Chapter XIV: Part 14

"Only the fiend knoweth. Come!" They hastened along, throwing open doors, but finding everywhere darkness and vacancy. Cristoval's hope was fast going. "Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" he muttered over and over. "Where is she? Rava! Rava!" he called. "Answer, in the name of Heaven!"

Suddenly a gruff voice commanded in Spanish, "Halt!" Cristoval sprang forward. Again the summons, "Halt!" and a burly form loomed in the darkness with a mace raised to strike. "Halt! I command you in the name of the Holy Church!"

"Father Valverde!" cried the cavalier. "Hold, man! I am--"

The mace descended with sturdy force, dexterously caught on Cristoval's buckler. In an instant the priest's heels were kicked from under him, and Cristoval strode past, while Pedro seated himself upon the prostrate ecclesiastic. Without hesitation Cristoval tried the door Valverde had been guarding. It was fast, and he hurled his weight against it. At the second assault it yielded, burst open at the next, and the cavalier found himself in a dimly-lighted room, facing a group of shrieking women clinging about one who confronted him with unwavering, courageous eyes, but with no sign of recognition.

He stepped forward and halted, strove to speak, and failed, and stood overcome, while the women, made hysterical by the tumult beyond the convent walls, wailed at his dread appearance. He had forgotten his lowered visor, his bared sword, and the seeming menace of his attitude, and could only murmur hoarsely as he advanced: "Rava! Rava! Dost not know me--Cristoval?"

She cowered away, glaring in terror and anger, but with no word. He halted again, and lost his voice, standing before her helpless in a sudden fear. "Rava!" he cried in desperation. "Rava! in God's name, child, hast forgotten me?"--Then thought of his visor and raised it.

Her expression changed slowly to one of wonder and unbelief, and she raised her hand to her heart, growing suddenly more pallid. In the semi-darkness of the room she was uncertain until he spoke her name again. Then she stretched forth her hands, took a step forward, and sank with a sob into the arms of the Nusta Ocllo.

In a second Cristoval had her in his own, pressing his lips to hers, to her forehead, and to her eyes until she opened them; but quite too choked himself to speak--this stalwart cavalier!--and half blinded by something he feared she would see.

"Oh--is it thou, my Cristoval?" she murmured, raising her hand to touch his swarthy cheek, only half-convinced by her eyes. "Ah, my love, I thought thee forever lost!" and in a passion of weeping she put her arms about the steel-covered neck, pressing her cheek upon his breastplate, insensible to its cold and hardness, conscious only of a joy beyond belief.

They were oblivious of those around them, of the din of battle coming through the open door; forgetful of all but one another, and might have remained fatally so, had not the Auqui Paullo rushed in, followed at once by Pedro and Father Valverde. The bishop had been disarmed, and was flaming with rage. The youth, wild-eyed, and pale with the excitement of the night, halted at the astounding spectacle of his sister embracing a Viracocha. Before he had recovered, Mocho dashed in and seized his arm.

"Auqui Paullo," cried the general, "there is no moment to lose! Assemble the women and get them to the gate. Hasten!"

Mocho in armor was unrecognized. Paullo wrenched himself free and demanded angrily, "Who art thou?"

"Oh, Supay!--I am Mocho! Fly, Paullo!--Cristoval; do not tarry. Lead the Nusta to the gate."

Paullo stared for a second, then hurried out to collect the rest of the household. Mocho turned to the wailing women. Cristoval was gently forcing Rava toward the door when Father Valverde, as suspicious of the cavalier as of any other soldier, interposed. Planting himself in front of the two, he commanded sternly:--

"Peralta, forbear! Release the maiden. She remaineth here."

Cristoval surveyed him in astonishment and anger. "Remaineth here, priest! Art mad? Out of the way!"

"Release her!" commanded Valverde, advancing to restrain her. Cristoval interposed his buckler and thrust him roughly back.

"Release her!" thundered the bishop. "Pass me on pain of the wrath of the Church, her holy guardian! Rava, beware this man, and remember thy promise! Peralta, this maiden is for no man."

The cavalier laughed in his face. "Stand aside!" he cried, savagely. "Thou'rt in peril, Valverde!"

Valverde raised his hand in menace. "_Excommunicabo te--_" he began solemnly; and Cristoval blanched, then replied, fiercely:--

"Excommunicate and be damned! I defy thee! By what right this interference? Aside! lest I forget thy gown." He strode past. Valverde, white with passion, would have sprung upon him, but Mocho, furious at delay, thrust himself between with his sword at the bishop's breast, his eyes blazing with vindictiveness. "Back, Viracocha, or by the great Inti, I will lay thee open!"

Valverde recoiled, and Cristoval hurried to the door with Rava, followed by the women, whom Mocho drove after them with scant ceremony.

They were soon at the gate with all of the household that could be collected. But many of the terrified women had hidden themselves, and there was no time to search. Outside, the conflict was still raging. The Antis were holding the breastwork with desperate valor and determination, Abul Hassan at the front, for the hour a madman, a Moslem fanatic: pity the Spaniard who came within reach of his terrible blade. Ocallo and Markumi, with the other armored Antis, fought beside him, tigers. At the gate the street was a mere madness of warriors struggling to the places of those who fell.

Mocho and Cristoval forced themselves into the throng, leading the convoy of women surrounded by the detail which had followed into the Acllahuasi. It was minutes before they could make an avenue through the tribesmen, but at length they gave way, and leaving the two Spaniards to take the rescued to the rear, Mocho turned back to the rampart, which must be held until the women were in safety. Slowly Cristoval forged through the press, keeping close to the wall, and at length the worst was past. A hundred yards more, and they were at Matopo's barricade and through the breach: Rava was delivered from her peril.

Cristoval sought her in the crowd of hysterical women, and reached her side. No time for words. He embraced her once, and before she knew his purpose he was gone. Now she was safe, his duty lay elsewhere. The Antis must be withdrawn.

