CHAPTER XXXVIIIA Tie of Mingled BloodCristoval became languidly conscious of the swaying of a litter; then he was being lifted to a couch in a tent softly aglow with morning sunshine, and heard friendly voices around him. He opened his eyes, and with an effort whispered an inquiry for Pedro."He is being cared for, my lord," said an officer, bending over. "He is badly hurt, but hath asked for you. Otherwise, his mind seemeth to wander, for he muttered something which Markumi translated as a request to be stewed. We did not heed him, Lord Cristoval."Cristoval smiled faintly and dozed again.When he awoke the tent had grown dim with the declining day. As he lay with partly open eyes he became aware of clasping something in his hand that pressed his own and trembled. He raised it weakly, and his eyes travelled from a wrist to a rounded arm. A face hovered over him, lovely as a vision, with dark eyes deep with tenderness and solicitude."Rava!" he whispered; and she knelt, pressing her cheek against his own, her form, as he passed his arm around her, quivering with a passion of joy. He would have spoken, but she pressed her fingers upon his lips, murmuring an injunction and nestling closer. Cristoval was content, and lay marvelling that contentment could be so perfect.But if he could not speak, he could listen, and he hearkened to whispered words, mere incoherencies, broken by faintest of sighs, coming from the depths of a heart which beat with love without reserve. They are not to be set down here, those sweet, disordered fragments, nor are their like to be comprehended save by the ear into which they are breathed.The interview was short. A mere swift glimpse of happiness, and she had torn herself away, lingering in a final caress, and gone. Cristoval was left with the memory of her presence and touch, ineffably sweet, until submerged in the pain of helpless longing.The next morning the old man who attended him brought news. Pedro was low, and his chances for recovery not yet determined, but there was hope. Abul Hassan had crept into Matopo's barricade during the night, mortally hurt. Ocallo and Markumi had both been wounded, the former seriously. Not a man in contact with the Spaniards came out unscathed, and the total losses of the night were grave. What the enemy had sustained could only be guessed, but they had since lain inactive, though apparently doubly vigilant, and strengthening their defences.Before midday Rava came with Paullo and remained an hour or more. She forbade Cristoval's speaking, and talked little herself, but it may be said that the silence was not constrained. The day dragged after her departure, but the cavalier slept, and was without fever. The following day they came again, and Rava remained long. By a blessed fortune Paullo was called away on three several occasions, and the moments were not lost. Still she permitted few words, touching his lips and bidding him wait. As she left she looked back with a swift, bright glance, full of some meaning which he could not fathom, but withal, most agreeable to remember. Later, came the Inca with Mocho and the Villac Vmu, but their stay was short. Pedro, said Mocho, was better.The day passed slowly, quietly. Night fell, and Cristoval prayed for fortitude to endure the wait for the morrow and Rava's visit; his patience inversely proportioned to his gaining strength. He slept to awake toward midnight stronger and more refreshed. The attendant dozed with his back against the tent-pole. Cristoval was staring at the feeble light, musing on the fatuity of a number of demented moths there courting a painful death, while he wondered whether their singed wings would smart as he had smarted after his own encounter with fire; and whether, furthermore, they too fancied themselves impelled by love. He forgot the moths in counting the hours before seeing her again. His eyes were closed. They opened at a faint rustle, and he beheld an apparition. Within the tent door stood Rava, her eyes dark with excitement, but smiling as she touched her lips for silence. The attendant glided from his seat to his knees in an ecstasy of amazement. She whispered, and he vanished as if he himself had been an apparition. Cristoval saw a flush of color mount to her cheeks. The next instant she had extinguished the light, and was kneeling beside his couch in the darkness. No phantom, this, but living, palpitating flesh and blood, warm arms that crept about his neck, and a heaving bosom to which his head was pressed.Rava drew away and whispered breathlessly, passing her hand over his face: "Oh, Cristoval, what canst think of me? But I could endure no longer, and now I will tell thee why I have come—"The pressure of Cristoval's arm told his thought. "What can I think, my own! Only of thy love and mine, and my gratitude. God make me always worthy of the joy thou givest, dear heart!""Worthy of it, Cristoval! Of what hast thou not shown thyself worthy, over and again?—and thy gratitude, my love! Ah, then what must mine be to thee? But I must tell thee why I have come to-night: It is to say farewell—Nay! but hear me—not a long farewell—to-morrow I go to Yucay."The darkness deepened for Cristoval. "To-morrow!" he groaned. "No, no! It cannot be, Rava. How can I live? The hope of seeing thee hath kept me alive. Thou'lt not leave me!"She touched his lips again. "Be patient, Cristoval. Yucay is not distant, and it is the Inca's wish that I go. Bethink thee! This is a camp.""Ah, true!" he said, sorrowfully. "No place for thee, and there might be danger. Thou must go, though it is despair for me, Rava. But say we shall meet soon again.""Could I leave thee else, Cristoval?"They were silent until Cristoval asked: "Is there other reason for thy going, Rava? The Inca knoweth my love for thee. Is not that in part the cause?""I know not. He knoweth mine for thee.""Hath he said?""No: he hath said naught of thee to me, and from his silence I am sure. I know not what is in his mind. He is as tender as he used to be in earlier days—he parted from me in anger, Cristoval, months ago, in the Amarucancha, when he learned I had become a Christian. His anger hath gone, but he regardeth me always with strange sadness and gloom. I fear it is because of our love."Cristoval partly raised himself. "Rava, dost think he will forbid our marriage?""Oh, my own, I do not know! By the law of Tavantinsuyu I can be married only to one of royal blood. Manco holdeth the laws as sacred as the ancient rites. In these perilous times he would dread their violation as like to provoke the wrath of Inti. I know not!" she moaned, pressing her cheek to his. "I know not, Cristoval!"The cavalier's arm tightened in its grasp. "And if he should forbid," he whispered, sharply, "if he should, then we must fly again. Wilt go with me?""Thou knowest, my own! But whither? The uttermost parts of the empire would be searched.""Once on the coast—" said Cristoval."We should never reach it!" she replied, pressing him closer. "We should never reach it, my love—but, we can die together."They said little more, but clung together as if the morrow's parting would be final. Minutes passed, when Cristoval felt her shudder as she raised her head in a sudden recollection. "Cristoval, oh, Cristoval!" she faltered, "Father Valverde threatened thee!""Ah!" muttered the cavalier, gloomily. "Thou didst guess his meaning? I hoped it had escaped thee. The words were Latin.""I know. I have had time to learn much since Xilcala. But, oh, my heart, dost think he will excommunicate thee?"Cristoval hesitated. "If he should," he said, with courage, "thou'lt pray for me, child. I'll have no fear that the Virgin will not hear thee.""It is dreadful, dreadful!" she murmured, sobbing."Nay: think not of it. It were more dreadful, far, to have obeyed his command to leave thee." And in Cristoval's mind an eternity in hell was naught in comparison. The certainty itself would not have forced him to relinquish her.It seemed but a moment before her trusted maid came to whisper that the sky was growing light. A sweet, bitter instant of parting, and Cristoval was alone.Before the sun had touched his tent the cavalier heard preparations for departure,—hastening steps, the rattle of camp gear, and soon, the marching of the escort and the commands of its officers as it formed on the parade in front of the Inca's quarters.Accompanied by Paullo, Rava went first to Pedro's tent to say farewell."God bless thy sweet life!" said Pedro, weakly, as he pressed her hand. "I shall miss thy visits sorely—and another will miss them more. But thy going is sudden—doth Cristoval know?"Rava colored, replying, "I am on my way to him now, Pedro. Shall I take him a message?""Why, my greetings to him as a noble. Doth thellautubecome him?—No doubt of it!