Chapter IV: Part 4

"Provided gold enough be offered!" repeated the Inca, unable to conceal his eagerness. "Then hear me, General Pizarro: Promise me liberty, and I will cover the floor of this room with gold!"

The company ceased talking. Pizarro looked at him in astonishment, while a smile of incredulity went round the table. Atahualpa misinterpreted the silence and the expression, taking them to mean that his offer was too meagre. He looked from one to another for a moment, then sprang to his feet, and striding to the wall, stretched his hand above his head as far as he could reach.

"I will fill the room to this height with gold, Viracochas!--Is it enough?" he demanded, his eyes blazing with hardly suppressed excitement. "Is it enough?"

Still the Spaniards were silent--dumb with amazement. Several had arisen. "Mad!" whispered one. The Inca stood waiting for their reply, his arm upraised, his commanding figure drawn to its full height, glittering in the lamplight with gems and golden decorations, while his dark eyes gleamed from beneath the fringe of the _llautu_ as he surveyed the astonished Viracochas.

"Is it not enough?" he demanded again. "Then a like amount of silver!"

"Hold, in the name of Heaven!" exclaimed Cristoval warningly in Quichua.

Pizarro regained his voice: "What sayest thou, Peralta?--Can he do it? Ask the noble beside thee!"

The noble answered with emphasis in the affirmative.

"Then 't is done!" shouted Pizarro, unable to restrain his excitement. "Done! Agreed, my Lord Inca! We accept your offer. Make good your terms, and you are a free man--at liberty to go and come without let or hindrance. Here is my hand upon it. Wait!--We'll give you an instrument in writing. Zapato, step out and send an orderly for my secretary. Hernando, mount a chair and scratch a mark with thy dagger where the Inca put his hand. My lord, deign to raise your hand again. By the gods, Senores! What say you to 't? A hundred thousand demons! D'ye believe your ears? We are all rich men! Ask the noble again, Peralta, whether he can do it!--Ask another of them! Saith he yes? Art sure? Blood and wounds and gods of war! Ha, ha! What say ye to't, Senores?"

Pizarro's cold reserve had gone. Cristoval had rarely seen him smile before: now he laughed, even roared, not pleasantly; and his pale countenance showed unaccustomed color. The _veedor_ had pulled several times at his sleeve, unheeded.

"Pizarro!" he whispered. "Pizarro! Hold off a bit! He would have offered more, I am sure of it!"

Pizarro turned upon him with impatience: "Oh, a curse upon thy money-gluttony, Rogelio! Hath it no bounds? Art insatiable? Be silent!"

"He had opened his mouth to offer more, I'll swear it! Oh, misery!" snuffled the _veedor_, as he turned away.

The room was in a hubbub. Every man was on his feet, talking at the top of his voice and gesticulating. Now the _chicha_ flowed without stint. When the secretary entered and set about the work of drawing up the agreement they crowded upon him, explaining, suggesting, and advising, until in despair he appealed to the commander, and they were ordered back while Pizarro dictated the document. Rogelio was a notary, and the paper was duly attested and sworn to, the Inca looking on with interest, and making his mark at last in accordance with a confusion of instructions from the wrought-up Spaniards. The business finished, he retired with a faint significant smile to Cristoval; but his going was almost unnoted by the others, and they lingered over their _chicha_ and their jubilation until the small hours, when the guard was summoned to carry certain ones to their quarters. Rogelio was hauled from a corner, and awoke to bitter tears and incoherent reproaches hurled against Pizarro's want of commercial sense. Pedro had appeared upon the scene at its close, and directed the _veedor's_ removal.

"What, my fat pet!" exclaimed the cook in commiseration. "What, Rogelio, my barrel of grease! Melting thus in tears? Wasting thy blubber in futile drippings? Prithee, now, check thy thaw! A most melancholy deliquation, my friend! A sad prodigality of tallow! Come, stay thy liquefaction! Swab, wipe, stop thy leaks, desiccate, run dry, my civil officer of the Crown; thou'rt growing soggy!--What! Damn Pizarro? Agreed!--Damn the Inca? Fie, my cherub!--Damn everybody? Ah! But with one exception, and that's Pedro, the cook. Now thou 'rt hiccoughing, and I'm done with thee. _Adios_, Rogelio, my lard-firkin! Good-night, my Cupid!" and Pedro stumped away.

Without loss of time Atahualpa despatched his _chasquis_ to Cuzco and other important towns, bearing orders that temples be dismantled of their gold and silver decorations, that palaces be stripped of their utensils; that, in short, the precious metals be drawn from every possible source and forwarded with all speed to Caxamalca. The report of the fabulous offer of ransom went abroad among the Spanish soldiers, received by most of them with incredulity and jeers; by a few, with riotous demonstrations of joy. The room was promptly measured. It was found to be about seventeen feet broad, by twenty-two feet long, and the height indicated by the Inca in the neighborhood of nine feet from the floor. This space was to be filled with gold in two months, and a smaller room adjoining to be twice filled with silver.

It was days before there were returns from the Inca's orders;--days of restlessness for him, for he was desperate to see the fulfilment of his terms begun. Pizarro's eagerness was hardly less, but it was tempered with much doubt of Atahualpa's ability to produce so vast a treasure.

At length, however, the first consignment arrived, borne on the backs of porters. The news spread rapidly. The Indios were halted in the square by an importunate rabble of soldiers, clamorous for a sight of their burden, and made to open their packages. As the rich booty was disclosed the soldiers stared a moment in stupefied silence, then raised a shout. Others came running, gazed for a second, and added their whoops. They went mad. They embraced one another, joined hands and danced around the glowing yellow heap, bellowing their glee. They mauled each other in heavy horse-play, roaring in uncouth laughter, without words to fit their raptures. The Indian porters looked on, wondering, as had the Inca, whether gold had not some hidden power to give madness. The soldiers seized them, whirled them into their clumsy fandango, clapped their backs and called them "_amigos_," "_hermanos_,"--friends and brothers,--and made them dizzy. Presently the treasure was gathered up and borne by the singing, yelling mob in triumph to Pizarro's headquarters in tumultuous invasion. That night no man slept.

