cometh of being a cook! Would I were—" He did not finish. He had muffled his peg, and followed the cavalier noiselessly as the latter stole out through a breach in the barricade to the open street. Mocho, Abul Hassan, and the squad of mail-clad Antis, were close behind; then, the main body. With the advance were two men armed with sledges.
Cristoval moved forward in the darkness with caution, pausing at moments to bate his breath and listen. Along the wall of the roofless palace of the Priesthood of the Sun, past black doorways full of subdued echoings of the dismal plash and drip in the courts within, until they reached an intersecting street. Only this short distance covered! He seemed to have travelled an hour. Looking back he found his party close upon him, motionless, dimly seen in the faint light of the crossing. Forward again, counting his steps. Three hundred paces, and he halted. Here was the Acllahuasi, its thatch saved from the fire by miracle. On his left, the Amarucancha—blank walls with a few roof-timbers vaguely outlined against low-hanging clouds. The gate of the convent must be near, and he waited to allow the tribesmen to pass the barricade. The movement of those nearest him ceased; there was no sound from the rear, and for a time, as he stood looking back into the gloom, Cristoval feared the Antis were not following. A figure appeared before him as silently as a phantom, and stretching forth his hand, he felt a quilted tunic. At once another was beside him, and a third, and the cavalier could see the stealthy movement of hundreds, creeping forward with the still tread of pumas. Slowly they massed, and touching Pedro's arm, Cristoval advanced.
In front, through the cleft between the black walls on either hand, was a pale flickering from the square, where the fires were struggling in the rain, ruddily lighting the mist when a blast started a few scattered sparks, subsiding to a feeble glow until the buildings melted into obscurity. He could descry the breastwork across the head of the street, and the embrasure from which a falconet commanded the approach. He looked in vain for a sentinel. But presently, the faint ring of a grounded halberd: the sentinel was there, and awake.
Groping along the wall on his right, he came to a recess,—the gate! Pedro and Mocho halted beside him. Passing his hand over the doors, Cristoval felt the padlock, which rattled slightly under his trembling fingers, and he drew back. Mocho pushed the two sledge-men into the gateway, and they placed themselves with hammers poised.
The Antis were now moving past, led by Abul Hassan, and a detail detached themselves and halted, ready to follow into the Acllahuasi. Minute after minute fled, and the warriors crept on toward the square, while Cristoval waited, shivering with excitement until he clenched his teeth to prevent their rattling. Hours, hours, he stood before the gates behind which he should find joy or despair, listening for what would be the signal. The movement of the Antis was hardly audible above the wind and rain, though as one after another brushed past he heard their breathing, strained with the tension of coming battle. The street was dense with them, their bent bodies and constrained, fearfully slow advance as expressive of fierce intentness as if it could be read in their faces. But, gods! would they never reach the square? Had the Morisco halted? Cristoval leaned forward and glanced up the street: a quivering level of brazen helmets, half luminous in the reflection from the firelit haze ahead.
As he looked, a shout rose from the sentinel, hoarse and startled, cut short by the deafening war-cry of the Antis as they rushed.
"Strike! Strike!" shouted Cristoval, and the gates thundered and crashed under the sledges. Stroke after stroke fell upon the resonant panels, shattering them to fragments. The street bellowed and howled. From the square, wild shouts, the sharp blasts of a trumpet, the roar of the assaulting Antis. A shot, then a second, and a broken fusillade. A flash lighted the dripping walls, and an ear-stunning report rent the heavy air. The rampart was high, and before the Antis were over a soldier had seized a brand, rushed to the piece, uncovered the vent and fired. Unheeding wounds and death, the Antis were on the parapet, and the gun dismounted. They were over the work and into the square, driving the half-formed infantry before them. But for days no horse had been unsaddled, no trooper out of his armor. In a moment the earth was trembling with their onset, and the Antis were hurled back to the barricade. Here they stopped and fought, hand to hand. At other points, now, the yells and turmoil of assault, the flash and roar of guns. A few defences were carried, and the Peruvians plunged into the square, to be met and broken by flying squads of horse, driven back into the streets and slaughtered by the artillery.
