Chapter XI: Part 11

When the time for departure was at hand Cristoval found many an unlooked-for pang. He was known to every man, woman, and child of the valley; was looked upon by them with reverence, endeared to them as the protector of their Nusta, by his unfailing courtesy, simplicity, and helpful interest; and finally, by their sympathy when he was lying cut to pieces by the Canares. All had received a kind word from the Viracocha Cristoval, and not one of them but must bid him farewell with a heart-felt wish that the Sun would brighten his way. When he took leave of Maytalca the lady wept frankly, murmuring a prayer for his welfare and a message of love to Rava when he should see her again. The _curaca's_ daughters, who had sat many an hour at his bedside, were not less affected.

Clad in armor which Markumi's zeal had brought to the splendor of silver, Cristoval at last rode with Pedro through the crowded streets at the head of their few retainers. They were attended to the edge of the village by the people, and for a mile beyond by the old _curaca_, who bade them farewell with warm assurance that while a roof remained in Xilcala they should find there a welcome and refuge.

At the head of the canyon through which flowed Xilcala stream Cristoval halted for a final look at the valley, here to find the sharpest pang of all. He turned with a sigh from its tranquillity, its beauty, and the thousand recollections, and rode into the defile with a presentiment that in leaving its peace to enter the gloomy gorge was a foreshadowing of what lay before him.

*CHAPTER XXIX*

_*A March and Another Reunion*_

The march down the canyon of the Xilcala was rapid, and on the second day they were near its debouchment into the valley of the Maranon, close to the great national highway leading to Cuzco. After this they proceeded with the utmost circumspection. By the end of the fifth day they had passed Lake Chinchaycocha and halted at Carhuacaya, in the valley of the Xauxa. It was a hamlet of two dozen houses, regularly laid out and with the usual _campata_, or square, on which stood the residence of the _curaca_, where the two Viracochas were received for the night. Like many another village they passed, this had suffered severely at the hands of the ravaging Canares who had followed Pizarro's march, and from Spaniards on their way to Cuzco, for recruits were already flowing in; but Pedro had stopped there on his way to Xilcala, and his reappearance was welcome.

On the following morning the party encountered an interruption wholly deranging their plans. Cristoval and Pedro were preparing for the journey when the _curaca_ entered, showing some embarrassment. He greeted them cordially, but advised them not to leave that day. In fact, it would be impossible. The roads were occupied. The town--it was distressing--was surrounded by the troops of the Inca! Pedro whistled.

"By the fighting San Miguel!" exploded Cristoval, in Spanish. "We are prisoners, Pedro! What sayst thou to that?"

Pedro sat down. "Why, stew me!--like the ancient Roman soldier who was hit in the belly by a stone from a catapult, I have very little to say."

"Viracochas," said the _curaca_, earnestly, "I pray you have no uneasiness. The General Matopo commanding shall be informed of your rescue of the Nusta Rava, Viracocha Cristoval, of which Markumi hath told me. That service will insure you against any danger soever."

"Danger! Then we might be in danger, is it so, _Curaca_? Are these troops marching against the Viracochas?"

"You will readily understand, Viracocha Cristoval, it is not permitted me to know."

Cristoval resumed his arming. "Well, it might be worse. If Pizarro had us pent in this fashion it would be a short shrift for me, Pedro, and belike, would call for some painful lying from thee to explain thine indiscretion in choice of company. But let us step out and see what is to be seen."

They found several Xilcalans at the outer door, watching a battalion just entering the square. The two Spaniards halted, struck by its martial appearance as it massed in the plaza.

An officer of middle age wearing a noble's ear ornaments was followed by a group of twenty or more, many with the same insignia, and all brilliant in the uniform of the Conibos, a northern tribe from the valley of the Huallaga. Beside the officer was the _curaca_, talking earnestly. The party turned aside from the direct line of march to permit the passage of their column, and halted. The _curaca_ approached to summon the Spaniards.

The commander eyed the two mail-clad figures with interest, but the sight of Pedro's wooden leg required all his self-possession to avoid a display of astonishment. His salutation was not unfriendly, but the Spaniards were aware that they were prisoners. "Viracochas," said he, after the _curaca_ had presented them, "it seemeth an ill return for our indebtedness, of which the _curaca_ informeth me, but it is necessary that you accompany us. I assure you that one who hath befriended the Nusta Rava need fear nothing more than inconvenience. Were it in my discretion I would not impose even that; but I am responsible for the secrecy of the movement of my troops and you will understand the necessity which compelleth me. In order, however, to avoid undue restraint, I will accept your words that you make no effort to escape."

"Thou mayst depend upon us, my lord," said Cristoval. "There is, however, one request. I have an escort of Xilcalans whom I count as friends. Will my lord permit that they accompany me?"

"Gladly," said the general, "if they so choose. We shall meet to-night, Viracochas. May the Sun guard you!"

He moved off with his officers, leaving one to follow with the two captives, and they hastened to saddle. Taking leave of the _curaca_, they joined the waiting officer and, followed by the Xilcalans, fell into an interval between battalions.

The command went into bivouac late at night, and Matopo sent for his prisoners to join him at supper. Several subordinate officers shared the meal, and to them and to the old noble it was an incident, for these were the first they had seen of the Viracochas. Matopo soon became assured of Cristoval's sympathy with the cause of Rava's people, though the cavalier avoided direct expression, merely relating, at the general's request, the details of his association with Atahualpa and the subsequent enmity of Pizarro. When he remembered and drew forth the Inca's last gift, the fringe from the royal _llautu_, the effect was magical. The officers bent before it with reverence little less than the actual presence of the monarch would have inspired, and Cristoval found himself elevated to a dignity as great as it was unexpected. The half-forgotten trifle was a talisman.

