THE CRIMSON CONQUEST (continued 6)

Before the Amarucancha the escort halted, and passing a double line of kneeling nobles, the Ñusta was borne beneath the sculptured serpents. The first court was crowded, but she had barely time for a glance before her hands were seized by the Auqui Paullo, her younger brother, who had sprung to the side of the hamaca. Rava embraced him fondly and was about to alight when she saw a familiar, swarthy countenance near the door of the audience chamber. The owner was looking intently, and as he caught her eyes, doffed his sombrero and started forward. Her heart seemed to cease beating. Paullo was startled by her suddenly heightened pallor.

"Great Inti!" he cried, in alarm. "What is it, Rava? Art ill?"

She grasped his arm convulsively. "Quick, oh, quick!" she gasped. "Order my bearers forward—to my apartments!" and she sank, almost fainting, into the shadow of the curtains. Mendoza halted with a shrug as the hamaca was raised, replaced his sombrero, and turned back. "By the demon!" he muttered, with an unpleasant smile, "our haughty Señorita Ñusta seemeth to disdain old acquaintance. No importa! No importa! There are other days to follow."

As he entered the hall he cast a glance over his shoulder at the hamaca just disappearing into another court, and clicked his tongue in his cheek.

CHAPTER XXVI

The Inca Manco

Ignoring the salutes of the two sentinels of the royal guard, Mendoza lounged into the audience room and stood leaning against the wall near the door. It was a spacious apartment, resplendent with the usual profusion and wealth of mural decoration thus far left undisturbed by Pizarro's rapacious followers. At the farther end of the hall an assemblage of natives stood at some distance from the throne, on which was seated the young Inca Manco. Behind him stood a group of nobles, and at his side, on a lower seat, was Almagro, commandant of the city in the absence of Pizarro, then on an expedition to the coast. On the left of the throne, in the front line of nobles, were Juan and Gonzalo Pizarro, recently superseded in command by Almagro, and now alcaldes of Cuzco. These three officials, with eight Spanish regidores, constituted the municipal government established by Pizarro. To the Inca had been left the insignia of sovereignty, and little more. He had the privilege of his councils and the conduct of his realm so far as these did not conflict with Spanish interests; but, as now, the Conquistadors were at his elbow in humiliating censorship.

The Inca Manco was a youth of twenty years, though his serious and resolute expression made him look more mature. He resembled his half-brother Atahualpa, but his countenance, of a finer type, was lacking in the other's fierceness, and in its delicate modelling was more like that of the Ñusta Rava. As he sat listening to the curaca of a distant town who had brought a case for adjudication, he wore an air of thoughtful gloom. The lines of care about his mouth and eyes vanished when he spoke, announcing his judgment in brisk, quiet tones, full of decision and confidence. The decree was favorable to the speaker, and as the latter uttered his gratitude the Inca spoke again briefly and in lowered voice, his face alight with a trace of pleasure. The curaca retired, and the next, an aged man, advanced with hesitation, and having knelt with head bowed to the floor, seemed unable to finish his obeisance, but remained prostrate. The Inca said kindly, the customary address strangely inconsistent with their disparity of age, "Rise, my son, rise! We are waiting."

The old man rose painfully, and in a voice unsteady with age and emotion, told of outrage that brought hot blood to his sovereign's cheek. The night before—he had been waiting all day to make his complaint—his house had been broken into by a Viracocha soldier, and his granddaughter carried away. His voice rose as he finished, and he tottered forward to the dais, extending his trembling old hands in appeal.

"In the name of the God who shineth in mercy upon us both, Sapa Inca, I pray to you for vengeance! She is but a child—a mere child—and the light of mine old life. Grant that your just wrath shall fall upon the head accursed of the son of that wholly accursed race."

The Inca had started partly to his feet, his dark eyes ablaze. He sat again. "Where is the girl?" he demanded, hoarsely.

"Cowering in the darkest corner of the darkest chamber of her home, Sapa Inca—half mad—a blighted bud—a blemished pearl!" He turned abruptly upon Almagro, who, unacquainted with the Quichua, had given him little heed, lolling wearily in his chair.

"O, thou Viracocha, offspring of Supay!" cried the old Indio, shaking his clenched hands toward the Spaniard, "dost yawn at my sorrow, monster? Hast the heart of a wolf—thou who wearest the aspect of a man? May the great Inti strike thee with thrice my grief, thrice mine infirmities!"

Almagro, listening with some surprise to the violent apostrophe, looked toward the younger Pizarro: "What saith he, Juan?"

"By God, he hath told a tale of bitter wrong, Diego!" responded the other, vehemently. "One of our men hath stolen his girl. It calleth for the garrote, or I'm an Ethiopian!"

Almagro sat up and glanced quickly at the Inca, who raised his hand to silence the complainant, and was now regarding the commandant with stern eyes and burning cheeks.

"Viracocha Almagro," said Manco, "before thy general went from Cuzco he engaged that neither house nor person of my subjects should suffer violation. Thy soldier hath committed a crime which is punished in Tavantinsuyu with death. I look to thee for vindication."

"Why, blood and wounds!" exclaimed the cavalier, when Manco's words had been translated. "Tell him, Juan, that we will indemnify with—Fiends! but these people set no store by money. Say, then, that we will punish with any just severity—short of death. That is out of reason."

The Inca's eyes were fixed steadily upon Almagro while the answer was being made known to him. "Viracocha," he said coldly, "this outrage is not the first of its kind. Now, I demand the penalty of death."

Almagro's scarred face flushed as his single eye met the Inca's frown, and he replied bluntly: "I refuse! Tell him I refuse, Juan. We'll make what reparation lieth within our power, but curse me if we'll waste a soldier at any man's behest!" and Almagro glanced defiantly from the Inca to the stern faces of his nobles.