But the Antis held the rampart, and the gate of the Acllahuasi was broken through. Followed by Pedro, Mocho, and a score of warriors, Cristoval dashed into the enclosure. The darkness was pitchy, and he went headlong into a copse of shrubbery, stumbled through into a path, lost it at once, and lost himself in another thicket. Half a minute had separated him from his friends. He groped about in bewilderment, blundering on. Heard voices, and shouted: answered, as it seemed, from every point of the compass. One voice was Pedro's, but Heaven alone could have sent a clue to its direction. He was in a great garden, dark with foliage intersected by a maze of paths. He crashed forward into another gravelled walk, and brought up against a wall. He was across the enclosure, and felt a pavement beneath his feet. He could discern doorways, numbers of them, all alike; some open, with empty dark chambers, some closed. He followed to the right, trying the closed ones, finding them unlocked and the rooms vacant. No sign of life, and he hurried on with sinking heart, sick with the fear that he had come too late. The night was hideous with the clamor outside, but he gave little heed, intent only on his quest. He heard a step, and ran against someone in the gloom, who sprang back with a familiar exclamation and engaged him. "Pedro!" he shouted, and the cook responded: "Thou, Cristoval! Heaven be praised! Where the fiend are we? Where are the others?"
"Only the fiend knoweth. Come!" They hastened along, throwing open doors, but finding everywhere darkness and vacancy. Cristoval's hope was fast going. "Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" he muttered over and over. "Where is she? Rava! Rava!" he called. "Answer, in the name of Heaven!"
Suddenly a gruff voice commanded in Spanish, "Halt!" Cristoval sprang forward. Again the summons, "Halt!" and a burly form loomed in the darkness with a mace raised to strike. "Halt! I command you in the name of the Holy Church!"
"Father Valverde!" cried the cavalier. "Hold, man! I am—"
The mace descended with sturdy force, dexterously caught on Cristoval's buckler. In an instant the priest's heels were kicked from under him, and Cristoval strode past, while Pedro seated himself upon the prostrate ecclesiastic. Without hesitation Cristoval tried the door Valverde had been guarding. It was fast, and he hurled his weight against it. At the second assault it yielded, burst open at the next, and the cavalier found himself in a dimly-lighted room, facing a group of shrieking women clinging about one who confronted him with unwavering, courageous eyes, but with no sign of recognition.
He stepped forward and halted, strove to speak, and failed, and stood overcome, while the women, made hysterical by the tumult beyond the convent walls, wailed at his dread appearance. He had forgotten his lowered visor, his bared sword, and the seeming menace of his attitude, and could only murmur hoarsely as he advanced: "Rava! Rava! Dost not know me—Cristoval?"
She cowered away, glaring in terror and anger, but with no word. He halted again, and lost his voice, standing before her helpless in a sudden fear. "Rava!" he cried in desperation. "Rava! in God's name, child, hast forgotten me?"—Then thought of his visor and raised it.
Her expression changed slowly to one of wonder and unbelief, and she raised her hand to her heart, growing suddenly more pallid. In the semi-darkness of the room she was uncertain until he spoke her name again. Then she stretched forth her hands, took a step forward, and sank with a sob into the arms of the Ñusta Ocllo.
In a second Cristoval had her in his own, pressing his lips to hers, to her forehead, and to her eyes until she opened them; but quite too choked himself to speak—this stalwart cavalier!—and half blinded by something he feared she would see.
"Oh—is it thou, my Cristoval?" she murmured, raising her hand to touch his swarthy cheek, only half-convinced by her eyes. "Ah, my love, I thought thee forever lost!" and in a passion of weeping she put her arms about the steel-covered neck, pressing her cheek upon his breastplate, insensible to its cold and hardness, conscious only of a joy beyond belief.
They were oblivious of those around them, of the din of battle coming through the open door; forgetful of all but one another, and might have remained fatally so, had not the Auqui Paullo rushed in, followed at once by Pedro and Father Valverde. The bishop had been disarmed, and was flaming with rage. The youth, wild-eyed, and pale with the excitement of the night, halted at the astounding spectacle of his sister embracing a Viracocha. Before he had recovered, Mocho dashed in and seized his arm.
"Auqui Paullo," cried the general, "there is no moment to lose! Assemble the women and get them to the gate. Hasten!"
Mocho in armor was unrecognized. Paullo wrenched himself free and demanded angrily, "Who art thou?"
"Oh, Supay!—I am Mocho! Fly, Paullo!—Cristoval; do not tarry. Lead the Ñusta to the gate."