"Viracocha Cristoval," said Matopo, gravely, as the cavalier replaced the potent cord, "thou bearest a warrant from the Inca. No man in Tavantinsuyu will withhold from it his recognition. It is a rare credential, and demandeth the confidence in its possessor reposed in him by the Inca himself. The Inca Atahualpa won his throne by arms, but he was the Inca. Thou hadst done well to show me the fringe this morning, but I will make what reparation is possible. Thou 'rt free, Viracocha."

This result was so unforeseen that Cristoval failed to comprehend the change in his situation, and the general repeated: "Thou 'rt free, Viracocha Cristoval, and I have only to ask that I be allowed to make thee amends."

"I thank thee, General Matopo. There hath been no inconvenience, for, as I have said, we were journeying toward Cuzco. But--my comrade?"

Matopo shook his head. "Mine authority can go no farther. I shall be compelled to retain him."

"Then with thy leave we will remain together."

Matopo's surprise was as evident as his relief. His relief was equal to his uneasiness, what there was of it, lest the secret movement of his troops might be imperilled by the Viracocha's liberation. "No need to ask my leave," he replied, quickly; "but you will go as my guests, and I believe I can promise that he will not be long deprived of his liberty."

Two weeks later the column approached the village of Abancay, where it would cross the river Apurimac. Cristoval and Pedro were walking with Matopo at the head of the main body, leading their steeds. As they neared the village they could see that it was occupied by the advance guard. As they descended into the plain a soldier came at top speed to announce that there were two Viracochas in the village, apparently not soldiers, and that there was some difficulty in securing them.

"Shall we ride forward, my Lord Matopo?" asked Cristoval.

"It would be well," replied the general, "else the Viracochas may lose their lives in resisting."

The two Spaniards were off at a gallop. The soldiers scattered before them, and they drew rein at the square. At the sight of the two Viracochas Pedro raised a shout:--

"The senora, by the infernal cook of cooks!--and Father Tendilla!"

The square was full of excited soldiers, leaving a swaying ring in the middle, occupied by the lady and the priest mounted on mules. The father had the reins of her steed, which was facing his own, plunging, rearing, and kicking incredibly at the surrounding line of Conibos who repelled it with their javelins. Its rider, clinging frantically to her pommel with one hand, half-blinded by her sombrero which had been jolted over her eyes, fitfully whirled her battle-axe with the other in fruitless efforts to reach the helmeted heads. She was red-faced, shaken, and storming. The poor priest, hatless and nearly unseated by every plunge of his companion's mule, tugged desperately at the reins, while half-a-dozen officers circled about, dodging the heels of the frenzied animal, and entirely helpless before a situation transcending their wildest dreams.

"_Brava_, Bolio! _Brava_, Bolio!" roared Pedro, pushing forward. "Strike for Spain! _Cristo y San Miguel_! Strike for Spain! _Bravamente_!"

At the familiar voice the axe ceased to whirl, and between plunges the senora tilted back her sombrero. "Pedro!" she shouted wildly, then gave attention to retaining her seat, while the mule delivered another succession of kicks. Cristoval motioned the soldiers back as he spurred into the ring. Pedro rode up, slipped his hand along the reins of her steed, seized them close to the bit, and stopped the plunging. Cristoval assisted the flustered lady to the ground, too breathless to speak. He quieted the blowing mule while Pedro and Father Tendilla dismounted. The former hastened to the agitated senora, and at last she was able to gasp:--

"Pedro--on my soul!--hast dropped from heaven?"

"Heaven forbid!" said Pedro, surveying her with concern. "I'm crippled enough as 't is. But thou 'rt unhurt?"

"Oh, these heathens!" panted the senora.

"I've known Christians who were worse," said Pedro. "But, art sound and whole?"

"If I could but have reached one of them! But, blessed name! how comest thou here, Pedro?"

"Prisoner of war--like thyself. Art uninjured?"

"Like myself!" snorted the lady. "Who hath made me a prisoner of war? Prisoner of fiddle-de-dee! Drum-sticks!" She glared vindictively at the wondering soldiery. "Let one of them bite his tongue at me!"

"Bueno! There are only five thousand," remarked Pedro. "But tell me, what dost thou here?"

"Oh, Pedro, I am going to Cuzco to see that angel of a girl! The father took it in mind to go, so I came with him--but such a time! He hath been as much care as a baby."

"Calm yourself, my dear Senora."

The senora sniffed scornfully. "Is that Peralta? I scarce knew him without his beard. He seemeth friendly enough with these fripperied Indians. He might be in better company--and so mightst thou, Pedro. 'T is little credit to you both."

"We are prisoners, Senora."

"Prisoners, forsooth! Well, if I were a man! But thou 'rt too good-natured, Pedro, for thine own good. And thou 'rt a love to rescue me," she added, tenderly.

Pedro stepped back a pace and looked uneasily about. "Nay, Senora Bolio," he said, hastily, "it was not I. It was Peralta. Wait. I'll call him."

"Oh, thou'rt so modest, Pedro! I tell thee, it was thou! But hold! God ha' mercy! I had almost forgotten to tell thee. Thou 'rt undone! They have entered thy lodging in Xauxa, broken into thy chests, and taken thy belongings."

"Furies and devils!" exclaimed the cook, sharply. "Who have?"

"Those runnion pikemen from the fortress."

At once flashed over him the use he had planned to make of his savings in aiding Cristoval to escape. He spun around once on his peg and swore with such violence that the cavalier and Father Tendilla hurried up.

"My son, my son!" cried the priest, placing a hand upon his shoulder. "Thy tongue is imperilling thy soul."

"Name of a saint, Pedro! What hath happened?" demanded Cristoval, anxiously.

"Happened!" shouted Pedro. "Scurviness hath happened. Thievery hath happened. Sack, plunder, housebreaking, and depredation have happened. Those rakehells of the infantry have robbed me. Oh, hoop me with hoops lest I burst before I've killed a pikeman!"

