The Crimson Conquest 11

The Crimson Conquest 11

"He will hardly make trouble for José," replied Cristoval. "José is

indispensable to the army."

 

"A heretic is indispensable to the Inquisition! For the present José is

safe; but wait!" Pedro hitched his chair a little nearer, and bent

forward. "I tell thee, Cristoval, Fray Mauricio intendeth trouble.

Thou knowest José is sometimes called ’_El Morisco_’ by the soldiers.

_Bien_! And a Morisco I believe him to be. Hast ever thought of it?"

 

Cristoval laid down his knife and regarded the cook seriously. "By the

saints, Pedro!" he said at length, "I believe thou ’rt right. I had

given it no thought, but now I reflect, he hath the look, for a

certainty."

 

"Ah!" said Pedro, leaning back. "He hath the look! He hath the manner;

and for one not a clerical he is a learned man—too learned for a good

Christian, Cristoval. He saith,"—here Pedro laid his hand upon, the

table with great impressiveness—"he saith, and sweareth by it, that the

earth revolveth on an axis, like an orange twirled on a skewer!"

 

"Holy San Miguel!" exclaimed Cristoval.

 

Pedro nodded with solemnity. "And what is more—not to say worse," he

continued, "he holdeth that the earth circleth about the sun!"

 

"Gods!" said Cristoval, with redoubled incredulity.

 

Pedro nodded again, then shook his head. "This," said he, "is a pagan

teaching, and José were better without it. ’T was held by Pythagoras,

by Philolaus, by Hicetas, and later by Cicero. Saith Cicero of Hicetas,

’_Hicetas Syracusius, ut ait Theophrastus, coelum, solem, lunam,

stellas,_’—"

 

Cristoval brought his fist down upon the table with a crash: "Ten

thousand demons and goblins, man! Be done! Hath the day not been

trying enough without thy jabbering? Contain thy Latin, or I’ll forget

thy goodness!" He glowered at the cook, who smiled blandly.

 

"It is of no importance, _amigo_," said he. "Let it pass. I was but

going to say that José hath pagan beliefs. But what is more serious,

Cristoval, Fray Mauricio seemeth to have suspicion of them, and some

knowledge of the armorer’s past. Once he questioned me. I evaded a

direct reply."

 

"Thou didst, Pedro! How?"

 

"Why, I asked him if he had ever tried swallowing toasted rags for his

liver."

 

"Ho!" blurted Cristoval, and Pedro grew red from a fit of wheezy

laughter until his chair creaked accompaniment.

 

"Didst ever take a setting hen from her nest and hold her under a pump,

Cristoval, then release her?"

 

"Name of a saint! Of course I never did, thou unaccountable cook! Why

should I?"

 

"Only to observe her state of mind—her indignation. Make trial of it

some day, and thou’lt have Mauricio when he gave over questioning.

Unctuous knave! Stew me! He should have no word from me against José,

were I put to the rack for it!"

 

Pedro resumed his supper, and Cristoval studied him for a time with

interest. At last he said abruptly: "Pedro, thou ’rt an uncommon man—a

most singular and unexampled cook, by the faith! How comest thou by thy

learning—thy Latin and curious lore? And having these, how comest thou

a cook? What the fiend doth a cook with Pythagoras, and Cicero, and

Cæsar?"

 

Pedro flushed, and leaned back, regarding the cavalier soberly. "Why,

Cristoval," he said slowly, "’t is a long story—and one I do not tell."

 

"Oh, thy pardon, Pedro! I thought not to pry, believe me! Prithee,

forget that I asked!"

 

"Nay!" said Pedro, reflectively. "It is natural, and I begrudge thee

not an answer." He turned to his boy, who was sitting near: "Pedrillo,

seek the sergeant of the guard, and ask him to explain to thee the

theory of fortifications. Thou mayest some day find it useful."

Pedrillo’s chin dropped, and he retired slowly. Pedro continued: "It is

a long story, Cristoval, but I will make it brief.—I was not always a

cook, as I have said to thee before. I—I have a name. It is not Pedro.

I am Luis de Cardeñas—of a family as ancient as thine, Peralta. _Bien_!

I am a younger son, and, if thou wilt, an _indigno_—a worthless one. I

was intended for the priesthood, and partly prepared for it. It was a

mistake. I studied by day to the satisfaction of my instructors, but

one night they found my bed arranged with the pillows lengthwise in a

simulacrum of my form. I was elsewhere. Thus they found it the next

night, and many following. I had learned to scale a wall, to sing a

serenade, and mount to a balcony in a most unclerical way, Cristoval.