Thereafter, the stream of gold flowed steadily into Caxamalca for weeks, fortunes in a day. But soon came the inevitable reaction. Exultancy gave place to uneasiness and discontent. The treasure did not come in fast enough! The Inca was delaying for the purpose of gaining time to prepare for hostilities! Even Pizarro became suspicious, and went to Atahualpa with the charge. The Inca met him with a dignified reminder of the distance to be traversed by the gold, and the difficulties of the road. Pizarro was half satisfied; his soldiers less. Rumors persistently arose of native uprisings to rescue the monarch and regain the treasure, which the Spaniards could not conceive to be less an object of greed to the Indios than to themselves. Pizarro bluntly accused the Inca of conspiring against him, but Atahualpa disdained the imputation. The event proved his innocence, for a reconnaissance by Hernando Pizarro to the south not only failed to find disquiet, but was received everywhere with good-will. For a time the suspicions were allayed, only to rise again later in greater strength.

About this time an event occurred which still further strained the relations between Pizarro and his captive. Huascar, Atahualpa's half-brother, then a prisoner at Xauxa, learned of the ransom being paid the Spaniards, and sent secret emissaries offering an even greater price for his own liberty. The negotiation was terminated suddenly by Huascar's death. Whether the unfortunate prince was executed by the Inca's order is a matter of doubt, but the fact that he was drowned in the river Andamarca gives credit to the belief that he perished in an attempt to escape.

As soon as the tragedy was reported to him the Inca sent for Pizarro and informed him of Huascar's death with every expression of regret, apparently sincere.

"What!" shouted Pizarro, his face livid. "Huascar dead! What tale is this? Beware trifling with me, my Lord Inca! You will produce your brother in Caxamalca, alive and unharmed. This controversy between you shall be tried in a Christian court, as I have said to you before. Seek not to avoid it by subterfuge, my lord!"

"General Pizarro," replied the Inca, with dignity, "I have said that Huascar is dead."

"Then, by the Eternal!" flamed Pizarro, "you shall pay for it with your life!" and turning on his heel, he left the room.

*CHAPTER XI*

_*The Inca's Last Prayer*_

Thereafter Pizarro's interviews with the Inca were as few and brief as possible. Indeed, after the night of the banquet the captive was rarely seen by most of the Spanish officers, for, with the exception of Hernando Pizarro, De Soto, and Peralta, they were seldom invited to the palace. Now a settled melancholy had come over Atahualpa, which however disguised, did not escape Cristoval. The depression of his captivity was increased by the enmity which the Spanish commander took no further pains to conceal. The grief of the Nusta Rava for her brother, moreover, had thrown a gloom over the palace, and deeply concerned Atahualpa, who loved her with a brother's solicitude and felt her unhappiness more keenly than was apparent to one unable to penetrate the impassiveness of his bearing.

The princess fully returned his attachment. She had been much with him of late, and, with Toparca, had often taken part in his conversations with Cristoval--a favor seldom accorded to the other Spaniards, by whom the women of the Inca's family were rarely seen. Now she kept the seclusion of her apartments. Atahualpa missed her greatly, and Cristoval often found him profoundly gloomy and distraught. The cavalier encouraged him generously, doubtful himself, at times, of the commander's integrity, but daily more determined that the contract should be carried out.

The summer had passed its height. About the middle of February Almagro arrived with a hundred and fifty infantry and fifty horse, well equipped, and Pizarro found himself able to resume activity. He began preparations at once for the march to Cuzco. The ransom was almost made up, and it was thought best to divide it without delay and continue the campaign rather than give the Peruvians time to conceal their treasures, which, it was suspected, they were already doing. Before making the division it was necessary to reduce the whole to ingots of uniform standard, and resort was had to the Indian goldsmiths. They were set to work, but so great was the amount that a month passed before the task was finished. At last the splendid collection, representing years of work and the highest skill of native art, was a common heap of bars. These weighed, the Spaniards found themselves possessors of 1,326,539 _pesos de oro_, more than fifteen million dollars of our present currency. To this there were 413,000 ounces of silver in addition.

The division was made with solemnity. The companies were formed in the square, and after invoking the Divine blessing upon the transaction, a fifth part--the royal fifth, it was called--was deducted to be sent to the Emperor Charles. The remainder was divided among the members of the expedition according to rank.

Cristoval found himself rich. His share would be worth to-day something over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, but the humblest pikeman was more rejoiced than he. Peralta was not more indifferent to wealth than any other normal man, but this gold!--it was befouled. It reeked with the massacre. He surveyed the yellow bars as they lay in the treasure room of the palace, and thought of the captive prince, his friend. There he left it and went away, harassed by its allurement and the ignominy of its ownership.

The treasure having thus been satisfactorily apportioned, with or without the Divine blessing, the friends of Atahualpa held that his part of the contract was fulfilled. Hernando Pizarro, whose friendship for the monarch was outspoken, urged that he be given his promised liberty. Pizarro demurred. The time was inopportune. Word had been brought by a chief of the Canares, a friendly tribe encamped in the valley, that an uprising was fomenting in the South. To release the Inca would be perilous for the present, but it would be done once tranquillity was assured. Meanwhile, the royal fifth must go to Spain. Would not Hernando be the bearer? It would be the most favorable of introductions at court, and if carried through with address, might lead to something,--who could tell? Three hundred thousand pesos laid gracefully at his Majesty's feet would smooth a way for the request, for example, that Peru be made a viceroyalty. A title for Hernando himself were not impossible.