Once more to the front, crowding, staggering, almost fighting his way through the mass, Cristoval became aware that Pedro was behind. He turned and shouted into the cook's ear: "Back, Pedro! For the sake of Heaven, go to the rear!"

There was scorn in Pedro's voice as he leaned forward and roared, "_Infierno!_"

Of damnable obstinacy, this cook! Cristoval pushed on, every step more difficult. Here was an officer. The cavalier seized him by the shoulder, bellowing and gesticulating that the Antis must be retired. Hopeless! Mocho was at the front. Retreat and leave their general?

Forward, then, the cavalier, and at last the breastwork. Here was hell's own fury. The work had been lost and retaken repeatedly by the Antis, and was half demolished, its crest a rampart of dead. Mocho's men had just been swept from it and the Spaniards were in the street. The square and its approaches at other points had been cleared, and many of the troopers had dismounted to fight here. Their weight had turned the tide, and Mocho had lost some dozen yards. Cristoval reached the point of contact, Pedro close behind and roaring a battle-cry. In the pressure, the foremost of the foes fought shield against shield in a swaying, howling death-struggle of men bereft of reason, the more horrible for the darkness. Cristoval could see nothing, or, vaguely, a wild surging around him. Knew that he was in touch with the enemy only when his buckler rang with the blow of a mace. Then he fought.

For the rest, a mere delirium, hardly to be remembered. He heard Mocho's war-cry, the Morisco's howl, and knew they were alive. Pedro was beside him. Their two fresh blades in the narrow thoroughfare turned the tide once more, slowly at first, then with a rush, and Cristoval was atop of the breastwork. Battled here a brief minute, and was hurled back by a fresh charge from the square--but with the memory of having seen a spark of fire!

A spark of fire! Trivial! But what if it were a lighted gunner's match?

Cristoval gave voice. Found Mocho, and roared a warning. A Spanish trumpet was blowing the recall, and the charge had been arrested. Mocho was ordering back his men, but as well shout at a mountain torrent. They bore forward with resistless pressure, and Cristoval was forced against the rampart, fighting them back and shouting with all the strength of his lungs. Futile! They passed and were mounting the rampart. As he stood on the _debris_ at the foot of the scarp he was head and shoulders above the work, and glancing up, saw again the spark of fire, just as he felt himself seized by a strong hand and dragged back toward the wall of the Acllahuasi. Pedro shouted something, drowned by an explosion that shook the earth, and in the flash he saw--horror not to be told. A gun had been dragged to the top of the breastwork and fired in the very faces of the Antis.

Horror not to be told, not to be imagined, while falconet and arquebus raked the street. Pedro held the cavalier with firm grip as they crouched beneath the spurts and flashes of the fire overhead, their ears benumbed by the repeated shocks.

At length the rush and yells of the retreating Antis died away, and the arquebus-fire was stopped; but the falconet still roared, though with longer intervals between the shots. Cristoval counted the seconds intervening. There would be time enough to allow a dash to the gate of the Acllahuasi, where they would have cover until the firing ceased. He spoke to Pedro,--no fear of being overheard, for the night was full of voices raised in every intonation which agony could wrench from human lips. Between explosions they reached the gate through the stinging atmosphere, but as they turned into its shelter Cristoval halted his comrade with a hand upon his arm. From the enclosure came the sound of Spanish voices, and lights were flitting. Valverde had reported the invasion, and the place had been entered through another door. A party was coming toward the gate. No alternative, then, but to keep the street, count the seconds, and before each discharge, throw themselves upon the pavement behind their bucklers. These, faced with steel, might deflect the slugs and fragments with which the gun was charged.

The intervals lengthened to near a minute, the firing being a mere warning against renewed attack; and the street had not ceased to reverberate after the next explosion before the two were away. Poor Pedro's speed was not high, and Cristoval moderated his own, counting as he ran. "Down!" he cried, at the limit of the period of safety, and they went upon the ground full length. Now the report, and the deadly blast flew over. Cristoval was up and speeding, the cook close in his rear, then down once more and waiting with nerves a-quiver. Again the report, but this time with a thick patter of the projectiles on every hand as the charge spread with the increase of range. With a call to Pedro, the cavalier sprang to his feet and dashed on. Twice more he dropped and covered himself: gained the barricade, and was through the breach. He turned with a shout to his comrade. There was no reply.

Cristoval called again, answered by the moaning of the wind, a sound unnoticed since they had left the barricade, he could not have said how many hours ago. Some one laid hand upon his shoulder:--Mocho, bandaged. Cristoval gave his hand a silent pressure, and shouted again. There was a flash far up the street, the report, and the barricade sputtered. Antis gathered round, and the cavalier turned to them, seeking hope against despair.

"Hath he been seen--the Viracocha Pedro? Quick!--hath he been seen?"

They communed among themselves, and the question was passed back. Mocho answered after a silence, but Cristoval was straining his eyes toward the square. He knew the reply before the question had left his lips. "God have mercy! I fear for him!" he was muttering. "Oh, God have mercy!"

Once more the street flashed and roared, and Cristoval started forward. Mocho halted him.

"Stay, friend!" cried the general. "Hast lost thy mind? Whither?"

"I must find him," said Cristoval, and was gone.

The way was littered with wounded and dead, grewsome obstacles over which he stumbled as he crouched along, groping among the bodies for one in steel, but counting with diligence. He had not gone twenty paces before Mocho was beside him. The cavalier dragged him into a doorway: "Lord Mocho, thou must return!"

"With thee: not before!" replied the general. The falconet spoke again. Cristoval stood irresolute, then exclaimed: "Rashness, my lord!--but I am grateful. Come! Keep close, and drop at my word."