Manco rose abruptly, dismissed his court with a few quick words, and left the dais. As he passed the old man he spoke to him in an undertone, and touching his white head lightly as he sank upon his knees, moved toward the door, followed by his suite.

Almagro sprang to his feet. "How now, my puppet king! Dost turn us an angry back? For the price of a breath of air I'd trim the fringe from thy toy of a diadem!"

"Not so loud, Diego!" remonstrated Juan Pizarro. "He hath good offence. I tell thee, we are not wise to make light of this soldier's trespass, amigo. One such outrage unpunished will breed a thousand, and before we are aware the country will be about our ears. 'T is a cut at their tenderest sensibility. I say, hang the knave and keep the peace."

"Kill a good fighting man for the sake of a twig of a heathen girl! Thou 'rt mad, Juan. I had as lief sacrifice a horse. We'll iron him for forty days, and the matter will be forgotten. Come! Set the business afoot. Have a public trial and advertise thy zeal, then keep the affair hanging until interest is worn out. Parade justice for a week, and these varlets will forget their grievance. Vamos!" They left the empty hall, and indifferent to the dark looks of the throng in front of the palace, sought their quarters in the old palace of the Inca Tupac Yupanqui.

With the few nobles so privileged, Manco went to his apartments. Controlling his agitation, he faced his counsellors. For a moment he studied each, reading under their impassiveness the fire smouldering in his own breast. In the group was Villaoma, the Villac Vmu, or high priest of the empire, most sagacious of his advisers, as he had been before to Huayna Capac and to the ill-fated Huascar. The old priest met his look with one of keen scrutiny. Manco had been his favorite, and from boyhood had been watched with an interest as deep and hopeful as if of his own flesh and blood. Manco's admission to the military order came when Cuzco was prostrate before the conqueror Atahualpa, her armies scattered, and the Inca Huascar a prisoner in the fortress at Xauxa. When Pizarro, after the death of Atahualpa, marched upon the capital with the new Inca, Toparca, Manco reassembled the forces of Cuzco and prepared for resistance. Following the counsel of the Villac Vmu, Prince Manco had suspended hostilities after Toparca's death and laid before Pizarro his own claim to the imperial llautu, temporarily humiliating himself to forestall such other pretender as this king-maker might advance. If he had underestimated the cost of this surrender of dignity to policy, the Villac Vmu did not share his mistake; and when the monarch presently realized the penalty for his pawned manhood, the stings of injured pride, the chafing under arrogance, and the wounds of slighted majesty, it was with difficulty that the priest restrained a premature outbreak. Now he saw the fire long kept in check burning near the surface. He held his peace, however, and Manco said merely:—

"I would have thee come hither to-night, Villac Vmu, after the third watch—and you, my generals, Quehuar, Mayta, and Mocho. And come prepared to counsel no longer caution, delay, but—action!" The effect of the last word was electrical—but as a flash of heat lightning, and as silent. It brightened their dark faces and fierce eyes for an instant, and was gone. But he knew them well, this young warrior-emperor; expected no reply, nor wished it. Presently he was alone.

The lamps were being lighted before Manco was in a mood to greet the Ñusta Rava. He sent a page to advise her of his coming, requesting that she be alone. After the youth had gone, he stood at his table with eyes bent moodily upon the floor; then with quick impulse lifted the llautu from his head, laid it aside, and quitted the apartment.

The evening was quiet and warm, but at that hour the several courts were almost deserted, and he walked slowly, encountering few but the frequent sentinels posted since the coming of the Spaniards. Through intermediate patios, he gained the establishment devoted to the suite of Rava and her younger sisters, the Ñustas Ocllo and Alcaya, halting near a door through which came the notes of a tinya and of some fair one singing. The song was a sad one, and he walked on, thinking of the days when these gloomy courts were enlivened with music and laughter from hearts untouched by care. Would those days come again to the brooding old Amarucancha?—to stricken Cuzco? The question was like the thrust of a dagger, self-administered. Was not this air of sadness, this pervading gloom, directly due to his own supineness? Was not its source in his weak, nay, criminal, submission to the Viracochas. Ah, why was he lingering, inactive, under the goading of every crying hour? Why did he rest an instant while there remained an enemy in Cuzco, or in all Tavantinsuyu?

He came to Rava's door, and passed it; returned and passed it again and again, the sweat starting under the flagellation of his conscience. How could he face the noble girl within? What would she say of the Cuzco she had left so fair: now so shorn of its glories? Would she not reproach him, and justly? And could she do otherwise than attribute to his neglect the suffering and dangers from which she had just escaped? He must explain—without another second of delay, he must explain!

He recrossed the court impetuously, and pushing open the door without ceremony, entered the room. Rava arose, startled, and hurried forward with a cry of joy, alarmed again when she saw his pallor and the drawn lines of his countenance. But there was no reproach in her tone or bearing, only affection and gladness, and he embraced her with nervous fervor.

Rava's arms were about his neck. "Oh, my brother! Oh, my brother! Do I really see thee again? Manco! Manco! How many, many times in these long months have I feared—but fears are gone. How thou hast changed, my dear! Thou 'rt troubled! Ah, me—" she stopped, regarding him with surprised concern. "Where is thy llautu, Manco? Why dost not wear it?"

He reddened painfully as he kissed her forehead again. "I—I have laid it aside to-night," he said quickly, seating himself beside her. "To-night, I am Manco—not the Inca, my dearest."

"But I would have seen thee wearing it. It should never be laid aside, save in privacy, brother dear; and thou wouldst still have been Manco to Rava, thou knowest well. That is not the reason."

He looked at her with troubled eyes.

"Why didst thou leave it?" she persisted, studying his face.

"I have told thee, Rava. I have put it by that I might be to thee only Manco, as of old."

The lightness of his words was forced, and Rava saw it. "Nay, it is not that," she said, gently. "Tell me why."