Paullo stared for a second, then hurried out to collect the rest of the household. Mocho turned to the wailing women. Cristoval was gently forcing Rava toward the door when Father Valverde, as suspicious of the cavalier as of any other soldier, interposed. Planting himself in front of the two, he commanded sternly:—
"Peralta, forbear! Release the maiden. She remaineth here."
Cristoval surveyed him in astonishment and anger. "Remaineth here, priest! Art mad? Out of the way!"
"Release her!" commanded Valverde, advancing to restrain her. Cristoval interposed his buckler and thrust him roughly back.
"Release her!" thundered the bishop. "Pass me on pain of the wrath of the Church, her holy guardian! Rava, beware this man, and remember thy promise! Peralta, this maiden is for no man."
The cavalier laughed in his face. "Stand aside!" he cried, savagely. "Thou'rt in peril, Valverde!"
Valverde raised his hand in menace. "Excommunicabo te—" he began solemnly; and Cristoval blanched, then replied, fiercely:—
"Excommunicate and be damned! I defy thee! By what right this interference? Aside! lest I forget thy gown." He strode past. Valverde, white with passion, would have sprung upon him, but Mocho, furious at delay, thrust himself between with his sword at the bishop's breast, his eyes blazing with vindictiveness. "Back, Viracocha, or by the great Inti, I will lay thee open!"
Valverde recoiled, and Cristoval hurried to the door with Rava, followed by the women, whom Mocho drove after them with scant ceremony.
They were soon at the gate with all of the household that could be collected. But many of the terrified women had hidden themselves, and there was no time to search. Outside, the conflict was still raging. The Antis were holding the breastwork with desperate valor and determination, Abul Hassan at the front, for the hour a madman, a Moslem fanatic: pity the Spaniard who came within reach of his terrible blade. Ocallo and Markumi, with the other armored Antis, fought beside him, tigers. At the gate the street was a mere madness of warriors struggling to the places of those who fell.
Mocho and Cristoval forced themselves into the throng, leading the convoy of women surrounded by the detail which had followed into the Acllahuasi. It was minutes before they could make an avenue through the tribesmen, but at length they gave way, and leaving the two Spaniards to take the rescued to the rear, Mocho turned back to the rampart, which must be held until the women were in safety. Slowly Cristoval forged through the press, keeping close to the wall, and at length the worst was past. A hundred yards more, and they were at Matopo's barricade and through the breach: Rava was delivered from her peril.
Cristoval sought her in the crowd of hysterical women, and reached her side. No time for words. He embraced her once, and before she knew his purpose he was gone. Now she was safe, his duty lay elsewhere. The Antis must be withdrawn.
Once more to the front, crowding, staggering, almost fighting his way through the mass, Cristoval became aware that Pedro was behind. He turned and shouted into the cook's ear: "Back, Pedro! For the sake of Heaven, go to the rear!"
There was scorn in Pedro's voice as he leaned forward and roared, "Infierno!"
Of damnable obstinacy, this cook! Cristoval pushed on, every step more difficult. Here was an officer. The cavalier seized him by the shoulder, bellowing and gesticulating that the Antis must be retired. Hopeless! Mocho was at the front. Retreat and leave their general?
Forward, then, the cavalier, and at last the breastwork. Here was hell's own fury. The work had been lost and retaken repeatedly by the Antis, and was half demolished, its crest a rampart of dead. Mocho's men had just been swept from it and the Spaniards were in the street. The square and its approaches at other points had been cleared, and many of the troopers had dismounted to fight here. Their weight had turned the tide, and Mocho had lost some dozen yards. Cristoval reached the point of contact, Pedro close behind and roaring a battle-cry. In the pressure, the foremost of the foes fought shield against shield in a swaying, howling death-struggle of men bereft of reason, the more horrible for the darkness. Cristoval could see nothing, or, vaguely, a wild surging around him. Knew that he was in touch with the enemy only when his buckler rang with the blow of a mace. Then he fought.
For the rest, a mere delirium, hardly to be remembered. He heard Mocho's war-cry, the Morisco's howl, and knew they were alive. Pedro was beside him. Their two fresh blades in the narrow thoroughfare turned the tide once more, slowly at first, then with a rush, and Cristoval was atop of the breastwork. Battled here a brief minute, and was hurled back by a fresh charge from the square—but with the memory of having seen a spark of fire!