—Poor boy, poor boy!""But he is hurt less than thou!" said Rava."The wound in his shoulder? Ah! But he hath another below it—and harder to cure." Again came Rava's color, and she took her leave somewhat in haste.The parting with Cristoval taxed her to the extreme, and only Paullo's presence saved her from breaking down. As it was, her distress and the cavalier's depression were apparent to the youth, and he gently and wisely hastened her departure, but resolving to accompany her a part of the way himself.Rava had never confided to her younger brother her attachment for Cristoval; and he, though staggered by the revelation of it on the night of the rescue, had thus far refrained from questioning; but on the journey with Paullo beside her in herhamaca, she confessed, with an account, sufficiently heartfelt, of the cavalier's golden qualities. The youth, already predisposed toward his brother's gallant ally, listened with sympathy, promising to aid the lovers to the full in case of the Inca's opposition. He gave what hope he could, though this was slight, and Rava pursued her journey with heavy heart.To Cristoval the succeeding days were of torment. The fighting was incessant, and the Inca rarely at his quarters, though he sent frequently to ask for the two Spaniards, and to express his good wishes. Opportunity for an interview, feverishly awaited by the cavalier, was not offered, and he tossed in an agony of suspense. At last his attendant informed him that Manco was in council with his generals. Directing the old man to report their departure, Cristoval struggled with his impatience. It was late when the orderly announced that the council was dissolved."Give me thine aid, Tocache," said Cristoval. "I will rise.""But, my Lord Cristoval, you will do yourself injury," deprecated the old man. "Whither would you go?""To the Inca's tent. Come! Help me to my feet and to dress.""My lord—""Nay, Tocache; I must go. I am strong enough, man, and thou shalt lend me a shoulder to lean upon."Tocache demurred earnestly, but shortly Cristoval was clad and sandalled, and with the other's support, left his tent. The Inca was standing with Paullo and the Villac Vmu when the sentinel announced his visitor, and he turned in surprise when the cavalier, uncertain in his steps and quite pale, entered the tent and saluted."Thou, my Lord Cristoval!" exclaimed Manco, advancing. "Thou 'rt welcome, my friend, though I fear, imprudent. What hath brought thee at this hour?—but sit. Thou 'rt weak—too weak to have ventured." He led the visitor to a chair. Having greeted the Auqui and the priest and seen the Inca seated, Cristoval sank into it. Manco observed him with evident interest while waiting to hear his errand, which proved a difficult one to begin."Sapa Inca," said Cristoval, at last, unable in his weakness fully to control his voice, but approaching the matter with his usual directness, "I have come to you concerning the Ñusta Rava."Manco's animated expression vanished, and he regarded the cavalier with no sign of emotion as he answered, in tones equally impassive, "What of the Ñusta Rava, my lord?"Cristoval felt the ill omen of the change, but did not flinch, and his voice steadied at once. "I have spoken to you of the Ñusta Rava before, my Lord Inca, at Yucay. I think you cannot be unprepared for what I am about to ask."Manco felt the candor of his eyes and their demand for it from him. "My Lord Cristoval," he said, frankly and regretfully, "I am not unprepared—for what I fear thou art about to say. I confess to thee that I have foreseen this very moment, which bringeth me infinite pain." He rose and crossed the tent; returned and seated himself. "But, my lord, I will not anticipate thee. Thou wouldst ask—""The hand of Rava, Sapa Inca," replied Cristoval.Manco looked upon him thoughtfully before answering. "It is what I had reason to expect, and, with mine obligation to thee, to dread. Thy service to Tavantinsuyu hath been such that any return in my power to make must be inadequate.""Nay, pardon me, my Lord Inca," rejoined Cristoval, quickly: "I beg you will not think that in this request it is in my thoughts to presume upon any service it hath been my fortune to render. That hath already been doubly rewarded by this mark of your confidence." He touched thellautu. "I ask no further return.""That was not my meaning, my Lord Cristoval," replied Manco, gravely. "I was about to say that mine obligation and gratitude make it hard to answer thy request in the way I am compelled. Compelled—for it is beyond my power to grant. It is the ancient law of Tavantinsuyu that a princess must marry one of the royal family; or, in the event of a prince being wanting, then one of nobility by birth. This law is as old as the empire, and hath been violated but once. I dare not, whatever mine inclination, my Lord Cristoval," his eyes grew kindly "repeat its violation. My august father set aside a law as ancient as this one, and it hath been followed by calamities, of part of which thou art a witness to-day. May the great Inti forfend that I do aught further to provoke his wrath. I must refuse thee, my lord."Cristoval rose unsteadily, his face more white than it had been left by his wound. Manco rose and took his hand. "My friend," he said, "believe, this grieveth me to the heart. I thought to tell thee these things when thou didst plan to take the Acllahuasi. I did not, for I knew well that it would not have altered thy purpose, nor dulled thy courage.""I thank you, my Lord Inca," replied the cavalier, and added with an effort: "I will not urge aught that is against your conscience—God forbid! With your leave, I will return to my tent."Paullo, who had listened with color coming and going, stepped forward. "Stay, Lord Cristoval!" he cried. "All hath not been said." He snatched the vari-coloredllautufrom Cristoval's head and, his dark eyes blazing, threw it aside. While the cavalier's face flushed at the seeming indignity, and the Inca's with surprise and anger, he lifted his own yellow diadem and placed it upon the Spaniard's brow. Seizing Cristoval's hand, and facing the Inca and the Villac Vmu, he said gravely, "My lords, I call upon you to witness that, by virtue of the law of the Inca Tupac Yupanqui, I claim brotherhood with the Lord Cristoval, an Inca of Tavantinsuyu by Privilege." He drew his dagger, and with a quick movement slashed his own arm; then, glancing into Cristoval's astonished eyes, wounded him at the wrist and, pressing together the two gashes, joined the ruddy streams. "Thus," he continued, solemnly, "have we a mingled blood! Only thine edict, Sapa Inca, can dissolve this tie and abate the princely rights of the Auqui Cristoval, whom I have made a brother."It was a long minute before the monarch recovered from the prince's unexpected action. The pause was hardly less dramatic. Manco looked from one to the other, bereft of utterance, while the cavalier stood silent, scarcely comprehending the significance of what had happened. Paullo, gripping Cristoval's hand, with eyes still afire, waited for Manco. The Inca's brow was clouded. Notwithstanding his gratitude and friendship, the thought of admitting the Viracocha into the pure Incarial line taxed his generosity. Had Paullo's move been less impetuous he would have arrested it. But the thing was done, and to be undone only by his own formal decree. Erect and attentive, Paullo watched his brother with something nearing defiance, while the Villac Vmu, after his first start of surprise, had remained with his eyes upon the ground. To Cristoval the situation became intolerable, and he said quietly, doffing the yellowllautu:—"Sapa Inca, consider this as not having occurred, I pray you. Could I have anticipated the Auqui Paullo's purpose it should have been prevented.—Paullo," he continued, turning to the youth and placing his hands upon his shoulders, "I thank thee more for thy generous intent than for thy deed. Thy good-will hath taken the lead of thy sober judgment; but I shall cherish the memory of it, do thou be sure, and shall feel myself thy brother no less dearly bound to thee than thou wouldst have made me. My Lord Inca Manco, I crave pardon for his warm-hearted folly. Let it end thus, and permit me to retire."Manco regarded him with grave thoughtfulness, wholly inscrutable. At last he said abruptly to Paullo, "Assist the Lord Cristoval to his tent, and have the nobles summoned at once." He bowed dismissal and they left the tent.During the remainder of the night the grim old warriors were gathered about their young lord in council. Toward dawn Cristoval was roused by a summons. The lamps were burning low when he paused at the door of the Inca's tent, glancing at the circle of faces, some familiar, many strange, but all turned toward him in stolid dignity and silence. Paullo greeted and led him to the Inca. For the solemn expectancy about him, Cristoval might have been approaching to receive the sentence of death. Manco met his eyes in a swift glance, deep and inscrutable as before, and took from the Villac Vmu the yellowllautu. He placed the diadem upon the head of the cavalier, saying as he did so:—"Witness, my lords! and give your homage to the Auqui Cristoval. It is my will."CHAPTER XXXIXAgain the Señora DescendsAS soon as Pedro was sufficiently recovered he was sent to Yucay. On the morning of his departure the Inca, with Cristoval, Paullo, and Mocho, entered his tent. Manco said farewell with a few warm words of commendation and gratitude that brought a mist before the eyes of the wounded cook, unclasping a gorget of pearls and emeralds. "Accept this, brave Viracocha Pedro," he said, "as a part expression of mine esteem and appreciation. It is but a trifle, but with it goeth much good-will."Pedro gasped at the princely gift and stammered, part in Quichua, part in Spanish: "Why, stew—Nay, Señor Inca, I deserve it not! I am but a—a comrade of this man Cristoval. What fighting I have done, I tell you frankly, hath been mainly out of friendliness for him, and for the sake of being along to keep him out of trouble. This, my Lord Inca, is beyond my merits."The Inca understood the gist of his words, and shook his head with a slight smile. "Not so, Viracocha! Thy merit is the greater for thy friendship. Thou shalt keep it. Farewell, and a quick recovery. Thou'lt find good friends in Yucay." He gave the cook his hand and departed abruptly to avoid his thanks.Cristoval remained after the others, and Pedro stared at him blankly. At length he said slowly: "Now, spit me through the middle with a church-spire—I'd be less surprised! The man is reckless, Cristoval, or knoweth not the market-worth of gems. Do thou draw him aside and advise him that 't is a grand-duke's ransom, this bauble, and hand it back.""Absurd, Pedro!" said Cristoval. "Rest thy mind, for 't is but a part of what he intendeth for thee.""But I tell thee, Cristoval, it will burden my conscience. Had I come by it in honest looting in a Christian war—but this is akin to thievery. Thou'lt take it back to him,amigo!""Assuredly not, Pedro! Wouldst give him offence?"Pedro looked troubled. "He knoweth not its worth, Cristoval. Moreover, should Pizarro learn that I have it, I'd not be safe a blessed minute. I should be invaded, overrun with fire and sword; given up to wrack, sack, and devastation; left a waste and ruin more ruinous than thou see'st me now. I've suffered losses a-plenty, my friend—not counting legs—without this novel liability. Do thou restore it.""Gods, thou'rt a worried cook!