We shall be brief with the last scenes of the tragedy of Tavantinsuyu. It was night when Cristoval arrived at the heights overlooking Cuzco, and the city lay dark and silent below. But the vast circle of the fires of the besieging host sparkled no more. The army had vanished. He found a remnant among the hills, picked warriors of the empire, led by Manco, and chosen to die in its last burst of glory.There were long weeks of fighting about the city; fierce dashes by the Spaniards, driven by famine from their lair among the ruins, more fiercely resisted by the watchful Manco, to be many times hunted back with shattered ranks. The Inca's small body of horsemen grew as steeds were captured from the foragers, and it met the raiders in more than one sharp encounter and pursuit ending only in the environs of the city.But at last came reënforcements from Francisco, and Manco withdrew to Ollantaytambo to rest and recruit his battle-worn warriors, leaving Cristoval with his riders and a small command of Antis to watch. Not many days later, it was learned from a captured Cañare that the Spaniards were planning an attack in force on Ollantaytambo. Assured of the information, Cristoval joined the Inca for its defence. They had not long to wait. With a strong body of cavalry and infantry, Hernando made a stealthy detour through the mountains in the valley of the Urubamba. He approached the fortress under cover of darkness and attacked at dawn, confident of taking it by surprise. Before midday his column was flying for Cuzco, defeated, demoralized, and in utter rout, with the Inca in hot pursuit.Once more Cristoval's band of horsemen and Mocho's Antis were scouring the valley of Cuzco, lurking in the hills and passes, striking now here, now there; and intercepting, scattering, or destroying, the parties which need of food or greed of plunder led from the city. Informed by vigilant scouts of every move of the enemy, and guided by men familiar with every ravine and mountain trail, he struck often and with terrible unexpectedness. Repeatedly the Pizarros sent, and even led, in chase, always fruitlessly, or with disaster. If the swift-moving band was encountered, it was in some position of its leader's own choosing which more than offset the Spaniards' advantage of numbers. The cry, "El Renegado!"—for so Cristoval became known—grew to be one of terror; and raised suddenly in a party of marauders, it carried panic. Impelled by the wrongs of his adopted people—those suffered in the past, and blacker ones which he knew were to follow—he fought with reckless fury.One night, while in bivouac a few leagues from Cuzco, achasquibrought Cristoval a summons to Ollantaytambo with his command. The first thought of the cavalier was of the joy of seeing Rava. The next, an undefined disquiet. Before dawn he was on the march.It was late when he entered the fortress, to be taken immediately to Manco's chamber. Paullo was with the Inca, and both embraced the cavalier with affection, the Inca adding a warm appreciation of his zeal and intrepidity. Paullo retired to apprise Rava. Manco regarded the march-stained soldier in rusty armor and said with less than his usual calm, but without the former gloom:—"Cristoval, my brother, I have sent for thee to entrust another mission. Once more thou wilt take my loved ones to a place of safety. At dawn I leave with a few followers for a stronghold in the mountains of Apurimac, there to await the moment for reassembling my army. For the present, Ollantaytambo must be abandoned, and my few remaining troops disbanded. My last granary, my last armory, my last resource, have been exhausted.—But, my friend," he went on, with increased energy, and taking the cavalier by the arm, "think not that Manco hath succumbed!—nor that his sword will sleep through the months of waiting.""Then I should be among your followers, my lord," said Cristoval."Nay! Thou'lt serve me better for the present in another way. Safeguard my dear ones. It is a trust which I can confide to thee as to none other. Paullo is but a boy. I ask the greatest service thou canst render, for thy sword, now, can aid me little.""But when the time cometh—""Then I will call upon it, brave Cristoval," replied Manco, taking his hand. "But now, concerning a refuge: I have thought of Xilcala. I was there when a boy."Cristoval flushed with sudden feeling, and the valley with all its beauty, its dear associations and memories, rose before him."It is remote from Cuzco," continued Manco; "and as I remember it, could be easily defended.""A handful of men could hold it against an army," replied Cristoval, positively."Then to Xilcala, and Heaven guide thy way! Mocho will escort with his Antis, and thou'lt take thy riders, to hold them there until I call thee. They cannot serve me now, for I shall be in the mountains. Mocho will join me with his men in Apurimac. And now, go to Rava, who will be waiting. I will be with you in an hour." He paused, and regarding the cavalier earnestly, added, "I would, Cristoval, see you both happy—before I say farewell."Cristoval flushed again. "God bless thee, Manco!