His eyes left hers, and she laid a hand upon his arm. "Tell me why, Manco." He rose, but she detained him; and a glance at her anxious face forced a confession. He hesitated, then said with an effort: "I will tell thee why, Rava. It is because—oh, may the souls of the departed Incas look mercifully upon me!—it is because—it is stained, my sister: debased and dishonored! It came to me not from the hands of a priest of the Sun, but placed upon my head by the foul hand of a Viracocha. O, thou great Inti, why was I suffered to live to bring this shame upon my line? I wear the llautu, and look thou, Rava, the shadow of a Viracocha resteth ever upon my throne. When I speak to my people a Viracocha speaketh, and my voice is drowned. My laws have ceased to be. The very dogs of the streets look dumb question of mine authority." His words failed, but he resumed, his voice strained with agony: "But worse—worse hath befallen Tavantinsuyu. They have violated the Temple of the Sun, stripped it of its splendor, and polluted its halls. They have cast down the silent forms of our fathers, ravished of their sacred insignia. The golden effigy of the Sun hath been torn from the wall, crushed into ruin by Viracocha feet, and carried away to be gambled for. The gardens have been despoiled, and not one hand's-breadth of their hallowed soil hath been left unturned by these destroyers in their ravening for gold. The Inti-pampa is a desolation. Ah, Rava, Rava, ask me not why I lay aside the llautu! Ask me, rather, how I dare to wear it! Ask why the Sun doth rise and set upon my profanation!"

He covered his face with his hands. Rava sat very still. She was prepared for his tale of ravage, and was less shocked by his words than by the intensity of his agitation. A strong man's anguish is always terrible to a woman or a child, and the stoicism of the Peruvian made this outburst the more harrowing. She stepped to his side and put her arms about his neck. The unspoken sympathy gave him strength, and he controlled himself and went on more calmly.

"Ah, my dearest sister, the sacredness of Cuzco is no more! Its palaces have been despoiled. The beasts of the Viracochas defile the halls of the Yupanquis. These very decorations on the walls that shelter thee are here only on sufferance." He paused long enough to steady his voice, pressing her hand to stay her from speaking. "A moment more, my dear, and I have done. I have told thee only of Cuzco. The cloud that darkeneth her sunshine hath spread to the four quarters of the empire. Quito hath fallen. Daily, as came the reports of the great pestilence, come now tales of new invasion. The great sea, vacant since the world began, disgorgeth fresh swarms with every tide, as some rotten pool its burden of vermin. The gaunt leader, Pizarro, is rearing cities, driving our children into slavery to hew his stone and build his walls. The fairest vales of Tavantinsuyu are being seized by strangers, their people banished from their homes, or lashed into servitude. Yet I am called the Inca! Oh, Rava, turn away thy face till Manco hath been worthy of his trust!"

He sank into a chair, his head bowed. Rava touched him. "Manco, do I behold my brother in despair?"

He looked up, his face reddening. "No, no! Not that, my sister, not that! I have spoken of the past and the present. The curse hath fallen whilst I have been held by chains of circumstance—the great Inti knoweth how much against my will. Now, it is ended!" He rose and regarded her with steady eyes, his voice calm, but intense. "It is ended, Rava! To-night I meet the Villac Vmu and my generals. To-morrow at dawn, whilst chasquis are speeding the four roads from Cuzco, the priest will sacrifice to the Sun—not in his desecrated temple, but under his blue vault secretly in the mountains—invoking at last his dread ministers, the Thunder and Lightning. But, Rava," he exclaimed, seizing her hands, "think not that in the weakness thou hast seen to-night there was the plaint of a coward! My heart was full. My lips have been sealed in all these months of shame with links of bronze. No mortal but thee hath heard a sigh or a faltered word; but thy dear eyes have drawn from me what torture could not compel. Not even Amancay, sweetest of consorts, hath heard a whisper of the sorrow which hath made mine every night a harrowed year. But now, it is done!"

He fell into gloomy reverie, while Rava, pale and quite silent, sat pressing his hand and looking far away, or anxiously at his sombre eyes. He was oblivious of her presence, until he roused with a faint smile.

"But now, dear girl, what of thyself? I have not even told thee my joy in having thee again. Forgive me."

Rava placed her fingers on his lips. "No need, Manco, either for thee to tell me, or for me to say that I forgive. But mine is a long story. Be content to-night to know that I am safe."

"No; but let me hear it, Rava. It is of concern to me, as thou knowest. How didst come to be at Xauxa?"

"Ah, that is near the end of the story, brother."

"Then tell me from the beginning. I had thought thee in Toparca's suite until I met—Pizarro at Xaquixaguana. He told me, Rava, thou hadst fled from Caxamalca with a traitor Viracocha who had broken prison." Manco's voice was grave.

Rava's eyes flashed as they met his. "Pizarro called him so, Manco?" she demanded; then after a pause, "Ah, yes—a traitor! But what wouldst say of a traitor to these men of evil?"

Manco studied her face before he replied slowly, "Much worse even than they—or much better."

"Then much better!" she said, with quiet emphasis. "His treason lay in this, my brother—that he fiercely resented Pizarro's perfidy to our kinsman, Atahualpa, whom he befriended in his darkest hours. And in this—that he saved me from worse than death when I was at the mercy of those vultures; that he fought for me, starved for me, kept hope alive when my heart was broken, and shielded me from a thousand perils, until he led me to safety. And all this, Manco, for the sake of a vow to Atahualpa, whom he promised to deliver me from mine enemies. A traitor! Oh, my brother, if thy nobles have virtues like his treason, thou 'rt a fortunate monarch!"

While she was speaking, and afterward, Manco searched her deep eyes until, conscious of his scrutiny, they fell. Her hand was trembling, and his face darkened with displeasure. "Rava," he demanded, "where is this Viracocha?"

