CHAPTER VIICavalier and CantineroNight fell before the cavalry returned from pursuing the wretched fugitives, whom they hunted almost to the confines of the Peruvian camp, riding them down in their flight, and slaying without mercy. The troops of the Inca had fled without striking a blow. It would be difficult to explain their complete demoralization did we not consider the superstitious awe with which the Spaniards had been regarded from their first landing upon the Peruvian coasts. Their aspect and the supernatural powers ascribed to them bore out the ancient tradition of the fair-faced god, Viracocha, who, it is said, had once appeared upon earth, and whose reappearance had been foretold by the oracles. The white men were his descendants and agents. Already they were known as Viracochas. A mere handful, but armed with thunderbolts, they had seized the sacred person of the Inca and destroyed his nobles and generals at a blow. The keystone, the arch itself, of the empire had crumbled and fallen under the dire calamity. The people were without a ruler, the army without leaders. The authority which had held the tribes together was dissolved in an hour. Accustomed for generations to the rule of the most absolute despotism the world has ever known, they were now incapable of initiative. The Empire of Tavantinsuyu was a rudderless ship. The army resolved itself into its elements and fell in pieces.The Inca supped that night with the Spanish commander and his officers, as had been promised. Cristoval, the only officer fit for duty after the day's work, had been detailed as commander of the exterior guard, glad to be relieved of the need of sitting at table with his comrades after so base a massacre, which, in his enforced role of spectator, he had seen in its full horror. He was a soldier, and possibly not less callous to bloodshed and suffering than many others of his calling, but never had he beheld butchery so wanton and unhindered. Had he been a participant—and now he fervently thanked God for preventing it—he would have been less impressed by its enormity. He must even have shared in some degree the infection of ferocity, until he should have realized, as had De Soto, the uselessness of the slaughter and revolted. But compelled to look on in cool blood, he had sickened. He sickened more at the brutal exultation, and at the ghastly sights in the square. A battlefield he could have surveyed unmoved. This slaughter-pen horrified him.When his detail was formed he marched it away, grateful to Heaven that his post was remote alike from the jubilation of the soldiers and from the sounds and tainted air of the plaza.At a villa beside the road along which the Inca had entered the town, he halted his command. The place had been broken into the evening before for use as a guard-house, and while his sergeant was making up his reliefs, Cristoval took a lantern and walked through the vacant rooms. They showed at every step the marks of the vandalism of yesterday's guard, and he explored gloomily the ruin of what had been a handsome dwelling. Tapestries before the doors had been torn down for beds. Quaintly carved furniture had been used for firewood; fragments of tableware were scattered everywhere, with curiously fashioned bronze and brass vessels crushed by the heels of the soldiers. More precious articles had been sought, as was evident in the disorder of every apartment, in broken chests, and doors with battered fastenings. Cristoval ordered a room cleared and prepared for his vigil.Just after midnight, having returned from his rounds, he heard a challenge from the sentinel in front of the villa, then the voice of Pedro, and in a moment the cook stumped across the court and knocked. Cristoval called to him to enter, and he came in, followed by his boy, laden with what Pedro guessed would be welcome at midnight to any officer of any guard."Tibi bene dico!" quoth Pedro, "and may the night be without alarms. I have brought thee good cheer, Cristoval, lest hunger contend with vigilance.Stomachus plenus vigiliam longam contrahit—which is to say that a full stomach shorteneth a long watch. Cæsar, I believe." Pedro grinned benignly upon the cavalier, who arose and greeted him with warmth."Pedro, thou 'rt a good man, full of good deeds. On my soul, I rejoice to see thee with or without thy cheer, for I find the night melancholy.""Good!" said Pedro. "Then am I doubly welcome. Here, Pedrillo, lay out the supper on this table. Have a care, boy! Spill that soup, thou imp, and I'll make another of thee!""Why,amigo," said Cristoval, surveying the repast, "it is a feast! Thy substantial cheer is second only to the spiritual cheer in thine atmosphere. Accept my thanks. Hast supped, thyself?""No. No time for it. I prepared the banquet to the Inca and saw it served.""Then thou'lt sup with me. There is more than enough for two. Pedrillo, another chair. Fall to, thou good culinary saint, and tell me about the banquet. How doth the Inca bear it?""He near broke my heart with his indifferent appetite," growled the cook, as he seated himself; "but otherwise he is most commendable. I thought to see a sullen, savage chieftain, oppressed by conscious inferiority and afraid of the tableware. Not so! He was gloomy, 't is true,—and who, in his position, would not be so?—but he strove against it, and talked graciously with Pizarro and the others through Felipillo, making the best of matters right gallantly, like a man. He wore a dignity and fortitude in the face of adversity, Cristoval, that would become any king, white or bronze.""So he bore himself in the square, when taken," remarked Cristoval."Ah!" said Pedro. "'T is as much as a point of honor with them, saith Felipillo, not to show emotion. I tell thee,amigo, he compelled the respect of the officers, and no one said a discourteous word but that beast of a Mendoza, whom Pizarro commanded to keep his tongue between his teeth, and forbade Felipillo to translate his words. The Inca paid much attention to De Soto, who sat nearly opposite, and who, it appeareth, defended him against the pikes of those hounds of the infantry who would have had his life. He asked for someone else, and De Soto spoke thy name, Cristoval. Wast thou beside De Soto when the Inca fell? Then that was it! Well, the Inca hath not forgotten. I would there had been other acts of chivalry done by Spaniards this day worthy to be remembered!""A horrible affair, Pedro!" said Cristoval."Most damnably horrible!" replied Pedro, lowering his voice. "I have never seen its like but once. That was when a boy, in Palencia. One night near dawn a pack of wolves, driven by the winter's cold down from the Cantabrian Mountains, broke into the sheepfold. I thought of it to-day. I have soldiered long, Cristoval, but curse me if my sword ever took life from a defenceless man! But let me warn thee to make no comments likely to reach the ears of the commander. He and De Soto have had words already. De Soto tried to stay his troop during the slaughter. José and two others aided him.""I am glad to hear it of José," said Cristoval."I fear José hath trouble in store," returned Pedro, with a shake of his head. "That little jaundiced friar, Mauricio, hath announced that during the struggle he saw the Virgin and Babe, with Santiago mounted on his white charger smiting the infidels with a flaming sword. He hath been seeking corroboration, and two infantrymen swear they beheld it too. The friar asked José, and José ripped out a great oath, 'No; and if such a sight was seen, the observers must have mistaken the spirits, for none but the devil and his devils would have taken part in such infamy!' Fray Mauricio's face went livid, and he denounced José as a heretic. He hath gone to Father Valverde and the commander. Thou knowest he is fresh from the Inquisition? Well, it is so! He was one of its most zealous officers, and the soldiers say he hath a chest full of instruments to make good Christians of the Indios.""He will hardly make trouble for José," replied Cristoval. "José is indispensable to the army.""A heretic is indispensable to the Inquisition! For the present José is safe; but wait!" Pedro hitched his chair a little nearer, and bent forward. "I tell thee, Cristoval, Fray Mauricio intendeth trouble. Thou knowest José is sometimes called 'El Morisco' by the soldiers.Bien! And a Morisco I believe him to be. Hast ever thought of it?"Cristoval laid down his knife and regarded the cook seriously. "By the saints, Pedro!" he said at length, "I believe thou 'rt right. I had given it no thought, but now I reflect, he hath the look, for a certainty.""Ah!" said Pedro, leaning back. "He hath the look! He hath the manner; and for one not a clerical he is a learned man—too learned for a good Christian, Cristoval. He saith,"—here Pedro laid his hand upon, the table with great impressiveness—"he saith, and sweareth by it, that the earth revolveth on an axis, like an orange twirled on a skewer!""Holy San Miguel!" exclaimed Cristoval.Pedro nodded with solemnity. "And what is more—not to say worse," he continued, "he holdeth that the earth circleth about the sun!""Gods!" said Cristoval, with redoubled incredulity.Pedro nodded again, then shook his head. "This," said he, "is a pagan teaching, and José were better without it. 'T was held by Pythagoras, by Philolaus, by Hicetas, and later by Cicero. Saith Cicero of Hicetas, 'Hicetas Syracusius, ut ait Theophrastus, coelum, solem, lunam, stellas,'—"Cristoval brought his fist down upon the table with a crash: "Ten thousand demons and goblins, man! Be done! Hath the day not been trying enough without thy jabbering? Contain thy Latin, or I'll forget thy goodness!" He glowered at the cook, who smiled blandly."It is of no importance,amigo," said he. "Let it pass. I was but going to say that José hath pagan beliefs. But what is more serious, Cristoval, Fray Mauricio seemeth to have suspicion of them, and some knowledge of the armorer's past. Once he questioned me. I evaded a direct reply.""Thou didst, Pedro! How?""Why, I asked him if he had ever tried swallowing toasted rags for his liver.""Ho!" blurted Cristoval, and Pedro grew red from a fit of wheezy laughter until his chair creaked accompaniment."Didst ever take a setting hen from her nest and hold her under a pump, Cristoval, then release her?""Name of a saint! Of course I never did, thou unaccountable cook! Why should I?""Only to observe her state of mind—her indignation. Make trial of it some day, and thou'lt have Mauricio when he gave over questioning. Unctuous knave! Stew me! He should have no word from me against José, were I put to the rack for it!"Pedro resumed his supper, and Cristoval studied him for a time with interest. At last he said abruptly: "Pedro, thou 'rt an uncommon man—a most singular and unexampled cook, by the faith! How comest thou by thy learning—thy Latin and curious lore? And having these, how comest thou a cook? What the fiend doth a cook with Pythagoras, and Cicero, and Cæsar?"Pedro flushed, and leaned back, regarding the cavalier soberly. "Why, Cristoval," he said slowly, "'t is a long story—and one I do not tell.""Oh, thy pardon, Pedro! I thought not to pry, believe me! Prithee, forget that I asked!""Nay!" said Pedro, reflectively. "It is natural, and I begrudge thee not an answer." He turned to his boy, who was sitting near: "Pedrillo, seek the sergeant of the guard, and ask him to explain to thee the theory of fortifications. Thou mayest some day find it useful." Pedrillo's chin dropped, and he retired slowly. Pedro continued: "It is a long story, Cristoval, but I will make it brief.—I was not always a cook, as I have said to thee before. I—I have a name. It is not Pedro. I am Luis de Cardeñas—of a family as ancient as thine, Peralta.Bien! I am a younger son, and, if thou wilt, anindigno—a worthless one. I was intended for the priesthood, and partly prepared for it. It was a mistake. I studied by day to the satisfaction of my instructors, but one night they found my bed arranged with the pillows lengthwise in a simulacrum of my form. I was elsewhere. Thus they found it the next night, and many following. I had learned to scale a wall, to sing a serenade, and mount to a balcony in a most unclerical way, Cristoval. My superiors held council. I was disciplined. Grew weary of bread-and-water, and escaped. Followed a regiment, and became a soldier. Was disowned by my family. Lost a leg at Pavia. Could soldier no longer, and so turnedcantinero—sutler. Came across the sea, first to Cuba, then heard of Peru, and here I am—no priest, no soldier, and only five-sevenths of a cook. 