—God bless thee! I—I will say a word to Rava."Rava waited alone. As far as her door, but not beyond, we will follow the eager steps of Cristoval, then await, with what patience we may, the consequence of their meeting and tender duologue.And the consequence was this. Within the hour Cristoval tore himself away, and in a condition of agreeable agitation, sought Pedro, who had expected his comrade's arrival, and had not retired. The cavalier's mood, as infectious as it was agreeable, seized upon the cook; and the cook, after interjections of the sort peculiar to himself stumped out in quest of Father Tendilla. The good priest was asleep, but straightway became broad awake, fell prey to the infection, and arose precipitately. From Father Tendilla, Pedro went to the door of Señora Bolio, not without trepidation. The Señora was likewise asleep, but after the fourth knock came to the door—far from being forgetful of her cleaver—and opened it to the slight degree consistent with modesty, or caution, or both. Pedro imparted his item of intelligence.The señora uttered a cry of delight, and, both incautiously and immodestly, threw wide the door. "Is it so, Pedro? Is it so? Oh, the dear angel of a girl! Oh, Pedro, thou 'rt the best and wisest of men!" And in the exuberance of her joy the worst befell Pedro. He was embraced. "Pedro, thou 'rt a love!""Fiends, woman!" cried the cook, wrenching himself free, "'t is no doing of mine! They brought it upon themselves.""Oh, do I not know that, thou simple! But had it not been for thee, they never would! I will come at once, Pedro, dear."Pedro retired, not only agitated, but disarranged, mentally and otherwise.Between midnight and dawn, within the dim, starlit ramparts of the ancient stronghold of Ollanta, was a Christian wedding. Strange the place, yet more strange the assemblage gathered to witness: A stern-visaged young pagan monarch with softened eyes beaming beneath a crimsonllautu; about him, a score of grim, war-worn nobles of Tavantinsuyu with scars fresh from recent conflict; a throng of dark-haired women in loose-flowing robes and adorned with barbaric splendor. A Spaniard with but one leg, and a Spanish señora were there; the former glowing pleasantly with the sentiments of a genial heart; the other weeping with that mixture of feminine emotions inspired by such occasions, which must forever remain inscrutable to man.Again a declining day in the fair Vale of Xilcala. Approaching by the gorge and nearing its head, is a column of the Inca's warriors, some of them mounted and clad in Viracocha mail, and escorting a train ofhamacas. It is led by a cavalier whose armor bears many a mark of hostile blade unknown when he rode out from the valley, long and stormy months ago. The command halts at his signal, and riding back to one of thehamacas, he dismounts and assists its precious burden to alight. Together they walk forward to the edge of the lake, and Rava looks long and dreamily over its unruffled surface and mirrored mountains. There is the rocky promontory with its crowning of roofs and soft-gleaming walls; the gently-sloping shores with their fields and groves; theandenesclinging to the lower steeps, and the pinnacles towering above; and far across the valley, a hazy canyon from which these two—long ago, it seems to them now—looked out over the welcome peacefulness. The sheltering peaks are touched with rose; blue, transparent shadows are stealing up the eastern scarp; and across the still reflections creeps one thin, silvery arrow in the wake of a balsa urged shoreward by a fisherman. His distant, plaintive song floats across the lake and breaks into the murmur of the near-by stream. No other movement in all the tranquillity; no other sound, unless the whispered, liquid notes of the rippling on the pebbles of the beach.Rava sighs, "Oh, Cristoval, is it not beautiful!""Most fair!" says the cavalier, as he said long ago, and passes a steel-clad