The Crimson Conquest 14

The Crimson Conquest 14

"I trust the Ñusta Rava will forgive me for appearing in my harness," he

said in Quichua made lame by his embarrassment, and bowing gravely; "but

I had no thought of finding any one here but my Lord Toparca. With her

gracious permission I will retire."

 

"No, no!" said Toparca. "Let me present you:—Rava, this is the

Viracocha Cristoval, who, as I have told thee, rescued me from death."

 

Cristoval made a low obeisance, but the princess recoiled from him in

undisguised horror. Toparca saw the movement and __EXPRESSION__, and said

quickly: "Rava, thou needst have no fear. I beg thou wilt know the

Viracocha Cristoval as my friend."

 

"Thy friend, Toparca?" she exclaimed, her low voice trembling. "Dost

think that I can look upon one of these as the friend of any of our

race? The blood-marks have not yet vanished from the square."

 

Toparca raised himself in anxiety to exonerate his benefactor. "But, my

sister," he said, hurriedly, "the Viracocha Cristoval had no part in

that."

 

"Had no part in it!" repeated the princess, with incredulous scorn.

"But he is here, an invader! His part began when he set foot upon our

soil, sword in hand. Say not that he had no part in it! Doth he hold

himself guiltless?—Can you hold yourself guiltless of that blood,

Viracocha?" She turned upon Cristoval, her dark eyes burning, her form

quivering from head to foot with the bitter intensity of her resentment.

"Are you absolved of the foul treachery by which my people were led

hither to their death? Of the perfidy that lured my brother into the

snare, unarmed and unsuspecting? You have had no part in all this?—Oh,

Toparca, canst thou call one of these dreadful beings thy friend whilst

Tavantinsuyu still mourns her dead? He had been more worthy the name

had he not preserved thee to witness the infinite misfortunes his people

have brought upon our unhappy country! He had been merciful had he

permitted thee to perish in ignorance of the slavery of our brothers and

the dishonor of our sisters. Thy friend, my brother? Tell me sooner

thou hast friends among the vultures! They, at least, prey not upon the

living. Farewell, Toparca!"

 

The princess drew her cloak about her, and passing Cristoval with a

brief glance in which was concentrated all the infuriate enmity that a

woman, raging at injury and helpless to avenge it, can feel for the

oppressor, she left the apartment, followed by her frightened maids.

 

Cristoval had heard her in silence. No doubt his uppermost feeling was

compassion, for he felt the heartbreak beneath her denunciation. He

knew better than she how well her indignation was justified, and was

thankful that she could not know the sordid greed back of the invasion.

Many of her words he had been unable to catch, but he did not fail to

get her meaning clearly enough, for that was expressed in every tone and

gesture. His freedom from the stains of the massacre had made him proof

against much of her reproach, but he could not be indifferent to her

hate and scorn. Through all he felt her beauty, somewhat ferine and

stormy now, he thought, but still of a transcendent, queenly kind.

Altogether, he had listened with sympathy quite without resentment; so

that when she met his look in passing, instead of the rage and cruelty

she expected, she read a grave pity of which she thought afterward; and

in place of the stern, perhaps brutal rejoinder she looked for, a bow of

profound respect and deference.

 

Cristoval expressed his keen regret for the inopportune entry which had

sent her away so abruptly, but Toparca was even more disturbed,

uncertain of the effect of her anger upon the Viracocha.

 

"I hope you will not think of her words, Viracocha Cristoval," he said,

anxiously. "The princess is young, and hath already known much grief.

She will learn that there are generous and humane hearts——"

 

"Even among Spaniards!" said Cristoval, with a trace of bitterness in

his faint smile. "I trust so, my Lord Toparca. But the princess hath

my earnest sympathy." Then he changed the subject quickly, and soon

departed, giving little further thought to the Ñusta Rava.

 

It was not long before the constraint at first existing between the Inca

and the Spanish officers began to wear away under the influence of the

uniform courtesy with which he was treated, partly in observance of

Pizarro’s strict injunctions, but due quite as much to the innate

stateliness of the monarch himself. His captors soon learned to know

him as a man of alert intelligence, eager for knowledge of their world.

As the months dragged on he formed several friendships with them which

went far to moderate the dreariness of captivity, in which he displayed

his discrimination of human character. From the first he was attracted

by De Soto, whose superiority over most of his comrades he was not slow

to recognize. De Soto, in turn, conceived for the unfortunate monarch a

deep regard, a sentiment shared by Hernando Pizarro and Candia.