'T is all. I am Pedro,el cocinero—Pedro, the cook. Know me thus,amigoand not otherwise." Pedro sighed almost inaudibly, and toyed with his knife. Cristoval extended his hand."I thank thee for thy confidence," he said gravely. "Thy name shall not pass me, but I am glad to know it. Thou hast been a friend, and if thou'lt believe me, hast made one."Pedro accepted the hand without a word. Cristoval poured thechicha, they touched their cups and drank. After that, little was said, and, the supper finished, Pedro arose. "Now," said he, "I must go. I have been made lord chamberlain to the Inca until he shall be better provided, and must be up betimes.Adiós, Cristoval.""Wait!" said Cristoval. "I will escort thee, my Lord Chamberlain. I've need to go to my quarters.""It will be a knightly courtesy," answered Pedro, "for I have no gizzard in me for crossing that square unattended. Not that I am afraid, look thou, Cristoval; but that boy is as whole-souled a coward as ever looked behind in the dark, and he maketh me nervous with his gasps and snorts. I have no superstition, but they do say that the souls of infidels wander in eternal restlessness.""The souls of all men dead by violence wander until masses be said in their behalf," replied Cristoval, "and hence the souls of infidels must wander eternally. But have no uneasiness, amigo. Ghosts fear a sword as a live Italian the evil eye, and dread the sign of the cross even more. Come!"They set out with Pedrillo carrying a lantern, and took a street leading toward the plaza. Just before they reached it Cristoval halted at a small door and pushed it open. "Come this way, Pedro," he said, "and we can avoid the barricade of dead at the end of the street.""Heaven be praised!" responded Pedro. "On my way to the guard-house I thought never to pass it with my heart in my body. 'T is not as if these people were slain in battle, Cristoval. I fear not a battlefield.""This is thrice more grewsome," assented Cristoval. "But come! Enter!""Thou first, prithee, my friend! 'T is villanously dark—and thou hast two good legs for running!""Bien! Then follow!" and Cristoval entered the building. The door opened into a passage leading to the patio. They traversed the latter, and crossing an apartment, found themselves at the doors opening upon the plaza. Cristoval swung one of them open. Pedro took a step forward, then recoiled with a suddenness that sent a quick chill down the back of the redoubtable Cristoval, who was not without dread of the supernatural."Nombre de Dios! What is that?" gasped the cook, peering out into the darkness and clutching his companion's arm."What is what? Where?" demanded Cristoval."There—in the plaza!" whispered Pedro, making signs of the cross by the score.The place was faintly illumined by the starlight. On the farther side the buildings rose dim and silent. Between, the area was ridged and strewn with formless heaps, from which rose the moans and low wails of anguish of the few unfortunates to whom merciful death had not come. For a moment Cristoval failed to perceive a cause for Pedro's sudden fear. But while he looked a vague form rose from among the shadows, moved forward a few skulking paces, stooped, and was occupied with something on the ground. Farther away, Cristoval saw another, then a third and a fourth, slinking and bending over the fallen Peruvians, and their occupation came to him in a flash. They were robbers of the dead—foul carrion-birds whose greed even the satiety and weariness of the day's slaughter could not restrain. With an exclamation of disgust and rage Cristoval went quickly forward, unnoticed by the ghoul, who, knife in hand, was tearing at the precious decorations of the victims. As Cristoval approached, he heard a groan, then a faint, pleading voice, and saw the knife raised to silence it. He was upon the murderous soldier at a bound, and his hand closed upon the uplifted arm. The startled soldier turned with an oath, seized the knife in his free hand, and struck savagely at his captor, the blow ringing harmless upon the latter's corselet. Before he could strike again Cristoval's mailed fist crashed into his face, and he rolled senseless upon the pavement. His companions heard the disturbance, and hurried to aid their mate. They drew at once, and fell upon the disturber of their hideous business with one accord. Cristoval drove among them with his sword, and the sudden clash of their weapons resounded in the square. They gave way before his first rush, but closed round him immediately, bent upon his death, when Pedro, perceiving that they were not unearthly and that his friend was in danger, charged, stumping across the intervening ground, sword in hand, awakening the night with vehement imprecations. Meanwhile Pedrillo had likewise found his voice, and was clamoring at its highest pitch: "The guard! Ho, the guard! The guard!Santiago á nosotros! The guard!"Doors flew open, and half-asleep soldiers broke into the square. Lanterns flitted, an arquebusier on the redoubt fired his piece, and in a moment the town was roused. The ghouls promptly saw their danger, and fled. The encounter had been of brief duration, but one of them was badly bitten by Cristoval's point, and another bleeding from a cut by Pedro, who had himself received a scratch outside his ribs. In a moment an excited crowd had gathered, and presently Pizarro came up."What now?" he demanded. "Another affray? By the faith, our brawling will not cease until I have made an example to be remembered! Who is this?" He snatched a lantern from a soldier and held it to Cristoval's face. "What! Thou again, Peralta—and wiping thy sword? And who is this behind thee? Thou, Pedro?""Ah! Pedro!" replied the latter, smarting from his wound. "A cook! A punctured cook, and no less! Here, you pikeman, help me to peel my doublet, for I have a hurt—vulnusculum in latere—a little one in the side;—neque acu pundum—not a needle-prick, I'll swear;—and damn the man who made it!"Pizarro turned away impatiently, irritated by the cook's garrulity. "Explain this matter, Peralta!" he commanded sharply. Cristoval explained in a few words."Soto, have the companies formed!" ordered Pizarro. "We will learn who is out. Some of these dogs are plundering for themselves. It shall go hard with them! Peralta, I will send thee an additional detail. Post sentinels about the square until daylight.—Ha! Whom have we here?"The man who had struck at Cristoval had regained his senses and was sitting up, spitting out teeth."He is one of them, General," remarked Cristoval.A soldier jerked him to his feet. "Put him in double irons!" commanded Pizarro, and walked away.The call was blowing for assembly, and the crowd of soldiers dispersed. Cristoval gave his attention to Pedro, who was already being examined by José. He found the wound slight, and it was soon bandaged. Cristoval set about searching for the injured Peruvian whom he had saved from the soldier's knife. He found him presently, and called to José, who had a lantern. The three gathered round him."Look him over, José," said Cristoval. "He is badly hurt, I think—and a youth!""A noble!" exclaimed Pedro, inspecting him. "Santa Maria! The gold on his tunic, and in his ears! Our friend whom thou gavest a sore face would have found him rich scraping, Cristoval.""Ah!" assented Cristoval. "Now, let us get him out of this. Take thou the lantern, Pedro. José, help me with him to my quarters."The wounded Peruvian was carried from the square. They laid him upon Cristoval's couch, and leaving him in José's care, the former went about his duties. About dawn he returned and found the Indio fully conscious, with his wounds bandaged. Cristoval greeted him in a few words of Quichua. The young noble started at the sound, and regarding the cavalier eagerly, demanded:—"Do you speak my tongue, Viracocha? Then, in the name of the great luminary who shineth upon us both, tell me what hath become of my brother, the Inca!""Thy brother?" exclaimed Cristoval. "God save us! Thy brother—if thou meanest the Inca—is alive and unharmed.""Oh, thou great God, I thank thee!" murmured the Indio fervently, and closed his eyes, overcome. Presently, looking up again, he asked, "Is he free, Viracocha?"Cristoval shook his head. "Not free.""Not free!—a prisoner!" cried the wounded youth, weakly. He raised his hands, trembling with grief: "Oh, woe, woe! My country, what weight of sorrow hath fallen upon thee!" He buried his head in his arms and lay in silence. Cristoval was about to leave when he spoke again, his voice steady once more, and all trace of feeling banished from his countenance:—"Viracocha, you have shown me mercy. You have saved my life. Let me beg one more favor. Will you say to the Inca that Toparca sendeth his affectionate greeting and sympathy; and that if it is permitted he will share his imprisonment and minister to his wants—that he will share his fate, whatever it be?""Willingly," replied Cristoval, and desirous of ending the interview, he spoke a few words of assurance and returned to his post.CHAPTER VIIIAn Arm of the InquisitionThe day following was one of activity. The first task was to clear the square. The hundreds of prisoners herded in one of the buildings were set at the work, noble toiling beside common without distinction or favor. Not even Indian stoicism was proof against the calamity, and old men, scarred from a hundred battles, worked with streaming eyes, dragging forth the bodies of their friends to be stripped of their ornaments by the Spaniards and borne away for indiscriminate burial.Hernando Pizarro was sent with his troop to the Peruvian camp to break up whatever force might be lingering there, and to plunder the Inca's residence. Toward midday his return was announced by a sentinel, and Cristoval formed his guard. The troop entered the town with a flourish of trumpets. Its leading platoon was followed by a long procession of captives laden with spoils, ofhamacasbearing the women of the court, of disarmed warriors, and of townspeople who had been removed from Caxamalca at the approach of the Spaniards. The men, stupefied by what had befallen, marched in stolid indifference. But the women, dishevelled, wild-visaged, and dreading all things for themselves and the children in their arms or clinging to their robes, filled the air with their wailing and frantic lamentations, until securely housed in the buildings on the square.Late in the afternoon an orderly summoned Cristoval to a council of the officers at Pizarro's headquarters. He picked up Candia on his way, and the two were the first to arrive. They found Pizarro watching theveedorat work appraising the plunder brought from the Inca's villa and taken from the bodies of the Indian nobles. The commander's face was haggard, and he looked years older. He greeted the two officers cordially and said, pointing to the table on which were heaped the spoils:—"The first fruits,camaradas! We have come to the harvest season at last. Not a bad wage for one day's work! What say you?"Cristoval looked with astonishment at the wealth stacked upon the stone table on which theveedor, or inspector, had set his scales. In the middle was the chair of the Inca, a fortune in itself, and heaped around it the royal table service of gold and silver. On one of the plates was a little mound of emeralds, some of them of unusual size and brilliancy, and near by, a disorderly heap of the personal ornaments taken from the slain. On the floor were piled rugs, furs, embroidered tapestries, and fabrics of finest weave and dye.Theveedorceased his work as he arose and walked round the table. He was a fat, puffing, putty-colored individual of fifty years, with a peculiar falsetto voice and a habit of perpetually snuffling. Now his bulging eyes were more bulging than ever in their greedy leer. "Ah, look upon it, gentlemen!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands. "Behold it! Satiate your eyes! Let them revel, my friends! Is it not a feast? Delicious! Delicious! Look at these plates!—gold—solid gold! And these goblets—silver! And these precious stones—ah!" He dug his hands into the heap of emeralds and let them sift through his fat fingers, his head on one side, fairly drooling with delight, while he screwed his face into so gross and atrocious a smirk that Cristoval looked away with an oath under his breath. Theveedorsnuffled and went on: "And see these gewgaws—stripped from the heathen! Oh, my soul and body, what pickings! They are bloody yet, but how they'll shine when they are clean! They'll weigh too. Eh, Pizarro?—Treasure, treasure,compadres! The reward of our courage! A fitting reward of gallantry! We'll divide it by-and-by—we'll all have some! But stay, my friend Cristoval, thou didst not fight! What shall we do about Cristoval's share, General? We all know he did not fight. Of course, nobody would question his courage—but there are so many brave fellows to provide for, and after all there is not so very much to divide."He turned to Pizarro, puffing out his cheeks and wiping from his forehead the perspiration started by his emotion over the treasure. Cristoval had listened with disgust, hardly able to restrain his hands from gripping the fat throat. The slurring reference to his inactivity in the massacre roused his ire, and theveedorencountered a scowl so black that he started back with a gasp and shuffled precipitately behind the table."Pizarro! Pizarro!" he cried, his peculiar falsetto rising to a squeak. "That man meditateth violence! He contemplateth doing me an injury! I see it in his eyes! Restrain him, Pizarro! I am an officer of the Crown, and call upon you to protect me with your sword. I have a wife and five small—""Be done, Rogelio!" commanded Pizarro, who had small liking for the timorous member of his civil staff. "Thou talkest too much. Learn to hold thy tongue. Come! Get back to thy work, and I'll vouch for thy safety.""I am a civilian, and a man of peace," piped theveedor, rolling his colorless eyes at Cristoval. "I am an officer of the Crown, and I want it understood, Pizarro, that I'll accept no challenges. He may meditate a challenge.""I think thou doest him injustice," replied Pizarro, with sarcasm. "Thou 'rt safe. Now return to thy work."Cristoval had turned his back with a snort of contempt, and Rogelio resumed his weighing and figuring, his fear gradually giving place to malicious glances directed toward the back of the stout cavalier.José entered, and Pizarro hailed him."Hola, José! Thou 'rt in good season. I have been hearing of thee from Fray Mauricio. Dost know that he hath denounced thee as a heretic?""He promised so to do, General.""A serious charge, José! It would bring thee trouble were we at home, and might do so here, had I less authority. The friar saith thou didst utter blasphemies enough to bring thee before the Holy Office. Many a man hath gone to the stake for less."The old armorer's dark eyes glowed, and he replied bluntly: "If it was blasphemy to defend the Holy Mother and Santiago from the charge of aiding in yesterday's butchery, then I blasphemed, and would blaspheme again; for I tell you, Pizarro, the work of your men was naught less than hellish.""Have a care, old man!" said Pizarro, with a scowl. "Thy words are more dangerous than blasphemies. Imperil thy soul if it please thee; but understand that, by Heaven, I'll brook no criticism!"There was no flinching in José as he met the threat in Pizarro's words and look, and he answered hotly, "Then let me not be put to a defence of my words to Fray Mauricio."De Soto and other officers had entered, followed by the friar, unobserved and in time to catch José's challenge. The monk moved quickly forward and confronted the armorer. "Thou libeller! Blasphemer! Heretic! What!