He ceased abruptly and went to his mule, leaving the senora to explain. She did so with brevity and emphasis, and Cristoval turned to the priest in disgust: "We've brought a mangy pack, Father Tendilla, to set loose upon these hapless people. They turn to robbing one another before they've done robbing the country." The father shook his head sadly, but made no reply.

The advance guard moved on, and Matopo passed with his officers, casting a curious glance at the senora as he bowed. She responded with a haughty inclination and compressed her lips. It required all the persuasive eloquence of her three countrymen to induce her to mount and enter the column; but finding separation from Pedro the alternative, she at last consented, declaring vigorously that the barbarian who undertook to make a prisoner of her would repent his insolence and remember the circumstance. She swung into her saddle, disdaining assistance, and they were soon on the march.

Now Cristoval's good heart was warmed by later news of Rava. He rode with Father Tendilla, listening with eagerness to the tale of her sojourn at Xauxa, given with detail and sympathy by the kindly old priest, who was glowing in his eulogies of the gentle proselyte. The cavalier's hundred repeated questions were patiently answered over and over, and before an hour Cristoval had unbosomed himself, candidly revealing his hope of escape with her from the country. The priest listened to the plan, and said:--

"Well, my son, it will be for the child a hazardous undertaking. However, it will be in the guidance of Heaven. I had thought the maiden might find refuge from her sorrows in a life of holiness, for which her spirit seemeth well adapted. If it be otherwise ordained, it would not beseem me to oppose, and I will do all in my power to further thy happiness and hers."

"I thank you, father," said Cristoval. "But do you know whether Rava is aware that I am living?"

"I know not. I have written to Father Valverde since I learned it from the youth whom thou didst send from Xilcala, but have had no reply. Canares have been abroad, and communication uncertain. The messenger may not have passed them. I have come myself, therefore, thinking to bear the news, but it hath ended--thus,"--and he cast a look over the battalions.

"Doubtless we can send her word," said Cristoval. "Matopo saith she is likely to be at Yucay, where the Incas have a castle. I think we may reach her, good father."

"I pray it may be so, surely," replied Tendilla.

That night the command encamped on the elevated plain of Curahuasi, awaiting the morrow to cross the Apurimac. Before daylight it was moving again, and shortly the head of the column was threading its way down the wall of the chasm whence rose the faint murmur of the torrent, thousands of feet below. The trail seemed to Cristoval a mere scratch on the cliff. At his elbow rose the rock-mass, so steep that scarcely a shrub found clinging-place, while almost beneath his stirrup the precipice dropped away to an abyss. The descent, at first moderate, became so rapid as it zig-zagged from point to point that every step threatened to plunge horse and rider headlong. Generations of wayfarers had worn the rock treacherously smooth, and he presently dismounted to lead his horse. The others followed his example, and he heard the senora whimpering to Pedro. Gingerly now he went, hugging closely to points which so crowded the path that his saddlebow was scraped by the overhanging wall. In places the descent was by steps hewn into the granite, down which his horse blundered perilously, menaced at every slip by a hideous fall into vacancy. Cristoval's eyes were drawn to the brink in resistless fascination, and he crept along with shrinking soul. He heard Pedro muttering: "Martyred saints--and spirits damned! This is what cometh--of being a cook!"

They were hours descending, but the hours seemed days. At length the path lost itself in the blackness of a cavern-mouth. Cristoval found himself in a reverberating tunnel driven three hundred yards through living rock. Openings on the right admitted air and the growing thunder of the torrent. In the open again for another giddy, stumbling clamber down a hundred fathoms; and the bridge! Cristoval whispered a prayer. From a narrow shelf it swung out over the chasm in a long, sweeping curve to its anchorage on the farther side, a mere gossamer swaying in the breeze and vibrating fearfully beneath the soldiers' tread. Cristoval quailed within his steel at its frailty. From a huge windlass on the platform beside him stretched three cables of four or five inches in thickness, forming the support for the narrow floor. Above and on either side was a smaller cable connected with the floor supports by ropes, and serving as guard-rails, though the security afforded was largely moral, the vertical spaces between the cords being large enough to admit of a fall through at any point.

As Cristoval looked out over the quivering one hundred and fifty feet of fragility, listening to the lugubrious creaking of the cables at their anchorage, his hardihood slowly oozed. The bridge was now clear for his passage. He swore a little in undertone, piously consigned himself to the Virgin's keeping, and led off. His horse sniffed at the footway with deep-drawn breaths and long, tremulous expirations, but followed at his word. A stiff breeze was blowing up the canyon, swinging the structure rhythmically through an arc of six or eight feet, and Cristoval's brain reeled as he glanced at the sinister, whirling rush of green and foam bellowing a hundred feet below. Steadying his eyes on a point ahead, he picked his way out into the air. An age in crossing, but at last he neared the end. Here his weight and that of the horse shifted the sag of the cables so that the last few feet were a steep ascent with scant foothold; but he scrambled up, and with a sigh of relief, stood on solid ground. He looked back. Father Tendilla was following, leading his mule and holding his hat in place, the wind tossing and tearing at his robe, and the cavalier turned giddy again as he watched the old priest's slow advance over the narrow, swinging floor. Cristoval gave him a hand at the end, and fairly jerked him to safety on the shelf.

Pedro and the senora were to follow, and here occurred a pause. The lady balked. She seated herself on the windlass, swelling with negation.

"Cross that unholy thing of strings and straws, Pedro?" she exclaimed, indignantly. "Not if I were a spider! 'T is a device of the devil, and may the devil fly away with it, or roost upon it! It is no place for a Christian. I'll go round, and that's an end to 't!"

"Go round!" retorted Pedro, impatiently. "Thou'lt march four hundred leagues to go around, Senora."

"Then I'll go back."