They sallied forth on their desperate, almost hopeless errand, searching for a few brief, fevered seconds, then prone to wait for the deadly flurry. Thus they proceeded slowly, far up the street. The interval between the shots had grown--near five minutes, was the cavalier's rough guess--and they covered the ground more rapidly. At last the firing ceased. The searchers were in front of the Acllahuasi, and turned back. They must hasten, for dawn was at hand, and through the powder-smoke the mangled forms on the pavement were indistinctly visible, a grievous sight to Mocho. Should the veil lift, the hunt would end abruptly. Now, however, it went on without interruption.

Somewhere near the cross-street a suppressed exclamation from the cavalier drew Mocho to his side. He was bending over a prostrate form in armor, and the general, as he neared, heard a sound very like a sob. Pedro lay face downward and quite still, but as Cristoval gently rolled him over he groaned slightly, and they knew him to be alive. Silently they raised him and started on their return.

In the last few minutes the light had grown appreciably, and the street was almost clear of smoke. In the direction of the square they heard voices: a Spanish search-party, looking for their own wounded. Cristoval glanced back, and they pressed on. The barricade was but a few yards away when there was a shout near the Acllahuasi. They had been observed. Another shout, and the report of an arquebus.--Poor marksmanship, thought Cristoval. A second shot, and a ball struck the pavement close by, and with a vicious sing and spat hit the barricade. A third, and Cristoval stumbled to his knees with a quick catch of breath. He staggered up at once, his face white. "It is naught," he replied hurriedly to Mocho's startled question, and glanced anxiously at Pedro, from whom the jolt had started a groan.

They passed the barricade, laid their burden on the ground, and kneeling beside him, Cristoval rapidly removed the armor. There was a ragged hole through Pedro's corselet beneath his right arm, one more ragged and terrible in his side where a projectile had torn its way, but a hasty examination showed that it had passed entirely through. Cristoval worked quickly, cutting away the clothing, and while water and bandages were being sought, laid aside his own helmet, conscious that a numbness in his shoulder had given place to pain. But he finished with Pedro's wound, and rose, somewhat giddy, to ask assistance in disarming. Matopo was beside him. Cristoval grasped his arm.

"She is safe, Matopo--the Nusta Rava?" demanded the cavalier. "Speak! Thou hast seen her in safety?"

"She is safe, Viracocha Cristoval," answered an even voice behind him, and turning, he beheld the Inca. Paullo was at his side, and near by, a group of nobles. Manco extended his hand and continued: "She is safe--I thank the great Inti, and thee!"

Cristoval took the proffered hand, but the reaction from hours of strain was upon him, with the realization that he had found his love and led her out of danger. The agony of months was ended. "Sapa Inca," he began, unsteadily, but could say no more, and Manco, as he released his hand, felt it shaking.

The young monarch eyed him gravely, his sombre eyes growing thoughtful, then kindly, when he said as if in obedience to an impulse:--

"Viracocha, should I try to tell thee my gratitude the words could but make it seem unequal to thy gallant service. Once, I offered thee a gift. Now, I offer thee another which hath no value but the honor which it beareth with it, and the esteem which I wish it to express." He drew from his bosom a _llautu_, woven of vari-colored cords and threads of gold and silver. Braided in the fringe were strands of the imperial red of which his own diadem was made. He stepped forward, and pausing slightly, said, "I beg thou wilt accept it, Viracocha Cristoval."

The cavalier replied earnestly, with a quick rise of color, "My Lord Inca Manco, I accept it most gratefully and proudly."

"Then I make thee an Inca of Tavantinsuyu by Privilege," said the monarch, and placed the _llautu_ upon Cristoval's head. He touched the red in the fringe. "This, my Lord Cristoval, I bestow as a mark of especial confidence. Thou knowest its significance and power, for I am not the first to give it thee." He turned to Pedro. "For thy brave comrade I shall find another expression of my gratitude. He must be brought to my headquarters, where there are tents for you both." He made a slight gesture to stay Cristoval's words of thanks, and giving his hand once more, added: "The Nusta Rava, my lord, will thank thee for herself."

As the Inca moved away, his nobles gathered round the cavalier with words of friendship. Paullo had taken both his hands, saying something eagerly, but his voice seemed strangely far away. The earth was rolling and whirling, and Cristoval heard some one exclaim, "Great Inti, he is hurt!" Mocho was supporting him, and he knew no more.

They found a wounded shoulder, not dangerous, but much blood had flowed, as they discovered by his saturated clothing.

*CHAPTER XXXVIII*

_*A Tie of Mingled Blood*_

Cristoval became languidly conscious of the swaying of a litter; then he was being lifted to a couch in a tent softly aglow with morning sunshine, and heard friendly voices around him. He opened his eyes, and with an effort whispered an inquiry for Pedro.

"He is being cared for, my lord," said an officer, bending over. "He is badly hurt, but hath asked for you. Otherwise, his mind seemeth to wander, for he muttered something which Markumi translated as a request to be stewed. We did not heed him, Lord Cristoval."

Cristoval smiled faintly and dozed again.

When he awoke the tent had grown dim with the declining day. As he lay with partly open eyes he became aware of clasping something in his hand that pressed his own and trembled. He raised it weakly, and his eyes travelled from a wrist to a rounded arm. A face hovered over him, lovely as a vision, with dark eyes deep with tenderness and solicitude.

"Rava!" he whispered; and she knelt, pressing her cheek against his own, her form, as he passed his arm around her, quivering with a passion of joy. He would have spoken, but she pressed her fingers upon his lips, murmuring an injunction and nestling closer. Cristoval was content, and lay marvelling that contentment could be so perfect.

But if he could not speak, he could listen, and he hearkened to whispered words, mere incoherencies, broken by faintest of sighs, coming from the depths of a heart which beat with love without reserve. They are not to be set down here, those sweet, disordered fragments, nor are their like to be comprehended save by the ear into which they are breathed.