—hath the Church no power to punish such as thou? But we shall see! We shall see! Officers, seize that man! General Pizarro, I demand his arrest in the name of the Congregation of the Holy Office!"No man moved. All stood for a moment aghast at the friar's invocation of the dread power of the Inquisition. Its very name carried terror, and they hated it as much as they feared its wrath. They stared in silence at Fray Mauricio, but José alone stood unmoved. He faced the friar with calm scorn, his tall, soldierly figure towering above him like a tree. Cristoval glanced at Pizarro and stepped to José's side. De Soto and others followed, and the group faced the Dominican. The commander's irritation at the armorer's criticism was smothered in resentment of the intrusion of the Inquisition in his affairs, already difficult enough, and in a quick detestation of Mauricio as its avowed agent."My good brother," said Pizarro, coldly, "thou hadst best reconsider thy demand.""Oppose me at thy peril, Pizarro!" shouted the friar, whirling upon him savagely. "Dost thou know this man? Dost know that he is a Morisco—this unknown who calleth himself José? Doth any man here know his name?""No man here knoweth my name, friar," interrupted José, "but thou shalt have it! I am Abul Hassan Zegri—a Moor. My father was Abul Hassan Zegri—a Moor.—And now hearken!" he thundered, approaching the monk at a stride and glaring down into his eyes with an expression that chilled his blood. "Hearken! If thou seekest more of me, or breathest my name again in denunciation or accusation, to-day, to-morrow, or twenty years hence, thou diest—and I swear it! By the Almighty, if thou barest thy claws again at me, I'll not spare thee! Now go! Go!—or I'll kill thee in thy tracks!"Mauricio hurriedly retreated. José thrust his poniard back into its sheath with a snap and faced the officers. During the outburst they had stood petrified. His bold declaration that he was a Moor—one of a people which had been proscribed and driven from Spain with every form of persecution, outrage, and cruelty that hatred of their race and greed of their wealth could inspire—staggered even Cristoval. The others had been too much astounded, and even horror-stricken by his rash defiance and arraignment of the Inquisition to interfere in behalf of the friar had they been so inclined. José looked from one to another for a moment with all the pride and fierceness of his race now aroused and burning in his defiant eyes."Señores," he said, "ye have heard my name. There may be one among you who liketh not the sound of it, or who would question me further. If there be such a one, I will give him answer on horse or on foot.""Nay, nay, José!" cried Cristoval, advancing and grasping his hand. "None of us will quarrel with thy name. Thou 'rt a gallant comrade and honest gentleman. That sufficeth. If any man here would dispute it, he hath affair with me!""And with me!" added De Soto, with emphasis. "I believe, on my soul, thou 'rt a good Christian, Abul Hassan Zegri, whatever thy blood. Thou may'st count Hernando de Soto one of thy friends."Hernando Pizarro and others joined in their protestation of friendship, but the rest hung back, fearing the danger involved in adhering to a man under ban of the Inquisition. Mendoza's muttered "Morisco infiel!" was taken up, but the group around José was too formidable to encourage open hostility, and the rest stood sullenly apart.It was noticed by the commander, who said briefly: "There shall be no quarrel about José, nor with him.—José, or Abul Hassan Zegri, or whoever thou art, thou 'rt among friends. Thou hast been a stanch companion, and whilst I have power no hand shall be raised against thee. But guard thy tongue, and beware throwing nettles to the clergy. We are far from Seville, but the Inquisition hath long arms, as men have learned before. But—thou 'rt not an infidel?""I am a Christian," responded the armorer with dignity."That answereth every question thou shalt be asked. Señores, this affair is mine. It endeth here." He glanced significantly at the lowering group around Mendoza, then, after a pause: "Now, to the business for which I have called you together. These are my orders, and ye will see them carried out to the letter. The captives shall be released and go unmolested. A sufficient number shall be retained as hostages and for such services as may be required. The Inca shall be established with his wives and household, and shall have every privilege and liberty consistent with security. His nobles and people are to be admitted to him without hindrance, and for the present he shall be allowed to conduct the affairs of the empire—with our guidance and counsel when it seemeth expedient. The nobles shall be treated as befitteth their rank, and we'll have no violence offered any man or woman, noble or other. Ye will make this understood among the men and see it enforced. Thus far our arms have been blessed with success, but for the future as much dependeth upon discretion as upon courage. Be prudent, therefore, as vigilant, and vigilant as ye have been resolute."One word more: To-morrow I send a messenger to San Miguel, and with him goeth Fray Mauricio. That is all, Señores.Adiós."CHAPTER IXCristoval Meets the PrincessThere was a building fronting on the plaza which, from, the great sculptured serpent on its wall, became known to the Spaniards as the House of the Serpent. Plain and massive in its architecture as the others, it covered, in a rambling fashion, a large extent of ground. By chance the invaders had left it untouched until opened for the Inca and his suite. Being an old Incarial palace, Atahualpa requested that he be quartered there. This was readily granted, and Pizarro, to be near his prisoner, moved into the building himself.That part of it abutting on the square was ancient, but in later years it had been added to from time to time until it could house five or six score people. It extended back a hundred yards or more, enclosing one large and two smaller courts from which entrance was given to the various apartments. In the rear was a park filled with trees and shrubbery, and surrounded by a high wall of stone and adobe. Since the erection of the villa near the mineral springs the palace had been disused, and the garden neglected; but it retained its beauty, enhanced, perhaps, by its touch of wildness. The fountains still playing in its shade were green with moss, the walks overgrown with grass, and wild flowers had invaded the lawns, as if Nature had gently striven against its artificiality. The melancholy of decay had entered the enclosure as in preparation to greet the fallen fortune of the royal prisoner, fated to spend many a moody hour pacing its walks and chafing in his bondage.Whatever depth of hatred the Inca cherished toward his captors, however burning his thirst for revenge, no sign betrayed them. The bitterness of captivity must have sunk into his proud heart, but it lay hidden beneath unvarying dignity and calm. With strength and patience which rose above disaster and compelled the admiration of the Spaniards, he took up the affairs of his stricken country, and with masterly readiness stayed the demoralization already sweeping over his empire like a tidal wave. With the few nobles left him he held his councils. Fleetchasquiswere despatched to the farthest confines of his dominions, bearing assurances of his safety, enjoining peace, and summoning his trusted advisers.Meanwhile, everything practicable was done to mitigate the hardship of his captivity. The blue-uniformed guard in the anteroom had given place to a detail of steel-accoutred Spaniards, and sentinels were in evidence outside the palace walls, but the monarch saw little of them. Even the officers did not intrude upon his privacy; though later he found pleasure, or at least interest, in the society of certain of them and invited them often. He gave daily audience to his people, who were admitted freely to his presence. They found him still wearing thellautuand possessing the semblance—to all immediate intents and purposes the actuality—of his imperial power. They were commanded by him to be acquiescent to the strangers, by whom they were treated with due consideration, and went away reassured.The soldiers were now removed from the temporary barracks and assigned to quarters in the houses, largely left vacant by townspeople who availed themselves of the privilege of leaving Caxamalca. Cristoval, with De Soto, took a dwelling not far from the palace. He dismissed most of the Indies placed at his service, and assigned a suitable number to the wounded Toparca, whom he left in his old quarters on the square.The prince was mending rapidly under José's skill, but was still unable to rise. Cristoval visited him daily, thereby improving his knowledge of Quichua and acquiring information about the country. As their acquaintance ripened he found the noble to be very much a man, and beneath his reserve he discovered a genuine urbanity. Toparca, on his part influenced by gratitude, increased by Cristoval's unfailing thoughtfulness, had become strongly attached to his rescuer, whose friendship he regarded as the condescension of a being somewhat more than human.Returning late one afternoon from a reconnaissance to the southward, Cristoval stopped to inquire for the prince. He entered the patio, rapped upon the half-open door, and, without waiting for an answer, pushed aside the hangings and entered,—to find himself confronted by half-a-dozen young women. He recognized them at once by their costume as attendants at the palace. The sudden apparition of his mailed figure threw consternation among the damsels, nearly equalled by his own at their half-suppressed scream. Stammering an apology, part Spanish, part Quichua, he bowed and was hastily retiring when Toparca called from his couch:—"Wait, Viracocha Cristoval! Do not go before I have made you known to my sister, the Ñusta Rava. Tarry a moment, I pray you."The princess had risen, terrified by the formidable man in steel, whose face she could scarcely discern beneath his lifted visor. To her unaccustomed eyes he was huge and monstrous—a direful, enigmatic being from another world, of a race prodigious in destructiveness, unassailable and irresistible as gods, murderous as fiends. The sound of his approach as he moved toward her, the clank and harsh rustle of his accoutrements, struck dread to her heart. Cristoval perceived her trembling. He halted, hurriedly unlatched and removed his helmet."I trust the Ñusta Rava will forgive me for appearing in my harness," he said in Quichua made lame by his embarrassment, and bowing gravely; "but I had no thought of finding any one here but my Lord Toparca. With her gracious permission I will retire.""No, no!" said Toparca. "Let me present you:—Rava, this is the Viracocha Cristoval, who, as I have told thee, rescued me from death."Cristoval made a low obeisance, but the princess recoiled from him in undisguised horror. Toparca saw the movement and expression, and said quickly: "Rava, thou needst have no fear. I beg thou wilt know the Viracocha Cristoval as my friend.""Thy friend, Toparca?" she exclaimed, her low voice trembling. "Dost think that I can look upon one of these as the friend of any of our race? The blood-marks have not yet vanished from the square."Toparca raised himself in anxiety to exonerate his benefactor. "But, my sister," he said, hurriedly, "the Viracocha Cristoval had no part in that.""Had no part in it!" repeated the princess, with incredulous scorn. "But he is here, an invader! His part began when he set foot upon our soil, sword in hand. Say not that he had no part in it! Doth he hold himself guiltless?—Can you hold yourself guiltless of that blood, Viracocha?" She turned upon Cristoval, her dark eyes burning, her form quivering from head to foot with the bitter intensity of her resentment. "Are you absolved of the foul treachery by which my people were led hither to their death? Of the perfidy that lured my brother into the snare, unarmed and unsuspecting? You have had no part in all this?