"Impossible to go back. The trail is full."

"Then I'll sit here till 'tis empty."

"Oh, the fiend, woman! Dost not see they cannot pass for our mules? The column is waiting."

"Then let the column wait and twiddle its fingers! The column can wait till it turneth to a column of waiting mummies if it see fit, but I'll not put foot to that bridge!"

Pedro stared at her helplessly. The way was blocked. Ocallo with his mule was behind them, and the narrow platform was full, the column at a standstill, its head at a safe distance from the heels of the rearmost animal. Somewhere, Matopo was storming, his voice rising above the roar of the stream, and echoing and reechoing weirdly between the granite walls. Cristoval was hailing, and shortly began to swear. The lady tossed her head, and pulling up a spear of grass, began to chew its end. Pedro laughed with exasperation; opened his mouth, but finding no expletives to fit the situation, closed it again and grew excessively red. The soldiers in the rear began to murmur. Pedro contained himself with an effort, and began sadly:--

"Well, so it must be, Senora! _Adios_! I shall remember thee. I shall think of thee with a pang. I shall see thee ever in my darkest moments, sitting dreary amid the lonely majesty of the eternal mountains on an uncushioned windlass, a spear of grass thine only sustenance, whilst tempest and avalanche thunder about thee throughout the drift of years. _Adios_, Senora! Thou'lt be in my dreams, a silent, graceful, but resolute form, waiting in solitude, holding the brittle remnants of a pair of reins; at thy feet a shrunken, staring, decayed cadaver of a mule, giving voiceless, desiccated testimony of thine inflexibility. _Adios_! _Adios_! I go. Come, thou, my steadfast and faithful steed, we obey the pointed finger of destiny. _Fata nos nolentes trahunt_!"

Pedro turned away, and straining to produce a sob, fetched a hiccough, and led to the bridge. The lady, at first bewildered by his burst of gloomy eloquence, then touched by the profound melancholy with which it was delivered, melted from determination to tenderness. As he stepped upon the floor she rose, glanced about despairingly, and shouted:--

"Hold, Pedro, thou dear love of a man! I follow! Wait for me, thou poor thing--and the fiend take the bridge and its makers if it serve me not across!"

But at the terror of the swaying structure she faltered, and Pedro turned. "Nay, Senora!" he cried, in a voice of sad but gentle deprecation, and raising his hand, "'t is too much. I ask it not. Turn back."

For answer she sat down, and in her desperation heedless of exposure of limb, began sliding down the steep incline, clutching and moaning plaintively, the feminine now wholly uppermost. At last she neared Pedro's mule, and he called:--

"Stand up, my dear, and grasp his tail."

"Oh--God's mercy!--he will kick!" she replied, in a shuddering wail.

"Nay, stew me! a fly would not venture to kick out here," answered Pedro, with feeling. "Seize his tail!"

She did so, and with many a piteous whine and gasp, was at length across the abyss.

*CHAPTER XXX*

_*An Encounter on the Plain of Chita*_

Within a few days after the passage of the Apurimac Matopo crossed, by a rapid night march, the plateau of Chita, not many leagues from Cuzco. He moved with caution, and halted, near morning, at the eastern edge of the plain, awaiting daylight before the descent into the valley of the Urubamba where lay Ollantaytambo, the rendezvous of the Inca's forces and his objective.

The column moved at sunrise. Below, a full mile almost straight down, spread the floor of the valley. The road was a masterpiece of engineering. At points it was hewn out of the solid rock; at others, supported by masonry; but everywhere of even breadth and gradient, and smoothly paved. Cristoval soon had a view of a distant town which Matopo said was Urubamba, clinging to the lower slopes of the opposite mountains, and near it the palace of Yucay, faintly visible. He saw it with a heart-throb, for here might be Rava.

Upon reaching the plain the command went into bivouac. Three days of forced marches had been exhausting, and at the earliest moment possible Cristoval disarmed, stretched himself upon his cloak under a terrace wall, and was soon asleep. He was roused by a Conibo. The sun, far past the meridian, apprised him that he had slept long.

"Viracocha," said the soldier, as the cavalier sat up, "the general would see you at once."

Cristoval noticed the man's perturbation, and gathered up his cloak to follow. He saw signs of unusual agitation among the Conibos, and that the few still sleeping were being roused. Those awake were gathered in knots, some conversing excitedly, but most were standing about, silent and profoundly depressed. Those he passed glanced at him darkly and turned away, some with muttered words which he could not hear. The cavalier, though wondering, was little disturbed; but he grew more concerned at the gloom and gravity of Matopo and his assembled officers. As he drew near he saw several nobles in the group quite unknown to him, who had apparently just arrived.

"_Dios_! Something hath gone awry," he said to himself, and hurried his steps. Matopo said abruptly,

"Viracocha, the Inca hath been made a prisoner."

Cristoval stopped, thunderstruck, and looked about the grim-faced circle. For a moment he was speechless, then demanded sharply: "A prisoner, sayst thou! Where is he a prisoner? Who hath made him prisoner?"

"Ah, who!" returned Matopo, fiercely. "Who but the Viracochas? He is in the Sachsahuaman. He was taken on his way to Ollantaytambo. The Auqui Paullo, the Nustas, and most of his household are held in the palace at Cuzco, with--"

Cristoval interrupted him with a savage oath. "The Nusta Rava? Is she again in the power of those hell-hounds?"

"All who were within the palace. Guards were put around it the moment it was known that the Inca had left the city."

Cristoval stood glowering, observed with some astonishment by the strangers, who, although already aware of his identity, were unprepared for his demonstration, and still less so for his vehement demand:--

"Matopo, what dost purpose? Whatever it may be must be quickly done, for I tell thee, the Inca's life is not worth a hair among those miscreants, and should they suspect preparations for war it would not be worth--" and he snapped his fingers. "What is thy purpose?"