The prospect was flattering, and the Inca's case easily laid aside. Hernando went forthwith.

His departure removed one embarrassment from the design which the commander secretly meditated in regard to the Inca, and which he knew Hernando would oppose with vigor. He would still have equally stanch supporters of the prisoner to deal with, but he trusted to circumstance to overcome or remove their influence. De Soto was the most formidable advocate of Atahualpa's cause. Soon after Hernando's departure, he and Cristoval went to the commander. They found Almagro there, and Riquelme, the royal treasurer, who had come with him from San Miguel. Mendoza and one or two others came in shortly afterward.

"The Inca beginneth to chafe, General," said De Soto, "over his delayed freedom. Several days have passed since the division of the ransom, but he awaiteth intimation that his captivity is near its end. May I not bear him some assurance?"

"Not now, Soto," replied Pizarro, impatiently. "Let him wait. As a matter of fact, he hath not yet made up the amount he promised. It was short, considerably, of reaching the line on the wall."

"What!" exclaimed De Soto, bluntly. "Wilt thou make excuse of that? Thou knowest that waiting would have brought the full sum; and thou knowest, besides, it will be made up tenfold when we reach Cuzco. A poor pretext, Pizarro, I'll be bound!"

Pizarro shrugged. De Soto eyed him sharply, waiting for his response. Pizarro shrugged again, and said: "_Bien_! I'll not hold the Inca for that, Soto. I'll acquit him of the rest of the obligation, but ask not his freedom now. Thou hast heard of the tribes in the South, and to-day cometh news that an army lieth at Quito, with thirty thousand Caribs ready to join. I doubt not that this Senor Inca is party to it. If it so proveth, by Heaven, he shall pay dearly for his treachery!"

"Rumors and yet more rumors!" exclaimed De Soto, contemptuously. "_Santa Madre_! How long shall we entertain these cries of wolf, Pizarro? A rising of the Indios, forsooth! A spectre to be laid daily! With five men I could ride to Cuzco. Give the order, and I will go."

Pizarro regarded him thoughtfully. "It might be well advised, Soto--not with five men, but with thy troop; and not so far as Cuzco, but to Guamachucho, whence the rumors come. The reconnaissance could be made in a week--there and return. Let us say, ten days without hard marching. Thou couldst start to-morrow? Very well.--And Peralta, thou hast knowledge of the Quichua. _Excellente_! I will think of it."

When De Soto and Cristoval had departed Pizarro swore an oath. "But for the qualms of those two and half-a-dozen others," he fumed, "we need not fash ourselves about this accursed proud heathen king. I would snuff him out, for by the faith! I had liefer trust myself with a wounded bear than set him loose to bring his hordes to our destruction. He is a mad bull held by the horns. I can neither hold him nor let him go. Were it not for him we could be on the march to Cuzco; but as 't is, we dare not leave him under such guard as we can spare, nor can safely take him with us."

"Then why shilly-shally?" demanded Almagro. "A bit of steel between his ribs, or a hitch of rope about his neck, and we are disencumbered. My life! I see no complexity in that."

"But De Soto hath his troop at his back, Almagro, and an embroglio now would put us in bad case. Many of the men would be but lukewarm for the Inca's death. Since they have his gold they shout, '_Viva el Inca!_' and affect a friendliness."

"Ah!" scoffed Riquelme. "The fleeting dim gratitude of jackals with bellies full! 'T is easily chilled. Stir up fresh rumors. Incite alarms. Put them forty-eight hours under arms on guard, then hear them yelp and snarl. When they bay in full chorus, bring charges against the Inca. Try him in court with all grave show and pertinent solemnity. When De Soto and Peralta return, show them a royal grave."

"The soul and essence of good counsel, Riquelme, and most crisply put!" exclaimed Almagro, half admiringly, half in contempt. "Thou 'rt a man of parts, my friend, and fit to intrigue with cardinals, prime ministers, and favorites of kings--or to be a barrister! Ha! Leave it to Riquelme, Pizarro."

Pizarro looked from one to another without replying. He smiled, and his smile was not pleasant to look upon. Instructing the sentinel at the door that no one should be admitted, he drew his chair close to his visitors.

The council was long. At its close Pizarro said: "Well, think upon it overnight and come again to-morrow. There are charges enough to answer our purpose, and we have only to put them into form. _Cara_! This device is luckily hit upon, Senores, and we'll perfect its members. Say not a word of it to any man. Now I'll issue an order for De Soto's march. That was a hint opportunely offered. He was in the way, and, curse him! I saw no means of being quit of his importunities.--_Adios_, gentlemen. I thank you for your good counsel."

De Soto received marching orders that evening, and he and Cristoval spent the greater part of the night in the preparation of the troop. In the morning, Cristoval hurried to take leave of the Inca. The hour was early, and the latter had not come from his private apartments. After a few minutes' conversation with the nobles in the anteroom of the small salon where Atahualpa received his friends informally, Cristoval entered. In a moment he saw the nobles sink to their knees. Their sovereign was approaching. Atahualpa paused for a word of greeting, and entered the room where the cavalier stood waiting. Seeing Cristoval in full armor, he asked anxiously as he advanced,--

"What is this, Viracocha Cristoval? Thou 'rt equipped as for battle! I trust nothing hath occurred, or is about to occur."

"Nothing, my lord. I have come to bid you a short farewell. I go with De Soto on a few days' journey. We ride to Guamachucho."

"To Guamachucho! Why to Guamachucho?"

"Merely to prove to Pizarro that another rumor which hath reached his ears is without foundation, my Lord Inca. He gave his promise yesterday to release you the moment he feeleth secure, and we go to hasten his assurance. We will return to see you at liberty and rejoice with you, my lord."