—for a cook with a fortune in hand.""Ah!" sighed Pedro. "Crescentem sequitur cura pecuniam—Horace, Cristoval. Meaneth, care followeth upon increasing riches. Stew me—""Oh,Madre! Have done with thy plaints. Now be still whilst I give thee a message to Rava.""God bless her!" said Pedro, and after a pause, "I listen. But make it not over long, and prithee, adapt its terms to the grossness of my texture. No endearments, Cristoval, and no poetry!"Cristoval blushed. "No, no!" he said quickly. "It will be short, and suited to thy decorous taste, count upon it.""Then I'll compass it. But as well put sugar-lumps and lollipops in a mess of boiled cabbage as to fill me with blandiments for recitation. I'm no troubadour, Cristoval. Bear that in mind.""No fear, thou Spartan cook!" growled Cristoval, with a trace of embarrassment. "I intend it all to be prose."By the time his message ended, Pedro'shamacaand escort were waiting. In parting the cook said earnestly: "Now, Cristoval, in the name of all the names of all the saints on the calendar, have a care for thyself! Thou'rt as prone to misadventure as an unweaned calf. Remember, thou hast one to be anxious for thee besides myself—and relatives! Dost know how many, since thine adoption?""Thou meanest—""Thy foster-brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, and what-not—dost know how many?""I do not. I had not thought of it, Pedro.""Not thought of it! of course not," returned Pedro, with irritation. "'T is what I have said—always charging into trouble, head down and eyes shut!" He regarded the cavalier with great disapproval. "On my soul, I know not whether 't is prudent to leave thee, with thy capacities for indiscretion! However—well—with the aid of the Indio who hath attended me, I've figured this multitude kin of thine, Cristoval, and Heaven fend thee from ever having them dependent upon thy support! Man, we counted three hundred, and more to tally, and without considering the concubines the Señor Inca is entitled by law to acquire—and all of them royal, by the eternal broiler!" His expression changed to commiseration. "Thou 'rt the worst relative-beridden Christian in my knowledge,amigo! and but one among them who is not a pagan! I tell thee, Cristoval, if thou dost rightly by thy family, thou'lt give over soldiering and turn missionary! But farewell, old friend, and God with thee! It grieveth me to leave thee."Cristoval watched thehamacaout of sight, stood looking into Pedro's vacant tent, and returned slowly to his own.In the palace of Yucay, in a chamber from which he could overlook the verdant and beautiful valley, ministered to by solicitous attendants, and visited by Rava, Pedro mended steadily. His gentle hostess spent many hours beside his couch with her maids about her, busy with embroidery and going white and red over it as he recounted Cristoval's adventures, enumerated his virtues, and mildly deprecated his rashness. Rava had daily messages bychasquifrom her cavalier, and repeated the news, or brought the bearer himself. She had not seen Cristoval since the removal of the barrier between them, but in her happiness and implicit faith in her prayers for his safety, she waited with patience for what now seemed assured. Of the ultimate triumph of the arms of Tavantinsuyu she had no doubt.One morning she came into Pedro's room with more than usual animation and said with a smile: "Pedro, to-day thou shalt see two of thy friends. I have sent for them, and have word of their coming. Canst think who they are?""Two friends of mine, Ñusta Rava? 'T is easily guessed. One is Cristoval, but who the other—"Rava shook her head archly. "Not so good a friend as Cristoval—but I will tell thee. One is Father Tendilla, and the other—"Pedro rose suddenly upon his elbow and startled her with his expression as he whispered with explosive force, "Bolio?"Rava surveyed him with concern, and replied gravely: "Father Tendilla and my dear Margarita. I thought it would give thee pleasure."Pedro sank back and drummed on the coverlet with his fingers. "Oh! It doth, Ñusta Rava. It doth give me pleasure. So would a fly-blister, had I lumbago—a figure of speech, Señorita, give it no weight. Hum! The señora!" He startled her again with a spasm intended for a smile, and resumed with some constraint: "Ha! The señora, did you say, Señorita Ñusta? Stew—Well, the señora is a good soul, my head on't. A bit rampant and superheated, look you, but altogether good-hearted, and I'll—I'll be glad—be glad to see her once more—baste me with hot tallow if I'll not—prithee, let that pass too: it hath no significance.Infierno!—I—I mean,Paraiso! But," he raised himself again and continued earnestly, "but, Ñusta Rava, would you as lief have the servants tell her I am full of holes and like to leak red gore in a thousand places if so much as a finger be laid against me, or my nerves be wrought upon? She is impulsive, Señorita, surcharged and double-shotted with impulse, and when she findeth me in this present state there is no knowing what sympathy may lead her to say, or do.—Pure exuberance of feeling, mind you! but I misdoubt me if my wasted frame would stand the stress.—And kindly have her told I am subject to spells, of late, and ofttimes bite. And that—but, no: never mind it—I'll advise the servants myself." Pedro lay back, quite breathless, muttering: "The señora! The señora! Ah! diablo! This is what cometh of being—But she is a kindly-hearted woman, and 't would be graceless in me to deny it."Rava, bewildered by his agitated effusion, much of it in Spanish, gathered that he desired the señora to be warned of his enfeebled condition, and having promised, withdrew. Pedro lay the rest of the morning starting at faint sounds and perspiring freely.At mid-afternoon a guide, two mules with riders, and a baggage-carrier lightly burdened, ascended the zig-zag road through the park to the palace. The leading animal was bestridden by a lady in native attire, but wearing a Spanish sombrero in its last stages, riding with the dignity of ageneralisimo, a battle-axe at her saddle-bow. Behind, rode the good Father Tendilla, his cassock yet more seedy, but the same gentle-visaged priest. They were received with ceremony by a detachment of the guard, but the lady rode past with elevated chin, and followed the guide into the outer court. Rava was waiting with her attendants. Upon espying her, the señora emitted a shout, muffled by the vigor of her exertion in dismounting—on the wrong side—and in a second was embraced, sombrero and all, and joyfully wept over, weeping herself, and quite inarticulate."Oh, my honey-jar, my lady bird!" cried the overjoyed señora in Spanish. "God bless thy dear heart, what a happiness to see thee! But I'm covering thy pretty robes with dust! Oh, thou sweet baby! 'T is thou—and handsome as a rose! Dainty as a fairy! 'T is good for one's eyes to behold thee—now, is it not, Father? Come, let him see thee, love. Is she not an angel?" The señora stopped suddenly and glanced sternly about the court. "Ho! They've lugged off my mule and my cleaver—""Thou'lt have no need for them, my daughter," said Father Tendilla, quickly, and gave Rava his blessing. The señora forgot mule and cleaver in a fresh outburst of delight, and Rava presently led to her apartments. Here the effervescent lady was struck by the thought of Pedro, of whose wounds she had learned at Ollantaytambo, and demanded to be conducted to him forthwith. Rava sent one of her maids as guide. The damsel endeavored to give warning of the injured man's condition; but the señora's understanding of Quichua was limited, and her eagerness, moreover, made her deaf, so the words created slight impression.Pedro heard the firm, rapid step, invoked a saint, and waited with beads gathering upon his brow. As the lady swept—nay, swooped—across the room with a cry of mingled joy and pity, the cook saw that his precautions were ineffectual. He could have sworn that in another second he should have been embraced; but with rare presence of mind he raised a warning hand, fetched a dismal groan, rolled his eyes, and gritted his teeth in so unearthly a fashion that the lady was brought up with a shriek."God's mercy, Pedro! What—""Sit down!" commanded Pedro, in a voice supernormally strong for one, as he seemed to be,in articulo extremo mortis. "Sit down!—No!—Farther away!