Chapter XXXII

The tragedy done, the mind of one member of the royal family stirred with brave thoughts of the future. To think was to act, and she acted without delay.

On the morning following the burial of her son the Dowager called on the conqueror. Pizarro received her with every mark of respect and hastened to give her assurances.

“Rest assured of safety, Your Highness,” he said. “I have borne in mind the last wishes of your son. He left you and his household in my care. It is a sacred task. You and yours are under my protection. Your wants will be carefully supplied.”

Pacha could but wonder at that, but she replied, “There are higher needs than food and clothes. I have not come to speak of my safety but of our people.”

She paused and studied the stern face of the conqueror. There was deep sincerity in her voice as she continued and the Spaniard was not slow to catch it.

“You must realize that a nation, to whom the word of their ruler only is law, can not remain long without a hand to guide them.”

“I have undertaken to supply that hand, Your Highness,” was the proud reply.

“Even so, you will need the help of one whom our people recognize as their lord.”

Pizarro pursed his lips and searched Pacha’s fine face for a trace of guile. He lifted his brows.

“And your suggestion is?”

“That you approve my selection of the successor of Atahualpa and crown him Inca under your protection.”

A smile lighted the dark face. His decision was instantaneous.

“Wise advice, Your Highness! If a man can be found who will act as I direct we may avoid much trouble. If I can speak through the Inca as my mouthpiece the people will submit to our rule and quickly profit by our superior knowledge and wisdom. Have you in mind the man?”

“He is in Caxamalca, commander. The Inca’s younger brother, Toparca, is a youth of gentle disposition, and has always been a favorite of the people.”

“You can vouch for his good faith and loyalty?”

“He will obey me without question. You can rely on my advice.”

The conqueror studied the stately woman who spoke with so much poise and wondered if he could. There certainly was no question of the wisdom of her plans. The Incan Empire without an Inca could not long remain in peace. Some turbulent spirit would at last be found to lead an insurrection. If he could speak through the lips that moved beneath their scarlet _borla_ the people might be held in quiet until he had consolidated his power. The moment he was established the new Peru would swarm with thousands of Spaniards and the yoke would be set on their necks for all time.

That this woman had back of her plan a design to consolidate the forces of her people in due time he did not doubt for a moment. But it was a fair risk. He would pit his Spanish brain and life experience against her wits.

“I accept the plan, Your Highness,” Pizarro answered finally.

“It will be wise,” she further ventured, “to select as his ruling Queen the most beautiful and popular girl in the kingdom.”

“You have her in mind?”

“There can be no question of choice in the matter,” Pacha quietly answered. “Yma, first of all the Virgins of the Sun, is a heroine of our people. She is young, beautiful and obedient. Toparca has been in love with her since boyhood.”

“I leave the matter in your hands, Your Highness. Arrange the details and I will give orders for the coronation.”

The Dowager summoned Yma to her apartment. There was no question of the obedience of Toparca. But she was not so sure about the Sun Virgin. The girl was the most daring leader yet developed in this crisis of the empire. What she might do under the conditions of chaos following the Inca’s death was a problem.

The girl approached Pacha with vague misgivings of a new tragedy.

“Surely they will not harm you, dear Mother Queen?” she tremblingly asked.

The Dowager took Yma’s hand in hers and gently stroked it.

“No, my child. The great crime is done. I am of no importance now....”

She paused and studied the girl’s exquisite features.

“You once said in jest,” Pacha continued, “that a priest foretold that you would one day wear the robes of an Empress of the realm.”

Yma laughed her relief.

“An old fool and flatterer who thought to get my last emerald.”

“His words will come true.”

“What! What--do you mean?” the girl gasped.

“That the conqueror at my suggestion will crown Toparca Inca and I have chosen you his Queen....”

“But, dear mother, I do not wish to marry Toparca--”

“He is a youth of fine character and handsome as a prince should be.”

No answer.

“And he has always loved you....”

Yma turned away.

“But I love another, dear mother--that you know.”

“And he has chosen the Spanish girl. It is the law of life, dear child. They are of the same blood. Like chooses like. So you must choose Toparca. Your brave Alonso will tell you this.”

“I must ask him ...” the low voice murmured.

“And if he tells you to accept Toparca and the crown, you will do his bidding?”

“I will obey him.”

“Go at once and ask his advice.”

The Sun Virgin found Molina with Teresa planning their return to Panama. The cavalier was quick to note her grave demeanor.

“What is it?” he asked in alarm.

“Your commander will crown Toparca Emperor and I am asked to be his Queen.”

Teresa seized the girl’s hand.

“And you, our Yma, will wear the crown of an Empress! We are glad. We salute you!”

She kissed the Sun Virgin impulsively and turned to Molina.

“Isn’t it”--she broke off as she saw Molina’s face. He stood, watching Yma, his eyes fixed on the girl.

Two years! Two years in a land fantastic as a myth, with beauty for his bride--beauty he had never touched. A sharp pang pierced him as he stood watching this beauty. His regret was soothed, he knew, by Teresa. But hers? That, he refused to answer, but he knew. He saw the long trail of years winding, but clear cut as a road between the Andes, and she must follow it. And he wondered. She had not possessed him and yet....

He shook off his revery.

“Wonderful!” he breathed, watching Yma intently.

Teresa looked away. She knew.

“But I will not marry Toparca,” Yma faltered, “unless you command me, dear one.”

“It is best, my dear.”

The Sun Virgin gently took Teresa’s hand and looked into her face through tears.

“You--you--will not take me with you and let me be second in his love?”

Teresa took her in her arms, held her close, and smiled at Molina over the drooping shoulders.

“It can not be, dear Yma.”

The girl lifted her head in a last appeal.

“And I may not go as his slave, that I may serve you both--only to be near--to see him and hear his voice?”

Molina touched her hand.

“You must stay and rule, an Empress among your own people.”

“It is your command, dear god-man?”

“It is my command,” the cavalier slowly replied.

“Then I must obey.”

She turned without further word or look, but he caught her shoulders, took her in his arms and kissed her, a long, last kiss. She walked back to the Dowager.

Her voice was low and dull.

“He has spoken. I am ready.”

On the day appointed for his army of five hundred soldiers to begin their march on Cuzco, the Spaniards crowned Toparca--the fourteenth Inca--with all the pomp and ceremony of the Kingdom of the Four Corners of the World. And Yma the Sun Virgin ascended the throne, Empress of the realm. The royal litters were made ready for the new rulers and their household to accompany Pizarro on his march to the South. A royal proclamation was issued by Toparca commanding the obedience and loyalty of the people.

The little Spanish army of 500 men made a brave show drawn up in a line with waving banners, shining armor and uplifted spears.

Pizarro made a last attempt to regain the confidence of his ablest captain.

“Come, come, Hernando de Soto,” he pleaded. “I ask you to lead the van in our advance in Cuzco. We will yet find countless millions of gold.”

“And I have seen enough here,” was the slow reply, “to learn that gold unearned can only curse its holders.”

Pizarro frowned and lifted himself in his saddle.

“And I lead my men to wealth beyond the dreams of avarice!”

He lifted his hand in sharp command to his little army. The trumpet called, the cavalry moved and the historic gala procession marched southward.

De Soto, joined by Molina and Teresa, turned his horse towards the coast. And Yma, standing beside Toparca, waved a tender farewell.

Molina’s horse reared, and he saluted her with drawn sword, wheeled, and rode toward the sun that hovered over the peaks.