arm about her as he meets the deep eyes, now brimming.There they dwelt—Cristoval and Rava—remote from the dreary scenes of the wars among the Spaniards which followed close upon the fall of the Empire of the Incas. They found peace and happiness in a love enduring as their lives. Happiness, it is true, with a deep, life-long undertone of grief, for Tavantinsuyu and its last Inca; but their sorrow drew them nearer, as sorrow must. They found, too, palliative in alleviating many an ill brought upon the people outside their valley by the subjugation, and the twain—after their marriage, the Autauchi Cristoval and the Palla Rava—are remembered in undying tradition.There, withal, dwelt Pedro, beloved comrade of Cristoval, and his genial head was silvered for many a long year. And all the children of the valley, when, from Father Tendilla—who gathered his last flock in Xilcala—they had learned about the saints, fixed upon Pedro as the vicar of the Patron Saint of childhood. There, moreover, dwelt the señora, the guardian angel of Pedro. A somewhat surcharged and superheated guardian angel, perhaps, but gradually moderating, under the influence of the repose of the valley, to a mild and kindly warmth. On one or more occasions, in the early days, she requested Pedro's hand in marriage with affectionate impetuosity; but he gently though firmly refused, and compromised with a promise never to leave the valley by stealth.And in support of all which precedeth thou mayst find, Reader, in that peaceful valley, thePalacio del Autauchi Cristoval; and in its great hall two suits of armor, side by side, one perfect the other wanting in a jambe and solleret. They are cherished with almost equal pride and reverence by the De Peraltas, who dwell there still, and from whom thou mayst learn, though it may be with less detail, the history which endeth here.THE END*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKTHE CRIMSON CONQUEST***
We shall be brief with the last scenes of the tragedy of Tavantinsuyu. It was night when Cristoval arrived at the heights overlooking Cuzco, and the city lay dark and silent below. But the vast circle of the fires of the besieging host sparkled no more. The army had vanished. He found a remnant among the hills, picked warriors of the empire, led by Manco, and chosen to die in its last burst of glory.
There were long weeks of fighting about the city; fierce dashes by the Spaniards, driven by famine from their lair among the ruins, more fiercely resisted by the watchful Manco, to be many times hunted back with shattered ranks. The Inca's small body of horsemen grew as steeds were captured from the foragers, and it met the raiders in more than one sharp encounter and pursuit ending only in the environs of the city.
But at last came reënforcements from Francisco, and Manco withdrew to Ollantaytambo to rest and recruit his battle-worn warriors, leaving Cristoval with his riders and a small command of Antis to watch. Not many days later, it was learned from a captured Cañare that the Spaniards were planning an attack in force on Ollantaytambo. Assured of the information, Cristoval joined the Inca for its defence. They had not long to wait. With a strong body of cavalry and infantry, Hernando made a stealthy detour through the mountains in the valley of the Urubamba. He approached the fortress under cover of darkness and attacked at dawn, confident of taking it by surprise. Before midday his column was flying for Cuzco, defeated, demoralized, and in utter rout, with the Inca in hot pursuit.
Once more Cristoval's band of horsemen and Mocho's Antis were scouring the valley of Cuzco, lurking in the hills and passes, striking now here, now there; and intercepting, scattering, or destroying, the parties which need of food or greed of plunder led from the city. Informed by vigilant scouts of every move of the enemy, and guided by men familiar with every ravine and mountain trail, he struck often and with terrible unexpectedness. Repeatedly the Pizarros sent, and even led, in chase, always fruitlessly, or with disaster. If the swift-moving band was encountered, it was in some position of its leader's own choosing which more than offset the Spaniards' advantage of numbers. The cry, "El Renegado!"—for so Cristoval became known—grew to be one of terror; and raised suddenly in a party of marauders, it carried panic. Impelled by the wrongs of his adopted people—those suffered in the past, and blacker ones which he knew were to follow—he fought with reckless fury.