The interview was short. A mere swift glimpse of happiness, and she had torn herself away, lingering in a final caress, and gone. Cristoval was left with the memory of her presence and touch, ineffably sweet, until submerged in the pain of helpless longing.

The next morning the old man who attended him brought news. Pedro was low, and his chances for recovery not yet determined, but there was hope. Abul Hassan had crept into Matopo's barricade during the night, mortally hurt. Ocallo and Markumi had both been wounded, the former seriously. Not a man in contact with the Spaniards came out unscathed, and the total losses of the night were grave. What the enemy had sustained could only be guessed, but they had since lain inactive, though apparently doubly vigilant, and strengthening their defences.

Before midday Rava came with Paullo and remained an hour or more. She forbade Cristoval's speaking, and talked little herself, but it may be said that the silence was not constrained. The day dragged after her departure, but the cavalier slept, and was without fever. The following day they came again, and Rava remained long. By a blessed fortune Paullo was called away on three several occasions, and the moments were not lost. Still she permitted few words, touching his lips and bidding him wait. As she left she looked back with a swift, bright glance, full of some meaning which he could not fathom, but withal, most agreeable to remember. Later, came the Inca with Mocho and the Villac Vmu, but their stay was short. Pedro, said Mocho, was better.

The day passed slowly, quietly. Night fell, and Cristoval prayed for fortitude to endure the wait for the morrow and Rava's visit; his patience inversely proportioned to his gaining strength. He slept to awake toward midnight stronger and more refreshed. The attendant dozed with his back against the tent-pole. Cristoval was staring at the feeble light, musing on the fatuity of a number of demented moths there courting a painful death, while he wondered whether their singed wings would smart as he had smarted after his own encounter with fire; and whether, furthermore, they too fancied themselves impelled by love. He forgot the moths in counting the hours before seeing her again. His eyes were closed. They opened at a faint rustle, and he beheld an apparition. Within the tent door stood Rava, her eyes dark with excitement, but smiling as she touched her lips for silence. The attendant glided from his seat to his knees in an ecstasy of amazement. She whispered, and he vanished as if he himself had been an apparition. Cristoval saw a flush of color mount to her cheeks. The next instant she had extinguished the light, and was kneeling beside his couch in the darkness. No phantom, this, but living, palpitating flesh and blood, warm arms that crept about his neck, and a heaving bosom to which his head was pressed.

Rava drew away and whispered breathlessly, passing her hand over his face: "Oh, Cristoval, what canst think of me? But I could endure no longer, and now I will tell thee why I have come--"

The pressure of Cristoval's arm told his thought. "What can I think, my own! Only of thy love and mine, and my gratitude. God make me always worthy of the joy thou givest, dear heart!"

"Worthy of it, Cristoval! Of what hast thou not shown thyself worthy, over and again?--and thy gratitude, my love! Ah, then what must mine be to thee? But I must tell thee why I have come to-night: It is to say farewell--Nay! but hear me--not a long farewell--to-morrow I go to Yucay."

The darkness deepened for Cristoval. "To-morrow!" he groaned. "No, no! It cannot be, Rava. How can I live? The hope of seeing thee hath kept me alive. Thou'lt not leave me!"

She touched his lips again. "Be patient, Cristoval. Yucay is not distant, and it is the Inca's wish that I go. Bethink thee! This is a camp."

"Ah, true!" he said, sorrowfully. "No place for thee, and there might be danger. Thou must go, though it is despair for me, Rava. But say we shall meet soon again."

"Could I leave thee else, Cristoval?"

They were silent until Cristoval asked: "Is there other reason for thy going, Rava? The Inca knoweth my love for thee. Is not that in part the cause?"

"I know not. He knoweth mine for thee."

"Hath he said?"

"No: he hath said naught of thee to me, and from his silence I am sure. I know not what is in his mind. He is as tender as he used to be in earlier days--he parted from me in anger, Cristoval, months ago, in the Amarucancha, when he learned I had become a Christian. His anger hath gone, but he regardeth me always with strange sadness and gloom. I fear it is because of our love."

Cristoval partly raised himself. "Rava, dost think he will forbid our marriage?"

"Oh, my own, I do not know! By the law of Tavantinsuyu I can be married only to one of royal blood. Manco holdeth the laws as sacred as the ancient rites. In these perilous times he would dread their violation as like to provoke the wrath of Inti. I know not!" she moaned, pressing her cheek to his. "I know not, Cristoval!"

The cavalier's arm tightened in its grasp. "And if he should forbid," he whispered, sharply, "if he should, then we must fly again. Wilt go with me?"

"Thou knowest, my own! But whither? The uttermost parts of the empire would be searched."

"Once on the coast--" said Cristoval.

"We should never reach it!" she replied, pressing him closer. "We should never reach it, my love--but, we can die together."

They said little more, but clung together as if the morrow's parting would be final. Minutes passed, when Cristoval felt her shudder as she raised her head in a sudden recollection. "Cristoval, oh, Cristoval!" she faltered, "Father Valverde threatened thee!"

"Ah!" muttered the cavalier, gloomily. "Thou didst guess his meaning? I hoped it had escaped thee. The words were Latin."

"I know. I have had time to learn much since Xilcala. But, oh, my heart, dost think he will excommunicate thee?"

Cristoval hesitated. "If he should," he said, with courage, "thou'lt pray for me, child. I'll have no fear that the Virgin will not hear thee."

"It is dreadful, dreadful!" she murmured, sobbing.

"Nay: think not of it. It were more dreadful, far, to have obeyed his command to leave thee." And in Cristoval's mind an eternity in hell was naught in comparison. The certainty itself would not have forced him to relinquish her.

It seemed but a moment before her trusted maid came to whisper that the sky was growing light. A sweet, bitter instant of parting, and Cristoval was alone.