 

But before all others in the Inca’s esteem was Peralta. Atahualpa had

not forgotten his part in the affair on the plaza, and his gratitude and

confidence had been increased by the rescue of Toparca. Thus

predisposed in Cristoval’s favor, the cavalier’s growing knowledge of

the Quichua dialect made their acquaintance of easy growth. Cristoval’s

wide experience as a soldier appealed vigorously to the warlike prince,

and he spent many hours listening to accounts of European campaigns and

methods.

 

It is doubtful if the monarch had ever, since his youth, known real

companionship unconstrained by his majesty. The gulf separating him from

his most exalted subject was immeasurable and not to be bridged by any

human feeling. As far as friendship was concerned he was alone, wearied

to the limits of endurance by the perpetual reverence and awe by which

he was surrounded. He did not undertake to exact, did not want, and

could not have had from the Spaniards, the servile homage tendered by

his subjects, and its absence was a relief. They treated him as a royal

man, not as a Child of the Sun, and he was grateful. It is not to be

supposed that they were always tactful, that they never overstepped the

bounds of familiarity; but his natural dignity protected him, and it

occurred infrequently—with Cristoval never. The cavalier was neither

presuming nor humble, and their friendship prospered.

 

For the Spanish commander the Inca never acquired a liking. It was

impossible for him to regard Pizarro otherwise than as his arch-enemy

and author of his misfortunes. As a soldier he exonerated the other

officers in a degree, reflecting that they were subordinates, and

attributing to their leader the absolute authority over them which he

himself wielded over his troops. So upon Pizarro he placed the entire

weight of responsibility. He was repelled, however, by the cold

austerity of the taciturn leader, who possessed little of the

graciousness of his brother Hernando and had no wish for the good will

of the man he had so mortally injured.

 

To Cristoval the tour as commander of the guard at the palace was always

welcome. On one of these occasions, having some need to see the Inca,

he was directed by one of the attendants to the garden, and taking one

of the side-paths which wound through the shrubbery, had gone but a few

yards when a turn brought him face to face with the Ñusta Rava, followed

by one of her handmaidens. He bowed, stepped aside, and waited, toque in

hand, for her to pass, fully expecting to encounter the indignant scorn

which he had seen last in her handsome eyes. He found it, however,

quite absent, and in its stead one of some confusion, not unmixed with

fear. To his surprise she halted and stood looking up to him with a

timidity that made him uncomfortably conscious of the warlike attire

which inspired her dread. He bowed again, and in response to his look

of kindly inquiry she began:—

 

"Viracocha,—my words some days ago were spoken in ignorance of all my

obligations. My brother, the Inca, hath told me of your many acts of

generosity to him in his misfortune. Can you forget my injustice and

accept my gratitude?"

 

"The Ñusta Rava’s words are forgotten," replied Cristoval; "and I can

only thank her for the graciousness of those just spoken. I beg she

will believe the sincerity of my sympathy for her august brother and

herself."

 

"Ah, I do believe it, Viracocha Cristoval! It hath been proven by your

friendship."

 

"You may count upon all that lieth within its power," said Cristoval,

earnestly. "I would it could undo what hath been done; but if it can

ever serve you, now or in the future, be sure of it."

 

He had spoken with the gentleness with which he would have addressed a

child—in fact, he looked upon her as little more—and the voice of the

unhappy princess broke when she tried to murmur her acknowledgment. As

she turned away she extended her hand. Cristoval pressed it for an

instant, and she passed on. He continued his walk meditatively.

Presently he came to a bench and sat down, studying the gravel at his

feet.

 

"A murrain seize this business!" he thought. "Heaven knoweth what is to

become of her, or of any of them. God have mercy on them!—and may the

fiend run away with the conquest! There’s no glory in it, nor aught but

foul outrage and devil’s greed and lust. ’T is not even war! Would I

had stayed back in Panama, and had no part in bringing this royal

brother and sister into the power of these freebooters! Wolves!—She is

gentle as a Christian—when it pleaseth her to be, that is! _Cara_! But

I envy not the man who doth counter her disapproval. Ah, well!—what a

pity she is not a Christian! I’ll speak to Father Tendilla: he is a

kindly old man, and hath gentleness of speech."

 

Cristoval rose and walked slowly on.

 

He came upon the Inca shortly, and found him restlessly pacing back and

forth. He turned at the sound of the cavalier’s footsteps, and his

countenance brightened somewhat as he said, cordially proffering his

hand, "May the Sun never hide his face from thee, Viracocha Cristoval!"

 

"God be with you, my Lord Inca!" said Cristoval. "I trust the day hath

gone well."