—Oh, Toparca, canst thou call one of these dreadful beings thy friend whilst Tavantinsuyu still mourns her dead? He had been more worthy the name had he not preserved thee to witness the infinite misfortunes his people have brought upon our unhappy country! He had been merciful had he permitted thee to perish in ignorance of the slavery of our brothers and the dishonor of our sisters. Thy friend, my brother? Tell me sooner thou hast friends among the vultures! They, at least, prey not upon the living. Farewell, Toparca!"The princess drew her cloak about her, and passing Cristoval with a brief glance in which was concentrated all the infuriate enmity that a woman, raging at injury and helpless to avenge it, can feel for the oppressor, she left the apartment, followed by her frightened maids.Cristoval had heard her in silence. No doubt his uppermost feeling was compassion, for he felt the heartbreak beneath her denunciation. He knew better than she how well her indignation was justified, and was thankful that she could not know the sordid greed back of the invasion. Many of her words he had been unable to catch, but he did not fail to get her meaning clearly enough, for that was expressed in every tone and gesture. His freedom from the stains of the massacre had made him proof against much of her reproach, but he could not be indifferent to her hate and scorn. Through all he felt her beauty, somewhat ferine and stormy now, he thought, but still of a transcendent, queenly kind. Altogether, he had listened with sympathy quite without resentment; so that when she met his look in passing, instead of the rage and cruelty she expected, she read a grave pity of which she thought afterward; and in place of the stern, perhaps brutal rejoinder she looked for, a bow of profound respect and deference.Cristoval expressed his keen regret for the inopportune entry which had sent her away so abruptly, but Toparca was even more disturbed, uncertain of the effect of her anger upon the Viracocha."I hope you will not think of her words, Viracocha Cristoval," he said, anxiously. "The princess is young, and hath already known much grief. She will learn that there are generous and humane hearts——""Even among Spaniards!" said Cristoval, with a trace of bitterness in his faint smile. "I trust so, my Lord Toparca. But the princess hath my earnest sympathy." Then he changed the subject quickly, and soon departed, giving little further thought to the Ñusta Rava.It was not long before the constraint at first existing between the Inca and the Spanish officers began to wear away under the influence of the uniform courtesy with which he was treated, partly in observance of Pizarro's strict injunctions, but due quite as much to the innate stateliness of the monarch himself. His captors soon learned to know him as a man of alert intelligence, eager for knowledge of their world. As the months dragged on he formed several friendships with them which went far to moderate the dreariness of captivity, in which he displayed his discrimination of human character. From the first he was attracted by De Soto, whose superiority over most of his comrades he was not slow to recognize. De Soto, in turn, conceived for the unfortunate monarch a deep regard, a sentiment shared by Hernando Pizarro and Candia.But before all others in the Inca's esteem was Peralta. Atahualpa had not forgotten his part in the affair on the plaza, and his gratitude and confidence had been increased by the rescue of Toparca. Thus predisposed in Cristoval's favor, the cavalier's growing knowledge of the Quichua dialect made their acquaintance of easy growth. Cristoval's wide experience as a soldier appealed vigorously to the warlike prince, and he spent many hours listening to accounts of European campaigns and methods.It is doubtful if the monarch had ever, since his youth, known real companionship unconstrained by his majesty. The gulf separating him from his most exalted subject was immeasurable and not to be bridged by any human feeling. As far as friendship was concerned he was alone, wearied to the limits of endurance by the perpetual reverence and awe by which he was surrounded. He did not undertake to exact, did not want, and could not have had from the Spaniards, the servile homage tendered by his subjects, and its absence was a relief. They treated him as a royal man, not as a Child of the Sun, and he was grateful. It is not to be supposed that they were always tactful, that they never overstepped the bounds of familiarity; but his natural dignity protected him, and it occurred infrequently—with Cristoval never. The cavalier was neither presuming nor humble, and their friendship prospered.For the Spanish commander the Inca never acquired a liking. It was impossible for him to regard Pizarro otherwise than as his arch-enemy and author of his misfortunes. As a soldier he exonerated the other officers in a degree, reflecting that they were subordinates, and attributing to their leader the absolute authority over them which he himself wielded over his troops. So upon Pizarro he placed the entire weight of responsibility. He was repelled, however, by the cold austerity of the taciturn leader, who possessed little of the graciousness of his brother Hernando and had no wish for the good will of the man he had so mortally injured.To Cristoval the tour as commander of the guard at the palace was always welcome. On one of these occasions, having some need to see the Inca, he was directed by one of the attendants to the garden, and taking one of the side-paths which wound through the shrubbery, had gone but a few yards when a turn brought him face to face with the Ñusta Rava, followed by one of her handmaidens. He bowed, stepped aside, and waited, toque in hand, for her to pass, fully expecting to encounter the indignant scorn which he had seen last in her handsome eyes. He found it, however, quite absent, and in its stead one of some confusion, not unmixed with fear. To his surprise she halted and stood looking up to him with a timidity that made him uncomfortably conscious of the warlike attire which inspired her dread. He bowed again, and in response to his look of kindly inquiry she began:—"Viracocha,—my words some days ago were spoken in ignorance of all my obligations. My brother, the Inca, hath told me of your many acts of generosity to him in his misfortune. Can you forget my injustice and accept my gratitude?""The Ñusta Rava's words are forgotten," replied Cristoval; "and I can only thank her for the graciousness of those just spoken. I beg she will believe the sincerity of my sympathy for her august brother and herself.""Ah, I do believe it, Viracocha Cristoval! It hath been proven by your friendship.""You may count upon all that lieth within its power," said Cristoval, earnestly. "I would it could undo what hath been done; but if it can ever serve you, now or in the future, be sure of it."He had spoken with the gentleness with which he would have addressed a child—in fact, he looked upon her as little more—and the voice of the unhappy princess broke when she tried to murmur her acknowledgment. As she turned away she extended her hand. Cristoval pressed it for an instant, and she passed on. He continued his walk meditatively. Presently he came to a bench and sat down, studying the gravel at his feet."A murrain seize this business!" he thought. "Heaven knoweth what is to become of her, or of any of them. God have mercy on them!—and may the fiend run away with the conquest! There's no glory in it, nor aught but foul outrage and devil's greed and lust. 'T is not even war! Would I had stayed back in Panama, and had no part in bringing this royal brother and sister into the power of these freebooters! Wolves!—She is gentle as a Christian—when it pleaseth her to be, that is!Cara! But I envy not the man who doth counter her disapproval. Ah, well!—what a pity she is not a Christian! I'll speak to Father Tendilla: he is a kindly old man, and hath gentleness of speech."Cristoval rose and walked slowly on.He came upon the Inca shortly, and found him restlessly pacing back and forth. He turned at the sound of the cavalier's footsteps, and his countenance brightened somewhat as he said, cordially proffering his hand, "May the Sun never hide his face from thee, Viracocha Cristoval!""God be with you, my Lord Inca!" said Cristoval. "I trust the day hath gone well.""Not ill, though I have known better ones," replied Atahualpa, with a slight smile. "I have had another visit from thy general and his priest.""Father Valverde?" asked Cristoval. "I would it had been Tendilla.""And I!" said the Inca, with a frown, "for this one pleaseth me not. He persisteth in assailing my religion. Why is it? What is my religion to him?—and to Pizarro? It is the faith of my fathers. Why should I change it at their behest? Hath not every man the right to his own belief and form of worship? We of Tavantinsuyu never forced our gods upon other men; yet this priest saith your people have crossed the seas to bring your religion to me!—to teach me the words of the Prince of Peace—the Prince of Peace! Is it so? Tell me—is that the purpose of your coming?"His face had grown stern as he put the question, and without pausing for an answer he went on with increasing vehemence: "Do you tell me it is for this, Viracocha Cristoval, that I am a prisoner, surrounded by guards like a common criminal, while so many of my children lie in unhonored graves? Is it that I may become a Christian? Let me have the truth, Viracocha!""By heaven, I will!" blurted Cristoval, weary and disgusted at the cloak of religion under which his countrymen strove to mask their rapacity. "I'll tell you why we are here, Prince! We have come for your gold! Now you have the pith and meat of the whole matter. Had your country not been cursed with wealth you and your people could have gone peacefully down to hell unheeded by Spanish priest or soldier. But you have gold, and we want it!"Atahualpa regarded him with amazement and incredulity. "Gold!" he exclaimed. "Gold! Dost tell me you have come so far for such stuff as this?" and he pulled the jewelled bracelets from his wrists and cast them scornfully at Cristoval's feet."For such as that, my Lord Inca," replied Cristoval, ignoring the precious ornaments.Atahualpa gazed at him for a moment in silence, the look of astonishment in his eyes rapidly yielding to one of anger. "Dost mean to say," he demanded, in a voice grown suddenly harsh, "that this measureless calamity hath been brought upon me and mine by the childish desire of thy people for these trumperies? Great God! Are you madmen, that you count human lives paltry beside this dross which we dig from the earth? Are the murder of my people and the base treachery to me but trifles?""My lord, even greater wrongs have been committed for the love of gold. Few crimes in the fiend's category but have sprung from it. It hath reddened the earth with blood, and made hell populous."Cristoval encountered a look of mingled wonder and abhorrence. It was some seconds before Atahualpa spoke. Then he said slowly: "Strange beings! Do you consider that it hath some magic virtue, this gold, or doth it not possess some hidden power to give madness?""Both, my Lord Inca! It hath a magic that can bring all things to its possessor—save only happiness, love, and salvation; and it can cause madness.""It is a riddle!" exclaimed the Inca, with impatience. "But enough! Thou tellest me you have come for gold. Dost thou want gold, Viracocha Cristoval? Hear me!" He drew near and lowered his voice, speaking rapidly and with intensity: "I would be free! I want thine aid and friendship. I can give thee more gold than thou couldst carry the length of this garden—more than thou and the strongest of thy companions could raise from the ground!"Cristoval raised his hand: "My Lord Inca, I pray you, do not offer it. My friendship cannot be purchased. You have it now; and when my aid availeth you shall have that also, though not for gold, my lord. I will do all in my power in your behalf and to procure your freedom. I know not my commander's design, but should a greater evil threaten you than hath already befallen, reckon my sword, if need be, in your defence."Atahualpa studied him intently. The sincerity of Peralta's tone was in his eyes, and not to be mistaken. "Viracocha Cristoval," said the monarch after a pause, giving his hand, "I know not whether an Inca ever before asked forgiveness of any man, but I ask thine now! I believe I know thy friendship's worth.""I thank you, my Lord Inca," replied Cristoval, simply. "But now, let me counsel you. If you have gold at your command, offer it to Pizarro. You shall find that when his nose smelleth a ransom he will turn a willing ear. Have others present to witness your proposal; have De Soto—he is an honorable man—and Candia, and Hernando Pizarro—the more the better. And heed this carefully: Be not too liberal in your tender; rather, be a shade niggardly at first, lest you over-stimulate his cupidity. Your offer to me was extravagant, my lord. Be moderate, or you may defeat your end. The hint of a too bountiful source from which to draw may rouse ambition to possess the source itself. Were your supply boundless as heaven, greed would rise to its full measure."Atahualpa had listened with close attention. He pondered a moment, then said: "I believe thy counsel is wise. I thank thee, my friend. I will follow it."