"Viracocha, this is my Lord Quehuar," said Matopo, indicating the noble beside him. "In the absence of the Inca he is in command."

The cavalier turned to him with as much force as he had addressed Matopo. "Lord Quehuar, if the movement of thy troops is known in Cuzco, there is not an hour to lose. The Pizarros will hesitate less to kill the Inca than in killing Atahualpa. Thou must act without delay. Have measures been taken for his rescue?"

The old noble hesitated before replying. But there was that in Cristoval's manner, in his vigorous intensity of speech, and his total unconsciousness of any consideration other than the Inca's danger, that banished doubt and commanded deference. The old Indio felt it, and without loss of dignity.

"No steps have yet been taken, Viracocha," he said, "for we have just been released from Cuzco. Nothing is known of the assembling of the Inca's troops. We have arrived at no determination. The calamity is overpowering."

Cristoval took a step forward as he answered, "The calamity will grow hourly, Lord Quehuar. The Inca must be released. Is the fortress strongly garrisoned?"

"Not strongly. Some thirty Viracochas."

"Good!" cried Cristoval. "Give me a hundred men and some one who knoweth the fortress, and we will release him.--_Hola_, Pedro!"

"_Aqui_! Here!" answered the approaching cook. "What is to do now? I have been shaken and thumped, and despoiled of sleep worth a _castellano_ the minute. What is wrong, Cristoval?"

Cristoval replied in Quichua, "The Inca hath been imprisoned, and the Nusta Rava is again in toils." Pedro halted with an exclamation, and Cristoval continued, "I say that with a hundred followers we can release him, Pedro. What sayst thou--wilt go?"

"Thou knowest, Cristoval!" replied the cook, with force. "But hast forgotten that I am myself a prisoner?"

Cristoval faced Matopo and demanded, "What of this, my lord? Wilt accept his word?"

The general signified his willingness emphatically, and Cristoval again turned to Quehuar with impetuosity: "My Lord Quehuar, permit us to march to-night."

Mocho, the fiery, strode forward. "Let me take a battalion of my Antis, General. I know the fortress to the last stone."

Quehuar deliberated, and turned to the other nobles. "My lords, we will consider it. Viracochas, we thank you for the offer of your swords." He bowed. Taking Pedro's arm, Cristoval withdrew.

The conference was prolonged. Doubts were expressed by some concerning the prudence of trusting a Viracocha, and Matopo was questioned closely. Markumi and the other Xilcalans were summoned, and finally, Cristoval himself. His manifest sincerity determined the matter, and a _chasqui_ was sent speeding to Ollantaytambo, some hours away, bearing a command from Mocho to his Antis.

Upon Pedro fell the task of apprising the senora of a short expedition with Cristoval, and of persuading her to accompany Matopo to Ollantaytambo. This the cook achieved with rare diplomacy. The lady, vehement in her obduracy for a time, in the end consented, and with Father Tendilla, marched with the Conibos that afternoon. The Antis arrived at nightfall, two hundred strong, the pick of Mocho's warriors. At dawn the expedition moved, with Cristoval and Pedro beside Mocho at its head.

Leaving the valley for the plateau of Chita, they took the direct road to the capital. Not long after midday a scout came in to say that two mounted Viracochas, accompanied by a third man on foot, were approaching from the direction of Cuzco. The two riders were in armor and bore lances. The pedestrian was a native, and appeared to be captive. Mocho heard the report and cast a critical glance over the country about. Some distance ahead was a low plain, boggy in spots beside the road, and surrounded by broken, rocky knolls. With a directness gratifying to Cristoval's soldierly taste, Mocho broke his command into parties to surround the plain, with orders to close upon it by squads when the strangers had reached the middle, and to cover, especially, gullies and slopes which might offer avenue for flight. Enough were retained to hold the road, and they retired to a rise of ground which concealed them from the oncoming party. Cristoval looked about in surprise. The two hundred had vanished as if by magic.

The wait was not long, and as the strangers descended the opposite slope Cristoval and Pedro spurred forward. There was some surprise at their sudden appearance, but the trio did not halt. Cristoval and his companion were first to reach the middle of the plain, and drew rein to await the strangers, who advanced without suspicion. Cristoval observed that the man on foot was a noble, and seemingly little more than a youth.

Presently one of the two mounted Spaniards hailed, and Cristoval dropped his visor with the word: "Mendoza, by the saints!" Pedro grunted his surprise and followed the example, but neither replied. The movement and silence seemed to excite uneasiness, for the trio slowed up, and Mendoza called again:--

"_Hola, amigos_! How far to Chinchero?"

Cristoval was silent, and after consultation the others advanced scowling. At a few paces they halted, and Mendoza demanded: "Come! Have ye no tongues, you two? If ye have, find them; or move aside and give us way. _Diablo_! Is it thou, cook?" He had caught sight of Pedro's peg, and surveyed him in astonishment, then Cristoval, whom he failed to recognize in De Valera's armor.

Cristoval saluted, first the noble, and then, with deliberation, each of the two cavaliers, saying graciously: "Senores, your right of way endeth here. We have waited to inform you."

Mendoza started. "Ha! Peralta! God's life!--wilt dispute me passage? Stand aside, thou--"

"Gently, Senor!" interrupted Cristoval, with increased suavity. "Thy way endeth here! Canst doubt it?" He waved his hand toward the hills, and the two followed his gesture with an exclamation. The Antis were closing rapidly from all sides. The young Indio looked at the advancing warriors with no less astonishment. Cristoval went on:--

"However, Senor Mendoza, the circumstance need not prevent our personal settlement of the question of thy right of way. Here is a fair level of road--"

"Trapped, by the fiend!" bellowed Mendoza, and he turned savagely upon the noble. "Hast played us, thou dog? Well done! But--" He cast aside his lance and drew his sword--

A most sudden man, this Cristoval. He was upon Mendoza almost before the sword was bared, mace in hand. His first blow crashed upon the sword-wrist, and the murderous weapon clanged upon the roadway. The second followed like lightning, and Mendoza rolled from his saddle with a shattered helmet, while the riderless horse dashed across the plain. The second cavalier whirled his steed to fly, when Pedro charged him, struck him in mid-volt, and horse and rider went down before the impact.