She looked up, and the sorrow and desolation which had swept quickly over her gentle face brought generous remorse for his instant of sternness. Her lips trembled piteously. "Oh, Manco, Manco," she faltered, "he fell for me at last. He is no more!"

With head bowed and form shaken by grief, her hands sought his neck; and whatever he would have said a moment before in reproof of her feeling for one of the hated race, it was forgotten in pity as he drew her into his arms. With affectionate sympathy he endeavored to moderate her anguish, but words were vain, and he could only hold her tight-clasped until its force was spent. Then he half carried her, benumbed and yielding, to her couch and called her maids, lingering helpless beside her while they ministered.

Rava had grown more tranquil, and he was about to depart. She lay quiet, her eyes closed, their lashes yet moist, and he bent over to kiss the pallid cheek. As he did so she sighed deeply, and a small object slipped from her bosom and lay sparkling at the end of its slender chain. Its silvery gleam caught his eye. He started, looked more closely, and recoiled as if he had seen a serpent in the folds of her robe. He caught breath sharply, and an ashy paleness spread over his bronzed face. By a blessing of Heaven the girl did not open her eyes upon the mingled abhorrence, unbelief, and anger, with which he beheld the tiny image of the crucified Saviour—the emblem of all on the broad earth that he hated most savagely. He gazed for a fascinated instant, stood erect, glanced at the sad face once more, and left the room with features as rigid as if cast in the metal whose color they wore. The startled maids looked after him as he went, but none saw him stagger as he crossed the court with his hands pressed to his forehead. The Moon, goddess consort of the Sun, was rising over the dark roofs of the palace. He wavered out from the shadow into her rays and cowered beneath them, shuddering as if he felt her silent denunciation of his sister's apostasy. Gaining his apartments, he passed his attendants without a word, leaving them awed by a face they had hardly recognized.

When his generals met him, near midnight, his eyes were fevered, his voice hoarse and dry, and his words, fraught with war, were uttered with an abrupt tensity that fired their warlike hearts. The council was long. At its close the chasquis who were to bear his messages to the distant provinces, calling them to arms, were summoned to have the words from his own lips. They left it with nerves strung by their portentous import and the fierce, suppressed energy with which they were given.

Before the sun rose above Cuzco the fiat had gone forth that would convulse the empire.

Within the month every province, town, and hamlet within the realm was in secret preparation. Armorers doubled their industry. The great system of posts sprang to its highest activity, the tireless chasquis speeding day and night over every road and mountain trail, hurrying commands from the capital, bearing back reports of governors and curacas, in ceaseless radiation and convergence. Magazines and armories were replenished of their stores, and trains of carriers toiled over every highway, concentrating provisions and material of war upon the strongholds in the mountains surrounding Cuzco. All the machinery of the most elaborately perfect organization the world has ever seen was in motion, but as silently as clouds gather before a tempest. The couriers stole in and out of the city under cover of darkness. Few of them went to the Amarucancha, but were received and despatched by the Villac Vmu at his own palace, their tidings and quipus carried by him to the Inca. The impending cataclysm gave no faintest warning, and the Spaniards idled, caroused, and brawled, unconscious of its approach.

The Ñusta Rava, quite unaware, fortunately, of the agitation with which Manco had quitted her, worn out by stress of mind and the weariness of her journey, at length found forgetfulness in sleep. The next day and evening were spent with her sisters and the Auqui Paullo, but Manco did not return, though he sent a page with inquiries for her health. The day following, and the next, her hope to see him was disappointed. At length he came.

The first glance from his gloomy eyes chilled the warmth from her words as she started to meet him, and she stopped, her smile of welcome fading into startled inquiry. The Inca dismissed the maids, and motioned her to her seat, neither avoiding nor heeding her hand as she laid it hesitatingly upon his arm, nor replying to the question in her face.

The interview was not long nor violent, but when he left and sent in her maids, they found her unconscious. The last of many woes had snapped the frail thread of courage that had sustained her. Manco had questioned her about the crucifix, had requested that she abjure the abhorred religion, had been refused as firmly as gently. His respect for her had prohibited command or reproach, but the coldness of his farewell and its finality had been a stab more cruel than the most passionate denunciation.

The next day Rava did not rise, nor the next, nor for many days thereafter. The amautas came—wise men—three of them. They noted her fever, listened a moment to her delirium, consulted, and administered the simple remedies known to the Peruvian pharmacopoeia. These were few and mostly harmless, so nature fought for her with few hindrances from drugs, and with all the assistance that nursing could give. But it was a long and dreary struggle before the unseeing eyes at last looked sadly but clearly at her attendants, and her whispered words grew intelligible. Almost the first were "Father Valverde," and the maids looked in wonder. But she repeated the name until the priest was sent for and came.

Father Valverde, now Bishop of Cuzco, was an elderly man, well preserved and well fed, with a rugged, determined face, a great slit of a mouth with good lines about it; keen eyes which could look stern beneath their shaggy brows when occasion demanded, or amiably and humorously upon opportunity, and with an ability to storm at lawless soldiery in terms suited to their understanding and their needs with a vigor that would have been creditable to Chrysostom. He was a rabid hater of the devil. Next to the devil he hated an unbeliever. A missionary of fanatical type, he could burn a heathen at the stake for the good of his unassoilzied soul with easy conscience and some satisfaction. But he could, withal, rejoice sincerely over a soul rescued from damnation, and did rejoice over a letter from Father Tendilla regarding the Ñusta Rava. The missive, after the usual salutation and some preliminary words, ran as follows:—

"I will leave her long story to a fitter time, and say merely that I found her already a Christian, having been brought to the Faith by the Caballero Cristoval de Peralta, whom thou knowest well. And not only a Christian in belief, but what is more admirable, in fibre, inclination, and bent of mind; being, in truth, a most gentle, saintly girl. I had the ineffable satisfaction of baptizing and receiving her into Holy Communion. Thereafter, she worked with me earnestly in the conversion of her people here, and departed with the hope of pursuing the same good work in Cuzco. I pray, therefore, that thou attend upon her. She hath many sorrows. One is the death of this Cristoval.

