The Crimson Conquest 18

The Crimson Conquest 18

Vengeance Foiled*_

 

 

Although Cristoval could not share the Inca’s mistrust of Pizarro’s

faith, he was profoundly impressed by his words of farewell, spoken with

such firm conviction. They saddened him despite his confidence in his

commander, and as he crossed the court his steps lagged while he

pondered the possibility of remaining in Caxamalca. His deliberation

was ended by the trumpets of his troop sounding in the plaza. It was

too late now, at any rate, and he hurried on. He was arrested by

hearing his name called timidly, and turning, saw one of the Princess

Rava’s maidens hastening toward him.

 

"Viracocha," she said, "my mistress sendeth greeting, and prayeth a few

words."

 

"Most gladly," replied Cristoval. "Wilt lead me to her?"

 

He followed her to the garden, and a few paces brought them to the

princess. She rose as they approached, and Cristoval regarded her with

new interest. He noted with sympathy the traces of care and grief,

wondering at the heightened womanliness they had produced, and suddenly

recognizing in her that rare nature whose gentlest and fairest

attributes are perfected by sorrow. Cristoval had not known many good

women in his adventurous career, but he had discovered this quality with

increased reverence for womankind. He observed it now in this girl of a

strange and new-found race, and thought to himself, "Well, God save

them, they are all sisters, whatever their blood—and the burden of

sorrow worked by men’s misdeeds falleth always most heavily upon them!"

 

As he drew near he was struck more than ever by her beauty, which had

impressed him at first by its warmth and exuberance. Now, softened and

chastened by sadness, the fire and pride which had once shone in her

dark eyes had given way to a gentle pathos and appeal which touched his

kindly heart. As he bent over the extended hand he renewed to himself

the vow he had made to her brother a short while before.

 

"Viracocha Cristoval," she said, with hesitation, "I am sure that you

will pardon my sending for you. I have just learned that you are going

away."

 

"For a short journey, Ñusta Rava."

 

"I pray it may be a safe one," she answered. "I will delay you only a

moment. I would ask if you can tell me aught of the fate in store for

my brother, the Inca." She looked up to him with eyes deepening with

anxiety, and faltered, "He will say nothing, but I can see his sadness,

which hath grown upon him with every day of deferred hope since the

payment of his ransom. Hath he cause for this? Do you know, Viracocha

Cristoval?"

 

"I know nothing, Ñusta Rava, to cause him apprehension. On the contrary,

General Pizarro hath renewed his promise to give him freedom, and, we

trust, in a very few days. I have told him this, but he rejecteth the

offered hope. He saith he hath been forewarned of pending evil. I know

not how."

 

"Alas! Said he so?" moaned the princess, her eyes filling. "Then what

I have been told is true! Ah, my unhappy brother!" and she sank sobbing

upon the bench.

 

"What hath she been told?" demanded Cristoval, turning to the maid; but

the girl, too, was in tears, and incapable of reply. He stepped to

Rava’s side. "Ñusta Rava," he said urgently, "pray tell me. Is it

anything of evil from Pizarro regarding the Inca? If so—"

 

She shook her head. "No, no!" she replied, brokenly; "but a few

evenings ago he beheld a falling star of unusual splendor, and called to

mind that shortly before the death of our father a similar sign was

given. The death of an Inca is heralded by strange portents,

Viracocha."

 

Cristoval was relieved. "Nay, my princess!" he said consolingly, "heed

it not. Such signs are but the wiles of the devil—are but chance

appearances. I have seen a thousand falling stars. They are for

children and old women to talk about at firesides. Oh, I beg of you,

restrain your tears! Take courage! Hear me, Ñusta Rava! De Soto and

myself and half-a-score of others have witnessed Pizarro’s oath to set

your brother free. He awaiteth only assurance that your people are at

peace. A few days hence the Inca shall have his liberty. Pizarro is a

man of honor."

 

She controlled herself with an effort, and, brushing away her tears,

presently looked up. "Forgive my weakness, Viracocha Cristoval. I fear

my heart is overburdened. One blow hath fallen upon another until the

world is dark."

 

"I know what your sorrows have been," replied Cristoval, kindly, "but I

believe one, at least, is near its end."

 

"Oh, I thank you for your words of hope!" she murmured. "I feared that a

change in your leader’s purpose had brought my brother’s heaviness of

heart. I will try to cheer him."

 

"Do so. Assure him that he hath other friends among Spaniards besides

myself. It is true."

