Chapter XI

The news of the landing of the strangers at Tumbez, coming at the moment of his triumph, profoundly disturbed Atahualpa. He sent back urgent commands that the number of the invaders be reported to his summer capital at Caxamalca without delay.

He entered the city in triumph to the loud acclaim of the people, hastened to his palace, and summoned Yma. He told her the startling news of the arrival of the white invaders.

Her face blanched and she caught her breath in a low sob. The Inca bored her with his commanding eyes:

“Tell me the whole truth now? You are a daughter of the Sun. I have spared your life in the service of your God, your sovereign, and your country. Dare I trust your god-man with this secret? He will learn it, yes, but I have yet time to make sure that the dangerous knowledge he possesses of our army and defenses shall not be given the invaders. Answer me truthfully as you value your life.”

Her wits were clear in a moment. The first news had stunned. She must fight now to save Molina. Unless she convinced the Inca of his love and loyalty he would be put to death before the sun rose. The coming of Pizarro sounded the death knell of her own hopes unless she could win his love before he heard the news. And she must keep her wits now and fight both foes. She meant to fight--and she meant to win.

“Answer me truthfully as you value your life!” Atahualpa sternly repeated.

“By all I hold dear and sacred, my Lord of the Sun, the stranger is your loyal friend as he is my beloved!” the girl sobbed.

“See to it then. If he dares to leave without my command, I have posted guards along every roadway with orders to kill him on sight. And if he goes, you die the moment I hear it.”

“He will not go, my Lord,” the small voice assured him.

Yma returned to Molina’s house on swift feet. She warned each waiting maid to guard the secret of the landing of the invaders at Tumbez. She determined to take Congo with Molina on a journey she had long planned to a shrine in the mountains overhanging the city. An important fortress crowned the summit of the range and he was deeply interested in every work of defense. And there, in the vastness of the ranges, she would attack, for she was interested in every work of _his_ defense.

Her voice was casual as she broached the subject to the cavalier.

“Now that the people are making their feasts over the Inca’s triumph I will take you to see the fortress hidden on the summit of the mountain. You will go, Señor?”

Her most insinuating utterance of the word “señor” again brought a laugh from Molina.

“My dear Señorita, I accept your thoughtful invitation with joy.”

“Congo may carry our luncheon, and we will spend the whole day.”

Yma gained permission for Molina to inspect the fortress and promised to return in time to make the descent before sunset. She would visit an old friend who lived a little way down the opposite cliff.

While Molina examined and sketched at leisure the fortress whose stone walls would have done credit to a European engineer, Yma scrambled down a narrow pathway to the old love shrine that clung to the cliffs on the side of a gorge at the bottom of which roared a river’s torrent.

A love witch of the old days had chosen the spot for its magnificent views, its uncanny setting, and its appeal to the superstitions of the race. The shrine was built of beautifully fitted stones in the same style as the walls of the fortress.

The priest was an old, wrinkled man of an age beyond the memory of any inhabitant of Caxamalca. He was famed for the wisdom of his advice to the lovelorn, and his charms were held in high esteem by maidens as far as Quito. Not one in the Inca’s train had failed to pay him tribute. Until now Yma had felt it sacrilege to speak her secret to the old conjuror. Now that she felt the shadows of a tragedy creeping toward her, she was a child again. She knew instinctively that he made his living by peddling silly advice to fools and yet--who could know the full truth of love? He might, in his long life of patient waiting, of fasting and prayer, have found a key that would unlock her lover’s heart.

The girl was on the alert for his sharp tricks in taking the last treasure she possessed. He was noted not only for his sage advice, but was famous for the high prices he managed to get for it. She determined to give him a taste of his own medicine. His eyes were failing. She had high hopes of getting his advice and saving at least a part of her jewels.

She told him of her hopeless love for the fair god-man and begged help. His advice would cost her six emeralds of good value. He felt the stones and dropped them in his huge pocket. He commanded her to stand before him. He measured her matchless figure silhouetted in the doorway and felt the rounded lines of her arms.

“For you, wondrous Virgin of the Sun, the way is plain. Take him by storm. Circle him with your arms and smother him with your love. He cannot resist you.”

Yma frowned. The old flatterer had chosen the simple device of an appeal to her vanity. She had been cheated. She nestled close to his side, slipped her hand gently into his pocket and removed her gems. As she stood in the doorway about to go, the old man laughed in cracked tones and said:

“Of course, the charm that never fails, advice or no advice, is one I cannot give for less than twelve emeralds of good form and value.”

“Twelve, dear father?” Yma breathed.

“’Tis much I grant you,” the old man sighed, “but this magic charm, made of the teeth of a serpent, if worn around the neck has never failed.”

The girl seized the charm, placed the twelve jewels in his claws, waited for him to put them in his pocket, and knelt again beside the treasures. Pressing close with one hand she seized his and pressed it, murmuring her thanks while she carefully found her jewels, rose, and turned from the shrine.