Before the sun had touched his tent the cavalier heard preparations for departure,--hastening steps, the rattle of camp gear, and soon, the marching of the escort and the commands of its officers as it formed on the parade in front of the Inca's quarters.

Accompanied by Paullo, Rava went first to Pedro's tent to say farewell.

"God bless thy sweet life!" said Pedro, weakly, as he pressed her hand. "I shall miss thy visits sorely--and another will miss them more. But thy going is sudden--doth Cristoval know?"

Rava colored, replying, "I am on my way to him now, Pedro. Shall I take him a message?"

"Why, my greetings to him as a noble. Doth the _llautu_ become him?--No doubt of it!--Poor boy, poor boy!"

"But he is hurt less than thou!" said Rava.

"The wound in his shoulder? Ah! But he hath another below it--and harder to cure." Again came Rava's color, and she took her leave somewhat in haste.

The parting with Cristoval taxed her to the extreme, and only Paullo's presence saved her from breaking down. As it was, her distress and the cavalier's depression were apparent to the youth, and he gently and wisely hastened her departure, but resolving to accompany her a part of the way himself.

Rava had never confided to her younger brother her attachment for Cristoval; and he, though staggered by the revelation of it on the night of the rescue, had thus far refrained from questioning; but on the journey with Paullo beside her in her _hamaca_, she confessed, with an account, sufficiently heartfelt, of the cavalier's golden qualities. The youth, already predisposed toward his brother's gallant ally, listened with sympathy, promising to aid the lovers to the full in case of the Inca's opposition. He gave what hope he could, though this was slight, and Rava pursued her journey with heavy heart.

To Cristoval the succeeding days were of torment. The fighting was incessant, and the Inca rarely at his quarters, though he sent frequently to ask for the two Spaniards, and to express his good wishes. Opportunity for an interview, feverishly awaited by the cavalier, was not offered, and he tossed in an agony of suspense. At last his attendant informed him that Manco was in council with his generals. Directing the old man to report their departure, Cristoval struggled with his impatience. It was late when the orderly announced that the council was dissolved.

"Give me thine aid, Tocache," said Cristoval. "I will rise."

"But, my Lord Cristoval, you will do yourself injury," deprecated the old man. "Whither would you go?"

"To the Inca's tent. Come! Help me to my feet and to dress."

"My lord--"

"Nay, Tocache; I must go. I am strong enough, man, and thou shalt lend me a shoulder to lean upon."

Tocache demurred earnestly, but shortly Cristoval was clad and sandalled, and with the other's support, left his tent. The Inca was standing with Paullo and the Villac Vmu when the sentinel announced his visitor, and he turned in surprise when the cavalier, uncertain in his steps and quite pale, entered the tent and saluted.

"Thou, my Lord Cristoval!" exclaimed Manco, advancing. "Thou 'rt welcome, my friend, though I fear, imprudent. What hath brought thee at this hour?--but sit. Thou 'rt weak--too weak to have ventured." He led the visitor to a chair. Having greeted the Auqui and the priest and seen the Inca seated, Cristoval sank into it. Manco observed him with evident interest while waiting to hear his errand, which proved a difficult one to begin.

"Sapa Inca," said Cristoval, at last, unable in his weakness fully to control his voice, but approaching the matter with his usual directness, "I have come to you concerning the Nusta Rava."

Manco's animated expression vanished, and he regarded the cavalier with no sign of emotion as he answered, in tones equally impassive, "What of the Nusta Rava, my lord?"

Cristoval felt the ill omen of the change, but did not flinch, and his voice steadied at once. "I have spoken to you of the Nusta Rava before, my Lord Inca, at Yucay. I think you cannot be unprepared for what I am about to ask."

Manco felt the candor of his eyes and their demand for it from him. "My Lord Cristoval," he said, frankly and regretfully, "I am not unprepared--for what I fear thou art about to say. I confess to thee that I have foreseen this very moment, which bringeth me infinite pain." He rose and crossed the tent; returned and seated himself. "But, my lord, I will not anticipate thee. Thou wouldst ask--"

"The hand of Rava, Sapa Inca," replied Cristoval.

Manco looked upon him thoughtfully before answering. "It is what I had reason to expect, and, with mine obligation to thee, to dread. Thy service to Tavantinsuyu hath been such that any return in my power to make must be inadequate."

"Nay, pardon me, my Lord Inca," rejoined Cristoval, quickly: "I beg you will not think that in this request it is in my thoughts to presume upon any service it hath been my fortune to render. That hath already been doubly rewarded by this mark of your confidence." He touched the _llautu_. "I ask no further return."

"That was not my meaning, my Lord Cristoval," replied Manco, gravely. "I was about to say that mine obligation and gratitude make it hard to answer thy request in the way I am compelled. Compelled--for it is beyond my power to grant. It is the ancient law of Tavantinsuyu that a princess must marry one of the royal family; or, in the event of a prince being wanting, then one of nobility by birth. This law is as old as the empire, and hath been violated but once. I dare not, whatever mine inclination, my Lord Cristoval," his eyes grew kindly "repeat its violation. My august father set aside a law as ancient as this one, and it hath been followed by calamities, of part of which thou art a witness to-day. May the great Inti forfend that I do aught further to provoke his wrath. I must refuse thee, my lord."

Cristoval rose unsteadily, his face more white than it had been left by his wound. Manco rose and took his hand. "My friend," he said, "believe, this grieveth me to the heart. I thought to tell thee these things when thou didst plan to take the Acllahuasi. I did not, for I knew well that it would not have altered thy purpose, nor dulled thy courage."

"I thank you, my Lord Inca," replied the cavalier, and added with an effort: "I will not urge aught that is against your conscience--God forbid! With your leave, I will return to my tent."