CHAPTER VII
Cavalier and Cantinero
Night fell before the cavalry returned from pursuing the wretched fugitives, whom they hunted almost to the confines of the Peruvian camp, riding them down in their flight, and slaying without mercy. The troops of the Inca had fled without striking a blow. It would be difficult to explain their complete demoralization did we not consider the superstitious awe with which the Spaniards had been regarded from their first landing upon the Peruvian coasts. Their aspect and the supernatural powers ascribed to them bore out the ancient tradition of the fair-faced god, Viracocha, who, it is said, had once appeared upon earth, and whose reappearance had been foretold by the oracles. The white men were his descendants and agents. Already they were known as Viracochas. A mere handful, but armed with thunderbolts, they had seized the sacred person of the Inca and destroyed his nobles and generals at a blow. The keystone, the arch itself, of the empire had crumbled and fallen under the dire calamity. The people were without a ruler, the army without leaders. The authority which had held the tribes together was dissolved in an hour. Accustomed for generations to the rule of the most absolute despotism the world has ever known, they were now incapable of initiative. The Empire of Tavantinsuyu was a rudderless ship. The army resolved itself into its elements and fell in pieces.
The Inca supped that night with the Spanish commander and his officers, as had been promised. Cristoval, the only officer fit for duty after the day's work, had been detailed as commander of the exterior guard, glad to be relieved of the need of sitting at table with his comrades after so base a massacre, which, in his enforced role of spectator, he had seen in its full horror. He was a soldier, and possibly not less callous to bloodshed and suffering than many others of his calling, but never had he beheld butchery so wanton and unhindered. Had he been a participant—and now he fervently thanked God for preventing it—he would have been less impressed by its enormity. He must even have shared in some degree the infection of ferocity, until he should have realized, as had De Soto, the uselessness of the slaughter and revolted. But compelled to look on in cool blood, he had sickened. He sickened more at the brutal exultation, and at the ghastly sights in the square. A battlefield he could have surveyed unmoved. This slaughter-pen horrified him.
When his detail was formed he marched it away, grateful to Heaven that his post was remote alike from the jubilation of the soldiers and from the sounds and tainted air of the plaza.
At a villa beside the road along which the Inca had entered the town, he halted his command. The place had been broken into the evening before for use as a guard-house, and while his sergeant was making up his reliefs, Cristoval took a lantern and walked through the vacant rooms. They showed at every step the marks of the vandalism of yesterday's guard, and he explored gloomily the ruin of what had been a handsome dwelling. Tapestries before the doors had been torn down for beds. Quaintly carved furniture had been used for firewood; fragments of tableware were scattered everywhere, with curiously fashioned bronze and brass vessels crushed by the heels of the soldiers. More precious articles had been sought, as was evident in the disorder of every apartment, in broken chests, and doors with battered fastenings. Cristoval ordered a room cleared and prepared for his vigil.
Just after midnight, having returned from his rounds, he heard a challenge from the sentinel in front of the villa, then the voice of Pedro, and in a moment the cook stumped across the court and knocked. Cristoval called to him to enter, and he came in, followed by his boy, laden with what Pedro guessed would be welcome at midnight to any officer of any guard.
"Tibi bene dico!" quoth Pedro, "and may the night be without alarms. I have brought thee good cheer, Cristoval, lest hunger contend with vigilance.Stomachus plenus vigiliam longam contrahit—which is to say that a full stomach shorteneth a long watch. Cæsar, I believe." Pedro grinned benignly upon the cavalier, who arose and greeted him with warmth.
"Pedro, thou 'rt a good man, full of good deeds. On my soul, I rejoice to see thee with or without thy cheer, for I find the night melancholy."
"Good!" said Pedro. "Then am I doubly welcome. Here, Pedrillo, lay out the supper on this table. Have a care, boy! Spill that soup, thou imp, and I'll make another of thee!"
"Why,amigo," said Cristoval, surveying the repast, "it is a feast! Thy substantial cheer is second only to the spiritual cheer in thine atmosphere. Accept my thanks. Hast supped, thyself?"
"No. No time for it. I prepared the banquet to the Inca and saw it served."
"Then thou'lt sup with me. There is more than enough for two. Pedrillo, another chair. Fall to, thou good culinary saint, and tell me about the banquet. How doth the Inca bear it?"
"He near broke my heart with his indifferent appetite," growled the cook, as he seated himself; "but otherwise he is most commendable. I thought to see a sullen, savage chieftain, oppressed by conscious inferiority and afraid of the tableware. Not so! He was gloomy, 't is true,—and who, in his position, would not be so?—but he strove against it, and talked graciously with Pizarro and the others through Felipillo, making the best of matters right gallantly, like a man. He wore a dignity and fortitude in the face of adversity, Cristoval, that would become any king, white or bronze."
"So he bore himself in the square, when taken," remarked Cristoval.
"Ah!" said Pedro. "'T is as much as a point of honor with them, saith Felipillo, not to show emotion. I tell thee,amigo, he compelled the respect of the officers, and no one said a discourteous word but that beast of a Mendoza, whom Pizarro commanded to keep his tongue between his teeth, and forbade Felipillo to translate his words. The Inca paid much attention to De Soto, who sat nearly opposite, and who, it appeareth, defended him against the pikes of those hounds of the infantry who would have had his life. He asked for someone else, and De Soto spoke thy name, Cristoval. Wast thou beside De Soto when the Inca fell? Then that was it! Well, the Inca hath not forgotten. I would there had been other acts of chivalry done by Spaniards this day worthy to be remembered!"
"A horrible affair, Pedro!" said Cristoval.
"Most damnably horrible!" replied Pedro, lowering his voice. "I have never seen its like but once. That was when a boy, in Palencia. One night near dawn a pack of wolves, driven by the winter's cold down from the Cantabrian Mountains, broke into the sheepfold. I thought of it to-day. I have soldiered long, Cristoval, but curse me if my sword ever took life from a defenceless man! But let me warn thee to make no comments likely to reach the ears of the commander. He and De Soto have had words already. De Soto tried to stay his troop during the slaughter. José and two others aided him."
"I am glad to hear it of José," said Cristoval.
"I fear José hath trouble in store," returned Pedro, with a shake of his head. "That little jaundiced friar, Mauricio, hath announced that during the struggle he saw the Virgin and Babe, with Santiago mounted on his white charger smiting the infidels with a flaming sword. He hath been seeking corroboration, and two infantrymen swear they beheld it too. The friar asked José, and José ripped out a great oath, 'No; and if such a sight was seen, the observers must have mistaken the spirits, for none but the devil and his devils would have taken part in such infamy!' Fray Mauricio's face went livid, and he denounced José as a heretic. He hath gone to Father Valverde and the commander. Thou knowest he is fresh from the Inquisition? Well, it is so! He was one of its most zealous officers, and the soldiers say he hath a chest full of instruments to make good Christians of the Indios."
"He will hardly make trouble for José," replied Cristoval. "José is indispensable to the army."
"A heretic is indispensable to the Inquisition! For the present José is safe; but wait!" Pedro hitched his chair a little nearer, and bent forward. "I tell thee, Cristoval, Fray Mauricio intendeth trouble. Thou knowest José is sometimes called 'El Morisco' by the soldiers.Bien! And a Morisco I believe him to be. Hast ever thought of it?"
Cristoval laid down his knife and regarded the cook seriously. "By the saints, Pedro!" he said at length, "I believe thou 'rt right. I had given it no thought, but now I reflect, he hath the look, for a certainty."
"Ah!" said Pedro, leaning back. "He hath the look! He hath the manner; and for one not a clerical he is a learned man—too learned for a good Christian, Cristoval. He saith,"—here Pedro laid his hand upon, the table with great impressiveness—"he saith, and sweareth by it, that the earth revolveth on an axis, like an orange twirled on a skewer!"
"Holy San Miguel!" exclaimed Cristoval.
Pedro nodded with solemnity. "And what is more—not to say worse," he continued, "he holdeth that the earth circleth about the sun!"
"Gods!" said Cristoval, with redoubled incredulity.
Pedro nodded again, then shook his head. "This," said he, "is a pagan teaching, and José were better without it. 'T was held by Pythagoras, by Philolaus, by Hicetas, and later by Cicero. Saith Cicero of Hicetas, 'Hicetas Syracusius, ut ait Theophrastus, coelum, solem, lunam, stellas,'—"
Cristoval brought his fist down upon the table with a crash: "Ten thousand demons and goblins, man! Be done! Hath the day not been trying enough without thy jabbering? Contain thy Latin, or I'll forget thy goodness!" He glowered at the cook, who smiled blandly.
"It is of no importance,amigo," said he. "Let it pass. I was but going to say that José hath pagan beliefs. But what is more serious, Cristoval, Fray Mauricio seemeth to have suspicion of them, and some knowledge of the armorer's past. Once he questioned me. I evaded a direct reply."
"Thou didst, Pedro! How?"
"Why, I asked him if he had ever tried swallowing toasted rags for his liver."
"Ho!" blurted Cristoval, and Pedro grew red from a fit of wheezy laughter until his chair creaked accompaniment.
"Didst ever take a setting hen from her nest and hold her under a pump, Cristoval, then release her?"
"Name of a saint! Of course I never did, thou unaccountable cook! Why should I?"
"Only to observe her state of mind—her indignation. Make trial of it some day, and thou'lt have Mauricio when he gave over questioning. Unctuous knave! Stew me! He should have no word from me against José, were I put to the rack for it!"
Pedro resumed his supper, and Cristoval studied him for a time with interest. At last he said abruptly: "Pedro, thou 'rt an uncommon man—a most singular and unexampled cook, by the faith! How comest thou by thy learning—thy Latin and curious lore? And having these, how comest thou a cook? What the fiend doth a cook with Pythagoras, and Cicero, and Cæsar?"
Pedro flushed, and leaned back, regarding the cavalier soberly. "Why, Cristoval," he said slowly, "'t is a long story—and one I do not tell."
"Oh, thy pardon, Pedro! I thought not to pry, believe me! Prithee, forget that I asked!"
"Nay!" said Pedro, reflectively. "It is natural, and I begrudge thee not an answer." He turned to his boy, who was sitting near: "Pedrillo, seek the sergeant of the guard, and ask him to explain to thee the theory of fortifications. Thou mayest some day find it useful." Pedrillo's chin dropped, and he retired slowly. Pedro continued: "It is a long story, Cristoval, but I will make it brief.—I was not always a cook, as I have said to thee before. I—I have a name. It is not Pedro. I am Luis de Cardeñas—of a family as ancient as thine, Peralta.Bien! I am a younger son, and, if thou wilt, anindigno—a worthless one. I was intended for the priesthood, and partly prepared for it. It was a mistake. I studied by day to the satisfaction of my instructors, but one night they found my bed arranged with the pillows lengthwise in a simulacrum of my form. I was elsewhere. Thus they found it the next night, and many following. I had learned to scale a wall, to sing a serenade, and mount to a balcony in a most unclerical way, Cristoval. My superiors held council. I was disciplined. Grew weary of bread-and-water, and escaped. Followed a regiment, and became a soldier. Was disowned by my family. Lost a leg at Pavia. Could soldier no longer, and so turnedcantinero—sutler. Came across the sea, first to Cuba, then heard of Peru, and here I am—no priest, no soldier, and only five-sevenths of a cook. 'T is all. I am Pedro,el cocinero—Pedro, the cook. Know me thus,amigoand not otherwise." Pedro sighed almost inaudibly, and toyed with his knife. Cristoval extended his hand.
"I thank thee for thy confidence," he said gravely. "Thy name shall not pass me, but I am glad to know it. Thou hast been a friend, and if thou'lt believe me, hast made one."
Pedro accepted the hand without a word. Cristoval poured thechicha, they touched their cups and drank. After that, little was said, and, the supper finished, Pedro arose. "Now," said he, "I must go. I have been made lord chamberlain to the Inca until he shall be better provided, and must be up betimes.Adiós, Cristoval."