The young noble had sprung back out of danger, bewildered, and hardly less shocked by the unexpected violence and clangor than if the earth had suddenly opened. Cristoval dismounted and was bending over Mendoza, unable to determine whether the man was dead, and not much concerned. The other rider was sitting up, in some disorder of mind, with Pedro hovering over him, lance in rest, admonishing him gently that he was expected to preserve a quiet demeanor. The Antis had closed upon the group, and Cristoval became aware of a hush in the encircling line. Every man was upon his knees. Mocho was just rising from a prostration before the young Indio.

"_El Inca!_" ejaculated Pedro. "God bless my soul!"

Cristoval started. He had scarcely noticed the youth, except to observe that he wore the ear ornaments of one of rank; but now he saw before him a replica of the features of Rava, darker, ruggedly masculine, but still the well-remembered traits. The _llauta_ was absent. The young monarch turned from Mocho and spoke a word to the Antis, who rose with a shout, tossing shields and javelins in a frenzy of jubilation, as he advanced to the astonished Cristoval.

"Viracocha," he said, as he offered his hand, scrutinizing the cavalier's face. "I owe thee my life. My Lord Mocho, tell me whom I am to thank."

"The Viracocha Cristoval, Sapa Inca," replied Mocho, "to whom Tavantinsuyu is--"

He stopped. The Inca had dropped Cristoval's hand as if stung, his face suddenly darkening with enmity. Cristoval stiffened, and his face slowly reddened at the affront. There was a flash in his eyes as they met the frown, and he formally saluted, saying:--

"The Inca Manco oweth me nothing."

Manco turned away abruptly. Remembered his obligation, and again faced the cavalier, as he said, without gratitude and with an effort plainly visible: "You have saved my life, Viracocha. My Lord Mocho, see that he and his companion are suitably rewarded. Assemble thy men."

He moved away burdened by a debt heavier upon his proud heart than all the insults borne at Viracocha hands; haunted by the crucifix seen on Rava's bosom--placed there by the one for whose death he had given fervent thanks to Inti a hundred times: by the hand which had now saved him from the sword of one whom he hated less. Black thoughts, with blacker ones beneath: his liberty a loathed thing! He pushed on alone, far in advance of the column which Mocho was hurriedly forming.

Cristoval glanced after him, watched the Antis gathering up Mendoza, who was groaning feebly; saw the other Spaniard secured, and as the column moved off, turned to Pedro who was regarding him with inquiry.

"By the saints, Pedro, I have little taste for such a host. I misdoubt our welcome. However," he added, after a moment's gloomy thought, "I see no help for it." He recovered his lance, which he had dropped to catch up his mace, mounted, and they rode after the column.

Mocho joined them at the first halt. His manner betrayed his uneasiness at the reception accorded the two Spaniards by his master, and he hastened to say: "The Inca is not yet aware of all his indebtedness, Viracochas; but I will make him so. You will not find him ungrateful." Cristoval inclined his head gravely, presently asking how the monarch had effected his release.

"By ruse," answered Mocho. "He confided to the new commander of the Viracochas, Hernando Pizarro, that there is treasure concealed near Yucay, and was freed to guide the two soldiers to the hiding-place."

"Aha!" said Cristoval. "Hernando back! Well, his greed hath overreached. What is in store for the Viracochas who came with the Inca?--death, no doubt?"

"They will be left at Chinchero to make their way back to Cuzco as soon as the injured one is able to walk," replied Mocho. Cristoval was surprised, but made no comment.

It was near midnight when Urubamba was reached, and having despatched heralds to announce the Inca, the command moved on to Yucay. The palace occupied a rocky shelf far above the valley. It was approached by a road which wound upward from terrace to terrace through an immense park, and after a tedious ascent the great rambling group of buildings rose at the head of the avenue. In a brightly lighted court large enough for a regiment the escort halted, and the Inca passed between prostrate menials to his apartments, accompanied by Mocho. On the latter's return the two Spaniards were led to quarters in a distant part of the building, followed by a corps of servants.

Their apartment consisted of a large salon with sleeping-rooms adjoining. It was already alight. Mocho was depressed, but took leave with cordiality, promising to join them early the following day. A few minutes later refreshments were brought. As they were about to sit Pedro inquired,

"Canst feed thyself, Cristoval?"

"Assuredly!" replied Cristoval, with mild surprise. "Why not?"

"So can I," said Pedro. "Canst get to bed without assistance?"

"Nonsense, Pedro! What dost think?--that I may drink too much?"

"Then in the name of a saint, dismiss these servants! It neither aideth me to eat to have twelve men observing me how I do it, nor my digestion afterwards. Tell them to go. They need rest." Cristoval smiled, indicated to the attendants that they were no longer needed, and Pedro sat with evident relief. "That," he observed, "is one of the reasons why I would not be a king. But now we can eat in comfort and spontaneously as becometh hungry men, notwithstanding the iciness of His Majesty. Hast guessed at the cause of that, Cristoval?"

"I've guessed in a hundred guesses, but can make naught of it. He looked not unfriendly until he heard my name. It may be that Pizarro hath smirched it with evil report. The name liked him not, 't is certain, and we may cast about for the reason. Let it go. But now, Pedro, he is free, and that meaneth war against Pizarro. Thou knowest my purpose to offer my sword."

Pedro nodded.

"It may be," continued Cristoval, "this enmity of the Inca will deny me privilege, though I scarce can think it. If not, I will fight with Mocho, and in that event, old friend, we are near to parting."