Atahualpa made no immediate reply, but stood with arms folded, his eyes bent gloomily upon the floor. At length he asked, "Your going is voluntary?"

"Entirely so, my Lord Inca. It was De Soto's suggestion. He offered, to prove the good will of your people, to ride to Cuzco almost alone. So long a journey being needless, we make this shorter one."

The cloud deepened upon the Inca's brow. Finally he said, half meditatively: "I fear it is unfortunate. The Viracocha Hernando, who, I believe, was my friend, hath gone. Now thou and De Soto go. I would it were otherwise, Viracocha Cristoval."

Cristoval divined the cause of his misgiving. "Nay, my lord," he said earnestly, "the circumstance hath no import, believe me. You have many other friends in the army. Yesterday I heard the soldiers shouting, 'Long live the Inca!' Moreover, Pizarro hath given you formal quittance of your ransom. Have you not heard of it?"

"I have heard."

"You will receive the paper to-day; and now nothing delayeth your liberty but Pizarro's uneasiness about the feeling among your subjects. We shall remove that uncertainty, and when we meet again, my lord, it will be on the eve of your freedom."

Atahualpa turned his dark eyes upon him. "My friend," he said gravely, "we shall not meet again!--Nay, hear me! I know what thou wouldst say, but I am right. This is our last meeting.--Be silent!" he interrupted, with some sternness, when Cristoval essayed to speak. "I do not say this to hear thy protests; and let us not waste words, for time is fleeting. When you return, I shall be--not here. I have been forewarned. My life is near its close. Enough! I do not fear to die. I would say naught of this, but there is something I would ask of thee."

He paused, and for a moment his eyes looked searchingly into those of the cavalier. When he resumed it was as if satisfied with the scrutiny, and he spoke in the tone he might have used to a brother.

"There is something I would ask of thee. Thou hast been my friend, as I believe in my heart. Of all these unknown around me I have felt that I know thee, Viracocha Cristoval, and I know that I can entrust to thee now my dearest wish. It is this: I shall leave behind me many loved ones, and among them the Nusta Rava. Promise me thou wilt be to her what thou wouldst wish a friend to be to thy best beloved sister. Toparca hath not his strength. None of my people can aid her as well as thou in time of need. Guard her life until thou canst convey her to safety. Above all, guard her honor. Promise me this. Nay, promise me more. She will be surrounded by a thousand perils--give thy word thou'lt be ready to lay down thy life to save her unharmed; and, should all else fail, that thou wilt, at the end of hope, plunge thy dagger to her heart, rather than surrender her to dishonor. Give me thy promise. I ask it as a soldier of a soldier, Viracocha Cristoval."

Cristoval, moved to the depths of his chivalrous soul by the earnest appeal of this splendid despot, who had never before laid aside his majesty to ask a boon of mortal man, but who now addressed him with a brother's prayer for the sanctity of his sister, offered his hand. It was taken by the monarch, and for the moment they stood regarding one another, no longer as prince and conquistador, Inca and Spaniard, but as men.

"My Lord Inca," said Cristoval, "I swear by all I hold most sacred to spare neither my blood nor my life in her defence!"

"It is enough, my friend. I thank thee. I demand much of thy friendship. How I can ask it of one who hath come with mine enemies, with full assurance that I ask it not in vain, only He who shineth into all men's hearts can say. I trust thee, Viracocha Cristoval. Now go! May the infinite and unknown Pachacamac watch over thee! Farewell. But wait--take this!--it will serve thee." He unwound the _llautu_ from his head and detached a bit of its crimson fringe. "Preserve it! It will be thy safeguard to the farthest borders of Tavantinsuyu. Farewell!"

*CHAPTER XII*

_*Vengeance Foiled*_

Although Cristoval could not share the Inca's mistrust of Pizarro's faith, he was profoundly impressed by his words of farewell, spoken with such firm conviction. They saddened him despite his confidence in his commander, and as he crossed the court his steps lagged while he pondered the possibility of remaining in Caxamalca. His deliberation was ended by the trumpets of his troop sounding in the plaza. It was too late now, at any rate, and he hurried on. He was arrested by hearing his name called timidly, and turning, saw one of the Princess Rava's maidens hastening toward him.

"Viracocha," she said, "my mistress sendeth greeting, and prayeth a few words."

"Most gladly," replied Cristoval. "Wilt lead me to her?"

He followed her to the garden, and a few paces brought them to the princess. She rose as they approached, and Cristoval regarded her with new interest. He noted with sympathy the traces of care and grief, wondering at the heightened womanliness they had produced, and suddenly recognizing in her that rare nature whose gentlest and fairest attributes are perfected by sorrow. Cristoval had not known many good women in his adventurous career, but he had discovered this quality with increased reverence for womankind. He observed it now in this girl of a strange and new-found race, and thought to himself, "Well, God save them, they are all sisters, whatever their blood--and the burden of sorrow worked by men's misdeeds falleth always most heavily upon them!"

As he drew near he was struck more than ever by her beauty, which had impressed him at first by its warmth and exuberance. Now, softened and chastened by sadness, the fire and pride which had once shone in her dark eyes had given way to a gentle pathos and appeal which touched his kindly heart. As he bent over the extended hand he renewed to himself the vow he had made to her brother a short while before.

"Viracocha Cristoval," she said, with hesitation, "I am sure that you will pardon my sending for you. I have just learned that you are going away."

"For a short journey, Nusta Rava."

"I pray it may be a safe one," she answered. "I will delay you only a moment. I would ask if you can tell me aught of the fate in store for my brother, the Inca." She looked up to him with eyes deepening with anxiety, and faltered, "He will say nothing, but I can see his sadness, which hath grown upon him with every day of deferred hope since the payment of his ransom. Hath he cause for this? Do you know, Viracocha Cristoval?"