"Now, I have thought of this concerning the Ñusta Rava, and having broached it gently, found it received not with disfavor and even gratefully, to wit: that as thou dost plan to found, as soon as may be, a convent at Cuzco, she might be led to embrace a holy life. Her preparation, begun here, could be completed at Panama, or even at Seville, where she would doubtless enjoy the interest and favor to which her rank entitleth her."

There followed items of personal concern, and the letter closed. The interest aroused in the mind of Father Valverde was immediate and effective, and once admitted to the palace, he devoted himself to the work so well begun by Cristoval and Tendilla. Like his brother missionaries, he possessed a knowledge of medicine, and was able to hasten Rava's convalescence. It need not be said that he found her all that Tendilla had described, and the desolate girl received his fatherly ministrations with a grateful heart.

CHAPTER XXVII

The Incarial Diadem on a Spanish Saddle-bow

Tavantinsuyu was rousing; was at last aroused. Dark masses of warriors, marching with grim purpose, without song, or drum, or horn, filled the defiles and roads leading toward the City of the Sun. Day after day, week after week, from the most distant quarters of the empire, the converging columns moved upon the capital, swelling as each village or province added its contingent. So rapid and secret was the concentration that before a whisper of their danger had reached the ears of the conquistadors, the fortified valley of Ollantaytambo, a few leagues from Cuzco, had become a vast encampment, and waited only the signal from the Inca to pour forth its avenging legions.

Proud, gloomy, and taciturn; enduring the contemptuous indifference, the unconcealed scorn, and the open insult of the Spanish officers with the patient fortitude of a heart of iron, Manco bided the hour. During the long weeks of preparation, while his forces were gathering, he never left the palace. From dawn to darkness, and often from darkness to dawn again, he sat in his chamber, poring over quipos, or feverishly pacing his floor while he listened to the reports of officers or issued his commands. Daily intelligence borne by the chasquis kept him in touch with the advancing columns, and on a map roughly sketched with charcoal on a sheet of cotton lying on his table he marked their approach. His generals came and went unheeded by the quarrelling Spaniards, and the ominous councils held nightly within the palace were unsuspected.

The day was near at hand. Manco was in midnight council with his officers and the Auqui Paullo. The final disposition of his troops was being considered, but the blow was withheld until word should come from the coast that the forces near the newly founded Spanish cities, Ciudad de los Reyes and Truxillo, were ready to strike simultaneously. At Xauxa preparations for investment were complete. All passes and lines of communication between the several Spanish posts were occupied. Already the women of the royal household were being sent, in twos and threes, and with all possible secrecy, to the protection of the fortress at Ollantaytambo. Rava had not gone, but would depart with Paullo on the following night.

The group of nobles about the young Inca as he stood at the head of his table, was one which would have been distinguished in any council of warriors or statesmen. All were veterans of many wars; and all, with the exception of Yumaquilque, commander of the Amahuacas, a warlike mountain tribe to the northeast of Cuzco, were of the pure Inca blood. Two, the generals Mayta and Quehuar, were members of the royal family; the former a cousin, the latter an uncle, of Manco. Quehuar, the eldest and next of kin, stood beside the Auqui Paullo. At his side was Mayta, younger by years, and one of the handsomest of the nobility of Tavantinsuyu. He had the features and form of a Roman, every line indicative of the energy and alertness which had gained him the sobriquet of "The Puma" among his devoted soldiery. He commanded the Incarial Guard and was the head of the military school. Next was Mocho, chief of the fierce Antis. He was a short, dark, irritable genius of aggressiveness, known as the fiercest fighter in all Tavantinsuyu, and the most persistent. There were others of less distinction, but all were of tried courage and ability. Now they listened with close attention to the words of their young lord, whose force and spirit as developed in the last few months had inspired an admiration in which his youth was forgotten, and had filled them with high hope for their stricken country.

"My lords," said Manco, after the business of the council was finished, "I perceive that the current of things is bearing us to early victory. The Cañares left in the city number less than a thousand. We scarcely need count them. The Viracochas die hard, as we learned at Vilcaconga," he smiled grimly, "but they are not more than two hundred. Almagro is marching rapidly to the south, and he is now where no cry for help from Cuzco can reach. Should he seek to return he would find the passes closed. Ullulama is within five days' march, but we need not wait. The Villac Vmu will be with us to-morrow, and by the day following the household will be in safety at Ollantaytambo. Then, my lords, we strike. To thee, my Lord Mocho, it will please me to give the honor of taking the Sachsahuaman."

Mocho bowed. "I would better like an honor more dearly gained, Sapa Inca. The place is but feebly garrisoned."

The Inca smiled. "Thou'lt have opportunity, presently, for others less easily won, my lord; do not fear it. The fortress may not be so easily held as taken, for if I mistake not the Viracochas will not be slow to learn its importance. Thou wilt garrison it strongly, therefore, and see it amply supplied." He turned to the senior general. "My Lord Quehuar, thou wilt send a chasqui to Xauxa to-night——"

He was interrupted by commotion and an excited voice in the antechamber. A frown crossed his face, and he motioned to Paullo. The prince hurried out, returned in a moment with precipitation, and as he threw open the door the Inca started. Paullo's face was drawn with horror. At his elbow was a soldier in the uniform of the guard, who, as Paullo strove to speak, sank upon his knees and bent to the floor.

"Manco! Manco!" cried the young prince, in agony. "In the name of Inti!—The Virgins of the Sun!"

The Inca strode toward him, demanding sharply as he seized his arm, "What meanest thou, boy? Speak!"

"The Acllahuasi! The Viracochas are battering its doors!"