—On the floor—anywhere—but sit, woman, or I perish!"He continued his ghastly symptoms until he saw the señora seated, completely unnerved but foiled! Then he recovered quickly, sought his kerchief, wiped a clamminess from his forehead, and observing her pallor, said gently: "It is past, Señora. Be not alarmed. But hold! Stay where thou art, or it will come again. Move not a finger!""Santa Maria! Pedro, dear," she said, tearfully, "I thought thee dying. Thou 'rt dreadfully hurt, my love?""I am a very sieve, Señora!" replied Pedro, in a hollow voice. "So full of holes that I cannot cast a decent shadow! So weighted with copper slugs, leaden balls, and scraps of iron from Candia's guns that I could be molten up and cast into a fair culverin of bronze.""Ah, pity of Heaven!" sobbed the lady, rocking herself. "I fear thou liest to some extent, Pedro, but I knew harm was to come of it when I left thee with that bandit, Cristoval. But may I not come nearer,chiquito?""Presently," said Pedro, softened, "but approach by easy stages, and not too near. I am better, my dear. Take heart, now, there's a good soul; and we will talk—but at a distance, look thou! or I'll be thrown into a fit. Hast been well?""As well," said the señora, drying her eyes, "as a lone woman in an infidel country with naught but a cleaver to give her courage o' nights and a helpless innocent of a priest to look after like a baby, and not a dress fit to put on her back save this, borrowed from a heathen woman whose name I cannot pronounce, could be.""Ah!" said Pedro, with sympathy."Thou didst wrong to leave me, Pedro, and see what it hath come to! But who fired the gun at thee? I'll seek him out, as he liveth!""Now, toast me on a bodkin!" retorted Pedro. "Dost fancy I went back to ask his name? It would have escaped me by percolation had I heard it. I was a-leak on all sides, top and bottom, like a lobster-pot fresh-hauled. So thoroughly did he riddle me, Señora, that I could not have held a secret grief, or a good intention. But let the man go, my dear. He that loaded the gun hath half the responsibility.""I'll find them both!" said the lady, with resolution.The entrance of Father Tendilla ended the conversation, and Pedro heaved a sigh of relief. Thereafter, the señora usurped the role of nurse, chiding him gently for exaggerating his hurts when she learned their real extent, but caring for him faithfully.Week after week the siege went on, fierce, bloody, and relentless. Sorties were attempted, savagely opposed. The defences of the Spaniards were assaulted, fought over with the fury of hate and desperation, and the assailants repulsed. To the Peruvians, the loss in each attack was sickening, but they returned with valor undaunted, until the Inca in humanity ordered a cessation and determined to reduce the enemy by famine.Cristoval, in the meanwhile, yet unfit to resume his armor, gave his time to training a number of warriors in the riding school and the use of arms on horseback. Fearless, agile, and adaptable, they acquired the horseman's art with the readiness with which it was learned by the tribes of the North American plains, and by constant drill the cavalier produced a squad of riders, equipped with captured arms and mail, which was destined to prove formidable. The Peruvians, trained with the battle-axe and shield, easily exchanged these for mace and buckler; but Cristoval soon found that for a skilful use of the lance months would be required, and he was forced to see that weapon laid aside. Of all his pupils, none was so apt as the Inca Manco.Thus Cristoval passed his convalescence, striving by incessant activity to hold his impatient longing. Twice only, after his strength returned, he rode to Yucay for a few brief hours of happiness.The winter months passed and spring was at hand. Within the beleaguered city conditions grew desperate. Provisions, which had long been growing scanty, were almost exhausted, and the Spaniards faced starvation. They had hoped, watched, vowed many a pious vow, prayed many a fervent prayer, for reënforcements from the coast; but the expeditions sent by Francisco Pizarro for their relief had been entrapped in the mountains and driven back or annihilated. A few weeks must seal the fate of the besieged, and Hernando was already importuned by his cavaliers to lead in a final effort to cut through the investing lines and escape with his starveling remnant. Not he! He swore, and the stoutest of his men swore with him, to fight while strength remained to wield a blade.But while the Spaniards were meeting in gloomy council the Inca was confronted by a situation no less grave.Near the middle of a chill, clear night in the early spring, in the fifth month of the siege, Cristoval, now fully recovered, rode across the parade in front of the Inca's tent, and dismissed his native troopers. For a week he had been guarding the Cuntisuyu road, suspecting a Spanish design to break through the lines. He had laid off his helmet when a messenger summoned him to the Inca. Cristoval found Manco alone, pacing his tent with bent head, his face more deeply clouded than the cavalier had ever seen it. His expression lightened at sight of the man who had become nearer a comrade than any had ever been before, and he said gravely: "I have sent for thee, Cristoval, to entrust thee with a mission which, in other circumstances thou wouldst have found most welcome. Now it will be as painful to thee, I know, my friend and brother, as it is to me. It is this. Thou wilt ride to Yucay—wilt set out to-night. Arriving there, thou'lt conduct the household forthwith to the security of the fortress at Ollantaytambo."Cristoval started. Was Yucay insecure? In Heaven's name, what could make it so, with the Spaniards held like starving rats? Manco read his question, and answered it bluntly:—"We must raise the siege, Cristoval!"Cristoval was aghast, unable to believe."We must raise the siege!" repeated Manco, steadily.Cristoval put out his hand for the support of the table. When at last he spoke his voice was harsh and unnatural. "Raise the siege! Raise the siege—at this moment—when victory is within your grasp? By God, man, it must not be! Who hath advised this folly?"Manco raised his hand. "It must be! I have held council all this day and to-night.""Your counsellors—have they been stricken with madness?" cried the cavalier. "Do they not know—""My friend," interrupted the Inca, placing a hand upon Cristoval's shoulder, "my counsellors know what it is not possible that thou shouldst know—that Tavantinsuyu is menaced by a foe more ruthless than the one in yonder city. This hour hath been long foreseen, and now it is come. Hunger is abroad!""Your stanchest ally!" interjaculated Cristoval."An ally, but one ready to turn most cruelly against us! Hear me, Cristoval! It is not yet with us, with the army, though thou hast seen the meagre fare our braves have had these many days, and hast been in want, thyself. But there is a graver peril. Thou knowest, the season of planting is at hand. The fields are waiting. Every province of the empire hath been denuded of its men, and only women, children, and the feeble, are left to till the soil. The time is short, and if the grain be not sowed, a calamity will follow, blacker in its horror than that of war, which taketh only lives of men. Starvation recketh neither of sex nor age. The siege must end."Manco spoke with calmness. His face had paled, but otherwise his emotion was unbetrayed. Cristoval heard him in silence. The Inca's words, he knew, were final, Rhadamanthine; once spoken, not to be opposed by human tongue. Manco resumed:—"So it must be, Cristoval. The magazines are exhausted—I learned it finally to-day,—and even the archers are in need of arrows. My warriors will march to their provinces with famine attendant, but—they must go. I am defeated! O, great Inti, why—" His words ended, and he turned abruptly away. Cristoval sank into a chair and bowed his head upon his hands. To disband the army now would mean disaster irremediable. He sprang up with fiery, urgent words, but they were stayed by Manco who faced him again with every trace of agitation gone: "I said, defeated! Forget that the word was spoken. Whilst life is spared me, and I have a warrior left to follow, there shall be no defeat. But now, Cristoval, thou wilt go. By midday to-morrow thou'lt have overtaken a force which marched to-day. At Yucay, all will be in readiness. Word hath gone forward, and as soon as the palace is abandoned it will be stripped of all that yonder vultures crave. Having seen the household safely at Ollantaytambo, thou'lt return. I will remain near Cuzco with some force, for the enemy shall find that peace is not yet. Now go, and Heaven speed thee. Farewell."As Cristoval left the tent he turned. The Inca stood in thought, his dark, handsome face as calm as if his brave heart were untouched by disaster, untorn by myriad cares and sorrows. He waved his hand, and Cristoval left him to the brooding silence of the night—and God alone knows what hours of anguish.As the cavalier rode forth in the starlight he looked upon a dark, prophetic vision of the future of the fair empire for which he had been fighting. Tavantinsuyu was doomed. Doomed—he saw it now—from the moment Pizarro had set his foot upon its soil. The Spaniards would crowd to its shores like ravening wolves, and before the army could be recalled to the field it would be too late. He knew the indomitable resolution of his countrymen, their resources, and their driving rapacity, too well to hope the Inca could ever regain the advantage now to be put aside. Unless crushed at what was yet its beginning, the conquest would never be abandoned. And too thoroughly did Cristoval know the nature of his race to foresee anything but cruel oppression for the conquered. He looked with clearer prevision than could the stricken monarch into the blackness of the years to come.The meeting of the lovers at Yucay was in joy and grief. Cristoval strove to inspire a hope he could not share, but when Rava took sorrowful leave of the palace it was with an intuition that she would never enter it again. At Ollantaytambo their parting was in grief alone, and the cavalier rode back to Cuzco followed by many a tearful prayer.Pedro's fighting days were done, and as he stood on the rampart of the fortress, watching his old comrade's departure, the receding figure grew dim to him by reason of something more than dust and distance.CHAPTER XLGlory and Peace
CHAPTER XXXVIII
A Tie of Mingled Blood
Cristoval became languidly conscious of the swaying of a litter; then he was being lifted to a couch in a tent softly aglow with morning sunshine, and heard friendly voices around him. He opened his eyes, and with an effort whispered an inquiry for Pedro.
