The Crimson Conquest 25

The Crimson Conquest 25

But fate and the rain were with him, for the man passed with bowed head.

In a moment Cristoval would have breathed freely but for the choking

rage stirred by the story to which he had just been listening. But now

the way was clear, and spurred to mad impatience, he pressed on. The

peg hindered his speed, and he was of half a mind to risk its removal,

but thought more wisely of it and stumbled along. At last he was at the

end of the street, and the gate was nearly opposite. He listened for

the footfalls of the sentinel and presently heard them approaching. The

soldier paced leisurely and in a moment had passed, going in the

direction of the square, which Cristoval guessed would be the end of his

post. Now for it; and he crossed the street toward the wall, moving

quietly as possible. In a moment he was in the garden and had closed

the gate.

 

"God bless thee, good Pedro!" he whispered, hurriedly unstrapping the

peg. He laid it down gently, picked up his sword, and hastened along

the path to the palace.

 

The low buildings were quite dark save for a light in the guard-room,

but he knew the way and was soon groping along the passage which led to

the women’s court. Its fountain plashed quietly, and he paused for a

drink, then counted the doors and stopped at the third. He returned his

sword, rapped gently twice or thrice, and presently heard a movement

within with the voices of the women, evidently in trepidation. Then one

asked:—

 

"Who is there?"

 

Cristoval put his mouth to the crack of the door. "It is I—the Viracocha

Cristoval. I would say a word to Nuyalla. Be quick! It is important."

 

"Stars of heaven!" he heard her exclaim. "The Viracocha Cristoval!

Nuyalla, Nuyalla! He would speak with thee."

 

A moment, then the door was unfastened and opened a finger’s breadth.

"I am Nuyalla," said a low voice, trembling. "What would you, Viracocha

Cristoval?"

 

"Lead me to the Ñusta Rava. Quickly! Quickly! Hear’st thou?"

 

"But, Viracocha—I will ask her."

 

"Then haste, Nuyalla! There is danger."

 

The door was closed, and he heard it barred. It seemed hours before it

was reopened, and he chafed and swore to himself in the darkness. At

last Nuyalla peered out with a lamp above her head. Cristoval had

forgotten the removal of his beard, and stepped forward that he might be

recognized. At the first glimpse the girl recoiled, and Cristoval saw

that she did not know him. She made a frantic effort to close the door,

calling to the others to assist.

 

"Oh, _Madre_!" groaned Cristoval, in desperation as he remembered his

disguise. He threw his weight against the door, forced it open, and

stepped inside, closing it behind him. The movement was greeted by a

scream from the frightened maids.

 

"Silence!" he commanded, sternly. "I am Cristoval, I tell you. Lead me

to your mistress. There is danger, and no moment to lose. Where is the

Ñusta Rava?"

 

His only answer was a chorus of shrieks from the women, who had

stampeded into a corner. Nuyalla had dropped her lamp, leaving the room

in complete darkness, and adding to the panic. Their cries would

inevitably bring the guard, as Cristoval knew. He was stupefied as he

realized the danger of the situation and felt his own impotence to cope

with it; but at the crisis a door was suddenly flung open, and he

beheld, to his unspeakable relief, the Princess, a lamp in hand, and

pallid to her lips.

 

Cristoval sank upon his knee, removing his sombrero and speaking with

bowed head in the hope that his voice might be recognized before she

should behold his altered appearance.

 

"Will the Ñusta Rava forgive a rough intrusion—and in the name of

Heaven, still these women before the guard is roused?"

 

She raised her hand for silence to the maids who had already crowded

about her, then turned to him with imperious dark eyes demanding

explanation.

 

"I have come to offer my aid, Ñusta Rava," said the cavalier.

 

She found voice with an effort, beginning thrice before she was able to

steady it sufficiently to say, somewhat at random, in her perturbation,

"They told me you were a prisoner, Viracocha Cristoval."

 

"I was a prisoner an hour ago. I have broken my bonds."

 

He looked up, and she started, scrutinizing his face with anxiety. But

she recovered quickly, and he arose. After this no ceremony, and he went

on, speaking directly and as rapidly as his knowledge of the Quichua

would allow:—

 

"I am a fugitive, Ñusta Rava. My aid may avail you little, but I know

your danger. There is a hope to escape it. Once clear of this unhappy

town you will be among your own people. Are you ready to flee? Will

you trust me? You must say quickly, for seconds are worth hours, and we

must lose not one."