Manco rushed across the anteroom to the court without a word. Paullo jerked the soldier to his feet, and followed by the generals, hurried after. As the Inca stepped into the open air a dull roar of voices in the street outside, the sound of blows, and fierce shouts shocked his hearing; then a rending crash of a falling door, and the clamor of a rush. For an instant he was motionless, strained and listening. He turned suddenly, and the light from the open door fell upon his face, distorted by fury.

"Mayta!" he shouted. "Mayta!—where is he?—Mayta, thy battalions! Fly!—Paullo, my arms!"

As Mayta started the soldier grasped his arm. "Hold, my lord!" he said; then, rapidly to Manco: "Sapa Inca, the barracks are surrounded, and but twenty are within the quarters—the rest have gone to Ollantaytambo. I sought to enter, but was driven away."

Manco stamped with impatience and rage, "Follow me!" he cried to his generals, seizing his arms from Paullo. "We will take the guard."

Quehuar blocked his way determinedly. "Rashness, my Lord Inca! We are unarmed, and the guard may be needed at its post before the night is gone."

Manco thrust him aside, maddened by women's shrieks from the convent, but the generals crowded about him. Quehuar laid a strong hand upon his shoulder.

"Prudence, prudence, my lord!" he urged. "A moment's folly now would undo all that hath been done."

Manco shook off his grasp. "Prudence! Dost hear those cries, old man? Release me!"

"God of heaven! do I not hear them? But—hold!—wouldst have vengeance in full? Then abort it not by an act of madness! Dost forget thine army?" Manco checked himself with an effort, and Quehuar went on energetically: "The instrument for punishment is ready for thy hand. Beware thrusting that hand without it into the teeth of wild beasts! What couldst thou—what could our united strength do to-night? Thy death, or even a wound, would seal the fate of Tavantinsuyu. Bethink thee, Inca!"

Manco drew his cloak over his face with a groan. He dropped it and exclaimed hoarsely: "My lords, I go to the army to-night! The hour hath come for action. Mayta, thou wilt go with me. Do you, my friends, remain until the women are in safety. You will join me at Ollantaytambo."

"Sapa Inca——" began Quehuar; but Manco raised his hand and continued vehemently:—

"I go to-night! What wouldst have? That I sit clutching mine ears, or shuffling my feet to drown the wails of these unfortunates? Hear them! Hear them! Oh, by the gods, they drive away my reason! Come, Mayta: we go!"

He grasped the officer's arm, waved back the others, and hurried across the court. At the entrance of the next stood a sentinel, and the Inca halted, checking his salute. "Here, Mayta, thou 'rt unarmed. Take this." With his own hand he drew the soldier's sword and passed it to his companion. They hastened across another court filled with shuddering attendants, and through a third and smaller one to a narrow corridor along which they groped until halted by a door at its end. Manco hastily unbarred. It was a postern opening upon a terrace between the wall of the palace and the rivulet Huatenay. Opposite was a flight of steps leading to the bed of the stream, and they descended.

Meanwhile, within the walls of the Convent of the Virgins and in the street without, a hell-carnival was in progress too hideous to dwell upon. At the moment the Inca was passing through the outskirts of the city Juan Pizarro, mounted bareback, unarmored, and bareheaded, was charging into the tumult, followed by his brother Gonzalo and a few other cavaliers, sword in hand. Bellowing oaths, laying about with the flat of their blades, not infrequently with the edge, and leaping their horses upon the obstinate, they cut their way to the convent and rode in to rescue the unhappy inmates. Behind followed a dozen of the guard, only to throw aside their pikes and join in the fiendish revel, leaving their duty to the black-robed priests and friars who struggled through in their wake. One bore a crucifix; but the stout Valverde did better work with a bludgeon, breaking many a wicked face and ruffianly head in his career through the desecrated halls and gardens.

The night was far spent before the place was cleared, and its doors closed and guarded. Juan Pizarro was riding slowly back toward the square when a Cañare, who had lurked about the Spaniard for an hour in a vain effort to approach and be heard without a cleft skull for his pains, touched his leg and sprang back with hands upraised. Juan halted.

"Well?" he demanded brusquely, scowling at the Indio. "Hast business with me? If so, be brisk." The Cañare jabbered a stream of broken words in Quichua, not intelligible, but something, it seemed to be, about the Inca,—enough to arrest the attention of Juan Pizarro, and he demanded impatiently of his brother:—

"What saith the dog, Gonzalo? Canst make it out? Here, thou, say it over and slowly."

The Cañare repeated his words with better effect,—with immediate and startling effect, for Juan turned with a shout to his companions: "Dost hear, Gonzalo? Do ye hear, Caballeros? The Inca hath fled the city!" He kicked the ribs of his horse and galloped madly to the palace of Viracocha, across the great court and into the hall that served as a guard-room, filling it with the clamor of hoofs, and throwing its occupants into confusion. They seized their arms in a panic.

"Ho! The trumpeter!" he roared. "Out, and sound to horse! Out, and sound to horse! Presteza! Salta! To horse! To horse!" He went out like a whirlwind. Before he had reached his quarters the shrill, quick notes were rising from the square. Again, and again, and again the stirring measure, and the stable was alive with men, tossing saddles, tugging at straps, swearing, and panting in a frenzy. One after another, and by twos and threes, the mailed riders swung into saddle, seized lances from the rack, and clattered out into the plaza. The line formed rapidly, and the plunging, kicking, and head-tossing of the excited steeds had hardly subsided before it was in column and, led by Juan Pizarro, took up a trot behind the Cañare.

The gloomy walls of the violated convent were growing gray in the dawn as the cavalcade roared past down the narrow, echoing streets and through the suburbs.