"I know nothing, Nusta Rava, to cause him apprehension. On the contrary, General Pizarro hath renewed his promise to give him freedom, and, we trust, in a very few days. I have told him this, but he rejecteth the offered hope. He saith he hath been forewarned of pending evil. I know not how."

"Alas! Said he so?" moaned the princess, her eyes filling. "Then what I have been told is true! Ah, my unhappy brother!" and she sank sobbing upon the bench.

"What hath she been told?" demanded Cristoval, turning to the maid; but the girl, too, was in tears, and incapable of reply. He stepped to Rava's side. "Nusta Rava," he said urgently, "pray tell me. Is it anything of evil from Pizarro regarding the Inca? If so--"

She shook her head. "No, no!" she replied, brokenly; "but a few evenings ago he beheld a falling star of unusual splendor, and called to mind that shortly before the death of our father a similar sign was given. The death of an Inca is heralded by strange portents, Viracocha."

Cristoval was relieved. "Nay, my princess!" he said consolingly, "heed it not. Such signs are but the wiles of the devil--are but chance appearances. I have seen a thousand falling stars. They are for children and old women to talk about at firesides. Oh, I beg of you, restrain your tears! Take courage! Hear me, Nusta Rava! De Soto and myself and half-a-score of others have witnessed Pizarro's oath to set your brother free. He awaiteth only assurance that your people are at peace. A few days hence the Inca shall have his liberty. Pizarro is a man of honor."

She controlled herself with an effort, and, brushing away her tears, presently looked up. "Forgive my weakness, Viracocha Cristoval. I fear my heart is overburdened. One blow hath fallen upon another until the world is dark."

"I know what your sorrows have been," replied Cristoval, kindly, "but I believe one, at least, is near its end."

"Oh, I thank you for your words of hope!" she murmured. "I feared that a change in your leader's purpose had brought my brother's heaviness of heart. I will try to cheer him."

"Do so. Assure him that he hath other friends among Spaniards besides myself. It is true."

"He is sure of you, Viracocha Cristoval," she said gratefully. "But now, let me keep you no longer. I heard a trumpet some minutes ago. It called you, did it not?"

"It called me, Nusta Rava."

"Then you must go. I pray the Sun may brighten your way and give you safe return."

"Farewell, and Heaven guard you, Nusta Rava!" He touched her fingers with his lips and hastened away.

As he passed up the avenue the trumpets were sounding the "Mount," and in his haste he failed to notice a burly figure in the shelter of a by-path. It was Mendoza. He had been waiting Pizarro's return from seeing the departure of De Soto's troop, and, presuming upon the commander's determination to make away with the Inca, whom Mendoza already considered as good as dead, he had invaded the forbidden precincts of the garden. Perceiving Cristoval and the Princess Rava, he had stepped unobserved into the shrubbery, and watched the interview with a scowling sneer.

"Aha, my conscientious buck cavalier!" he muttered, peering out as Cristoval strode away. "Stolen meetings with Her Highness? Tears and kissed hands at parting? By the fiend, that smelleth of romance!--And we have been wondering at thy continence, thou cursed sly dog, whilst thou hast been spreading thy net for the very pick of the flock! Oho! But wait!--let us see, _amigo mio_! Methinks the cards are to be dealt again, and thou'lt have no hand.--And thou dost nurse so charitable an interest in the Senorita Nusta's brother? Hum! And I have stumbled upon its source thus unexpectedly? Even so! _Bien_! But, _adios_, my gallant. Thou'lt find more than one change on thy return to Caxamalca,--among others, a division of spoil upon which thou 'rt not counting, whereof I see a pearl to which I'll lay claim in Pizarro's ear this very morning.--She cometh this way, now! I'll step out and give her greeting. Curse me! why have I not learned a few words of her heathen tongue? I know but three,--_curi_, gold; _collque_, silver; and _chicha_. Good words, but not suited to the present need. However, _no importa_--let it pass. Much can be said in dumb show. We'll make it answer. Now, let us see if we cannot be made to forget our Cristoval."

Giving a twirl to his mustachios and a touch to the sallow ruff around his neck, Mendoza stepped into the avenue, and made a well-feigned start of surprise when his eyes rested upon the approaching princess. Off came Mendoza's sombrero, and he bowed until its plume lay on the ground.

"Your gracious Highness," he murmured in Spanish, with his hand on his heart, "I am your slave. The devil take me if I know how to make you understand it, but 't is so, my lady bird, my chickadee, and I would swear it, could I but formulate an oath which you could grasp in your benightedness."

The princess, happily unconscious of the disrespect in the words, but indignant at his intrusion, responded with a barely perceptible inclination of her head, and passed on. But Mendoza was not to be easily rebuffed. Striding after her, he gained her side.

"But stay, my haughty pagan lady!" he exclaimed, his forced smile only half concealing the wickedness in his eyes. "Not so fast, pretty one! Let us talk;--or if we cannot talk, let us make signs. _Caramba_! Let us be acquainted!" and he placed his hand upon her arm.

The princess shrank as if from a reptile, turning with a look of indignant scorn that daunted even the case-hardened Mendoza, while a scream from the maid brought him fully to his senses. He halted, and Rava went her way with burning cheeks, leaving the Spaniard staring after her discomfited.

"_Jesu!_" he exclaimed, beneath his breath. He replaced his sombrero over one ear and spread his legs wide apart, one hand upon his hip, the other depressing the hilt of his rapier until its point rose to the level of his shoulder.

"_Cara_! There is a sudden chilliness hereabouts. Did I feel a cool breeze from the mountains, or was it a freezing glance? No matter, Senorita Nusta Rava, my dark beauty--no matter! We'll score that in the account against this Cristoval. And, withal, proud loveliness is much to my taste. There's a zest in subjugating.--_Hola_! Who the devil is this?"