One night, while in bivouac a few leagues from Cuzco, achasquibrought Cristoval a summons to Ollantaytambo with his command. The first thought of the cavalier was of the joy of seeing Rava. The next, an undefined disquiet. Before dawn he was on the march.
It was late when he entered the fortress, to be taken immediately to Manco's chamber. Paullo was with the Inca, and both embraced the cavalier with affection, the Inca adding a warm appreciation of his zeal and intrepidity. Paullo retired to apprise Rava. Manco regarded the march-stained soldier in rusty armor and said with less than his usual calm, but without the former gloom:—
"Cristoval, my brother, I have sent for thee to entrust another mission. Once more thou wilt take my loved ones to a place of safety. At dawn I leave with a few followers for a stronghold in the mountains of Apurimac, there to await the moment for reassembling my army. For the present, Ollantaytambo must be abandoned, and my few remaining troops disbanded. My last granary, my last armory, my last resource, have been exhausted.—But, my friend," he went on, with increased energy, and taking the cavalier by the arm, "think not that Manco hath succumbed!—nor that his sword will sleep through the months of waiting."
"Then I should be among your followers, my lord," said Cristoval.
"Nay! Thou'lt serve me better for the present in another way. Safeguard my dear ones. It is a trust which I can confide to thee as to none other. Paullo is but a boy. I ask the greatest service thou canst render, for thy sword, now, can aid me little."
"But when the time cometh—"
"Then I will call upon it, brave Cristoval," replied Manco, taking his hand. "But now, concerning a refuge: I have thought of Xilcala. I was there when a boy."
Cristoval flushed with sudden feeling, and the valley with all its beauty, its dear associations and memories, rose before him.
"It is remote from Cuzco," continued Manco; "and as I remember it, could be easily defended."
"A handful of men could hold it against an army," replied Cristoval, positively.
"Then to Xilcala, and Heaven guide thy way! Mocho will escort with his Antis, and thou'lt take thy riders, to hold them there until I call thee. They cannot serve me now, for I shall be in the mountains. Mocho will join me with his men in Apurimac. And now, go to Rava, who will be waiting. I will be with you in an hour." He paused, and regarding the cavalier earnestly, added, "I would, Cristoval, see you both happy—before I say farewell."
Cristoval flushed again. "God bless thee, Manco!—God bless thee! I—I will say a word to Rava."
Rava waited alone. As far as her door, but not beyond, we will follow the eager steps of Cristoval, then await, with what patience we may, the consequence of their meeting and tender duologue.
And the consequence was this. Within the hour Cristoval tore himself away, and in a condition of agreeable agitation, sought Pedro, who had expected his comrade's arrival, and had not retired. The cavalier's mood, as infectious as it was agreeable, seized upon the cook; and the cook, after interjections of the sort peculiar to himself stumped out in quest of Father Tendilla. The good priest was asleep, but straightway became broad awake, fell prey to the infection, and arose precipitately. From Father Tendilla, Pedro went to the door of Señora Bolio, not without trepidation. The Señora was likewise asleep, but after the fourth knock came to the door—far from being forgetful of her cleaver—and opened it to the slight degree consistent with modesty, or caution, or both. Pedro imparted his item of intelligence.
The señora uttered a cry of delight, and, both incautiously and immodestly, threw wide the door. "Is it so, Pedro? Is it so? Oh, the dear angel of a girl! Oh, Pedro, thou 'rt the best and wisest of men!" And in the exuberance of her joy the worst befell Pedro. He was embraced. "Pedro, thou 'rt a love!"
"Fiends, woman!" cried the cook, wrenching himself free, "'t is no doing of mine! They brought it upon themselves."