It was late afternoon when the troop reëntered Cuzco. It moved at a walk, and hanging on the pommel of the commander's saddle was the llautu of the Inca Manco. In the foremost rank of the column was a trooper without his helmet, with a bloody bandage across his face below the eyes. A weapon had passed the bars of his visor. Farther back was another, shorn of a pauldron and his right arm useless. In the rear, two Cañares carried a third on an improvised litter, dead. But in the middle of the column, between double files of troopers, marched the Inca and the Lord Mayta, blood-stained, bandaged, their arms bound behind their backs. Horses, riders, and the two prisoners, were splashed with mud.

Manco walked with head erect, without a glance at the Cañares who hurried into the street as the cavalcade traversed the suburb Munaycenca. Nor did he more than glance at his grief-stricken subjects who cast themselves moaning upon the pavement. Not a line of his stern young face betrayed his emotion at entering the capital a prisoner, nor his torture of mind at the disaster thus befallen his people on the very eve of the stroke for their deliverance.

From Munaycenca the news flew ahead. Cañares gathered, too stolid for manifestation, and knots of Spaniards, whom a sign from Juan Pizarro warned into silence. But throughout the remainder of the march every door was closed, and no native of Cuzco looked out upon the fallen majesty of their Inca.

Crossing the bridge toward the Coricancha the column turned northward through the city, passing the palaces of the Yupanquis, of the Inca Rocca, the schools where Manco had won his youthful honors, and entered the road which mounted to the Sachsahuaman. The single company of pikemen constituting its garrison stood in front of the citadel, and to its commander Pizarro surrendered the prisoners. An hour later they were heavily ironed within the keep, and the troop was on its way back to Cuzco.

In the Amarucancha the hours had dragged in a long nightmare. After Manco's departure his lords remained, racked by the shocking sounds to which they listened in helplessness. The war-hardened old Quehuar paced the court. Yumaquilque stood motionless against the wall, his mantle over his face. The others hearkened in silence broken only by an occasional fierce, whispered sentence from Mocho. But from those dreadful hours they imbibed a relentless ferocity of hate for the invaders which no amount of Spanish blood could ever mitigate, and which in the days to follow would send many a conquistador unshriven to his Maker.

Upon the Auqui Paullo, young and uninured, the night's tragedy fell most cruelly; but the anguish of his sisters gathered in Rava's chamber, crouched in speechless horror, and surrounded by wailing maids, nerved him by its reminder of their dependence now upon him. By the time he had restored them to partial calmness the tumult beyond the walls had subsided.

As he stepped into the court again, he heard the call to horse; and a few minutes later, the uproar of the passing troop. The circumstance was alarming. It stirred a sudden fear that Manco's flight had been detected. Paullo sent a page to learn its significance. The youth did not return. He despatched a second, and sought Quehuar. He found the old general with the others in the council room, and had hardly entered before the second messenger returned to announce that a guard of pikemen was at the outer door, and he had not been permitted to pass. The palace was surrounded by guards, and all within were prisoners.

That night the humble native knelt at his evening prayer, shuddering at the infinite indifference of his god to the sorrows of Tavantinsuyu. As twilight came, a few muffled figures stole to the edge of the square, gazed in silence at the guarded doors and sombre walls of the Amarucancha, and slunk away. The capture of the Inca was told in whispers, stirring no cry for vengeance, no move to rescue. The calamity was as irremediable and appalling as if heaven itself had fallen. It was the wrath of Inti, not to be opposed.

A few days later, the nobles were permitted to depart: were, in the case of Quehuar and Yumaquilque, even compelled to go; for these two would have shared the captivity of Paullo and the household, whom the Pizarros retained as hostages for the quiet of the empire, whose patience under this latest blow they doubted.

CHAPTER XXVIII

Two Comrades Reunited

Never a knight rode forth with more of chivalry than dwelt beneath sturdy Pedro's breastplate when he set out in quest of Cristoval. He went with little hope of doing more than saying a few prayers at the grave of the cavalier and marking it with a cross; but for these offices he would have traversed a continent.

Cristoval lay beneath an awning at the villa of the Curaca Huallampo, well bolstered and pillowed, and bandaged to a condition of almost total rigidity. He was looking moodily over the sparkling lake when his reverie was disturbed by the approach of his host, accompanied, unmistakably accompanied, by the familiar sound of a peg. The cavalier was startled half erect, but sank back weakly as Pedro appeared with Huallampo. The cook was breathless from a climb of the hill at his utmost speed. At sight of his friend he increased his pace across the terrace, grasped the extended hand, but instead of speaking, compressed his lips as a spasm crossed his face. Roaring his words to conceal his unsteadiness of voice, he exclaimed:—

"Hola, Cristoval! Do I see thee in the flesh? Blessed Virgin, it is so! Why, man, I came to weep over thy grave! But 't is thou, in very truth!"

"God bless thee, Pedro," said Cristoval, with moistened eyes, pressing the cook's hand.

"So He hath done, old friend, in letting me see thee again. But, Santa Maria! thou 'lt wrapped, and swathed, and beragged, and swaddled, like a sore finger! Canst wiggle thy toes? Ah! 'T is a comfort. Any broken bones? No? Bueno! Just full of holes—pricked, punctured, pinked, and perforated! Hum! It might be worse. The curaca saith thou 'rt mending fast."

Cristoval nodded. "Pedro," he began anxiously, then stopped.

"Well, say on, amigo," said the cook, seating himself.

"Dost know—aught of Rava?"

"That I do! She is safe in the care of Father Tendilla."

Cristoval closed his eyes and turned away, his lips moving. Pedro eyed him curiously, and shook his head. Both were silent. "Tell me about it, Pedro," at last.

"Nay," said Pedro. "It is too long a story for the present. The curaca warneth me against much talking. Thou must be content to know that she is unharmed. Shortly I'll tell thee, and much history besides. But the Ñusta Rava is in good hands." Permitting no further conversation, he sat long, surveying the cavalier with great satisfaction while Huallampo gave him an inventory of the various hurts.

