The Crimson Conquest 2
"Flattery!"
"In offering thee the privilege.—Here, boy," he called to a half-breed
urchin, "guard my steed. But keep in front of him, for he hath a
twofold nature,—tender-hearted to a fault as far as the saddle-girth;
behind it, maleficent as the powers of evil." He turned again to the
soldier. "Is this thy recruiting office, _Señor Alabardero_?"
"Ah!" assented the halberdier. "But, _Sacramento_! Dost think to
enlist, Pedro?"
"And why not?" demanded Pedro.
"Why, if I can count, thou hast legs too few by half."
"Then thou canst not count, for I have three. Two I have with me,—one
mine by right of birth, the other by right of purchase, and of as good
wood as that of which thy head is made. The third lieth in Italy, four
feet under ground, but still mine, _nihilo minus_,—which is Latin, my
friend, and meaneth ’nevertheless.’ But dost require more legs in thy
recruits, halberdier? If so, it must be a running game, this
campaigning in Peru."
"_Bastante_!" growled the soldier. "Thou hast legs enough, and tongue
enough, God wot!"
"Good! Then I’ll enter. Who is the officer?"
"Lieutenant Cristoval de Peralta."
"I’ve heard of him," said Pedro, and stumped into the room. Cristoval
looked up, to behold a man ten years his senior, slightly corpulent,
with a full round face, now reddened by the heat and exertion of riding,
which he mopped vigorously as he advanced with sombrero under his arm.
Smooth-shaven, somewhat bald, and with gray hair closely cropped, there
was a suggestion of the priest or monk in his countenance, further aided
by the genial benignancy of his __EXPRESSION__. A frock would, indeed, have
made him the most jovial-looking of ecclesiastics, and his well-fed and
comfortable appearance would have helped the disguise. A large mouth, a
nose formidable but well shaped, and eyes with ever a lurking twinkle,
made up a face to be warmed to at first glimpse. The precision of his
salute left no doubt in Cristoval’s mind that the missing leg had been
lost on the battle-field, and he surveyed the man with interest.
"Let me not interrupt, _Señor Teniente_," said Pedro. "I am in no
hurry."
"I have finished," replied Cristoval. "How can I serve thee?"
"Thou’rt recruiting for Pizarro?"
Cristoval nodded, thinking of the rabble already enrolled that day, and
wondering whether this one-legged veteran purposed offering himself.
"_Bien!_" said Pedro. "I would join the expedition."
"But thou’rt maimed, _compadre!_"
"_Como asi_! Just so!" replied the other, with a wave of the hand.
"I’m not all here, as the cannoneer observed when his pieces were
scattered over a thousand yards by the explosion of his gun. But there
is enough of me for the purpose, señor, for I am a cook,—a _cantinero_.
I seek not to enlist, but the privilege of filling a moderate space
aboard thy brigantine with myself, my helper, called Pedrillo, and such
stores and gear as will fit a canteen."
"Draw up a chair," said Cristoval, pleased with the cook’s manner. "We
will consider it. Thy name?"
"Pedro."
"So I heard thee called by the halberdier."
"Ah!—the rest of my name? H’m! Why, I’ll tell thee, señor, I have not
always been a cook—and—pardon me—"
"I see," said Cristoval, with delicacy. "_No importa_. We’ll let it go.
Thou’rt Pedro."
Pedro bowed. After some conversation the arrangement was made. "Now,"
said Cristoval, "there are three or four of us from the ship quartered
together, and we need a cook. There is Ruiz, the pilot; José, the
principal armorer; and I look for De Soto from Nombre de Dios. He is to
command when we sail. Couldst take charge of the _rancho_ whilst we
remain in Panama? Couldst begin at once? Good! Then ’tis agreed.
I’ve taken the inn kept by Señora Bolio for quarters for the company,
but her cooks are all Indios and worthless, and—What aileth thee, man?"
At the señora’s name Pedro opened his mouth, pushed back his chair, and
sat looking at the cavalier in manifest disquiet. "Bolio!" he
whispered. "Bolio! Dost know her, _Señor Teniente_?"