Pedro, crossing the lower end of the court, had met the princess, and noticing her indignation and the trepidation of her maid, suspected that some drunken soldier had been trespassing. He stepped quickly through the shrubbery and came upon Mendoza, still in his jaunty pose. Pedro divined the situation in the instant. Halting, he tilted his toque over his ear, placed his hand upon his hip, spread his good leg wide from its fellow, and stood surveying Mendoza with concentrated insolence, in a grotesque caricature of the latter's attitude. Mendoza, in turn, regarded the cook in surprise, then colored with anger as he realized the tableau in which he was taking part. He adjusted himself hastily and opened his lips to deliver an imprecation upon the cook's head. He thought better of it, remembering Pizarro's stern order against intrusion upon the privacy of the garden, and an injunction, yet more stern, against affronting the women of the court. He swallowed the curse for discretion's sake, and in the effort produced a grimace which he hoped Pedro might accept for a smile.

"Thou 'rt a droll fellow, Pedro," he said with forced lightness, and stalked away. Pedro followed him with his eyes, his attitude unchanged.

"Ah!" he growled. "A droll fellow, am I not, thou scurvy picaroon! Had I my blade thou shouldst find me twice more droll, my dastardly rough-handler of women, for I would tickle thy ribs most humorously before thou shouldst leave this garden. Slink off, caught-dog! I'll have an eye on thee.--A droll fellow! By the faith, it must be so, for naught but drollery could wrench a smile so misbegotten, crump, and bandy as that of thine! Thou didst grin like a kicked hat. An old boot could smile more mirthfully. Pedro must be droll, to give thee such a toad's smirk, Mendoza!" He straightened his toque and stumped back to his quarters.

Meanwhile De Soto's troop, with armor glinting, guidon and pennons fluttering, and trumpets sounding a spirited quickstep, marched out of the square on its way to Guamachucho. At the end of the second day the Spaniards entered the town. They found it a small place, unfortified, and without a sign of the reported rising of the people.

A thorough reconnaissance of the country about occupied the next two days, for De Soto was determined that no doubt concerning its quiet should remain. At midnight of the second day he was seated with Cristoval in the latter's quarters, discussing the expedition and planning for the morrow, to be spent in reconnoitring the country farther south,--then a day of rest, and the return march to Caxamalca. Cristoval rose to make his rounds when they heard a hurried step in the patio, and a soldier entered, followed by a _chasqui_. The youth was breathing heavily, and as he entered the lamplight his body glistened with perspiration.

"The Viracocha Cristoval?" panted the _chasqui_, looking from one to the other and drawing a paper from his pouch.

"Here!" said Cristoval. Taking the paper, he hastily broke the seal, reading the contents with alarm and rage. He finished and thrust it toward De Soto, who was anxiously watching his expression.

"Read that, Soto!" he shouted, "and learn the black treachery we have left behind!"

De Soto seized the paper. It was from Pedro.

"CRISTOVAL: The Inca hath been brought to trial. Return with all speed. It is said that his conviction is determined, and that he is to be burned at the stake.

"PEDRO."

De Soto looked up at his friend, their faces reflecting consternation and anger.

"'T is for this Pizarro ordered us away--curse his perfidious heart!" cried De Soto.

"A thousand times curse him!" exclaimed Cristoval. "By Heaven, if 'tis true, I'll kill him! Soto, I go to Caxamalca! Juan, have my horse saddled! _Pronto!_--quick!" he commanded, and hurried to his room. De Soto reread the message, muttered an oath, and followed him out. He met Cristoval buckling on his rapier.

"Hold, Peralta!" he exclaimed; "thou 'rt not going thus, without thy harness! Wear thy corselet, at least."

"No! I'll ride light," returned Cristoval.

"Wait! come to my room," said De Soto. Hurriedly opening his portmanteau, he drew out a package wrapped in oiled silk. He cut its fastenings with his dagger and unrolled a shirt of chain-mail. "Here! Off with thy doublet and on with this. It is Moorish, and of the best. It may serve thee, as it hath many times served me."

It was on in a moment, and Cristoval quickly resumed his doublet. His horse was already at the door, surrounded by three or four troopers, tightening buckles and rubbing his legs, for he had been under saddle since morning.

"_Adios_, Peralta!" said the captain, grasping his lieutenant's hand. "Be not rash, and guard thyself until I come. I will follow at dawn."

Cristoval made no reply to the warning. "Farewell, Soto," he said, and swung into the saddle.

Soon he was in the open country, his horse's hoofs ringing on the pavement of the great highway in a rhythm which he knew would not vary for miles. Shadowy trees swept by, cottages and groves were dimly seen and left behind. The walls of a _chasqui_-post threw back a short chorus of reverberations, and were lost again in the darkness and silence. Presently the streets of a village clamored with the measure, and relapsed into stillness before the startled peasant could open his door. Onward he flew, the night breeze fanning his hot cheeks, the words of Pedro's message repeating themselves over and over in the cadence of the gallop: "The Inca brought to trial--Return with all speed. The Inca brought to trial--return with all speed!"--while a thousand thoughts mingled with the refrain, chasing one another through his fevered mind, with a deep undertone of purposed vengeance if evil had befallen the captive prince.

Mile after mile down the sleeping valley, and at last the gray of dawn. Another half-league brought him to a hamlet. The people were astir, and smoke was rising from their cottages. He halted at one and dismounted, the villagers staring from their doors. His horse drooped his head, nostrils wide. Cristoval surveyed him with anxiety. No help for it, he must rest. A cottager advanced from his door with a friendly morning greeting and offered his hospitality. The cavalier accepted with gratitude, found grain for his horse, and an hour later was once more in the saddle. The rest and refreshment had done much for both steed and rider, but the leagues were covered slowly, for the animal was weary and his flanks in lather. The halt had given a brief respite to Cristoval's sombre thoughts, but as he looked forward down the valley they returned with full force; and when, late in the day, he descried distant Caxamalca, the fever of his anxiety and rage came back with double strength. At last he was in the suburbs of the town, urging his exhausted horse to fresh speed. He reined up before a sentinel. The halberdier saluted, and Cristoval demanded hoarsely:--

"What of the Inca? Am I in time--doth he live?"