Cristoval's recovery had been much impeded by his condition of mind. Fever ensued after he had been carried from Maytalca's ruined villa, and for days he lay between life and death. His depression told seriously against him, and later, as he gained strength, his progress was further hindered by restless longing to be in search of Rava. Huallampo's admonitions availed little against his fuming, but he was somewhat reassured by knowing that a party had already gone to gain intelligence of the Ñusta. Pedro's coming with the knowledge that Rava was safe made his convalescence rapid. Still, it was weeks before he could rise, weeks more before he could stir abroad, and the summer was gone before Pedro would discuss their future plans. The party brought back word that Rava had left Xauxa for Cuzco. Cristoval was with Pedro when he received the information.

"Then she is with the Inca, and her troubles are past," he sighed. "Pedro, how long, thinkst thou, before I can mount?"

The cook looked at him sharply before replying. "That would depend," he said, presently, "upon thy purpose. Thou couldst amble about the valley to-morrow; but thou'lt not be fit to couch a lance for weeks to come, old friend, so make no plans for campaigning. What dost think of doing?"

"I must seek the Ñusta Rava," said Cristoval.

Pedro was not surprised, but said: "There will be danger for thee too near Cuzco, Cristoval, and not a man in the pack whom thou mayst trust. De Soto hath gone to the coast with the general, sick of the conquest and on his way to Spain. But when thou hast seen the Ñusta—what then?"

Cristoval looked at him earnestly. "After that—'t is a question. Help me with thy good head, Pedro. If she would flee with me to Xauxa we would go to Father Tendilla—" Cristoval paused.

"She would flee with thee to Xauxa, my head upon it!" replied Pedro, with assurance. "Or to the moon, or to the farthest star—couldst thou furnish transportation. But after Xauxa and Father Tendilla—what next?"

"Either refuge in some remote province of Tavantinsuyu, or Panama. We could harbor in some village near San Miguel until a ship came in; then get aboard in secret. Only one thought goeth against my conscience, and that is of the peril and hardship to which Rava would be again exposed. Ah, Madre! I know not, Pedro—I hesitate. This flight would be not only from Pizarro's men, but perhaps from the Inca as well. I doubt not that she could find faithful supporters in the venture—but it would be a struggle; to say naught of taking her from home, friends, and country, into another world. It is much to ask. But, what thinkst thou, old friend?"

"I think," replied Pedro, gravely, "that she could easier bear such suffering than her present sorrow. But you may not need to leave the country. The Inca may prove friendly."

"I fear his friendship would help little with Pizarro dominating."

"True!" said Pedro, shaking his head. "Thou must go to Panama—and thence to Spain, for thou'lt be safe no nearer. Now, weigh this for a plan: Thou'lt go to Cuzco. Doubtless Huallampo will furnish thee an escort. I will go with thee as far as Xauxa, wait for thy return with the Ñusta, then we will go to the coast together. I will watch at San Miguel for a ship, and will arrange thy passage with—the Señora de Peralta. I have some moderate savings, Cristoval,—enough to purchase the aid of a shipmaster. I can pay him double what he would get for thy head, and have some left to silence others. What sayst thou to't, amigo?"

Cristoval seized his hand, overcome with gratitude. "Pedro, thou'rt—"

"A cook!" interrupted Pedro, returning his grasp with sudden animation. "A cook shorn of a leg by the iniquity of Fate. A cook with but half his share of footprints. A pruned cook. A remnant. Naught more, Cristoval. But what thinkst thou of it?"

"By Saint Michael! Pedro, thou'rt—"

"A cook!" said Pedro again. "Let it go. Come! Discuss, comment, bandy a word or two about the plan. Thou 'rt staring like a choked calf."

Cristoval's face clouded. "It will not do, my good comrade," he said. "Thou must have no part in it, save with thy counsel. Thou hast already ventured too much for friendship's sake. The affair at Caxamalca might have cost thee dearly." Pedro had not told him of the thumbscrews. "And furthermore, I cannot use thy gold. I am penniless, and could never repay thee. Advise, and no more."

"Why, stew me to rags, Cristoval!" retorted Pedro, with irritation, "thou dost talk as if we were not friends."

"Nay! That is as far from my thoughts as from thine. But friendship—"

"Is friendship!" blurted the cook, and would hear no further objection. They considered it long and in detail; foresaw difficulties, and overcame them; wrought their plans into as great perfection as plans are often wrought—and in the event, as shall be seen, carried them as near to execution as human plans are often carried.

The project gave a fresh impulse to Cristoval's recovery. They disclosed their purpose to nobody, though to Huallampo and Maytalca the cavalier confided his wish to see the Ñusta Rava before leaving the country, and the curaca proffered his aid. Markumi should go, and as many other men as needed, with supplies for the journey to Cuzco.

At last Pedro admitted grudgingly that his companion was fit to take the road; and against the curaca's earnest advice they pushed their preparations.

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

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

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

CHAPTER XXIX

A March and Another Reunion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then with thy leave we will remain together."

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

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

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

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

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

"The señora, by the infernal cook of cooks!—and Father Tendilla!"

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

"Brava, Bolio! Brava, Bolio!" roared Pedro, pushing forward. "Strike for Spain! Cristo y San Miguel! Strike for Spain! Bravamente!"

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

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

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

"Oh, these heathens!" panted the señora.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Calm yourself, my dear Señora."

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

"We are prisoners, Señora."

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

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

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

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

"Those runnion pikemen from the fortress."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then I'll go back."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XXX

An Encounter on the Plain of Chita

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not strongly. Some thirty Viracochas."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hola, amigos! How far to Chinchero?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"El Inca!" ejaculated Pedro. "God bless my soul!"

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

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

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

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

"The Inca Manco oweth me nothing."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Canst feed thyself, Cristoval?"

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

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

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

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

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

Pedro nodded.

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

"Ah!" said Pedro, without looking up.

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

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

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

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

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