Paullo, who had listened with color coming and going, stepped forward. "Stay, Lord Cristoval!" he cried. "All hath not been said." He snatched the vari-colored _llautu_ from Cristoval's head and, his dark eyes blazing, threw it aside. While the cavalier's face flushed at the seeming indignity, and the Inca's with surprise and anger, he lifted his own yellow diadem and placed it upon the Spaniard's brow. Seizing Cristoval's hand, and facing the Inca and the Villac Vmu, he said gravely, "My lords, I call upon you to witness that, by virtue of the law of the Inca Tupac Yupanqui, I claim brotherhood with the Lord Cristoval, an Inca of Tavantinsuyu by Privilege." He drew his dagger, and with a quick movement slashed his own arm; then, glancing into Cristoval's astonished eyes, wounded him at the wrist and, pressing together the two gashes, joined the ruddy streams. "Thus," he continued, solemnly, "have we a mingled blood! Only thine edict, Sapa Inca, can dissolve this tie and abate the princely rights of the Auqui Cristoval, whom I have made a brother."

It was a long minute before the monarch recovered from the prince's unexpected action. The pause was hardly less dramatic. Manco looked from one to the other, bereft of utterance, while the cavalier stood silent, scarcely comprehending the significance of what had happened. Paullo, gripping Cristoval's hand, with eyes still afire, waited for Manco. The Inca's brow was clouded. Notwithstanding his gratitude and friendship, the thought of admitting the Viracocha into the pure Incarial line taxed his generosity. Had Paullo's move been less impetuous he would have arrested it. But the thing was done, and to be undone only by his own formal decree. Erect and attentive, Paullo watched his brother with something nearing defiance, while the Villac Vmu, after his first start of surprise, had remained with his eyes upon the ground. To Cristoval the situation became intolerable, and he said quietly, doffing the yellow _llautu_:--

"Sapa Inca, consider this as not having occurred, I pray you. Could I have anticipated the Auqui Paullo's purpose it should have been prevented.--Paullo," he continued, turning to the youth and placing his hands upon his shoulders, "I thank thee more for thy generous intent than for thy deed. Thy good-will hath taken the lead of thy sober judgment; but I shall cherish the memory of it, do thou be sure, and shall feel myself thy brother no less dearly bound to thee than thou wouldst have made me. My Lord Inca Manco, I crave pardon for his warm-hearted folly. Let it end thus, and permit me to retire."

Manco regarded him with grave thoughtfulness, wholly inscrutable. At last he said abruptly to Paullo, "Assist the Lord Cristoval to his tent, and have the nobles summoned at once." He bowed dismissal and they left the tent.

During the remainder of the night the grim old warriors were gathered about their young lord in council. Toward dawn Cristoval was roused by a summons. The lamps were burning low when he paused at the door of the Inca's tent, glancing at the circle of faces, some familiar, many strange, but all turned toward him in stolid dignity and silence. Paullo greeted and led him to the Inca. For the solemn expectancy about him, Cristoval might have been approaching to receive the sentence of death. Manco met his eyes in a swift glance, deep and inscrutable as before, and took from the Villac Vmu the yellow _llautu_. He placed the diadem upon the head of the cavalier, saying as he did so:--

"Witness, my lords! and give your homage to the Auqui Cristoval. It is my will."

*CHAPTER XXXIX*

_*Again the Senora Descends*_

AS soon as Pedro was sufficiently recovered he was sent to Yucay. On the morning of his departure the Inca, with Cristoval, Paullo, and Mocho, entered his tent. Manco said farewell with a few warm words of commendation and gratitude that brought a mist before the eyes of the wounded cook, unclasping a gorget of pearls and emeralds. "Accept this, brave Viracocha Pedro," he said, "as a part expression of mine esteem and appreciation. It is but a trifle, but with it goeth much good-will."

Pedro gasped at the princely gift and stammered, part in Quichua, part in Spanish: "Why, stew--Nay, Senor Inca, I deserve it not! I am but a--a comrade of this man Cristoval. What fighting I have done, I tell you frankly, hath been mainly out of friendliness for him, and for the sake of being along to keep him out of trouble. This, my Lord Inca, is beyond my merits."

The Inca understood the gist of his words, and shook his head with a slight smile. "Not so, Viracocha! Thy merit is the greater for thy friendship. Thou shalt keep it. Farewell, and a quick recovery. Thou'lt find good friends in Yucay." He gave the cook his hand and departed abruptly to avoid his thanks.

Cristoval remained after the others, and Pedro stared at him blankly. At length he said slowly: "Now, spit me through the middle with a church-spire--I'd be less surprised! The man is reckless, Cristoval, or knoweth not the market-worth of gems. Do thou draw him aside and advise him that 't is a grand-duke's ransom, this bauble, and hand it back."

"Absurd, Pedro!" said Cristoval. "Rest thy mind, for 't is but a part of what he intendeth for thee."

"But I tell thee, Cristoval, it will burden my conscience. Had I come by it in honest looting in a Christian war--but this is akin to thievery. Thou'lt take it back to him, _amigo_!"

"Assuredly not, Pedro! Wouldst give him offence?"

Pedro looked troubled. "He knoweth not its worth, Cristoval. Moreover, should Pizarro learn that I have it, I'd not be safe a blessed minute. I should be invaded, overrun with fire and sword; given up to wrack, sack, and devastation; left a waste and ruin more ruinous than thou see'st me now. I've suffered losses a-plenty, my friend--not counting legs--without this novel liability. Do thou restore it."

"Gods, thou'rt a worried cook!--for a cook with a fortune in hand."

"Ah!" sighed Pedro. "_Crescentem sequitur cura pecuniam_--Horace, Cristoval. Meaneth, care followeth upon increasing riches. Stew me--"

"Oh, _Madre_! Have done with thy plaints. Now be still whilst I give thee a message to Rava."