"Ah!" said Pedro, without looking up.

"Thy friendship," Cristoval went on, "hath dragged thee into rough places and more dangers than one. Mine for thee is the only return I have been able to make. It hath profited thee little, but I swear to thee, Pedro, it is warmer than I ever felt for any other man, and it will go sorely to part, _amigo_." Cristoval extended his hand over the table. Pedro gave it a wrench, and starting to his feet, pegged rapidly across the room and back. He halted before Cristoval with face slightly flushed, and surveyed him sternly.

"Cristoval," he growled, "sometimes thou growest wearisome. Curse it, dost think my friendship hath gone halt, like myself? Hath it travelled so far and now can go no farther? Who hath said so?"

"Nay! God forbid that I should think it," said Cristoval, rising. "But look thou, Pedro, this will be war, and against countrymen. Thou hast no quarrel."

"No?" returned Pedro, remembering again his crushed thumbs and ravaged chests. "But mayhap I have. If not, then one shall not be long wanting."

What further protest Cristoval would have made was interrupted by a rap on the door, and he opened it to Mocho. The general was disturbed and said quickly, "My friend Cristoval, the Inca would see thee immediately."

"What!" exclaimed the cavalier. "Doth he not sleep? It is near the morning."

"He hath not slept," said Mocho.

Cristoval threw his cloak over his shoulders and followed him out.

*CHAPTER XXXI*

_*Inca and Conquistador*_

The Inca Manco did not sleep. His attendants dismissed, he found himself alone with torturing thoughts. Lashed, stung, and seared by the recollection of a thousand Spanish outrages, of the humiliations during his imprisonment, his mind seethed with purpose of vengeance, with plans of action, and impatience for their execution. Most merciless of all was the thought that beneath his very roof were sheltered two of the hated aliens, harbored through the demands of a gratitude which he could not feel. And one of them (the one who had seduced Rava from her faith in the ancient gods, whom he had seen her mourning with he knew not--O, Inti!--what secret cause of grief, and whom he would have gladly given to death) had imposed upon him the final obligation! The sense of it bit to his proud soul like the thrust of a javelin. He would have seen this Viracocha hurled from a precipice as he would a common criminal, but the debt was there, burdening his heart like a monstrous incubus. He strode about, clutching his head, now resolved to issue a fell command, now restrained by the stern injunction of honor. The Viracocha was his guest; had, moreover, said Mocho, been zealous for storming the Sachsahuaman; had served Tavantinsuyu in other ways, and professed a wish to serve still further. With what motive, this allegiance? Ah! what motive could a Viracocha have but one?--the hope of gold! He was merely more astute than his fellows, and of deeper cunning; but the incentive was, could be nothing else. Then this debt could be acquitted!--should be acquitted that very hour! The Viracocha should have his gold and be gone. At once! Before the sun should find him beneath the roofs of Yucay!

Manco hastened to the door. He threw it open, restrained the sentinels with impatience from their obeisance, and sent one in hot haste for Mocho. The general was soon in the royal chamber. Manco stood in the middle of the floor, hot-eyed and scowling.

"Fetch the Viracocha!" he cried, impetuously, as Mocho appeared. "Hasten--the one called Cristoval--and--I will see him alone, Mocho."

Mocho hurried away, wondering and disturbed. The Inca saw the door closed, and became active. On his table was his untouched supper, served on plates and salvers of massive gold. He seized them, opened an outer door, flung out their contents, and stacked the utensils in a glowing heap. In an adjoining room were toilet articles of precious weight. They were piled beside the table service. From the niches in the walls he snatched the vases, hurled out the plants and soil, and bore them, an armful of wealth, to the stack on the table. From a chest he tossed out a fortune in jewelled armlets, wristlets, and girdles. From the walls he tore their decorations, bending and crushing them into shapelessness.

He worked eagerly, casting the articles upon the heap with scorn for the object for which they were being collected, and hating them for their worth to his enemies. As he deposited the last he heard steps, and turned to face the unwelcome guest. Cristoval was ushered in by Mocho, who retired at once, closing the door. The cavalier saluted, observing the half-suppressed agitation on the Inca's face. The monarch made slight acknowledgment, noting quickly that he wore the native costume. Manco stood beside the treasure, darkly watchful for the Spaniard's expression at sight of the gold. Cristoval glanced at the pile as he entered, but gave it no further look, regarding Manco with calm attentiveness. Unexpectedly the latter found it not easy to begin. There was a dignity in the bearing of this Viracocha which forbade the tender of the treasure and abrupt dismissal ready to his tongue a second before. The silence had become onerous when he said at last:--

"Viracocha, I have summoned you to say once more that I am in your debt. Lord Mocho hath told me all he knoweth. I am aware of your service to--to one of my kin. Yesterday you added further to my obligation, and I desire to discharge it immediately, and if possible, to your satisfaction."

The bitterness in the words and the curl of lip did not escape the cavalier, who replied, coldly: "Lord Inca, there existeth no obligation to be discharged. You will pardon my denial that any act of mine hath imposed a debt upon the Inca Manco."

The Inca made no pretence of concealing the disdain with which he received the answer and waved it aside. Stepping back from the table, he pointed at the pile of gold and said brusquely, "Take it!"

But the execrable lighting of the Spaniard's face for which he looked, and had seen so often on those of Pizarro and his companions, was absent. Cristoval ignored the treasure, but the color flashed into his face in resentment of Manco's tone and manner. "Your gold hath no worth to me, my Lord Inca," he said, with slow emphasis. "I ask no favor but your authority to pass, to-night, the guards about the palace."

"Do you reject it?" demanded Manco, with a frown.

"I beg my Lord Inca's gracious leave to decline it."

"It is not enough!" exclaimed Manco, with contempt. "Then I will increase it."