With exasperating deliberation the infantryman ordered his weapon; raised his hand without a word, clutched his throat, distorted his face into a hideous grimace, and emitting a gurgle, closed his eyes and lopped his head to one side. Then he opened his eyes and resumed his position, surveying the blowing steed with critical interest. Cristoval turned pale.

"Speak, fellow!" he shouted. "What of the Inca?"

"Dead!" returned the soldier. "Garroted! Gone to join his fathers in the mansions of the Sun, say the Indios; but 't is more like," he continued, as Cristoval put spurs to his horse and galloped away with an oath, "'t is more like he hath gone to hell--and mayst thou follow him!"

With jaws set, lips compressed, and oblivious of the pedestrians, Spaniards and Indios, who barely escaped being run down, Cristoval careered madly up the narrow street and across the plaza to the palace. Reining up so sharply that his horse went back upon his haunches, he threw himself from the saddle, and ordering a soldier to look after the animal, strode into the building.

He had an indistinct impression of passing Mendoza, of an expression of surprise on the soldiers of the guard in the great hall, of a hurried salute from the sentinel in front of Pizarro's office as he crossed the anteroom, and he jerked open the door and stood before the commander. Pizarro in half-armor was seated at his table, facing the entrance. At the end of the table on his left was his sergeant-major, Dominguez. Both looked up in astonishment at Cristoval's precipitate intrusion, the surprise on Pizarro's face followed quickly by a scowl of displeasure. Surveying Cristoval coldly for a moment, he asked:--

"Well, what dost thou here, Peralta? I thought thee at Guamachucho. Where is thy troop?"

Ignoring the question, Cristoval advanced to the table and leaned forward.

"Is this report true that I have heard?" he demanded in a tense voice. "Hast slain the Inca?"

Pizarro's scowl deepened at the bluntness, but after a moment, in which he seemed to hesitate whether or not to resent it, he answered shortly, "The Inca hath expiated his crimes."

Cristoval was fully prepared for the reply, but it came, nevertheless, with a shock. His face paled, then flushed hotly. Unconsciously he hitched the hilt of his sword a trifle forward. The motion was not unnoted by Pizarro, who now watched him with the vigilance of a hawk. Cristoval's voice shook as he returned, with suppressed vehemence:--

"Hath expiated his crimes! Then it is true!--and thou hast put upon the arms of Spain a blot which a hundred years will not efface. Great God! Was not the atrocity of the plaza enough to glut thee? I tell thee, Pizarro, thou hast done foul murder!--Hath expiated his crimes, sayst thou!--Hath received the penalty of trusting a thing so scant and beggarly as thine honor, which, by Saint Michael, did underfit thee, thou perjured and lying miscreant, when thou wast a swineherd!"

Pizarro had risen. He was silent, but the deathly pallor of his countenance and the sudden cat-like contraction of the pupils of his eyes, burning with animosity in the shadow of his scowl, spoke his rage more plainly than an outburst. And they were more dangerously significant. A scar across his forehead, which Cristoval had never noted before, now showed itself in a thin line and blue, the color of his lips. The sparse black beard seemed more than ever straggling against the sickly yellow-white of his cheeks, and the muscles about his mouth twitched in a ferocious semblance of a grin, as if to bare his teeth. But he spoke no word. He grasped for his sword. It was not at his side, and with a curse he leaped toward his chamber where it lay. Dominguez sprang to his feet with sword half drawn. Pizarro shouted to him in a voice of fury:--

"Call the guard! Kill him, Dominguez! Kill him!"

Dominguez dashed to the door and threw it open, calling: "Ho, the guard! The guard!" and turned upon Cristoval with his sword. The latter sprang forward to meet him, and engaged his blade before he had made a step. There was a second's sharp play, and Dominguez went down with a groan, senseless from a cut which laid open his head. The sentinel rushed in, and stood for an instant transfixed.

"Kill him! Kill him, dolt! Why standest thou?" bellowed Pizarro, charging from his door sword in hand. The soldier stepped back and swung his halberd. The weapon swished viciously, narrowly avoided by a sidestep, and before he could recover for another stroke Cristoval closed upon him and ran him through. Then, throwing his weight against the heavy door, he closed it with a bang and shot the bolt. Pizarro was upon him, and he sprang back barely in time to avoid a lunge. So impetuous was the commander's onslaught that Cristoval was forced several paces to the rear, put to his best to ward the rapid cuts and thrusts which followed. Pizarro, unaware of the mail beneath his adversary's doublet, and emboldened by the security in his own armor, threw caution to the winds. He crowded with dire impatience to avenge the recent insult. He attacked like a demon, pressing forward in so fierce and disorderly assault that Cristoval's defence was for a time disorganized and wild. He strove desperately to gather himself, and to feel and hold Pizarro's blade with his own, or to check his impetuosity by _riposte_; but for the last there was no time, and the savage lunges came in so swift succession that he avoided them only by giving ground, until he was driven back almost to the wall. At last Pizarro, feinting a cut at his head, reached him with the point full in the breast, so heavily that the blade, catching in the links of the mail, bent nearly double, and Cristoval was hurled by the impact bodily against the wall. At the unlooked-for resistance encountered by his sword and its revelation of the unsuspected armor, the commander uttered a grunt of surprise, suddenly aware of the rashness of his attack. He paused for the briefest instant. It was Cristoval's opportunity, and in a second he had assumed the offensive with a vigor that caused a sudden deepening of the lines around his opponent's mouth.