"God bless her!" said Pedro, and after a pause, "I listen. But make it not over long, and prithee, adapt its terms to the grossness of my texture. No endearments, Cristoval, and no poetry!"

Cristoval blushed. "No, no!" he said quickly. "It will be short, and suited to thy decorous taste, count upon it."

"Then I'll compass it. But as well put sugar-lumps and lollipops in a mess of boiled cabbage as to fill me with blandiments for recitation. I'm no troubadour, Cristoval. Bear that in mind."

"No fear, thou Spartan cook!" growled Cristoval, with a trace of embarrassment. "I intend it all to be prose."

By the time his message ended, Pedro's _hamaca_ and escort were waiting. In parting the cook said earnestly: "Now, Cristoval, in the name of all the names of all the saints on the calendar, have a care for thyself! Thou'rt as prone to misadventure as an unweaned calf. Remember, thou hast one to be anxious for thee besides myself--and relatives! Dost know how many, since thine adoption?"

"Thou meanest--"

"Thy foster-brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, and what-not--dost know how many?"

"I do not. I had not thought of it, Pedro."

"Not thought of it! of course not," returned Pedro, with irritation. "'T is what I have said--always charging into trouble, head down and eyes shut!" He regarded the cavalier with great disapproval. "On my soul, I know not whether 't is prudent to leave thee, with thy capacities for indiscretion! However--well--with the aid of the Indio who hath attended me, I've figured this multitude kin of thine, Cristoval, and Heaven fend thee from ever having them dependent upon thy support! Man, we counted three hundred, and more to tally, and without considering the concubines the Senor Inca is entitled by law to acquire--and all of them royal, by the eternal broiler!" His expression changed to commiseration. "Thou 'rt the worst relative-beridden Christian in my knowledge, _amigo_! and but one among them who is not a pagan! I tell thee, Cristoval, if thou dost rightly by thy family, thou'lt give over soldiering and turn missionary! But farewell, old friend, and God with thee! It grieveth me to leave thee."

Cristoval watched the _hamaca_ out of sight, stood looking into Pedro's vacant tent, and returned slowly to his own.

In the palace of Yucay, in a chamber from which he could overlook the verdant and beautiful valley, ministered to by solicitous attendants, and visited by Rava, Pedro mended steadily. His gentle hostess spent many hours beside his couch with her maids about her, busy with embroidery and going white and red over it as he recounted Cristoval's adventures, enumerated his virtues, and mildly deprecated his rashness. Rava had daily messages by _chasqui_ from her cavalier, and repeated the news, or brought the bearer himself. She had not seen Cristoval since the removal of the barrier between them, but in her happiness and implicit faith in her prayers for his safety, she waited with patience for what now seemed assured. Of the ultimate triumph of the arms of Tavantinsuyu she had no doubt.

One morning she came into Pedro's room with more than usual animation and said with a smile: "Pedro, to-day thou shalt see two of thy friends. I have sent for them, and have word of their coming. Canst think who they are?"

"Two friends of mine, Nusta Rava? 'T is easily guessed. One is Cristoval, but who the other--"

Rava shook her head archly. "Not so good a friend as Cristoval--but I will tell thee. One is Father Tendilla, and the other--"

Pedro rose suddenly upon his elbow and startled her with his expression as he whispered with explosive force, "Bolio?"

Rava surveyed him with concern, and replied gravely: "Father Tendilla and my dear Margarita. I thought it would give thee pleasure."

Pedro sank back and drummed on the coverlet with his fingers. "Oh! It doth, Nusta Rava. It doth give me pleasure. So would a fly-blister, had I lumbago--a figure of speech, Senorita, give it no weight. Hum! The senora!" He startled her again with a spasm intended for a smile, and resumed with some constraint: "Ha! The senora, did you say, Senorita Nusta? Stew--Well, the senora is a good soul, my head on't. A bit rampant and superheated, look you, but altogether good-hearted, and I'll--I'll be glad--be glad to see her once more--baste me with hot tallow if I'll not--prithee, let that pass too: it hath no significance. _Infierno_!--I--I mean, _Paraiso_! But," he raised himself again and continued earnestly, "but, Nusta Rava, would you as lief have the servants tell her I am full of holes and like to leak red gore in a thousand places if so much as a finger be laid against me, or my nerves be wrought upon? She is impulsive, Senorita, surcharged and double-shotted with impulse, and when she findeth me in this present state there is no knowing what sympathy may lead her to say, or do.--Pure exuberance of feeling, mind you! but I misdoubt me if my wasted frame would stand the stress.--And kindly have her told I am subject to spells, of late, and ofttimes bite. And that--but, no: never mind it--I'll advise the servants myself." Pedro lay back, quite breathless, muttering: "The senora! The senora! Ah! diablo! This is what cometh of being--But she is a kindly-hearted woman, and 't would be graceless in me to deny it."

Rava, bewildered by his agitated effusion, much of it in Spanish, gathered that he desired the senora to be warned of his enfeebled condition, and having promised, withdrew. Pedro lay the rest of the morning starting at faint sounds and perspiring freely.

At mid-afternoon a guide, two mules with riders, and a baggage-carrier lightly burdened, ascended the zig-zag road through the park to the palace. The leading animal was bestridden by a lady in native attire, but wearing a Spanish sombrero in its last stages, riding with the dignity of a _generalisimo_, a battle-axe at her saddle-bow. Behind, rode the good Father Tendilla, his cassock yet more seedy, but the same gentle-visaged priest. They were received with ceremony by a detachment of the guard, but the lady rode past with elevated chin, and followed the guide into the outer court. Rava was waiting with her attendants. Upon espying her, the senora emitted a shout, muffled by the vigor of her exertion in dismounting--on the wrong side--and in a second was embraced, sombrero and all, and joyfully wept over, weeping herself, and quite inarticulate.