"I fear my lord doth not get my meaning," replied Cristoval, with an even voice that would have cautioned one acquainted with its significance. "I repeat, the gold is of no use to me."

Manco's frown darkened. "Then what will you, Viracocha?" he cried, impatiently. "Name it! It shall be yours. If this gold is not enough, I will load your beast with all he can bear away. But let me acquit this debt before the sun riseth upon it again."

The scorn was now Cristoval's. It burned in his steady eyes as he replied quietly: "I fear, my lord, that you will compel me to speak plainly, and I would not. If I have been of service, I beg you will believe that I should feel it depreciated by the acceptance of reward. It should be unnecessary for me to say more to a soldier, my Lord Inca."

Manco scarcely heeded his words. In his impatience to be done their sense was quite lost. His experience with the sordid and greedy Spaniards made it impossible for him to believe this one less so. He rejoined hotly: "You saved my life, Viracocha! Why?"

Cristoval answered with patience. "I was unaware that it was you, my lord. It calleth not even for your thanks."

Manco flushed, but went on. "You were about to take part in an undertaking to release me from prison. Again, why? Lord Mocho hath said that you would offer your sword to Tavantinsuyu. Why, Viracocha? Is it without hope of reward, all this? Are you of so different fibre from the plunderers of Cuzco?" He turned away with a gesture of contemptuous disbelief.

Cristoval eyed him in silence, struggling to restrain his anger at the imputation of venality. When he spoke the Inca faced him again, and met a look grown intense.

"Lord Inca Manco," said the cavalier, "you have questioned my motives. It is not my wont to defend them--with words; nor will I defend them now further than to say that it was my purpose to offer my sword without thought of reward, and less to aid you and your cause, just though it is, than to rescue one whom you hold dear--the Nusta Rava."

At the name the Inca's face grew livid. "Ah!" he exclaimed, his voice lowered and husky with passion. "One whom I hold dear! One whom I held dear above all on earth until she came to me defiled by your accursed love, broken-hearted, wearing the symbol of your damnable belief!"

His rage was not more quick than that of Cristoval, but the latter's years gave him better self-control. The cavalier, pausing to hold himself, replied: "Defiled, my Lord Inca! 'T is a black and shameful word, applied to the Nusta Rava, and by the great Heaven, the man with whom I could fight on equal footing should not leave this room alive with the word unswallowed!"

The Inca snatched the _llautu_ from his head and cast it aside. He went out, returning instantly with a pair of the short native swords. He thrust the hilts toward the cavalier.

"Choose!" he cried, hoarsely.

Cristoval's eyes blazed, and he stretched out his hand to seize the weapon. Arrested the motion, and drawing back, stood surveying the maddened youth in silence. Fight this prince, already laden with unnumbered cares, the victim of inconceivable wrongs, and on the eve of leading a life-and-death struggle to save his people? Turn a sword upon the brother of Rava?

"Choose!" commanded Manco, passionately. "Doth the Viracocha hesitate?"

Cristoval grasped a sword, and as the Inca stepped back to guard, threw it upon the table. "My lord," he said, "I have no mind to fight."

Manco's surprise gave way to quick access of anger. "What mean you, Viracocha?" he demanded, hotly. "Is this some new form of insult?"

"God forbid!" said Cristoval.

For a moment the monarch glared at him, speechless with rage and uncertainty. "Do I look upon a coward?" he asked, slowly, the scorn deepening in his eyes.

Cristoval knew that the stigma must follow his refusal, yet he started and reddened at the word. "A coward! No, my Lord Inca, not that!" he replied, meeting steadily the look of contempt and enmity. "Not a coward; and I believe you cannot think it." During a fraction of a second he felt the penetrating gaze which might have been Rava's. It passed, and Manco's brow darkened again. He was about to speak, but Cristoval raised his hand. "Lord Inca Manco," he said, gravely, "we have no quarrel. I divined but now the nature of what you hold as grievance. I call upon Heaven to witness that the Nusta Rava hath had from me naught but honor in mine every thought."

"Honor!" repeated Manco, with renewed scorn. "Honor in a Viracocha?"

"Nay, my lord! You have heard me say that I will not fight," returned the cavalier. Manco colored under the reproof, and Cristoval went on, "There is honor even among Viracochas, and something more than lust of gold, God knoweth!" He paused again. "You spoke of the symbol the Nusta Rava wore. I tell you, Prince, that if you come not to the faith, it betokeneth you will go upon your bended knees on the hot pavement of hell and give up thanks that your sister hath been spared your fate!" Then, with a gesture: "But I say once more, Lord Inca, we have no quarrel. We have a common enemy."

Again Manco's searching look, but he was silent, studying the man before him. Here, assuredly, was a Viracocha who differed from his kind. He had neither swaggered nor sneered. He spoke with a dignity and candor that forced respect. In his bearing was a calm pride and consciousness of strength which had baffled the unconcealed hate and bitterness with which he had been received. The frank honesty of his eyes had lent support to his words. Manco's youth had not given him a knowledge of men, and least of all could he fathom a Spaniard; but his own ingenuous temperament, shamefully as it had been abused, made him quick in an intuition that he had misjudged. But this was in his thoughts as an under-current. Before him still was a Viracocha. He tossed his sword beside its fellow, and demanded:--

"Why are you here? Of what concern to you is the rescue of the Nusta Rava?"

Candidly Cristoval faced the rights of a brother. "Of deep concern, my lord. So deep that I overlook the manner of your questions and answer them," he replied, bluntly. "So deep that I have proffered my service, my life, if need be, to Tavantinsuyu in her behalf."

Hostility returned to Manco's eyes. He surveyed the cavalier for a moment before replying coldly, "The Nusta Rava is the daughter of an Inca, Viracocha."

"I am a _caballero_ of Spain, my Lord Inca."