"Wait!" said Cristoval. "I will escort thee, my Lord Chamberlain. I've need to go to my quarters."
"It will be a knightly courtesy," answered Pedro, "for I have no gizzard in me for crossing that square unattended. Not that I am afraid, look thou, Cristoval; but that boy is as whole-souled a coward as ever looked behind in the dark, and he maketh me nervous with his gasps and snorts. I have no superstition, but they do say that the souls of infidels wander in eternal restlessness."
"The souls of all men dead by violence wander until masses be said in their behalf," replied Cristoval, "and hence the souls of infidels must wander eternally. But have no uneasiness, amigo. Ghosts fear a sword as a live Italian the evil eye, and dread the sign of the cross even more. Come!"
They set out with Pedrillo carrying a lantern, and took a street leading toward the plaza. Just before they reached it Cristoval halted at a small door and pushed it open. "Come this way, Pedro," he said, "and we can avoid the barricade of dead at the end of the street."
"Heaven be praised!" responded Pedro. "On my way to the guard-house I thought never to pass it with my heart in my body. 'T is not as if these people were slain in battle, Cristoval. I fear not a battlefield."
"This is thrice more grewsome," assented Cristoval. "But come! Enter!"
"Thou first, prithee, my friend! 'T is villanously dark—and thou hast two good legs for running!"
"Bien! Then follow!" and Cristoval entered the building. The door opened into a passage leading to the patio. They traversed the latter, and crossing an apartment, found themselves at the doors opening upon the plaza. Cristoval swung one of them open. Pedro took a step forward, then recoiled with a suddenness that sent a quick chill down the back of the redoubtable Cristoval, who was not without dread of the supernatural.
"Nombre de Dios! What is that?" gasped the cook, peering out into the darkness and clutching his companion's arm.
"What is what? Where?" demanded Cristoval.
"There—in the plaza!" whispered Pedro, making signs of the cross by the score.
The place was faintly illumined by the starlight. On the farther side the buildings rose dim and silent. Between, the area was ridged and strewn with formless heaps, from which rose the moans and low wails of anguish of the few unfortunates to whom merciful death had not come. For a moment Cristoval failed to perceive a cause for Pedro's sudden fear. But while he looked a vague form rose from among the shadows, moved forward a few skulking paces, stooped, and was occupied with something on the ground. Farther away, Cristoval saw another, then a third and a fourth, slinking and bending over the fallen Peruvians, and their occupation came to him in a flash. They were robbers of the dead—foul carrion-birds whose greed even the satiety and weariness of the day's slaughter could not restrain. With an exclamation of disgust and rage Cristoval went quickly forward, unnoticed by the ghoul, who, knife in hand, was tearing at the precious decorations of the victims. As Cristoval approached, he heard a groan, then a faint, pleading voice, and saw the knife raised to silence it. He was upon the murderous soldier at a bound, and his hand closed upon the uplifted arm. The startled soldier turned with an oath, seized the knife in his free hand, and struck savagely at his captor, the blow ringing harmless upon the latter's corselet. Before he could strike again Cristoval's mailed fist crashed into his face, and he rolled senseless upon the pavement. His companions heard the disturbance, and hurried to aid their mate. They drew at once, and fell upon the disturber of their hideous business with one accord. Cristoval drove among them with his sword, and the sudden clash of their weapons resounded in the square. They gave way before his first rush, but closed round him immediately, bent upon his death, when Pedro, perceiving that they were not unearthly and that his friend was in danger, charged, stumping across the intervening ground, sword in hand, awakening the night with vehement imprecations. Meanwhile Pedrillo had likewise found his voice, and was clamoring at its highest pitch: "The guard! Ho, the guard! The guard!Santiago á nosotros! The guard!"
Doors flew open, and half-asleep soldiers broke into the square. Lanterns flitted, an arquebusier on the redoubt fired his piece, and in a moment the town was roused. The ghouls promptly saw their danger, and fled. The encounter had been of brief duration, but one of them was badly bitten by Cristoval's point, and another bleeding from a cut by Pedro, who had himself received a scratch outside his ribs. In a moment an excited crowd had gathered, and presently Pizarro came up.
"What now?" he demanded. "Another affray? By the faith, our brawling will not cease until I have made an example to be remembered! Who is this?" He snatched a lantern from a soldier and held it to Cristoval's face. "What! Thou again, Peralta—and wiping thy sword? And who is this behind thee? Thou, Pedro?"
"Ah! Pedro!" replied the latter, smarting from his wound. "A cook! A punctured cook, and no less! Here, you pikeman, help me to peel my doublet, for I have a hurt—vulnusculum in latere—a little one in the side;—neque acu pundum—not a needle-prick, I'll swear;—and damn the man who made it!"
Pizarro turned away impatiently, irritated by the cook's garrulity. "Explain this matter, Peralta!" he commanded sharply. Cristoval explained in a few words.
"Soto, have the companies formed!" ordered Pizarro. "We will learn who is out. Some of these dogs are plundering for themselves. It shall go hard with them! Peralta, I will send thee an additional detail. Post sentinels about the square until daylight.—Ha! Whom have we here?"
The man who had struck at Cristoval had regained his senses and was sitting up, spitting out teeth.
"He is one of them, General," remarked Cristoval.
A soldier jerked him to his feet. "Put him in double irons!" commanded Pizarro, and walked away.
The call was blowing for assembly, and the crowd of soldiers dispersed. Cristoval gave his attention to Pedro, who was already being examined by José. He found the wound slight, and it was soon bandaged. Cristoval set about searching for the injured Peruvian whom he had saved from the soldier's knife. He found him presently, and called to José, who had a lantern. The three gathered round him.
"Look him over, José," said Cristoval. "He is badly hurt, I think—and a youth!"
"A noble!" exclaimed Pedro, inspecting him. "Santa Maria! The gold on his tunic, and in his ears! Our friend whom thou gavest a sore face would have found him rich scraping, Cristoval."
"Ah!" assented Cristoval. "Now, let us get him out of this. Take thou the lantern, Pedro. José, help me with him to my quarters."
The wounded Peruvian was carried from the square. They laid him upon Cristoval's couch, and leaving him in José's care, the former went about his duties. About dawn he returned and found the Indio fully conscious, with his wounds bandaged. Cristoval greeted him in a few words of Quichua. The young noble started at the sound, and regarding the cavalier eagerly, demanded:—
"Do you speak my tongue, Viracocha? Then, in the name of the great luminary who shineth upon us both, tell me what hath become of my brother, the Inca!"
"Thy brother?" exclaimed Cristoval. "God save us! Thy brother—if thou meanest the Inca—is alive and unharmed."
"Oh, thou great God, I thank thee!" murmured the Indio fervently, and closed his eyes, overcome. Presently, looking up again, he asked, "Is he free, Viracocha?"
Cristoval shook his head. "Not free."
"Not free!—a prisoner!" cried the wounded youth, weakly. He raised his hands, trembling with grief: "Oh, woe, woe! My country, what weight of sorrow hath fallen upon thee!" He buried his head in his arms and lay in silence. Cristoval was about to leave when he spoke again, his voice steady once more, and all trace of feeling banished from his countenance:—
"Viracocha, you have shown me mercy. You have saved my life. Let me beg one more favor. Will you say to the Inca that Toparca sendeth his affectionate greeting and sympathy; and that if it is permitted he will share his imprisonment and minister to his wants—that he will share his fate, whatever it be?"
"Willingly," replied Cristoval, and desirous of ending the interview, he spoke a few words of assurance and returned to his post.
CHAPTER VIII
An Arm of the Inquisition
The day following was one of activity. The first task was to clear the square. The hundreds of prisoners herded in one of the buildings were set at the work, noble toiling beside common without distinction or favor. Not even Indian stoicism was proof against the calamity, and old men, scarred from a hundred battles, worked with streaming eyes, dragging forth the bodies of their friends to be stripped of their ornaments by the Spaniards and borne away for indiscriminate burial.
Hernando Pizarro was sent with his troop to the Peruvian camp to break up whatever force might be lingering there, and to plunder the Inca's residence. Toward midday his return was announced by a sentinel, and Cristoval formed his guard. The troop entered the town with a flourish of trumpets. Its leading platoon was followed by a long procession of captives laden with spoils, ofhamacasbearing the women of the court, of disarmed warriors, and of townspeople who had been removed from Caxamalca at the approach of the Spaniards. The men, stupefied by what had befallen, marched in stolid indifference. But the women, dishevelled, wild-visaged, and dreading all things for themselves and the children in their arms or clinging to their robes, filled the air with their wailing and frantic lamentations, until securely housed in the buildings on the square.
Late in the afternoon an orderly summoned Cristoval to a council of the officers at Pizarro's headquarters. He picked up Candia on his way, and the two were the first to arrive. They found Pizarro watching theveedorat work appraising the plunder brought from the Inca's villa and taken from the bodies of the Indian nobles. The commander's face was haggard, and he looked years older. He greeted the two officers cordially and said, pointing to the table on which were heaped the spoils:—
"The first fruits,camaradas! We have come to the harvest season at last. Not a bad wage for one day's work! What say you?"
Cristoval looked with astonishment at the wealth stacked upon the stone table on which theveedor, or inspector, had set his scales. In the middle was the chair of the Inca, a fortune in itself, and heaped around it the royal table service of gold and silver. On one of the plates was a little mound of emeralds, some of them of unusual size and brilliancy, and near by, a disorderly heap of the personal ornaments taken from the slain. On the floor were piled rugs, furs, embroidered tapestries, and fabrics of finest weave and dye.
Theveedorceased his work as he arose and walked round the table. He was a fat, puffing, putty-colored individual of fifty years, with a peculiar falsetto voice and a habit of perpetually snuffling. Now his bulging eyes were more bulging than ever in their greedy leer. "Ah, look upon it, gentlemen!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands. "Behold it! Satiate your eyes! Let them revel, my friends! Is it not a feast? Delicious! Delicious! Look at these plates!—gold—solid gold! And these goblets—silver! And these precious stones—ah!" He dug his hands into the heap of emeralds and let them sift through his fat fingers, his head on one side, fairly drooling with delight, while he screwed his face into so gross and atrocious a smirk that Cristoval looked away with an oath under his breath. Theveedorsnuffled and went on: "And see these gewgaws—stripped from the heathen! Oh, my soul and body, what pickings! They are bloody yet, but how they'll shine when they are clean! They'll weigh too. Eh, Pizarro?—Treasure, treasure,compadres! The reward of our courage! A fitting reward of gallantry! We'll divide it by-and-by—we'll all have some! But stay, my friend Cristoval, thou didst not fight! What shall we do about Cristoval's share, General? We all know he did not fight. Of course, nobody would question his courage—but there are so many brave fellows to provide for, and after all there is not so very much to divide."
He turned to Pizarro, puffing out his cheeks and wiping from his forehead the perspiration started by his emotion over the treasure. Cristoval had listened with disgust, hardly able to restrain his hands from gripping the fat throat. The slurring reference to his inactivity in the massacre roused his ire, and theveedorencountered a scowl so black that he started back with a gasp and shuffled precipitately behind the table.
"Pizarro! Pizarro!" he cried, his peculiar falsetto rising to a squeak. "That man meditateth violence! He contemplateth doing me an injury! I see it in his eyes! Restrain him, Pizarro! I am an officer of the Crown, and call upon you to protect me with your sword. I have a wife and five small—"
"Be done, Rogelio!" commanded Pizarro, who had small liking for the timorous member of his civil staff. "Thou talkest too much. Learn to hold thy tongue. Come! Get back to thy work, and I'll vouch for thy safety."