 

"He is sure of you, Viracocha Cristoval," she said gratefully. "But

now, let me keep you no longer. I heard a trumpet some minutes ago. It

called you, did it not?"

 

"It called me, Ñusta Rava."

 

"Then you must go. I pray the Sun may brighten your way and give you

safe return."

 

"Farewell, and Heaven guard you, Ñusta Rava!" He touched her fingers

with his lips and hastened away.

 

As he passed up the avenue the trumpets were sounding the "Mount," and

in his haste he failed to notice a burly figure in the shelter of a

by-path. It was Mendoza. He had been waiting Pizarro’s return from

seeing the departure of De Soto’s troop, and, presuming upon the

commander’s determination to make away with the Inca, whom Mendoza

already considered as good as dead, he had invaded the forbidden

precincts of the garden. Perceiving Cristoval and the Princess Rava, he

had stepped unobserved into the shrubbery, and watched the interview

with a scowling sneer.

 

"Aha, my conscientious buck cavalier!" he muttered, peering out as

Cristoval strode away. "Stolen meetings with Her Highness? Tears and

kissed hands at parting? By the fiend, that smelleth of romance!—And we

have been wondering at thy continence, thou cursed sly dog, whilst thou

hast been spreading thy net for the very pick of the flock! Oho! But

wait!—let us see, _amigo mio_! Methinks the cards are to be dealt again,

and thou’lt have no hand.—And thou dost nurse so charitable an interest

in the Señorita Ñusta’s brother? Hum! And I have stumbled upon its

source thus unexpectedly? Even so! _Bien_! But, _adiós_, my gallant.

Thou’lt find more than one change on thy return to Caxamalca,—among

others, a division of spoil upon which thou ’rt not counting, whereof I

see a pearl to which I’ll lay claim in Pizarro’s ear this very

morning.—She cometh this way, now! I’ll step out and give her greeting.

Curse me! why have I not learned a few words of her heathen tongue? I

know but three,—_curi_, gold; _collque_, silver; and _chicha_. Good

words, but not suited to the present need. However, _no importa_—let it

pass. Much can be said in dumb show. We’ll make it answer. Now, let

us see if we cannot be made to forget our Cristoval."

 

Giving a twirl to his mustachios and a touch to the sallow ruff around

his neck, Mendoza stepped into the avenue, and made a well-feigned start

of surprise when his eyes rested upon the approaching princess. Off

came Mendoza’s sombrero, and he bowed until its plume lay on the ground.

 

"Your gracious Highness," he murmured in Spanish, with his hand on his

heart, "I am your slave. The devil take me if I know how to make you

understand it, but ’t is so, my lady bird, my chickadee, and I would

swear it, could I but formulate an oath which you could grasp in your

benightedness."

 

The princess, happily unconscious of the disrespect in the words, but

indignant at his intrusion, responded with a barely perceptible

inclination of her head, and passed on. But Mendoza was not to be easily

rebuffed. Striding after her, he gained her side.

 

"But stay, my haughty pagan lady!" he exclaimed, his forced smile only

half concealing the wickedness in his eyes. "Not so fast, pretty one!

Let us talk;—or if we cannot talk, let us make signs. _Caramba_! Let

us be acquainted!" and he placed his hand upon her arm.

 

The princess shrank as if from a reptile, turning with a look of

indignant scorn that daunted even the case-hardened Mendoza, while a

scream from the maid brought him fully to his senses. He halted, and

Rava went her way with burning cheeks, leaving the Spaniard staring

after her discomfited.

 

"_Jesu!_" he exclaimed, beneath his breath. He replaced his sombrero

over one ear and spread his legs wide apart, one hand upon his hip, the

other depressing the hilt of his rapier until its point rose to the

level of his shoulder.

 

"_Cara_! There is a sudden chilliness hereabouts. Did I feel a cool

breeze from the mountains, or was it a freezing glance? No matter,

Señorita Ñusta Rava, my dark beauty—no matter! We’ll score that in the

account against this Cristoval. And, withal, proud loveliness is much

to my taste. There’s a zest in subjugating.—_Hola_! Who the devil is

this?"

 

Pedro, crossing the lower end of the court, had met the princess, and

noticing her indignation and the trepidation of her maid, suspected that

some drunken soldier had been trespassing. He stepped quickly through

the shrubbery and came upon Mendoza, still in his jaunty pose. Pedro

divined the situation in the instant. Halting, he tilted his toque over

his ear, placed his hand upon his hip, spread his good leg wide from its