My superiors held council. I was disciplined. Grew weary of

bread-and-water, and escaped. Followed a regiment, and became a

soldier. Was disowned by my family. Lost a leg at Pavia. Could

soldier no longer, and so turned _cantinero_—sutler. Came across the

sea, first to Cuba, then heard of Peru, and here I am—no priest, no

soldier, and only five-sevenths of a cook. ’T is all. I am Pedro, _el

cocinero_—Pedro, the cook. Know me thus, _amigo_ and not otherwise."

Pedro sighed almost inaudibly, and toyed with his knife. Cristoval

extended his hand.

 

"I thank thee for thy confidence," he said gravely. "Thy name shall not

pass me, but I am glad to know it. Thou hast been a friend, and if

thou’lt believe me, hast made one."

 

Pedro accepted the hand without a word. Cristoval poured the _chicha_,

they touched their cups and drank. After that, little was said, and, the

supper finished, Pedro arose. "Now," said he, "I must go. I have been

made lord chamberlain to the Inca until he shall be better provided, and

must be up betimes. _Adiós_, Cristoval."

 

"Wait!" said Cristoval. "I will escort thee, my Lord Chamberlain. I’ve

need to go to my quarters."

 

"It will be a knightly courtesy," answered Pedro, "for I have no gizzard

in me for crossing that square unattended. Not that I am afraid, look

thou, Cristoval; but that boy is as whole-souled a coward as ever looked

behind in the dark, and he maketh me nervous with his gasps and snorts.

I have no superstition, but they do say that the souls of infidels

wander in eternal restlessness."

 

"The souls of all men dead by violence wander until masses be said in

their behalf," replied Cristoval, "and hence the souls of infidels must

wander eternally. But have no uneasiness, amigo. Ghosts fear a sword

as a live Italian the evil eye, and dread the sign of the cross even

more. Come!"

 

They set out with Pedrillo carrying a lantern, and took a street leading

toward the plaza. Just before they reached it Cristoval halted at a

small door and pushed it open. "Come this way, Pedro," he said, "and we

can avoid the barricade of dead at the end of the street."

 

"Heaven be praised!" responded Pedro. "On my way to the guard-house I

thought never to pass it with my heart in my body. ’T is not as if

these people were slain in battle, Cristoval. I fear not a

battlefield."

 

"This is thrice more grewsome," assented Cristoval. "But come! Enter!"

 

"Thou first, prithee, my friend! ’T is villanously dark—and thou hast

two good legs for running!"

 

"_Bien_! Then follow!" and Cristoval entered the building. The door

opened into a passage leading to the patio. They traversed the latter,

and crossing an apartment, found themselves at the doors opening upon

the plaza. Cristoval swung one of them open. Pedro took a step forward,

then recoiled with a suddenness that sent a quick chill down the back of

the redoubtable Cristoval, who was not without dread of the

supernatural.

 

"_Nombre de Dios_! What is that?" gasped the cook, peering out into the

darkness and clutching his companion’s arm.

 

"What is what? Where?" demanded Cristoval.

 

"There—in the plaza!" whispered Pedro, making signs of the cross by the

score.

 

The place was faintly illumined by the starlight. On the farther side

the buildings rose dim and silent. Between, the area was ridged and

strewn with formless heaps, from which rose the moans and low wails of

anguish of the few unfortunates to whom merciful death had not come. For

a moment Cristoval failed to perceive a cause for Pedro’s sudden fear.

But while he looked a vague form rose from among the shadows, moved

forward a few skulking paces, stooped, and was occupied with something

on the ground. Farther away, Cristoval saw another, then a third and a

fourth, slinking and bending over the fallen Peruvians, and their

occupation came to him in a flash. They were robbers of the dead—foul

carrion-birds whose greed even the satiety and weariness of the day’s

slaughter could not restrain. With an exclamation of disgust and rage

Cristoval went quickly forward, unnoticed by the ghoul, who, knife in

hand, was tearing at the precious decorations of the victims. As

Cristoval approached, he heard a groan, then a faint, pleading voice,

and saw the knife raised to silence it. He was upon the murderous

soldier at a bound, and his hand closed upon the uplifted arm. The

startled soldier turned with an oath, seized the knife in his free hand,

and struck savagely at his captor, the blow ringing harmless upon the

latter’s corselet. Before he could strike again Cristoval’s mailed fist