"He is being cared for, my lord," said an officer, bending over. "He is badly hurt, but hath asked for you. Otherwise, his mind seemeth to wander, for he muttered something which Markumi translated as a request to be stewed. We did not heed him, Lord Cristoval."
Cristoval smiled faintly and dozed again.
When he awoke the tent had grown dim with the declining day. As he lay with partly open eyes he became aware of clasping something in his hand that pressed his own and trembled. He raised it weakly, and his eyes travelled from a wrist to a rounded arm. A face hovered over him, lovely as a vision, with dark eyes deep with tenderness and solicitude.
"Rava!" he whispered; and she knelt, pressing her cheek against his own, her form, as he passed his arm around her, quivering with a passion of joy. He would have spoken, but she pressed her fingers upon his lips, murmuring an injunction and nestling closer. Cristoval was content, and lay marvelling that contentment could be so perfect.
But if he could not speak, he could listen, and he hearkened to whispered words, mere incoherencies, broken by faintest of sighs, coming from the depths of a heart which beat with love without reserve. They are not to be set down here, those sweet, disordered fragments, nor are their like to be comprehended save by the ear into which they are breathed.
The interview was short. A mere swift glimpse of happiness, and she had torn herself away, lingering in a final caress, and gone. Cristoval was left with the memory of her presence and touch, ineffably sweet, until submerged in the pain of helpless longing.
The next morning the old man who attended him brought news. Pedro was low, and his chances for recovery not yet determined, but there was hope. Abul Hassan had crept into Matopo's barricade during the night, mortally hurt. Ocallo and Markumi had both been wounded, the former seriously. Not a man in contact with the Spaniards came out unscathed, and the total losses of the night were grave. What the enemy had sustained could only be guessed, but they had since lain inactive, though apparently doubly vigilant, and strengthening their defences.
Before midday Rava came with Paullo and remained an hour or more. She forbade Cristoval's speaking, and talked little herself, but it may be said that the silence was not constrained. The day dragged after her departure, but the cavalier slept, and was without fever. The following day they came again, and Rava remained long. By a blessed fortune Paullo was called away on three several occasions, and the moments were not lost. Still she permitted few words, touching his lips and bidding him wait. As she left she looked back with a swift, bright glance, full of some meaning which he could not fathom, but withal, most agreeable to remember. Later, came the Inca with Mocho and the Villac Vmu, but their stay was short. Pedro, said Mocho, was better.
The day passed slowly, quietly. Night fell, and Cristoval prayed for fortitude to endure the wait for the morrow and Rava's visit; his patience inversely proportioned to his gaining strength. He slept to awake toward midnight stronger and more refreshed. The attendant dozed with his back against the tent-pole. Cristoval was staring at the feeble light, musing on the fatuity of a number of demented moths there courting a painful death, while he wondered whether their singed wings would smart as he had smarted after his own encounter with fire; and whether, furthermore, they too fancied themselves impelled by love. He forgot the moths in counting the hours before seeing her again. His eyes were closed. They opened at a faint rustle, and he beheld an apparition. Within the tent door stood Rava, her eyes dark with excitement, but smiling as she touched her lips for silence. The attendant glided from his seat to his knees in an ecstasy of amazement. She whispered, and he vanished as if he himself had been an apparition. Cristoval saw a flush of color mount to her cheeks. The next instant she had extinguished the light, and was kneeling beside his couch in the darkness. No phantom, this, but living, palpitating flesh and blood, warm arms that crept about his neck, and a heaving bosom to which his head was pressed.
Rava drew away and whispered breathlessly, passing her hand over his face: "Oh, Cristoval, what canst think of me? But I could endure no longer, and now I will tell thee why I have come—"
The pressure of Cristoval's arm told his thought. "What can I think, my own! Only of thy love and mine, and my gratitude. God make me always worthy of the joy thou givest, dear heart!"
"Worthy of it, Cristoval! Of what hast thou not shown thyself worthy, over and again?—and thy gratitude, my love! Ah, then what must mine be to thee? But I must tell thee why I have come to-night: It is to say farewell—Nay! but hear me—not a long farewell—to-morrow I go to Yucay."
The darkness deepened for Cristoval. "To-morrow!" he groaned. "No, no! It cannot be, Rava. How can I live? The hope of seeing thee hath kept me alive. Thou'lt not leave me!"
She touched his lips again. "Be patient, Cristoval. Yucay is not distant, and it is the Inca's wish that I go. Bethink thee! This is a camp."
"Ah, true!" he said, sorrowfully. "No place for thee, and there might be danger. Thou must go, though it is despair for me, Rava. But say we shall meet soon again."
"Could I leave thee else, Cristoval?"
They were silent until Cristoval asked: "Is there other reason for thy going, Rava? The Inca knoweth my love for thee. Is not that in part the cause?"
"I know not. He knoweth mine for thee."
"Hath he said?"
"No: he hath said naught of thee to me, and from his silence I am sure. I know not what is in his mind. He is as tender as he used to be in earlier days—he parted from me in anger, Cristoval, months ago, in the Amarucancha, when he learned I had become a Christian. His anger hath gone, but he regardeth me always with strange sadness and gloom. I fear it is because of our love."
Cristoval partly raised himself. "Rava, dost think he will forbid our marriage?"
"Oh, my own, I do not know! By the law of Tavantinsuyu I can be married only to one of royal blood. Manco holdeth the laws as sacred as the ancient rites. In these perilous times he would dread their violation as like to provoke the wrath of Inti. I know not!" she moaned, pressing her cheek to his. "I know not, Cristoval!"
The cavalier's arm tightened in its grasp. "And if he should forbid," he whispered, sharply, "if he should, then we must fly again. Wilt go with me?"
"Thou knowest, my own! But whither? The uttermost parts of the empire would be searched."
"Once on the coast—" said Cristoval.
"We should never reach it!" she replied, pressing him closer. "We should never reach it, my love—but, we can die together."
They said little more, but clung together as if the morrow's parting would be final. Minutes passed, when Cristoval felt her shudder as she raised her head in a sudden recollection. "Cristoval, oh, Cristoval!" she faltered, "Father Valverde threatened thee!"
"Ah!" muttered the cavalier, gloomily. "Thou didst guess his meaning? I hoped it had escaped thee. The words were Latin."
"I know. I have had time to learn much since Xilcala. But, oh, my heart, dost think he will excommunicate thee?"
Cristoval hesitated. "If he should," he said, with courage, "thou'lt pray for me, child. I'll have no fear that the Virgin will not hear thee."
"It is dreadful, dreadful!" she murmured, sobbing.
"Nay: think not of it. It were more dreadful, far, to have obeyed his command to leave thee." And in Cristoval's mind an eternity in hell was naught in comparison. The certainty itself would not have forced him to relinquish her.
It seemed but a moment before her trusted maid came to whisper that the sky was growing light. A sweet, bitter instant of parting, and Cristoval was alone.
Before the sun had touched his tent the cavalier heard preparations for departure,—hastening steps, the rattle of camp gear, and soon, the marching of the escort and the commands of its officers as it formed on the parade in front of the Inca's quarters.
Accompanied by Paullo, Rava went first to Pedro's tent to say farewell.
"God bless thy sweet life!" said Pedro, weakly, as he pressed her hand. "I shall miss thy visits sorely—and another will miss them more. But thy going is sudden—doth Cristoval know?"
Rava colored, replying, "I am on my way to him now, Pedro. Shall I take him a message?"
"Why, my greetings to him as a noble. Doth thellautubecome him?—No doubt of it!—Poor boy, poor boy!"
"But he is hurt less than thou!" said Rava.
"The wound in his shoulder? Ah! But he hath another below it—and harder to cure." Again came Rava's color, and she took her leave somewhat in haste.
The parting with Cristoval taxed her to the extreme, and only Paullo's presence saved her from breaking down. As it was, her distress and the cavalier's depression were apparent to the youth, and he gently and wisely hastened her departure, but resolving to accompany her a part of the way himself.
Rava had never confided to her younger brother her attachment for Cristoval; and he, though staggered by the revelation of it on the night of the rescue, had thus far refrained from questioning; but on the journey with Paullo beside her in herhamaca, she confessed, with an account, sufficiently heartfelt, of the cavalier's golden qualities. The youth, already predisposed toward his brother's gallant ally, listened with sympathy, promising to aid the lovers to the full in case of the Inca's opposition. He gave what hope he could, though this was slight, and Rava pursued her journey with heavy heart.
To Cristoval the succeeding days were of torment. The fighting was incessant, and the Inca rarely at his quarters, though he sent frequently to ask for the two Spaniards, and to express his good wishes. Opportunity for an interview, feverishly awaited by the cavalier, was not offered, and he tossed in an agony of suspense. At last his attendant informed him that Manco was in council with his generals. Directing the old man to report their departure, Cristoval struggled with his impatience. It was late when the orderly announced that the council was dissolved.
