The Crimson Conquest 24

The Crimson Conquest 24

"Well, what now?" demanded Pedro, pausing.

 

"The Ñusta Rava," said Cristoval.

 

"Thou must leave her to me."

 

"She goeth with me, Pedro. I have sworn to the Inca—"

 

"Oh, Murder of the Innocents! Man, ’t is impossible! Thy life may pay

for it. Save thy neck if thou canst. It is thy one chance. Thy trial

is for the morrow. Encumbered with her—"

 

"She goeth with me, Pedro, or I go not at all."

 

Pedro swore vigorously, but Cristoval was obdurate. They wrangled hotly

in fierce undertone. Pedro yielded.

 

"Be it as thou sayst, Cristoval. Holy Mother! Why must a good man

sometimes be a fool? Well, stew me, thou ’rt not the first to be undone

by a petticoat, nor wilt be the last. As thou sayst. Tilt thy head

back."

 

"Good Pedro, I have given my sacred word. Should I break it, and she

come to harm,—it were dastardly, my friend, as thou knowest. By

to-morrow I can have her in the hands of her people."

 

Pedro clipped rapidly. "Well, I pray Heaven the effort may not cost too

dear. But—damn my kettles, Cristoval!—thou’rt a man in a million. Now,

I’ll tell thee how to find her. Thou knowest the little gate in the

wall just back of the left wing of the palace. Thou’lt find it

unfastened. Go in when the sentinel is not too near. Thou canst find

the women’s court? Enter it and knock at the third door on the right.

Her maids sleep there. They will know thee. Ask for Nuyalla. She will

lead thee to the Princess, who will go with thee, I doubt not, for she

knoweth now the fate in store for her. Heaven be with thee, Cristoval!

Now thou’rt done."

 

As he arose Cristoval demanded once more, searching the countenance of

the cook, "Pedro, dost swear this will not endanger thee?"

 

"On my oath, it will not. De Soto is party to it. If it is needed, I’ll

have his protection."

 

Cristoval was satisfied. The remaining preparations were quickly made.

A few minutes’ work removed the fetters. Pedro’s peg was unstrapped and

fitted to Cristoval’s bent leg. Then the cavalier bound his friend

securely with strips torn from his doublet. He buckled on his rapier,

threw the cloak over his shoulders, pulled the sombrero well down over

his eyes, and was ready to depart.

 

"Now walk across the room that I may see thy gait," said Pedro. "Ah!

Good! But stagger widely when thou ’rt outside. Tilt not thy rapier

too much, lest it disclose thy leg. The peg would spoil thy

swordsmanship, but once inside the palace walls thou canst take it off.

Thou’lt answer. Now go!"

 

"Farewell, Pedro, my good friend," said Cristoval, embracing him warmly.

"Heaven grant that we may meet again!"

 

"Farewell, Cristoval. God preserve thee!" returned Pedro, his voice

unsteady. "Curse it, I’ll miss thee sorely! Take the basket—and

remember, thou ’rt drunk. Do not spare thy sword if any one hindereth;

only—avoid killing José, Candia, or De Soto. They’re friends—almost the

only ones thou hast now, save Pedro."

 

"Is it so?" asked Cristoval, with surprise. "I thought there were

others."

 

"They are few. Pizarro hath done for that. He promiseth a division of

thy share of the plunder, and hath given out that the Inca enriched thee

for thy friendship. Not ten men in the army but would see thee roasted

with right good-will. A murrain seize them all! Now go! But hold! I

had almost forgotten. In the basket thou’lt find a pouch. Sling it

over thy shoulder. It containeth provisions. _Adiós_! _Adiós_,

Cristoval!"

 

Cristoval embraced him again, and in a second was pounding on the door.

His nerves were steady, now, as steel.

 

 

 

 

*CHAPTER XV*

 

_*The Flight*_

 

 

There was no response to Cristoval’s blows on the door. He waited a

moment, then renewed his knocking. Still no reply but the

reverberations within the room. He pounded again and again. Silence.

Drawing his sword, he laid on with its hilt, but with no effect upon the

guard, and he turned toward Pedro who sat staring in stupefaction. Each

felt the other’s dismay. Here was a condition of matters to send hearts

into boots.

 

"_Sanctissima Maria!_" gasped the cook. "I’ve been over liberal with

the _chicha_. Pound again. That accursed sentinel hath gone dead over

the bottle."

 

Cristoval battered with the sword hilt until the room was aroar with the

echoes. No sign without.