A spark of fire! Trivial! But what if it were a lighted gunner's match?
Cristoval gave voice. Found Mocho, and roared a warning. A Spanish trumpet was blowing the recall, and the charge had been arrested. Mocho was ordering back his men, but as well shout at a mountain torrent. They bore forward with resistless pressure, and Cristoval was forced against the rampart, fighting them back and shouting with all the strength of his lungs. Futile! They passed and were mounting the rampart. As he stood on thedébrisat the foot of the scarp he was head and shoulders above the work, and glancing up, saw again the spark of fire, just as he felt himself seized by a strong hand and dragged back toward the wall of the Acllahuasi. Pedro shouted something, drowned by an explosion that shook the earth, and in the flash he saw—horror not to be told. A gun had been dragged to the top of the breastwork and fired in the very faces of the Antis.
Horror not to be told, not to be imagined, while falconet and arquebus raked the street. Pedro held the cavalier with firm grip as they crouched beneath the spurts and flashes of the fire overhead, their ears benumbed by the repeated shocks.
At length the rush and yells of the retreating Antis died away, and the arquebus-fire was stopped; but the falconet still roared, though with longer intervals between the shots. Cristoval counted the seconds intervening. There would be time enough to allow a dash to the gate of the Acllahuasi, where they would have cover until the firing ceased. He spoke to Pedro,—no fear of being overheard, for the night was full of voices raised in every intonation which agony could wrench from human lips. Between explosions they reached the gate through the stinging atmosphere, but as they turned into its shelter Cristoval halted his comrade with a hand upon his arm. From the enclosure came the sound of Spanish voices, and lights were flitting. Valverde had reported the invasion, and the place had been entered through another door. A party was coming toward the gate. No alternative, then, but to keep the street, count the seconds, and before each discharge, throw themselves upon the pavement behind their bucklers. These, faced with steel, might deflect the slugs and fragments with which the gun was charged.
The intervals lengthened to near a minute, the firing being a mere warning against renewed attack; and the street had not ceased to reverberate after the next explosion before the two were away. Poor Pedro's speed was not high, and Cristoval moderated his own, counting as he ran. "Down!" he cried, at the limit of the period of safety, and they went upon the ground full length. Now the report, and the deadly blast flew over. Cristoval was up and speeding, the cook close in his rear, then down once more and waiting with nerves a-quiver. Again the report, but this time with a thick patter of the projectiles on every hand as the charge spread with the increase of range. With a call to Pedro, the cavalier sprang to his feet and dashed on. Twice more he dropped and covered himself: gained the barricade, and was through the breach. He turned with a shout to his comrade. There was no reply.
Cristoval called again, answered by the moaning of the wind, a sound unnoticed since they had left the barricade, he could not have said how many hours ago. Some one laid hand upon his shoulder:—Mocho, bandaged. Cristoval gave his hand a silent pressure, and shouted again. There was a flash far up the street, the report, and the barricade sputtered. Antis gathered round, and the cavalier turned to them, seeking hope against despair.
"Hath he been seen—the Viracocha Pedro? Quick!—hath he been seen?"
They communed among themselves, and the question was passed back. Mocho answered after a silence, but Cristoval was straining his eyes toward the square. He knew the reply before the question had left his lips. "God have mercy! I fear for him!" he was muttering. "Oh, God have mercy!"
Once more the street flashed and roared, and Cristoval started forward. Mocho halted him.
"Stay, friend!" cried the general. "Hast lost thy mind? Whither?"
"I must find him," said Cristoval, and was gone.
The way was littered with wounded and dead, grewsome obstacles over which he stumbled as he crouched along, groping among the bodies for one in steel, but counting with diligence. He had not gone twenty paces before Mocho was beside him. The cavalier dragged him into a doorway: "Lord Mocho, thou must return!"
"With thee: not before!" replied the general. The falconet spoke again. Cristoval stood irresolute, then exclaimed: "Rashness, my lord!—but I am grateful. Come! Keep close, and drop at my word."