"Give me thine aid, Tocache," said Cristoval. "I will rise."
"But, my Lord Cristoval, you will do yourself injury," deprecated the old man. "Whither would you go?"
"To the Inca's tent. Come! Help me to my feet and to dress."
"My lord—"
"Nay, Tocache; I must go. I am strong enough, man, and thou shalt lend me a shoulder to lean upon."
Tocache demurred earnestly, but shortly Cristoval was clad and sandalled, and with the other's support, left his tent. The Inca was standing with Paullo and the Villac Vmu when the sentinel announced his visitor, and he turned in surprise when the cavalier, uncertain in his steps and quite pale, entered the tent and saluted.
"Thou, my Lord Cristoval!" exclaimed Manco, advancing. "Thou 'rt welcome, my friend, though I fear, imprudent. What hath brought thee at this hour?—but sit. Thou 'rt weak—too weak to have ventured." He led the visitor to a chair. Having greeted the Auqui and the priest and seen the Inca seated, Cristoval sank into it. Manco observed him with evident interest while waiting to hear his errand, which proved a difficult one to begin.
"Sapa Inca," said Cristoval, at last, unable in his weakness fully to control his voice, but approaching the matter with his usual directness, "I have come to you concerning the Ñusta Rava."
Manco's animated expression vanished, and he regarded the cavalier with no sign of emotion as he answered, in tones equally impassive, "What of the Ñusta Rava, my lord?"
Cristoval felt the ill omen of the change, but did not flinch, and his voice steadied at once. "I have spoken to you of the Ñusta Rava before, my Lord Inca, at Yucay. I think you cannot be unprepared for what I am about to ask."
Manco felt the candor of his eyes and their demand for it from him. "My Lord Cristoval," he said, frankly and regretfully, "I am not unprepared—for what I fear thou art about to say. I confess to thee that I have foreseen this very moment, which bringeth me infinite pain." He rose and crossed the tent; returned and seated himself. "But, my lord, I will not anticipate thee. Thou wouldst ask—"
"The hand of Rava, Sapa Inca," replied Cristoval.
Manco looked upon him thoughtfully before answering. "It is what I had reason to expect, and, with mine obligation to thee, to dread. Thy service to Tavantinsuyu hath been such that any return in my power to make must be inadequate."
"Nay, pardon me, my Lord Inca," rejoined Cristoval, quickly: "I beg you will not think that in this request it is in my thoughts to presume upon any service it hath been my fortune to render. That hath already been doubly rewarded by this mark of your confidence." He touched thellautu. "I ask no further return."
"That was not my meaning, my Lord Cristoval," replied Manco, gravely. "I was about to say that mine obligation and gratitude make it hard to answer thy request in the way I am compelled. Compelled—for it is beyond my power to grant. It is the ancient law of Tavantinsuyu that a princess must marry one of the royal family; or, in the event of a prince being wanting, then one of nobility by birth. This law is as old as the empire, and hath been violated but once. I dare not, whatever mine inclination, my Lord Cristoval," his eyes grew kindly "repeat its violation. My august father set aside a law as ancient as this one, and it hath been followed by calamities, of part of which thou art a witness to-day. May the great Inti forfend that I do aught further to provoke his wrath. I must refuse thee, my lord."
Cristoval rose unsteadily, his face more white than it had been left by his wound. Manco rose and took his hand. "My friend," he said, "believe, this grieveth me to the heart. I thought to tell thee these things when thou didst plan to take the Acllahuasi. I did not, for I knew well that it would not have altered thy purpose, nor dulled thy courage."
"I thank you, my Lord Inca," replied the cavalier, and added with an effort: "I will not urge aught that is against your conscience—God forbid! With your leave, I will return to my tent."
Paullo, who had listened with color coming and going, stepped forward. "Stay, Lord Cristoval!" he cried. "All hath not been said." He snatched the vari-coloredllautufrom Cristoval's head and, his dark eyes blazing, threw it aside. While the cavalier's face flushed at the seeming indignity, and the Inca's with surprise and anger, he lifted his own yellow diadem and placed it upon the Spaniard's brow. Seizing Cristoval's hand, and facing the Inca and the Villac Vmu, he said gravely, "My lords, I call upon you to witness that, by virtue of the law of the Inca Tupac Yupanqui, I claim brotherhood with the Lord Cristoval, an Inca of Tavantinsuyu by Privilege." He drew his dagger, and with a quick movement slashed his own arm; then, glancing into Cristoval's astonished eyes, wounded him at the wrist and, pressing together the two gashes, joined the ruddy streams. "Thus," he continued, solemnly, "have we a mingled blood! Only thine edict, Sapa Inca, can dissolve this tie and abate the princely rights of the Auqui Cristoval, whom I have made a brother."
It was a long minute before the monarch recovered from the prince's unexpected action. The pause was hardly less dramatic. Manco looked from one to the other, bereft of utterance, while the cavalier stood silent, scarcely comprehending the significance of what had happened. Paullo, gripping Cristoval's hand, with eyes still afire, waited for Manco. The Inca's brow was clouded. Notwithstanding his gratitude and friendship, the thought of admitting the Viracocha into the pure Incarial line taxed his generosity. Had Paullo's move been less impetuous he would have arrested it. But the thing was done, and to be undone only by his own formal decree. Erect and attentive, Paullo watched his brother with something nearing defiance, while the Villac Vmu, after his first start of surprise, had remained with his eyes upon the ground. To Cristoval the situation became intolerable, and he said quietly, doffing the yellowllautu:—
"Sapa Inca, consider this as not having occurred, I pray you. Could I have anticipated the Auqui Paullo's purpose it should have been prevented.—Paullo," he continued, turning to the youth and placing his hands upon his shoulders, "I thank thee more for thy generous intent than for thy deed. Thy good-will hath taken the lead of thy sober judgment; but I shall cherish the memory of it, do thou be sure, and shall feel myself thy brother no less dearly bound to thee than thou wouldst have made me. My Lord Inca Manco, I crave pardon for his warm-hearted folly. Let it end thus, and permit me to retire."
Manco regarded him with grave thoughtfulness, wholly inscrutable. At last he said abruptly to Paullo, "Assist the Lord Cristoval to his tent, and have the nobles summoned at once." He bowed dismissal and they left the tent.
During the remainder of the night the grim old warriors were gathered about their young lord in council. Toward dawn Cristoval was roused by a summons. The lamps were burning low when he paused at the door of the Inca's tent, glancing at the circle of faces, some familiar, many strange, but all turned toward him in stolid dignity and silence. Paullo greeted and led him to the Inca. For the solemn expectancy about him, Cristoval might have been approaching to receive the sentence of death. Manco met his eyes in a swift glance, deep and inscrutable as before, and took from the Villac Vmu the yellowllautu. He placed the diadem upon the head of the cavalier, saying as he did so:—
"Witness, my lords! and give your homage to the Auqui Cristoval. It is my will."
CHAPTER XXXIX
Again the Señora Descends
AS soon as Pedro was sufficiently recovered he was sent to Yucay. On the morning of his departure the Inca, with Cristoval, Paullo, and Mocho, entered his tent. Manco said farewell with a few warm words of commendation and gratitude that brought a mist before the eyes of the wounded cook, unclasping a gorget of pearls and emeralds. "Accept this, brave Viracocha Pedro," he said, "as a part expression of mine esteem and appreciation. It is but a trifle, but with it goeth much good-will."
Pedro gasped at the princely gift and stammered, part in Quichua, part in Spanish: "Why, stew—Nay, Señor Inca, I deserve it not! I am but a—a comrade of this man Cristoval. What fighting I have done, I tell you frankly, hath been mainly out of friendliness for him, and for the sake of being along to keep him out of trouble. This, my Lord Inca, is beyond my merits."
The Inca understood the gist of his words, and shook his head with a slight smile. "Not so, Viracocha! Thy merit is the greater for thy friendship. Thou shalt keep it. Farewell, and a quick recovery. Thou'lt find good friends in Yucay." He gave the cook his hand and departed abruptly to avoid his thanks.
Cristoval remained after the others, and Pedro stared at him blankly. At length he said slowly: "Now, spit me through the middle with a church-spire—I'd be less surprised! The man is reckless, Cristoval, or knoweth not the market-worth of gems. Do thou draw him aside and advise him that 't is a grand-duke's ransom, this bauble, and hand it back."
"Absurd, Pedro!" said Cristoval. "Rest thy mind, for 't is but a part of what he intendeth for thee."
"But I tell thee, Cristoval, it will burden my conscience. Had I come by it in honest looting in a Christian war—but this is akin to thievery. Thou'lt take it back to him,amigo!"