 

"They will hear it in the guard-room," muttered Pedro, "and then we

shall have the whole stew of them about, with Zapato in the middle."

 

"No help for it, Pedro. I must be out at once if out at all," and

Cristoval assaulted with redoubled vigor. Pedro’s surmise was right

enough, for after another storm of blows a distant voice called:—

 

"Ho there, guard! What is doing? What is that uproar?"

 

The sentinel was silent, and Cristoval pounded again. Presently there

were voices and footsteps outside, the wavering light of a lantern shone

beneath the door, and some one demanded: "What is wanted within there?

Be done, prisoner! Give over thy din, and to bed."

 

"Let me answer," whispered Pedro, and he shouted: "Open up! Open up!

Let me out, ye blockheads. D’ ye think I’m playing this door for a

kettle-drum to amuse the owls? Unbar before I raise the town."

 

"It is Pedro," said the voice. "Unbolt and let him out."

 

The door was unfastened and swung open, revealing to the group outside

the similitude of Pedro, swaying unsteadily in the gloom, sword and

basket in hand, with sombrero cocked very drunkenly over one eye.

Cristoval hiccoughed once, then lurched suddenly forward, jostling the

sergeant and extinguishing his lantern with a blow from the basket;

reeled away from him with his point describing erratic curves near the

belts of the soldiers, and broke through the circle. By good fortune

Zapato was not there. The guard scattered before the uncertain sweep of

his sword, and he zigzagged across the court toward the outer doors.

The sentinel lowered his halberd at his approach and called to the

sergeant:—

 

"_Hola, Sargento!_ shall I stop him?"

 

"No! Pass him out. He’s drunk. If hindered he’ll have the general,

staff, and clergy about us with his uproar. Let him go, and the fiend

take him!"

 

The sentinel threw open the door, and Cristoval pegged a wavering trail

out into the plaza, muttering fervent thanks to the Virgin for the smell

of the blessed air of heaven. Now he noticed a chill, driving rain, but

the coolness was grateful, and he filled his lungs, tingling to his

marrow with the sudden joy of freedom. Across the square the dark walls

of the buildings loomed through the mist, and to the right, the dim mass

of the palace with a solitary lantern glimmering faintly, its rays

reflected on the wet pavement. The hour was late, and the place

deserted. But notwithstanding its vacancy the square was uncomfortably

open, and he at once sought the nearest street leading from it. At the

second crossing from the plaza he turned to the right. This would bring

him close to the postern in the garden wall. He had but three blocks to

go, but they were long and seemed interminable.

 

He had gone half the length of the first when a door opened a few yards

in his front. A broad ray of light shot across the way, and he ceased

to breathe as half-a-dozen soldiers came out, laughing, and shouting

good-night to those within. They stood in the street after the door

closed, and Cristoval slunk hastily into a doorway. They were so near

that he recognized their voices. All were of the cavalry but one, and

he an officer of the foot. They had been gaming, and one was recounting

the story of his success. He finished at last and seemed about to leave

the group, starting in the direction of the prison-breaker, who now

heartily regretted the impulse which had led him to take shelter. Had

he gone forward he might have staggered past unnoticed, but discovered

lurking in a doorway he was sure to be questioned, and his first words

would reveal the masquerade, for Pedro’s voice was too well known to

admit the possibility of his own passing for it without detection.

Should this man accost him he would have to be killed, and that,

perhaps, before the others were out of ear-shot. In that event they

would all be back, and handicapped by the wooden leg Cristoval’s

thoughts were broken upon by the words of one of the cavaliers.

 

"A moment, Pablo! Hast heard of the game between Mendoza and Rogelio?

No? Then ’tis worth thy standing in the rain to listen to the story.

It is like a romance out of Italy. They played last night until the

first call this morning, Mendoza losing steadily. That greasy,

whimpering _veedor_ hath a dexterity acquired only of the foul fiend

himself—thou knowest it, I surmise, Pablo. Ha, ha! Well, Mendoza staked

and lost his last duro, then his horse, then his share in the division

of the goods of our hot-brained friend, Peralta, and was about to quit a

bankrupt. But, would Rogelio take his note of promise? Saith Rogelio,

’Impossible, my dear comrade! He, he!’—ye know his laugh, Señores—’I’ve

a family at home, Mendoza. ’T is impossible!’

 

"’Then go to the devil!’ saith Mendoza; ’thou and thy family, thy