"Oh, do I not know that, thou simple! But had it not been for thee, they never would! I will come at once, Pedro, dear."
Pedro retired, not only agitated, but disarranged, mentally and otherwise.
Between midnight and dawn, within the dim, starlit ramparts of the ancient stronghold of Ollanta, was a Christian wedding. Strange the place, yet more strange the assemblage gathered to witness: A stern-visaged young pagan monarch with softened eyes beaming beneath a crimsonllautu; about him, a score of grim, war-worn nobles of Tavantinsuyu with scars fresh from recent conflict; a throng of dark-haired women in loose-flowing robes and adorned with barbaric splendor. A Spaniard with but one leg, and a Spanish señora were there; the former glowing pleasantly with the sentiments of a genial heart; the other weeping with that mixture of feminine emotions inspired by such occasions, which must forever remain inscrutable to man.
Again a declining day in the fair Vale of Xilcala. Approaching by the gorge and nearing its head, is a column of the Inca's warriors, some of them mounted and clad in Viracocha mail, and escorting a train ofhamacas. It is led by a cavalier whose armor bears many a mark of hostile blade unknown when he rode out from the valley, long and stormy months ago. The command halts at his signal, and riding back to one of thehamacas, he dismounts and assists its precious burden to alight. Together they walk forward to the edge of the lake, and Rava looks long and dreamily over its unruffled surface and mirrored mountains. There is the rocky promontory with its crowning of roofs and soft-gleaming walls; the gently-sloping shores with their fields and groves; theandenesclinging to the lower steeps, and the pinnacles towering above; and far across the valley, a hazy canyon from which these two—long ago, it seems to them now—looked out over the welcome peacefulness. The sheltering peaks are touched with rose; blue, transparent shadows are stealing up the eastern scarp; and across the still reflections creeps one thin, silvery arrow in the wake of a balsa urged shoreward by a fisherman. His distant, plaintive song floats across the lake and breaks into the murmur of the near-by stream. No other movement in all the tranquillity; no other sound, unless the whispered, liquid notes of the rippling on the pebbles of the beach.
Rava sighs, "Oh, Cristoval, is it not beautiful!"
"Most fair!" says the cavalier, as he said long ago, and passes a steel-clad arm about her as he meets the deep eyes, now brimming.
There they dwelt—Cristoval and Rava—remote from the dreary scenes of the wars among the Spaniards which followed close upon the fall of the Empire of the Incas. They found peace and happiness in a love enduring as their lives. Happiness, it is true, with a deep, life-long undertone of grief, for Tavantinsuyu and its last Inca; but their sorrow drew them nearer, as sorrow must. They found, too, palliative in alleviating many an ill brought upon the people outside their valley by the subjugation, and the twain—after their marriage, the Autauchi Cristoval and the Palla Rava—are remembered in undying tradition.
There, withal, dwelt Pedro, beloved comrade of Cristoval, and his genial head was silvered for many a long year. And all the children of the valley, when, from Father Tendilla—who gathered his last flock in Xilcala—they had learned about the saints, fixed upon Pedro as the vicar of the Patron Saint of childhood. There, moreover, dwelt the señora, the guardian angel of Pedro. A somewhat surcharged and superheated guardian angel, perhaps, but gradually moderating, under the influence of the repose of the valley, to a mild and kindly warmth. On one or more occasions, in the early days, she requested Pedro's hand in marriage with affectionate impetuosity; but he gently though firmly refused, and compromised with a promise never to leave the valley by stealth.
And in support of all which precedeth thou mayst find, Reader, in that peaceful valley, thePalacio del Autauchi Cristoval; and in its great hall two suits of armor, side by side, one perfect the other wanting in a jambe and solleret. They are cherished with almost equal pride and reverence by the De Peraltas, who dwell there still, and from whom thou mayst learn, though it may be with less detail, the history which endeth here.
THE END
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKTHE CRIMSON CONQUEST***