 

She made no reply, but stood regarding him intently, her clenched hand

pressed to her heart. He saw that she was violently trembling, and said

quietly: "Before the dawn we can be well away. It is not yet midnight,

but we must hasten."

 

"Oh, Viracocha Cristoval!" she murmured, looking at him piteously,

struggling in agony between fear and hope. Should she trust him? Could

she trust one of these terrible strangers? Were they not all beasts of

prey? Yet this one seemed to have a human heart, and had been her

brother’s friend. She sought the depths of his soul through his eyes.

Their __EXPRESSION__ was intensely earnest, but frank and solicitous, and

they met her own with un-reserve and quiet steadiness. Still—like the

others he was a Viracocha.

 

Cristoval read her thoughts. "Ñusta Rava," he said gently, "I promised

to your brother that with the aid of Heaven I would guard you from harm.

I am ready to do so at the cost of life. But we are wasting precious

moments—"

 

He paused abruptly. The faint, quick notes of a trumpet were sounding

in the distance.

 

"What is that?" whispered the Ñusta, turning her head.

 

"The alarm," replied Cristoval, quietly. "My flight is discovered." He

strode forward, and taking her by the hand, turned her toward her door.

"Go! Robe yourself warmly—and make haste!"

 

He urged her gently forward, but she turned, crying in anguish: "Fly,

oh, fly, while there is yet time! You have risked your life in coming

hither. Go! Save yourself!"

 

Cristoval turned to Nuyalla with authority: "Quick! Her cloak!"

 

It was brought in a second, and he threw it over Rava’s shoulders. The

maids were kneeling about her, weeping, clasping her knees, frantically

pressing her hands, their lamentations threatening to rise again to the

danger point. She stood like a statue, seeing none of them nor hearing

their words.

 

"Come!" said Cristoval. "We have yet time."

 

She cast a glance at his masterful, serious face, extended her hands

impulsively to her women, then tore herself from their embraces with a

sob, and followed him to the door. The cavalier turned.

 

"If you value the life of your Princess, see that you be silent. Make

fast behind us, and open to no one before the morning." He stepped out

into the darkness, followed by his ward.

 

He led rapidly across the patio, sword in hand. They felt their way

through the blackness of the corridor, and halted at its entrance upon

the outer court while Cristoval listened. There was a confusion of

men’s voices in the guard-room, but the great court was vacant, and save

for the drip and patter of the rain, was silent.

 

Cristoval took her hand, and they hurried toward the garden. Here he

drew her from the walk into the shrubbery, picking his way under the low

branches of the trees, which showered them with icy drops at every step.

They were a few paces from the postern when the heavy report of one of

the falconets on the redoubt stopped them with a shock, and startled a

faint scream from the girl. The alarm gun! Rava pressed the folds of

her cloak over her lips, and Cristoval shook her hand warningly, then

hastened on in silence.

 

They reached the postern, and with the utmost caution he set it ajar and

looked out. From the direction of the square came the tread of the

sentinel, moving away. Cristoval turned to Rava. "Now, we go.

Courage!" he whispered, and led her faltering into the street.

 

Sounds came from the square; lights were flitting, horsemen galloping.

They hurried across to the nearest corner, turned into the side-street,

then again to the right in the direction of the suburbs.

 

"Can you run?" he whispered. "Then we must do so." At every corner he

halted, listening. The town was up. Several parties passed on nearby

streets, hurrying toward the outskirts. "They will guard the ways,"

muttered Cristoval. "_Bien_! We shall see!" A door opened—but behind

them—and a belated soldier hastened toward the square, buckling as he

ran, while the two stood against a wall until he was well away. They

pressed on.

 

At a corner they almost ran upon a squad of soldiers just entering the

street they were following. But the party was going toward the suburbs,

and the fugitives shrank back into the shadow unobserved, starting on

again warily when the footfalls had died away. Soon the houses grew

meaner, with vacant spaces between, fences of rough wicker enclosing

gardens, and here and there a quinuar tree. They were in the purlieus

of the town, and presently turned into a lane which wound among the