"I am a civilian, and a man of peace," piped theveedor, rolling his colorless eyes at Cristoval. "I am an officer of the Crown, and I want it understood, Pizarro, that I'll accept no challenges. He may meditate a challenge."
"I think thou doest him injustice," replied Pizarro, with sarcasm. "Thou 'rt safe. Now return to thy work."
Cristoval had turned his back with a snort of contempt, and Rogelio resumed his weighing and figuring, his fear gradually giving place to malicious glances directed toward the back of the stout cavalier.
José entered, and Pizarro hailed him.
"Hola, José! Thou 'rt in good season. I have been hearing of thee from Fray Mauricio. Dost know that he hath denounced thee as a heretic?"
"He promised so to do, General."
"A serious charge, José! It would bring thee trouble were we at home, and might do so here, had I less authority. The friar saith thou didst utter blasphemies enough to bring thee before the Holy Office. Many a man hath gone to the stake for less."
The old armorer's dark eyes glowed, and he replied bluntly: "If it was blasphemy to defend the Holy Mother and Santiago from the charge of aiding in yesterday's butchery, then I blasphemed, and would blaspheme again; for I tell you, Pizarro, the work of your men was naught less than hellish."
"Have a care, old man!" said Pizarro, with a scowl. "Thy words are more dangerous than blasphemies. Imperil thy soul if it please thee; but understand that, by Heaven, I'll brook no criticism!"
There was no flinching in José as he met the threat in Pizarro's words and look, and he answered hotly, "Then let me not be put to a defence of my words to Fray Mauricio."
De Soto and other officers had entered, followed by the friar, unobserved and in time to catch José's challenge. The monk moved quickly forward and confronted the armorer. "Thou libeller! Blasphemer! Heretic! What!—hath the Church no power to punish such as thou? But we shall see! We shall see! Officers, seize that man! General Pizarro, I demand his arrest in the name of the Congregation of the Holy Office!"
No man moved. All stood for a moment aghast at the friar's invocation of the dread power of the Inquisition. Its very name carried terror, and they hated it as much as they feared its wrath. They stared in silence at Fray Mauricio, but José alone stood unmoved. He faced the friar with calm scorn, his tall, soldierly figure towering above him like a tree. Cristoval glanced at Pizarro and stepped to José's side. De Soto and others followed, and the group faced the Dominican. The commander's irritation at the armorer's criticism was smothered in resentment of the intrusion of the Inquisition in his affairs, already difficult enough, and in a quick detestation of Mauricio as its avowed agent.
"My good brother," said Pizarro, coldly, "thou hadst best reconsider thy demand."
"Oppose me at thy peril, Pizarro!" shouted the friar, whirling upon him savagely. "Dost thou know this man? Dost know that he is a Morisco—this unknown who calleth himself José? Doth any man here know his name?"
"No man here knoweth my name, friar," interrupted José, "but thou shalt have it! I am Abul Hassan Zegri—a Moor. My father was Abul Hassan Zegri—a Moor.—And now hearken!" he thundered, approaching the monk at a stride and glaring down into his eyes with an expression that chilled his blood. "Hearken! If thou seekest more of me, or breathest my name again in denunciation or accusation, to-day, to-morrow, or twenty years hence, thou diest—and I swear it! By the Almighty, if thou barest thy claws again at me, I'll not spare thee! Now go! Go!—or I'll kill thee in thy tracks!"
Mauricio hurriedly retreated. José thrust his poniard back into its sheath with a snap and faced the officers. During the outburst they had stood petrified. His bold declaration that he was a Moor—one of a people which had been proscribed and driven from Spain with every form of persecution, outrage, and cruelty that hatred of their race and greed of their wealth could inspire—staggered even Cristoval. The others had been too much astounded, and even horror-stricken by his rash defiance and arraignment of the Inquisition to interfere in behalf of the friar had they been so inclined. José looked from one to another for a moment with all the pride and fierceness of his race now aroused and burning in his defiant eyes.
"Señores," he said, "ye have heard my name. There may be one among you who liketh not the sound of it, or who would question me further. If there be such a one, I will give him answer on horse or on foot."
"Nay, nay, José!" cried Cristoval, advancing and grasping his hand. "None of us will quarrel with thy name. Thou 'rt a gallant comrade and honest gentleman. That sufficeth. If any man here would dispute it, he hath affair with me!"
"And with me!" added De Soto, with emphasis. "I believe, on my soul, thou 'rt a good Christian, Abul Hassan Zegri, whatever thy blood. Thou may'st count Hernando de Soto one of thy friends."
Hernando Pizarro and others joined in their protestation of friendship, but the rest hung back, fearing the danger involved in adhering to a man under ban of the Inquisition. Mendoza's muttered "Morisco infiel!" was taken up, but the group around José was too formidable to encourage open hostility, and the rest stood sullenly apart.
It was noticed by the commander, who said briefly: "There shall be no quarrel about José, nor with him.—José, or Abul Hassan Zegri, or whoever thou art, thou 'rt among friends. Thou hast been a stanch companion, and whilst I have power no hand shall be raised against thee. But guard thy tongue, and beware throwing nettles to the clergy. We are far from Seville, but the Inquisition hath long arms, as men have learned before. But—thou 'rt not an infidel?"
"I am a Christian," responded the armorer with dignity.
"That answereth every question thou shalt be asked. Señores, this affair is mine. It endeth here." He glanced significantly at the lowering group around Mendoza, then, after a pause: "Now, to the business for which I have called you together. These are my orders, and ye will see them carried out to the letter. The captives shall be released and go unmolested. A sufficient number shall be retained as hostages and for such services as may be required. The Inca shall be established with his wives and household, and shall have every privilege and liberty consistent with security. His nobles and people are to be admitted to him without hindrance, and for the present he shall be allowed to conduct the affairs of the empire—with our guidance and counsel when it seemeth expedient. The nobles shall be treated as befitteth their rank, and we'll have no violence offered any man or woman, noble or other. Ye will make this understood among the men and see it enforced. Thus far our arms have been blessed with success, but for the future as much dependeth upon discretion as upon courage. Be prudent, therefore, as vigilant, and vigilant as ye have been resolute.
"One word more: To-morrow I send a messenger to San Miguel, and with him goeth Fray Mauricio. That is all, Señores.Adiós."
CHAPTER IX
Cristoval Meets the Princess
There was a building fronting on the plaza which, from, the great sculptured serpent on its wall, became known to the Spaniards as the House of the Serpent. Plain and massive in its architecture as the others, it covered, in a rambling fashion, a large extent of ground. By chance the invaders had left it untouched until opened for the Inca and his suite. Being an old Incarial palace, Atahualpa requested that he be quartered there. This was readily granted, and Pizarro, to be near his prisoner, moved into the building himself.
That part of it abutting on the square was ancient, but in later years it had been added to from time to time until it could house five or six score people. It extended back a hundred yards or more, enclosing one large and two smaller courts from which entrance was given to the various apartments. In the rear was a park filled with trees and shrubbery, and surrounded by a high wall of stone and adobe. Since the erection of the villa near the mineral springs the palace had been disused, and the garden neglected; but it retained its beauty, enhanced, perhaps, by its touch of wildness. The fountains still playing in its shade were green with moss, the walks overgrown with grass, and wild flowers had invaded the lawns, as if Nature had gently striven against its artificiality. The melancholy of decay had entered the enclosure as in preparation to greet the fallen fortune of the royal prisoner, fated to spend many a moody hour pacing its walks and chafing in his bondage.
Whatever depth of hatred the Inca cherished toward his captors, however burning his thirst for revenge, no sign betrayed them. The bitterness of captivity must have sunk into his proud heart, but it lay hidden beneath unvarying dignity and calm. With strength and patience which rose above disaster and compelled the admiration of the Spaniards, he took up the affairs of his stricken country, and with masterly readiness stayed the demoralization already sweeping over his empire like a tidal wave. With the few nobles left him he held his councils. Fleetchasquiswere despatched to the farthest confines of his dominions, bearing assurances of his safety, enjoining peace, and summoning his trusted advisers.
Meanwhile, everything practicable was done to mitigate the hardship of his captivity. The blue-uniformed guard in the anteroom had given place to a detail of steel-accoutred Spaniards, and sentinels were in evidence outside the palace walls, but the monarch saw little of them. Even the officers did not intrude upon his privacy; though later he found pleasure, or at least interest, in the society of certain of them and invited them often. He gave daily audience to his people, who were admitted freely to his presence. They found him still wearing thellautuand possessing the semblance—to all immediate intents and purposes the actuality—of his imperial power. They were commanded by him to be acquiescent to the strangers, by whom they were treated with due consideration, and went away reassured.
The soldiers were now removed from the temporary barracks and assigned to quarters in the houses, largely left vacant by townspeople who availed themselves of the privilege of leaving Caxamalca. Cristoval, with De Soto, took a dwelling not far from the palace. He dismissed most of the Indies placed at his service, and assigned a suitable number to the wounded Toparca, whom he left in his old quarters on the square.
The prince was mending rapidly under José's skill, but was still unable to rise. Cristoval visited him daily, thereby improving his knowledge of Quichua and acquiring information about the country. As their acquaintance ripened he found the noble to be very much a man, and beneath his reserve he discovered a genuine urbanity. Toparca, on his part influenced by gratitude, increased by Cristoval's unfailing thoughtfulness, had become strongly attached to his rescuer, whose friendship he regarded as the condescension of a being somewhat more than human.
Returning late one afternoon from a reconnaissance to the southward, Cristoval stopped to inquire for the prince. He entered the patio, rapped upon the half-open door, and, without waiting for an answer, pushed aside the hangings and entered,—to find himself confronted by half-a-dozen young women. He recognized them at once by their costume as attendants at the palace. The sudden apparition of his mailed figure threw consternation among the damsels, nearly equalled by his own at their half-suppressed scream. Stammering an apology, part Spanish, part Quichua, he bowed and was hastily retiring when Toparca called from his couch:—
"Wait, Viracocha Cristoval! Do not go before I have made you known to my sister, the Ñusta Rava. Tarry a moment, I pray you."
The princess had risen, terrified by the formidable man in steel, whose face she could scarcely discern beneath his lifted visor. To her unaccustomed eyes he was huge and monstrous—a direful, enigmatic being from another world, of a race prodigious in destructiveness, unassailable and irresistible as gods, murderous as fiends. The sound of his approach as he moved toward her, the clank and harsh rustle of his accoutrements, struck dread to her heart. Cristoval perceived her trembling. He halted, hurriedly unlatched and removed his helmet.
"I trust the Ñusta Rava will forgive me for appearing in my harness," he said in Quichua made lame by his embarrassment, and bowing gravely; "but I had no thought of finding any one here but my Lord Toparca. With her gracious permission I will retire."
"No, no!" said Toparca. "Let me present you:—Rava, this is the Viracocha Cristoval, who, as I have told thee, rescued me from death."
Cristoval made a low obeisance, but the princess recoiled from him in undisguised horror. Toparca saw the movement and expression, and said quickly: "Rava, thou needst have no fear. I beg thou wilt know the Viracocha Cristoval as my friend."
"Thy friend, Toparca?" she exclaimed, her low voice trembling. "Dost think that I can look upon one of these as the friend of any of our race? The blood-marks have not yet vanished from the square."
Toparca raised himself in anxiety to exonerate his benefactor. "But, my sister," he said, hurriedly, "the Viracocha Cristoval had no part in that."