"Oh, my honey-jar, my lady bird!" cried the overjoyed senora in Spanish. "God bless thy dear heart, what a happiness to see thee! But I'm covering thy pretty robes with dust! Oh, thou sweet baby! 'T is thou--and handsome as a rose! Dainty as a fairy! 'T is good for one's eyes to behold thee--now, is it not, Father? Come, let him see thee, love. Is she not an angel?" The senora stopped suddenly and glanced sternly about the court. "Ho! They've lugged off my mule and my cleaver--"

"Thou'lt have no need for them, my daughter," said Father Tendilla, quickly, and gave Rava his blessing. The senora forgot mule and cleaver in a fresh outburst of delight, and Rava presently led to her apartments. Here the effervescent lady was struck by the thought of Pedro, of whose wounds she had learned at Ollantaytambo, and demanded to be conducted to him forthwith. Rava sent one of her maids as guide. The damsel endeavored to give warning of the injured man's condition; but the senora's understanding of Quichua was limited, and her eagerness, moreover, made her deaf, so the words created slight impression.

Pedro heard the firm, rapid step, invoked a saint, and waited with beads gathering upon his brow. As the lady swept--nay, swooped--across the room with a cry of mingled joy and pity, the cook saw that his precautions were ineffectual. He could have sworn that in another second he should have been embraced; but with rare presence of mind he raised a warning hand, fetched a dismal groan, rolled his eyes, and gritted his teeth in so unearthly a fashion that the lady was brought up with a shriek.

"God's mercy, Pedro! What--"

"Sit down!" commanded Pedro, in a voice supernormally strong for one, as he seemed to be, _in articulo extremo mortis_. "Sit down!--No!--Farther away!--On the floor--anywhere--but sit, woman, or I perish!"

He continued his ghastly symptoms until he saw the senora seated, completely unnerved but foiled! Then he recovered quickly, sought his kerchief, wiped a clamminess from his forehead, and observing her pallor, said gently: "It is past, Senora. Be not alarmed. But hold! Stay where thou art, or it will come again. Move not a finger!"

"_Santa Maria_! Pedro, dear," she said, tearfully, "I thought thee dying. Thou 'rt dreadfully hurt, my love?"

"I am a very sieve, Senora!" replied Pedro, in a hollow voice. "So full of holes that I cannot cast a decent shadow! So weighted with copper slugs, leaden balls, and scraps of iron from Candia's guns that I could be molten up and cast into a fair culverin of bronze."

"Ah, pity of Heaven!" sobbed the lady, rocking herself. "I fear thou liest to some extent, Pedro, but I knew harm was to come of it when I left thee with that bandit, Cristoval. But may I not come nearer, _chiquito_?"

"Presently," said Pedro, softened, "but approach by easy stages, and not too near. I am better, my dear. Take heart, now, there's a good soul; and we will talk--but at a distance, look thou! or I'll be thrown into a fit. Hast been well?"

"As well," said the senora, drying her eyes, "as a lone woman in an infidel country with naught but a cleaver to give her courage o' nights and a helpless innocent of a priest to look after like a baby, and not a dress fit to put on her back save this, borrowed from a heathen woman whose name I cannot pronounce, could be."

"Ah!" said Pedro, with sympathy.

"Thou didst wrong to leave me, Pedro, and see what it hath come to! But who fired the gun at thee? I'll seek him out, as he liveth!"

"Now, toast me on a bodkin!" retorted Pedro. "Dost fancy I went back to ask his name? It would have escaped me by percolation had I heard it. I was a-leak on all sides, top and bottom, like a lobster-pot fresh-hauled. So thoroughly did he riddle me, Senora, that I could not have held a secret grief, or a good intention. But let the man go, my dear. He that loaded the gun hath half the responsibility."

"I'll find them both!" said the lady, with resolution.

The entrance of Father Tendilla ended the conversation, and Pedro heaved a sigh of relief. Thereafter, the senora usurped the role of nurse, chiding him gently for exaggerating his hurts when she learned their real extent, but caring for him faithfully.

Week after week the siege went on, fierce, bloody, and relentless. Sorties were attempted, savagely opposed. The defences of the Spaniards were assaulted, fought over with the fury of hate and desperation, and the assailants repulsed. To the Peruvians, the loss in each attack was sickening, but they returned with valor undaunted, until the Inca in humanity ordered a cessation and determined to reduce the enemy by famine.

Cristoval, in the meanwhile, yet unfit to resume his armor, gave his time to training a number of warriors in the riding school and the use of arms on horseback. Fearless, agile, and adaptable, they acquired the horseman's art with the readiness with which it was learned by the tribes of the North American plains, and by constant drill the cavalier produced a squad of riders, equipped with captured arms and mail, which was destined to prove formidable. The Peruvians, trained with the battle-axe and shield, easily exchanged these for mace and buckler; but Cristoval soon found that for a skilful use of the lance months would be required, and he was forced to see that weapon laid aside. Of all his pupils, none was so apt as the Inca Manco.

Thus Cristoval passed his convalescence, striving by incessant activity to hold his impatient longing. Twice only, after his strength returned, he rode to Yucay for a few brief hours of happiness.

The winter months passed and spring was at hand. Within the beleaguered city conditions grew desperate. Provisions, which had long been growing scanty, were almost exhausted, and the Spaniards faced starvation. They had hoped, watched, vowed many a pious vow, prayed many a fervent prayer, for reenforcements from the coast; but the expeditions sent by Francisco Pizarro for their relief had been entrapped in the mountains and driven back or annihilated. A few weeks must seal the fate of the besieged, and Hernando was already importuned by his cavaliers to lead in a final effort to cut through the investing lines and escape with his starveling remnant. Not he! He swore, and the stoutest of his men swore with him, to fight while strength remained to wield a blade.

But while the Spaniards were meeting in gloomy council the Inca was confronted by a situation no less grave.