She laughed aloud at the folly of it all and yet it might work! She had felt instinctively that any effort to take Molina by storm would be a failure, yet many days had passed since the night she counted her wedding day. He had surely grown fond of her. They had studied the languages. He had taught her--and she had grown proficient in the use of his shining sword. They had spent many intimate hours together, and he had held her in his arms. She had felt the fierce warmth of his passion. He was not made of stone. The old man’s love charm was a fake, of course, but his advice might be worth many precious stones. She placed the charm carefully about her neck. The longer she thought of it, the wilder beat her pulse, the deeper was the flush on her cheeks and the swifter grew her step.

She would act to-night. She would be the first to tell him the truth of his captain’s arrival and the danger of his position. She would save him at all hazards--but she meant to save him for herself first.

Arrived at the fortress she sent Congo down the mountain with orders to her maids for a feast of unusual luxury. He would be hungry after the long day in the mountains.

She took the luncheon and led Molina to a huge stone of smooth, flat surface hidden by the boughs of trees in a densely shaded glen. She spread the food on a cloth and both ate ravenously.

Yma rose and languidly stretched her figure to its height.

“And now,” she softly asked, “may I give for my Señor, the dance of the serpent taught me in the great temple at Cuzco?”

“You may, my Virgin of the Sun,” the cavalier gayly responded. “In this weird spot I think the serpents will watch you as charmed as I.”

The girl removed her outer cloak and Molina saw to his surprise that her body was bare above the waistline except for the gold-meshed brassiere. Never in the wildest flight of fancy had he dreamed the alluring grace with which her arms, body, and supple limbs now moved in a silent imitation of every motion possible in the sinuous glide of the serpent. She seemed a living part of the wild spot which she had chosen. He half expected to see a boa constrictor swing from an overhanging bough and embrace her in a passion that was death. For the first time in his life he realized the use by the ancients of the snake as an emblem of love.

He felt his hand tremble in an instinctive desire to touch the smooth, beautiful skin as she glided close by his side.

The dance over, she laughed with a girlish joy, wound the cloak about her shoulders and gazed inquiringly at him.

“Beautiful, my Yma!” he sighed.

“I am glad if I please you, Señor,” and without, waiting for him to say or do more, she led the way down the long steep way.

She outdid herself that night at the home feast. With her own hand she prepared delicacies forbidden to any save the Inca. Her maidens were not sun virgins. They could not know. She would dare all for the man she loved. In his stern resistance she had begun to believe him in reality a god. But she felt the love charm and softly laughed.

The cavalier praised the dinner which she had served. He declared it fit for a king of Spain. The wines were the finest yet tasted in Peru. They left a soft, fiery glow in his veins. To-night, her girls gave the dance of the serpent in perfect unison, circling the table with gliding, sinuous grace. The Spaniard watched them with an unconscious smile playing about his handsome mouth. Yma! He felt her in the shock of the nearness of her body. She vibrated a subtle appeal.

With an effort he suddenly dismissed himself.

He was not surprised an hour later to see her standing in his doorway; nor was he really displeased. Her dress was the same as at dinner. But there was a half terrified look in her eyes that hurt. She took his hand, stroked it gently and whispered:

“Dear god-man, why are you so cruel to me? A slave who worships you?”

Molina felt his hand tremble from the sheer physical magic of her touch.

“I have told you, dear. I am betrothed to a beautiful girl in Panama. My vows are taken.”

“But Panama is many, many miles away, Señor,” she pleaded. “Two years have passed. You have no news. You may never see your loved one again. I would not have you love her less. But I am near. My heart is sick of longing for you. Surely this is not sin in me. How could it be wrong that you should hear the cry of my heart and give me the chance to make you happy? We are married by the laws of our Kingdom. Love me only a little, dear god-man, and I will be content.”

He felt her warm breath on his face.

“You must not tempt me--” he began. “You must not tempt me--” His voice trailed from its first brusque notes into the tenderest appeal.

But she did tempt him. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his lips. He held her. He could feel the throb of her heart. Teresa _was_ many miles away. Here in the wilderness, this flower of the Sun bloomed in voluptuous beauty. Here in the wilderness her love could assuage his loneliness. Here in the wilderness, the free primitive....

He kissed her with the fierceness of his long hunger. They swayed, the rhythm of their desire rocking them. Her kisses smothered him; her body burned against him....

He released her and flung his hand to his brow. He spoke, and his voice was husky with pain.

“My beautiful flower--” he began. But words were strangely futile. He paused, staring at her. Once more he trembled and turned away.

Slowly she returned to her quarters, musing. Her god-man was, indeed, strange. She could not possess him, and yet ... he desired her!

She determined to withhold from him the dread news for yet another day. The excitement of the celebration still ran high. The noise from Tumbez might be kept from his ears for days. The danger lay in swift action by the Inca. She would find a way to meet that. Toparca would know the doings of the palace.

She sent a messenger for him. She had not seen the youth for months, yet knew that he would answer.