"Had no part in it!" repeated the princess, with incredulous scorn. "But he is here, an invader! His part began when he set foot upon our soil, sword in hand. Say not that he had no part in it! Doth he hold himself guiltless?—Can you hold yourself guiltless of that blood, Viracocha?" She turned upon Cristoval, her dark eyes burning, her form quivering from head to foot with the bitter intensity of her resentment. "Are you absolved of the foul treachery by which my people were led hither to their death? Of the perfidy that lured my brother into the snare, unarmed and unsuspecting? You have had no part in all this?—Oh, Toparca, canst thou call one of these dreadful beings thy friend whilst Tavantinsuyu still mourns her dead? He had been more worthy the name had he not preserved thee to witness the infinite misfortunes his people have brought upon our unhappy country! He had been merciful had he permitted thee to perish in ignorance of the slavery of our brothers and the dishonor of our sisters. Thy friend, my brother? Tell me sooner thou hast friends among the vultures! They, at least, prey not upon the living. Farewell, Toparca!"
The princess drew her cloak about her, and passing Cristoval with a brief glance in which was concentrated all the infuriate enmity that a woman, raging at injury and helpless to avenge it, can feel for the oppressor, she left the apartment, followed by her frightened maids.
Cristoval had heard her in silence. No doubt his uppermost feeling was compassion, for he felt the heartbreak beneath her denunciation. He knew better than she how well her indignation was justified, and was thankful that she could not know the sordid greed back of the invasion. Many of her words he had been unable to catch, but he did not fail to get her meaning clearly enough, for that was expressed in every tone and gesture. His freedom from the stains of the massacre had made him proof against much of her reproach, but he could not be indifferent to her hate and scorn. Through all he felt her beauty, somewhat ferine and stormy now, he thought, but still of a transcendent, queenly kind. Altogether, he had listened with sympathy quite without resentment; so that when she met his look in passing, instead of the rage and cruelty she expected, she read a grave pity of which she thought afterward; and in place of the stern, perhaps brutal rejoinder she looked for, a bow of profound respect and deference.
Cristoval expressed his keen regret for the inopportune entry which had sent her away so abruptly, but Toparca was even more disturbed, uncertain of the effect of her anger upon the Viracocha.
"I hope you will not think of her words, Viracocha Cristoval," he said, anxiously. "The princess is young, and hath already known much grief. She will learn that there are generous and humane hearts——"
"Even among Spaniards!" said Cristoval, with a trace of bitterness in his faint smile. "I trust so, my Lord Toparca. But the princess hath my earnest sympathy." Then he changed the subject quickly, and soon departed, giving little further thought to the Ñusta Rava.
It was not long before the constraint at first existing between the Inca and the Spanish officers began to wear away under the influence of the uniform courtesy with which he was treated, partly in observance of Pizarro's strict injunctions, but due quite as much to the innate stateliness of the monarch himself. His captors soon learned to know him as a man of alert intelligence, eager for knowledge of their world. As the months dragged on he formed several friendships with them which went far to moderate the dreariness of captivity, in which he displayed his discrimination of human character. From the first he was attracted by De Soto, whose superiority over most of his comrades he was not slow to recognize. De Soto, in turn, conceived for the unfortunate monarch a deep regard, a sentiment shared by Hernando Pizarro and Candia.
But before all others in the Inca's esteem was Peralta. Atahualpa had not forgotten his part in the affair on the plaza, and his gratitude and confidence had been increased by the rescue of Toparca. Thus predisposed in Cristoval's favor, the cavalier's growing knowledge of the Quichua dialect made their acquaintance of easy growth. Cristoval's wide experience as a soldier appealed vigorously to the warlike prince, and he spent many hours listening to accounts of European campaigns and methods.
It is doubtful if the monarch had ever, since his youth, known real companionship unconstrained by his majesty. The gulf separating him from his most exalted subject was immeasurable and not to be bridged by any human feeling. As far as friendship was concerned he was alone, wearied to the limits of endurance by the perpetual reverence and awe by which he was surrounded. He did not undertake to exact, did not want, and could not have had from the Spaniards, the servile homage tendered by his subjects, and its absence was a relief. They treated him as a royal man, not as a Child of the Sun, and he was grateful. It is not to be supposed that they were always tactful, that they never overstepped the bounds of familiarity; but his natural dignity protected him, and it occurred infrequently—with Cristoval never. The cavalier was neither presuming nor humble, and their friendship prospered.
For the Spanish commander the Inca never acquired a liking. It was impossible for him to regard Pizarro otherwise than as his arch-enemy and author of his misfortunes. As a soldier he exonerated the other officers in a degree, reflecting that they were subordinates, and attributing to their leader the absolute authority over them which he himself wielded over his troops. So upon Pizarro he placed the entire weight of responsibility. He was repelled, however, by the cold austerity of the taciturn leader, who possessed little of the graciousness of his brother Hernando and had no wish for the good will of the man he had so mortally injured.
To Cristoval the tour as commander of the guard at the palace was always welcome. On one of these occasions, having some need to see the Inca, he was directed by one of the attendants to the garden, and taking one of the side-paths which wound through the shrubbery, had gone but a few yards when a turn brought him face to face with the Ñusta Rava, followed by one of her handmaidens. He bowed, stepped aside, and waited, toque in hand, for her to pass, fully expecting to encounter the indignant scorn which he had seen last in her handsome eyes. He found it, however, quite absent, and in its stead one of some confusion, not unmixed with fear. To his surprise she halted and stood looking up to him with a timidity that made him uncomfortably conscious of the warlike attire which inspired her dread. He bowed again, and in response to his look of kindly inquiry she began:—
"Viracocha,—my words some days ago were spoken in ignorance of all my obligations. My brother, the Inca, hath told me of your many acts of generosity to him in his misfortune. Can you forget my injustice and accept my gratitude?"
"The Ñusta Rava's words are forgotten," replied Cristoval; "and I can only thank her for the graciousness of those just spoken. I beg she will believe the sincerity of my sympathy for her august brother and herself."
"Ah, I do believe it, Viracocha Cristoval! It hath been proven by your friendship."
"You may count upon all that lieth within its power," said Cristoval, earnestly. "I would it could undo what hath been done; but if it can ever serve you, now or in the future, be sure of it."
He had spoken with the gentleness with which he would have addressed a child—in fact, he looked upon her as little more—and the voice of the unhappy princess broke when she tried to murmur her acknowledgment. As she turned away she extended her hand. Cristoval pressed it for an instant, and she passed on. He continued his walk meditatively. Presently he came to a bench and sat down, studying the gravel at his feet.
"A murrain seize this business!" he thought. "Heaven knoweth what is to become of her, or of any of them. God have mercy on them!—and may the fiend run away with the conquest! There's no glory in it, nor aught but foul outrage and devil's greed and lust. 'T is not even war! Would I had stayed back in Panama, and had no part in bringing this royal brother and sister into the power of these freebooters! Wolves!—She is gentle as a Christian—when it pleaseth her to be, that is!Cara! But I envy not the man who doth counter her disapproval. Ah, well!—what a pity she is not a Christian! I'll speak to Father Tendilla: he is a kindly old man, and hath gentleness of speech."
Cristoval rose and walked slowly on.
He came upon the Inca shortly, and found him restlessly pacing back and forth. He turned at the sound of the cavalier's footsteps, and his countenance brightened somewhat as he said, cordially proffering his hand, "May the Sun never hide his face from thee, Viracocha Cristoval!"
"God be with you, my Lord Inca!" said Cristoval. "I trust the day hath gone well."
"Not ill, though I have known better ones," replied Atahualpa, with a slight smile. "I have had another visit from thy general and his priest."
"Father Valverde?" asked Cristoval. "I would it had been Tendilla."
"And I!" said the Inca, with a frown, "for this one pleaseth me not. He persisteth in assailing my religion. Why is it? What is my religion to him?—and to Pizarro? It is the faith of my fathers. Why should I change it at their behest? Hath not every man the right to his own belief and form of worship? We of Tavantinsuyu never forced our gods upon other men; yet this priest saith your people have crossed the seas to bring your religion to me!—to teach me the words of the Prince of Peace—the Prince of Peace! Is it so? Tell me—is that the purpose of your coming?"
His face had grown stern as he put the question, and without pausing for an answer he went on with increasing vehemence: "Do you tell me it is for this, Viracocha Cristoval, that I am a prisoner, surrounded by guards like a common criminal, while so many of my children lie in unhonored graves? Is it that I may become a Christian? Let me have the truth, Viracocha!"
"By heaven, I will!" blurted Cristoval, weary and disgusted at the cloak of religion under which his countrymen strove to mask their rapacity. "I'll tell you why we are here, Prince! We have come for your gold! Now you have the pith and meat of the whole matter. Had your country not been cursed with wealth you and your people could have gone peacefully down to hell unheeded by Spanish priest or soldier. But you have gold, and we want it!"
Atahualpa regarded him with amazement and incredulity. "Gold!" he exclaimed. "Gold! Dost tell me you have come so far for such stuff as this?" and he pulled the jewelled bracelets from his wrists and cast them scornfully at Cristoval's feet.
"For such as that, my Lord Inca," replied Cristoval, ignoring the precious ornaments.
Atahualpa gazed at him for a moment in silence, the look of astonishment in his eyes rapidly yielding to one of anger. "Dost mean to say," he demanded, in a voice grown suddenly harsh, "that this measureless calamity hath been brought upon me and mine by the childish desire of thy people for these trumperies? Great God! Are you madmen, that you count human lives paltry beside this dross which we dig from the earth? Are the murder of my people and the base treachery to me but trifles?"
"My lord, even greater wrongs have been committed for the love of gold. Few crimes in the fiend's category but have sprung from it. It hath reddened the earth with blood, and made hell populous."
Cristoval encountered a look of mingled wonder and abhorrence. It was some seconds before Atahualpa spoke. Then he said slowly: "Strange beings! Do you consider that it hath some magic virtue, this gold, or doth it not possess some hidden power to give madness?"
"Both, my Lord Inca! It hath a magic that can bring all things to its possessor—save only happiness, love, and salvation; and it can cause madness."
"It is a riddle!" exclaimed the Inca, with impatience. "But enough! Thou tellest me you have come for gold. Dost thou want gold, Viracocha Cristoval? Hear me!" He drew near and lowered his voice, speaking rapidly and with intensity: "I would be free! I want thine aid and friendship. I can give thee more gold than thou couldst carry the length of this garden—more than thou and the strongest of thy companions could raise from the ground!"
Cristoval raised his hand: "My Lord Inca, I pray you, do not offer it. My friendship cannot be purchased. You have it now; and when my aid availeth you shall have that also, though not for gold, my lord. I will do all in my power in your behalf and to procure your freedom. I know not my commander's design, but should a greater evil threaten you than hath already befallen, reckon my sword, if need be, in your defence."
Atahualpa studied him intently. The sincerity of Peralta's tone was in his eyes, and not to be mistaken. "Viracocha Cristoval," said the monarch after a pause, giving his hand, "I know not whether an Inca ever before asked forgiveness of any man, but I ask thine now! I believe I know thy friendship's worth."
"I thank you, my Lord Inca," replied Cristoval, simply. "But now, let me counsel you. If you have gold at your command, offer it to Pizarro. You shall find that when his nose smelleth a ransom he will turn a willing ear. Have others present to witness your proposal; have De Soto—he is an honorable man—and Candia, and Hernando Pizarro—the more the better. And heed this carefully: Be not too liberal in your tender; rather, be a shade niggardly at first, lest you over-stimulate his cupidity. Your offer to me was extravagant, my lord. Be moderate, or you may defeat your end. The hint of a too bountiful source from which to draw may rouse ambition to possess the source itself. Were your supply boundless as heaven, greed would rise to its full measure."
Atahualpa had listened with close attention. He pondered a moment, then said: "I believe thy counsel is wise. I thank thee, my friend. I will follow it."