"Assuredly not, Pedro! Wouldst give him offence?"
Pedro looked troubled. "He knoweth not its worth, Cristoval. Moreover, should Pizarro learn that I have it, I'd not be safe a blessed minute. I should be invaded, overrun with fire and sword; given up to wrack, sack, and devastation; left a waste and ruin more ruinous than thou see'st me now. I've suffered losses a-plenty, my friend—not counting legs—without this novel liability. Do thou restore it."
"Gods, thou'rt a worried cook!—for a cook with a fortune in hand."
"Ah!" sighed Pedro. "Crescentem sequitur cura pecuniam—Horace, Cristoval. Meaneth, care followeth upon increasing riches. Stew me—"
"Oh,Madre! Have done with thy plaints. Now be still whilst I give thee a message to Rava."
"God bless her!" said Pedro, and after a pause, "I listen. But make it not over long, and prithee, adapt its terms to the grossness of my texture. No endearments, Cristoval, and no poetry!"
Cristoval blushed. "No, no!" he said quickly. "It will be short, and suited to thy decorous taste, count upon it."
"Then I'll compass it. But as well put sugar-lumps and lollipops in a mess of boiled cabbage as to fill me with blandiments for recitation. I'm no troubadour, Cristoval. Bear that in mind."
"No fear, thou Spartan cook!" growled Cristoval, with a trace of embarrassment. "I intend it all to be prose."
By the time his message ended, Pedro'shamacaand escort were waiting. In parting the cook said earnestly: "Now, Cristoval, in the name of all the names of all the saints on the calendar, have a care for thyself! Thou'rt as prone to misadventure as an unweaned calf. Remember, thou hast one to be anxious for thee besides myself—and relatives! Dost know how many, since thine adoption?"
"Thou meanest—"
"Thy foster-brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, and what-not—dost know how many?"
"I do not. I had not thought of it, Pedro."
"Not thought of it! of course not," returned Pedro, with irritation. "'T is what I have said—always charging into trouble, head down and eyes shut!" He regarded the cavalier with great disapproval. "On my soul, I know not whether 't is prudent to leave thee, with thy capacities for indiscretion! However—well—with the aid of the Indio who hath attended me, I've figured this multitude kin of thine, Cristoval, and Heaven fend thee from ever having them dependent upon thy support! Man, we counted three hundred, and more to tally, and without considering the concubines the Señor Inca is entitled by law to acquire—and all of them royal, by the eternal broiler!" His expression changed to commiseration. "Thou 'rt the worst relative-beridden Christian in my knowledge,amigo! and but one among them who is not a pagan! I tell thee, Cristoval, if thou dost rightly by thy family, thou'lt give over soldiering and turn missionary! But farewell, old friend, and God with thee! It grieveth me to leave thee."
Cristoval watched thehamacaout of sight, stood looking into Pedro's vacant tent, and returned slowly to his own.
In the palace of Yucay, in a chamber from which he could overlook the verdant and beautiful valley, ministered to by solicitous attendants, and visited by Rava, Pedro mended steadily. His gentle hostess spent many hours beside his couch with her maids about her, busy with embroidery and going white and red over it as he recounted Cristoval's adventures, enumerated his virtues, and mildly deprecated his rashness. Rava had daily messages bychasquifrom her cavalier, and repeated the news, or brought the bearer himself. She had not seen Cristoval since the removal of the barrier between them, but in her happiness and implicit faith in her prayers for his safety, she waited with patience for what now seemed assured. Of the ultimate triumph of the arms of Tavantinsuyu she had no doubt.
One morning she came into Pedro's room with more than usual animation and said with a smile: "Pedro, to-day thou shalt see two of thy friends. I have sent for them, and have word of their coming. Canst think who they are?"
"Two friends of mine, Ñusta Rava? 'T is easily guessed. One is Cristoval, but who the other—"
Rava shook her head archly. "Not so good a friend as Cristoval—but I will tell thee. One is Father Tendilla, and the other—"
Pedro rose suddenly upon his elbow and startled her with his expression as he whispered with explosive force, "Bolio?"
Rava surveyed him with concern, and replied gravely: "Father Tendilla and my dear Margarita. I thought it would give thee pleasure."
Pedro sank back and drummed on the coverlet with his fingers. "Oh! It doth, Ñusta Rava. It doth give me pleasure. So would a fly-blister, had I lumbago—a figure of speech, Señorita, give it no weight. Hum! The señora!" He startled her again with a spasm intended for a smile, and resumed with some constraint: "Ha! The señora, did you say, Señorita Ñusta? Stew—Well, the señora is a good soul, my head on't. A bit rampant and superheated, look you, but altogether good-hearted, and I'll—I'll be glad—be glad to see her once more—baste me with hot tallow if I'll not—prithee, let that pass too: it hath no significance.Infierno!—I—I mean,Paraiso! But," he raised himself again and continued earnestly, "but, Ñusta Rava, would you as lief have the servants tell her I am full of holes and like to leak red gore in a thousand places if so much as a finger be laid against me, or my nerves be wrought upon? She is impulsive, Señorita, surcharged and double-shotted with impulse, and when she findeth me in this present state there is no knowing what sympathy may lead her to say, or do.—Pure exuberance of feeling, mind you! but I misdoubt me if my wasted frame would stand the stress.—And kindly have her told I am subject to spells, of late, and ofttimes bite. And that—but, no: never mind it—I'll advise the servants myself." Pedro lay back, quite breathless, muttering: "The señora! The señora! Ah! diablo! This is what cometh of being—But she is a kindly-hearted woman, and 't would be graceless in me to deny it."
Rava, bewildered by his agitated effusion, much of it in Spanish, gathered that he desired the señora to be warned of his enfeebled condition, and having promised, withdrew. Pedro lay the rest of the morning starting at faint sounds and perspiring freely.
At mid-afternoon a guide, two mules with riders, and a baggage-carrier lightly burdened, ascended the zig-zag road through the park to the palace. The leading animal was bestridden by a lady in native attire, but wearing a Spanish sombrero in its last stages, riding with the dignity of ageneralisimo, a battle-axe at her saddle-bow. Behind, rode the good Father Tendilla, his cassock yet more seedy, but the same gentle-visaged priest. They were received with ceremony by a detachment of the guard, but the lady rode past with elevated chin, and followed the guide into the outer court. Rava was waiting with her attendants. Upon espying her, the señora emitted a shout, muffled by the vigor of her exertion in dismounting—on the wrong side—and in a second was embraced, sombrero and all, and joyfully wept over, weeping herself, and quite inarticulate.
"Oh, my honey-jar, my lady bird!" cried the overjoyed señora in Spanish. "God bless thy dear heart, what a happiness to see thee! But I'm covering thy pretty robes with dust! Oh, thou sweet baby! 'T is thou—and handsome as a rose! Dainty as a fairy! 'T is good for one's eyes to behold thee—now, is it not, Father? Come, let him see thee, love. Is she not an angel?" The señora stopped suddenly and glanced sternly about the court. "Ho! They've lugged off my mule and my cleaver—"
"Thou'lt have no need for them, my daughter," said Father Tendilla, quickly, and gave Rava his blessing. The señora forgot mule and cleaver in a fresh outburst of delight, and Rava presently led to her apartments. Here the effervescent lady was struck by the thought of Pedro, of whose wounds she had learned at Ollantaytambo, and demanded to be conducted to him forthwith. Rava sent one of her maids as guide. The damsel endeavored to give warning of the injured man's condition; but the señora's understanding of Quichua was limited, and her eagerness, moreover, made her deaf, so the words created slight impression.
Pedro heard the firm, rapid step, invoked a saint, and waited with beads gathering upon his brow. As the lady swept—nay, swooped—across the room with a cry of mingled joy and pity, the cook saw that his precautions were ineffectual. He could have sworn that in another second he should have been embraced; but with rare presence of mind he raised a warning hand, fetched a dismal groan, rolled his eyes, and gritted his teeth in so unearthly a fashion that the lady was brought up with a shriek.
"God's mercy, Pedro! What—"
"Sit down!" commanded Pedro, in a voice supernormally strong for one, as he seemed to be,in articulo extremo mortis. "Sit down!—No!—Farther away!—On the floor—anywhere—but sit, woman, or I perish!"
He continued his ghastly symptoms until he saw the señora seated, completely unnerved but foiled! Then he recovered quickly, sought his kerchief, wiped a clamminess from his forehead, and observing her pallor, said gently: "It is past, Señora. Be not alarmed. But hold! Stay where thou art, or it will come again. Move not a finger!"
"Santa Maria! Pedro, dear," she said, tearfully, "I thought thee dying. Thou 'rt dreadfully hurt, my love?"