"No. What of her?" demanded Cristoval, remembering that certain of his
recruits had heard her name with similar uneasiness. "I saw her only
for a moment when we came ashore yesterday. Dost know her, thou?"
Pedro turned away with a gesture as if to wave him off. He faced about.
"Do I know her! Warily and charily, señor—as a pup knoweth the family
cat! Ah, _Madre_! Lieutenant Cristoval, she hath a tongue like a
flail—like a red-hot rapier. Thou shouldst hear her storm—at some other
man—when she is roused! Nay, smile not! I once heard her berating her
servants, and they wilted, withered, shrivelled like spiders on a hot
skillet. Ah, stew me! Bolio!"
"Thou dost stir mine interest, Pedro," said Cristoval. "Who is the
lady?"
Pedro laid a broad hand upon the table with suppressed vehemence.
"Bolio!" he replied, as if nothing could be added.
"I know little save from hearsay, señor," he continued; "she was a
_vivandera_ with the armies in Italy in her youth. Thou knowest that
training. _Diablo_! I saw her in the Neapolitan campaign against Louis
XII."
Cristoval interrupted. "What! Didst serve with Gonsalvo?"
"With the Great Captain," said Pedro.
"Then, by Saint Michael, we were comrades!"
Pedro nodded without surprise, and continued quickly: "She had beauty
then, señor. Poor girl! She was learning, by hard experience, to hold
all men her enemies. She hath not forgotten. I heard of her again in
the campaign of ’22, and again at Pavia, where I left my leg. After
that, no more until I found her here at Panama, two years ago. It is
said she worked her way hither from Spain, disguised as a common sailor,
and I doubt it not, for I have known of another woman who did as much.
_Por cierto_, her eloquence was not gained in camps alone! It hath the
savor of the sea as well, and she commandeth the most vigorous that each
affordeth, my head upon it! But whatever her youth, Señor Cristoval,
the saints preserve the man who would turn a soft eye upon her to-day.
She weigheth, I should guess, some twelve or fourteen stone. ’T is all
hostility!"
Cristoval reflectively gathered up his papers. "Well," he said, "we can
pray for peace. Let us go."
"Whither?" asked Pedro.
"To the señora’s."
"_Misericordia_! I think I had best ride back to my _hacienda_ for the
night, _Señor Teniente_."
"How far?" asked Cristoval.
"Three leagues or less."
"Absurd, Pedro! Thou ’rt to begin thy duties in the morning. Come."
Accompanied reluctantly by the stout cook leading his mule, and followed
by the halberdier, Cristoval led down a narrow, garbage-littered street
to a large house built around the usual patio. It had been the
residence of some officer of government, and its size made it suitable
for the recruiting officer, the poverty of whose levies made it
necessary to provide for their keep before sailing to join Pizarro.
They entered the suggestively quiet court, and having seen that his
recruits had made proper use of the kitchen, Cristoval gave orders
concerning quarters for the night, and ascended to the second floor in
quest of the señora. He found her alone in a dim-lighted, lofty,
bare-walled apartment,—the salon of the establishment in its better
days.
The señora was a black-haired, black-eyed woman of generous proportions.
She wore, now and generally, an air of stern repression of what
Cristoval, after Pedro’s account, knew to be the hostility mentioned.
Notwithstanding the marring effects of a stormy career on her rather
florid face, she was not uncomely. Her eyes were those of her race,
which seem always smouldering with the fire of passion, gentle or the
reverse as the case may be. She received the cavalier with dignity;
heard his explanation of Pedro’s status; directed, coldly, that her
servants be called upon for assistance, and Cristoval bowed himself away
with relief.
*CHAPTER II*
_*The Señora Declares a Purpose*_
The next day the whole city crowded to look upon the booty from Peru, on
display at the office of the governor, and many an adventurer, after
feasting his eyes on the gleaming treasure, went straight to the door
beneath the banner of the "Army of the Conquest." Thereafter the
recruiting went on rapidly, and th
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