They sallied forth on their desperate, almost hopeless errand, searching for a few brief, fevered seconds, then prone to wait for the deadly flurry. Thus they proceeded slowly, far up the street. The interval between the shots had grown—near five minutes, was the cavalier's rough guess—and they covered the ground more rapidly. At last the firing ceased. The searchers were in front of the Acllahuasi, and turned back. They must hasten, for dawn was at hand, and through the powder-smoke the mangled forms on the pavement were indistinctly visible, a grievous sight to Mocho. Should the veil lift, the hunt would end abruptly. Now, however, it went on without interruption.
Somewhere near the cross-street a suppressed exclamation from the cavalier drew Mocho to his side. He was bending over a prostrate form in armor, and the general, as he neared, heard a sound very like a sob. Pedro lay face downward and quite still, but as Cristoval gently rolled him over he groaned slightly, and they knew him to be alive. Silently they raised him and started on their return.
In the last few minutes the light had grown appreciably, and the street was almost clear of smoke. In the direction of the square they heard voices: a Spanish search-party, looking for their own wounded. Cristoval glanced back, and they pressed on. The barricade was but a few yards away when there was a shout near the Acllahuasi. They had been observed. Another shout, and the report of an arquebus.—Poor marksmanship, thought Cristoval. A second shot, and a ball struck the pavement close by, and with a vicious sing and spat hit the barricade. A third, and Cristoval stumbled to his knees with a quick catch of breath. He staggered up at once, his face white. "It is naught," he replied hurriedly to Mocho's startled question, and glanced anxiously at Pedro, from whom the jolt had started a groan.
They passed the barricade, laid their burden on the ground, and kneeling beside him, Cristoval rapidly removed the armor. There was a ragged hole through Pedro's corselet beneath his right arm, one more ragged and terrible in his side where a projectile had torn its way, but a hasty examination showed that it had passed entirely through. Cristoval worked quickly, cutting away the clothing, and while water and bandages were being sought, laid aside his own helmet, conscious that a numbness in his shoulder had given place to pain. But he finished with Pedro's wound, and rose, somewhat giddy, to ask assistance in disarming. Matopo was beside him. Cristoval grasped his arm.
"She is safe, Matopo—the Ñusta Rava?" demanded the cavalier. "Speak! Thou hast seen her in safety?"
"She is safe, Viracocha Cristoval," answered an even voice behind him, and turning, he beheld the Inca. Paullo was at his side, and near by, a group of nobles. Manco extended his hand and continued: "She is safe—I thank the great Inti, and thee!"
Cristoval took the proffered hand, but the reaction from hours of strain was upon him, with the realization that he had found his love and led her out of danger. The agony of months was ended. "Sapa Inca," he began, unsteadily, but could say no more, and Manco, as he released his hand, felt it shaking.
The young monarch eyed him gravely, his sombre eyes growing thoughtful, then kindly, when he said as if in obedience to an impulse:—
"Viracocha, should I try to tell thee my gratitude the words could but make it seem unequal to thy gallant service. Once, I offered thee a gift. Now, I offer thee another which hath no value but the honor which it beareth with it, and the esteem which I wish it to express." He drew from his bosom allautu, woven of vari-colored cords and threads of gold and silver. Braided in the fringe were strands of the imperial red of which his own diadem was made. He stepped forward, and pausing slightly, said, "I beg thou wilt accept it, Viracocha Cristoval."
The cavalier replied earnestly, with a quick rise of color, "My Lord Inca Manco, I accept it most gratefully and proudly."
"Then I make thee an Inca of Tavantinsuyu by Privilege," said the monarch, and placed thellautuupon Cristoval's head. He touched the red in the fringe. "This, my Lord Cristoval, I bestow as a mark of especial confidence. Thou knowest its significance and power, for I am not the first to give it thee." He turned to Pedro. "For thy brave comrade I shall find another expression of my gratitude. He must be brought to my headquarters, where there are tents for you both." He made a slight gesture to stay Cristoval's words of thanks, and giving his hand once more, added: "The Ñusta Rava, my lord, will thank thee for herself."
As the Inca moved away, his nobles gathered round the cavalier with words of friendship. Paullo had taken both his hands, saying something eagerly, but his voice seemed strangely far away. The earth was rolling and whirling, and Cristoval heard some one exclaim, "Great Inti, he is hurt!" Mocho was supporting him, and he knew no more.
They found a wounded shoulder, not dangerous, but much blood had flowed, as they discovered by his saturated clothing.