"I am a very sieve, Señora!" replied Pedro, in a hollow voice. "So full of holes that I cannot cast a decent shadow! So weighted with copper slugs, leaden balls, and scraps of iron from Candia's guns that I could be molten up and cast into a fair culverin of bronze."
"Ah, pity of Heaven!" sobbed the lady, rocking herself. "I fear thou liest to some extent, Pedro, but I knew harm was to come of it when I left thee with that bandit, Cristoval. But may I not come nearer,chiquito?"
"Presently," said Pedro, softened, "but approach by easy stages, and not too near. I am better, my dear. Take heart, now, there's a good soul; and we will talk—but at a distance, look thou! or I'll be thrown into a fit. Hast been well?"
"As well," said the señora, drying her eyes, "as a lone woman in an infidel country with naught but a cleaver to give her courage o' nights and a helpless innocent of a priest to look after like a baby, and not a dress fit to put on her back save this, borrowed from a heathen woman whose name I cannot pronounce, could be."
"Ah!" said Pedro, with sympathy.
"Thou didst wrong to leave me, Pedro, and see what it hath come to! But who fired the gun at thee? I'll seek him out, as he liveth!"
"Now, toast me on a bodkin!" retorted Pedro. "Dost fancy I went back to ask his name? It would have escaped me by percolation had I heard it. I was a-leak on all sides, top and bottom, like a lobster-pot fresh-hauled. So thoroughly did he riddle me, Señora, that I could not have held a secret grief, or a good intention. But let the man go, my dear. He that loaded the gun hath half the responsibility."
"I'll find them both!" said the lady, with resolution.
The entrance of Father Tendilla ended the conversation, and Pedro heaved a sigh of relief. Thereafter, the señora usurped the role of nurse, chiding him gently for exaggerating his hurts when she learned their real extent, but caring for him faithfully.
Week after week the siege went on, fierce, bloody, and relentless. Sorties were attempted, savagely opposed. The defences of the Spaniards were assaulted, fought over with the fury of hate and desperation, and the assailants repulsed. To the Peruvians, the loss in each attack was sickening, but they returned with valor undaunted, until the Inca in humanity ordered a cessation and determined to reduce the enemy by famine.
Cristoval, in the meanwhile, yet unfit to resume his armor, gave his time to training a number of warriors in the riding school and the use of arms on horseback. Fearless, agile, and adaptable, they acquired the horseman's art with the readiness with which it was learned by the tribes of the North American plains, and by constant drill the cavalier produced a squad of riders, equipped with captured arms and mail, which was destined to prove formidable. The Peruvians, trained with the battle-axe and shield, easily exchanged these for mace and buckler; but Cristoval soon found that for a skilful use of the lance months would be required, and he was forced to see that weapon laid aside. Of all his pupils, none was so apt as the Inca Manco.
Thus Cristoval passed his convalescence, striving by incessant activity to hold his impatient longing. Twice only, after his strength returned, he rode to Yucay for a few brief hours of happiness.
The winter months passed and spring was at hand. Within the beleaguered city conditions grew desperate. Provisions, which had long been growing scanty, were almost exhausted, and the Spaniards faced starvation. They had hoped, watched, vowed many a pious vow, prayed many a fervent prayer, for reënforcements from the coast; but the expeditions sent by Francisco Pizarro for their relief had been entrapped in the mountains and driven back or annihilated. A few weeks must seal the fate of the besieged, and Hernando was already importuned by his cavaliers to lead in a final effort to cut through the investing lines and escape with his starveling remnant. Not he! He swore, and the stoutest of his men swore with him, to fight while strength remained to wield a blade.
But while the Spaniards were meeting in gloomy council the Inca was confronted by a situation no less grave.
Near the middle of a chill, clear night in the early spring, in the fifth month of the siege, Cristoval, now fully recovered, rode across the parade in front of the Inca's tent, and dismissed his native troopers. For a week he had been guarding the Cuntisuyu road, suspecting a Spanish design to break through the lines. He had laid off his helmet when a messenger summoned him to the Inca. Cristoval found Manco alone, pacing his tent with bent head, his face more deeply clouded than the cavalier had ever seen it. His expression lightened at sight of the man who had become nearer a comrade than any had ever been before, and he said gravely: "I have sent for thee, Cristoval, to entrust thee with a mission which, in other circumstances thou wouldst have found most welcome. Now it will be as painful to thee, I know, my friend and brother, as it is to me. It is this. Thou wilt ride to Yucay—wilt set out to-night. Arriving there, thou'lt conduct the household forthwith to the security of the fortress at Ollantaytambo."
Cristoval started. Was Yucay insecure? In Heaven's name, what could make it so, with the Spaniards held like starving rats? Manco read his question, and answered it bluntly:—
"We must raise the siege, Cristoval!"
Cristoval was aghast, unable to believe.
"We must raise the siege!" repeated Manco, steadily.
Cristoval put out his hand for the support of the table. When at last he spoke his voice was harsh and unnatural. "Raise the siege! Raise the siege—at this moment—when victory is within your grasp? By God, man, it must not be! Who hath advised this folly?"
Manco raised his hand. "It must be! I have held council all this day and to-night."
"Your counsellors—have they been stricken with madness?" cried the cavalier. "Do they not know—"
"My friend," interrupted the Inca, placing a hand upon Cristoval's shoulder, "my counsellors know what it is not possible that thou shouldst know—that Tavantinsuyu is menaced by a foe more ruthless than the one in yonder city. This hour hath been long foreseen, and now it is come. Hunger is abroad!"
"Your stanchest ally!" interjaculated Cristoval.
"An ally, but one ready to turn most cruelly against us! Hear me, Cristoval! It is not yet with us, with the army, though thou hast seen the meagre fare our braves have had these many days, and hast been in want, thyself. But there is a graver peril. Thou knowest, the season of planting is at hand. The fields are waiting. Every province of the empire hath been denuded of its men, and only women, children, and the feeble, are left to till the soil. The time is short, and if the grain be not sowed, a calamity will follow, blacker in its horror than that of war, which taketh only lives of men. Starvation recketh neither of sex nor age. The siege must end."
Manco spoke with calmness. His face had paled, but otherwise his emotion was unbetrayed. Cristoval heard him in silence. The Inca's words, he knew, were final, Rhadamanthine; once spoken, not to be opposed by human tongue. Manco resumed:—
"So it must be, Cristoval. The magazines are exhausted—I learned it finally to-day,—and even the archers are in need of arrows. My warriors will march to their provinces with famine attendant, but—they must go. I am defeated! O, great Inti, why—" His words ended, and he turned abruptly away. Cristoval sank into a chair and bowed his head upon his hands. To disband the army now would mean disaster irremediable. He sprang up with fiery, urgent words, but they were stayed by Manco who faced him again with every trace of agitation gone: "I said, defeated! Forget that the word was spoken. Whilst life is spared me, and I have a warrior left to follow, there shall be no defeat. But now, Cristoval, thou wilt go. By midday to-morrow thou'lt have overtaken a force which marched to-day. At Yucay, all will be in readiness. Word hath gone forward, and as soon as the palace is abandoned it will be stripped of all that yonder vultures crave. Having seen the household safely at Ollantaytambo, thou'lt return. I will remain near Cuzco with some force, for the enemy shall find that peace is not yet. Now go, and Heaven speed thee. Farewell."
As Cristoval left the tent he turned. The Inca stood in thought, his dark, handsome face as calm as if his brave heart were untouched by disaster, untorn by myriad cares and sorrows. He waved his hand, and Cristoval left him to the brooding silence of the night—and God alone knows what hours of anguish.
As the cavalier rode forth in the starlight he looked upon a dark, prophetic vision of the future of the fair empire for which he had been fighting. Tavantinsuyu was doomed. Doomed—he saw it now—from the moment Pizarro had set his foot upon its soil. The Spaniards would crowd to its shores like ravening wolves, and before the army could be recalled to the field it would be too late. He knew the indomitable resolution of his countrymen, their resources, and their driving rapacity, too well to hope the Inca could ever regain the advantage now to be put aside. Unless crushed at what was yet its beginning, the conquest would never be abandoned. And too thoroughly did Cristoval know the nature of his race to foresee anything but cruel oppression for the conquered. He looked with clearer prevision than could the stricken monarch into the blackness of the years to come.
The meeting of the lovers at Yucay was in joy and grief. Cristoval strove to inspire a hope he could not share, but when Rava took sorrowful leave of the palace it was with an intuition that she would never enter it again. At Ollantaytambo their parting was in grief alone, and the cavalier rode back to Cuzco followed by many a tearful prayer.
Pedro's fighting days were done, and as he stood on the rampart of the fortress, watching his old comrade's departure, the receding figure grew dim to him by reason of something more than dust and distance.
CHAPTER XL
Glory and Peace