Pizarro was a good swordsman, but of a school which, in Europe, was already passing. His guard was high, with point depressed, most suitable for his favorite attack, the cut. Now Cristoval, abruptly becoming the aggressor, brought into play a later skill acquired from the French. He assaulted on a lower line, with arm partly extended, hand at the height of his breast, and point on a level with the eyes. Instantly the advantage became his own, and he pressed his attack with such fierceness that Pizarro found no opportunity to regain the offensive. Compelled to lower his guard to engage Cristoval's blade, he was hampered by the unwonted position. The weight of his rapier counted against him, and he was unprepared for the lightning movements of Cristoval's more slender and swifter sword, which played before his eyes like a thin lambent tongue of pale flame.

Cristoval in his mail, and Pizarro defended by his corselet, the only vulnerable points offered were their throats and heads. Here, again, the commander was at a disadvantage. With that keen, swift point menacing and perilously near, he dared not disengage for a cut. Repeatedly he essayed a thrust, but each time a riposte came like a flash, barely guarded. Cristoval directed his attack wholly at his adversary's throat, and time after time Pizarro escaped a fatal thrust only by a hair's breadth. But at length he felt a quick sensation of burning as he was grazed, then presently another. Goaded to desperation, he cut heavily at Cristoval's head. Vainly, and again the burning sting, this time deeper, and he felt the hot blood trickling slowly to his breast. Savagely exultant, Cristoval pressed him more closely, eager to end it before his own strength gave out, for now he began to feel the effect of the long night in the saddle.

So intent was he that he failed to note the sounds of an effort to open the door, but they did not escape Pizarro. Cristoval redoubled the energy of his assaults, not free from concern regarding Dominguez, who was but slightly wounded and now showed signs of returning animation.

Pizarro had been forced back upon a corner of his table, when the door rattled again, and after a few seconds resounded with a crashing blow. There were shouts outside, and the blow was repeated. Again, and this time it was accompanied by a rending, splitting sound, and Cristoval knew that it was being battered in. He saw Pizarro's face brighten, then both redoubled the vigor of their blood-seeking work. Cristoval was desperate at the thought of interruption. The commander was now intent only upon defence until the promised rescue should reach him. Both combatants were breathing heavily and reeking with sweat. Blow followed blow upon the door, and now a burst of splinters succeeded every impact.

The meaning of this. Mendoza was leaving the palace when Cristoval rushed in. He looked after the cavalier in astonishment, surmising at first that he had returned with important news, perhaps confirmation of the rumors of an uprising. But Mendoza passed out, intending to return as soon as practicable. As he crossed the square, however, he recalled Cristoval's expression, which was one of hot passion recently aroused, as was evident from his flushed face and blazing eyes. Half-way across the plaza he halted, considered a moment, then returned to the palace. Crossing the great hall, he hurried direct to Pizarro's anteroom and looked in. The sentinel was not at his post. He hesitated briefly, traversed the apartment, and quietly tried the door. It was fast. He listened and heard rapidly shuffling feet, no voices, and the clash of steel. He tried the door again, then rushed to the guard-room.

"_Hola_, soldiers!" he shouted. "Follow! There is trouble in the general's room!" and he dashed back, followed by the guard. At the door they halted.

"Listen!" commanded Mendoza. "Do ye hear it?--There is fighting within!" He threw himself against the heavy door. "Furies of hell! Lay on here, men! we must break through!"

Again and again they hurled themselves against the resisting wood without avail, wild now with excitement. Pikes and halberds were brought to bear, thrust into the cracks to prize it open, Mendoza urging and swearing. In vain! That door had been built by Pizarro's direction, to guard the treasure lying in the room beyond his office.

"Fetch a timber!" shouted Mendoza. "A beam--anything heavy! Go! Jump about it!" He sprang at the soldiers, waving his arms, and they went out with a rush. There were no timbers but the beams of the ceilings. They were inaccessible. Finally Mendoza cried, "A bench-top from the garden! _Veloz! Veloz!_"

It was brought by as many as could lay hands upon it. They hurried into the anteroom and charged the door, Candia had rushed in, stared for a second, and thinking a mutiny had arisen, drew his sword and collared a soldier.

"Here!" he shouted, jerking the man around, "what's to do?"

The soldier wrenched himself free, shouting back excitedly, "Hell is to do! Peralta is loco, and is murdering the general!"

"_Santa Maria!_" ejaculated Candia.

Now the door was tottering, and another blow brought it down. The crowd surged through, led by Mendoza, Candia following close. Pizarro's drawn, anxious face and labored breathing showed that he was desperately hard pressed. Cristoval with merciless, silent determination upon his death, was pushing him closely, but weariness clogged his movements, and the fatal thrust was undelivered. Neither of the combatants seemed to see the inrush of the soldiers. Cristoval's back was toward them, and Mendoza drove at him without a word, putting all his strength and hate into a lunge with which he meant to settle all scores. His point caught in the links of the mail, the blade bent and snapped close at the hilt. The lunge whirled Cristoval half around and sent him full length upon the floor. Pizarro sank back against the wall in exhaustion, while Mendoza drew his dagger and with an oath sprang upon his prostrate enemy. Before he could use it Candia had seized him, hurled him back, and stood over Cristoval, facing the circle of soldiers.

Pizarro, half inarticulate with weariness and rage, found breath enough to gasp: "Kill him! Kill him!--In God's name!--will none of you put an end to that accursed mutineer?"

The circle closed a bit nearer, but Candia poised his sword, and they hesitated. Cristoval had regained his feet and placed himself back to the wall, panting, but undismayed. At this juncture Almagro hurried in and breaking through the crowd, demanded:--

"What is this? Our swords turned against one another? What meaneth it?" He was answered by an excited and unintelligible chorus. Pizarro started forward, his face distorted with frenzy.