The Crimson Conquest 33

The Crimson Conquest 33

The entrance of the cavalier interrupted. He tarried but a moment for a

brief but ceremonious leave-taking for the night, then followed a

servant to the apartment which the Palla said he should regard as his

own. It was in a wing forming one side of a rear court which opened

toward the lake, and he found the chamber one which might have suited a

Moorish prince. It was decorated with the richness of style which had

already become familiar, furnished with the usual cushioned chairs,

tables of polished stone, and a divan which looked more inviting than

any the weary soldier had laid eyes upon for many days. The attendant

opened a door and showed him a small court with a pool fed by a running

stream for bathing, then aided him to disarm, and with the announcement

that his supper would be sent presently, backed out with a profound

reverence. By the time Cristoval had finished his bath the repast was

served, and an hour later he was asleep.

 

He was aroused in the morning by a persistent rapping. Calling a summons

to enter, a youth presented himself, dropping immediately upon his knees

and bending to the floor. Weariness came into the face of the cavalier

at the obeisance, and he directed the boy to rise. He did so, backed

out of the door, and reappeared with a goblet and an armful of apparel.

The latter he laid over a chair, and approaching the couch, knelt to

tender the cup.

 

"Viracocha," he said, humbly, "my mistress sendeth her morning greeting

with the prayer that the Sun have you in his protection."

 

"It is most kind of her," said Cristoval, rising upon his elbow. "Bear

mine in return to her, and thank her for me. What is this? Ah! Hot

_chicha_ and water. It is thoughtful, boy."

 

"Viracocha," said the youth again, "it hath pleased my mistress to honor

me with the command to serve you."

 

"She is very gracious," returned Cristoval, looking the boy over with

favor. "Thank her also for this. But what was thine other burden—that

on the chair?"

 

"Fresh garments for you, Viracocha."

 

"Surely?" said the cavalier. "I thank her again, sincerely, for I had

sore need. I will rise at once."

 

The youth retreated backward to the door, and started to go once more

upon his knees.

 

"Stay!" said Cristoval, quickly interrupting the movement. "There is

one matter whereof I would speak—but what is thy name, lad? Markumi?

Good! Well, Markumi, there is, as I say, one thing I would mention—a

trifle, but as we may be thrown together for a time, it may concern our

peace of mind. It is this: I am not an Inca, Markumi, nor an idol, nor

an altar, nor yet a heathen god, nor a saint; and may never be any one

of them, though I have a namesake who is the last—San Cristoval, of

blessed memory, of whom thou mayst some day learn. But, being neither

one nor another, this excessive reverence doth not relish me. I am a

plain soldier, and love naught better than to see a man upright on his

two legs. Reserve, therefore, thy homage for the ladies, who have full

claim and title to it; and thy cramps for the Inca, who may be wonted to

it—as I am not. Dost comprehend, Markumi?"

 

"Not clearly, Viracocha," replied Markumi, with embarrassment.

 

"Why, what I mean is this. Keep off thy knees. Bow to me with

moderation, temperately, and without extravagance, and I’ll like it

better. Is it plain?"

 

"Yes, Viracocha."

 

"That is a good lad. And now, is there a man in thy village who can

trim hair? Ah! Then fetch him. And Markumi—"

 

"Yes, Viracocha."

 

"Advise him about the manner of his approach." And he added to himself:

"I’ll have no barber coming before me in the attitude of a cow just

rising from her bed. I weary of it."

 

Cristoval arose quite himself. He hummed through his bath and was

cheerful until he confronted the chair holding the apparel sent by the

Palla. Then his face grew sombre.

 

"_Santa Maria!_" he whispered. "Do I face the need of donning this

infidel caparison? Must I forswear the guise and earmarks of a

Christian? On my soul, ’twill stick sorely in my conscience!" He

lifted one piece after another from the pile, surveying them at arm’s

length, then turned to his own sadly worn garments. "No help for it,

Cristoval," he said, as he overhauled them. "They are rent, torn,

ripped, and decrepit, to say naught of the stains of hard travel. Well,

may Heaven overlook my heathen masquerade!" He returned to the others

and gloomily began to dress.

 

The costume was that of a Peruvian noble: a shirt of white cotton,

another of white wool, and a loose, sleeveless tunic, handsomely woven

in rich colors and conventional design, to be belted in at the waist,

leaving its skirts falling as a kilt almost to the knees. There was a

girdle—a broad band, highly ornamental in its woven pattern, heavily

fringed with flat braids of cord, each of half the breadth of a hand,

and reaching to the bottom of the tunic. Over this was worn a belt, and

Cristoval lifted it with an exclamation. It was of soft leather, and

mounted with heavily embossed plates of alternate gold and silver.

 

"By the saints!" quoth he. "Should Pizarro rest his eye upon this he’d

raise my price."

 

A cloak, or poncho, and a pouch to be hung from the belt, equally rich

in design and color with the tunic, completed the apparel for the body.

A pair of sandals, or buskins, with broad straps highly ornate, and

provided with protecting toe-pieces and side-pieces, were beside the

chair. These laced half-way up to the knees. The costume was

picturesque, thoroughly graceful and masculine, and revealed his

strength of arm and symmetry of leg; but as he glanced downward his eyes

rested upon his bare knees and half-bare calves.

 

"Oh, the fighting saint!" he exclaimed, in dismay. "My knees! Stark,

gleaming, barefaced, preëminent knees! Gods! I’m _all_ knees! O, San

Miguel, clap thine eyes upon them! Didst ever see so many knees, and

knees so braggart in their nakedness? Name of a fiend!"

 

He tugged at the kilt to bring it lower, but vainly, and he sat down.

 

"A thousand curses!" he groaned, as he contemplated them. "Thrice more

flagrant in repose!" He rose and moved about, watching them narrowly.

"Flashing like the beacons of Tarragona when I walk! Ah, Blessed

Mother, can I ever lug their effrontery into the gaze of women’s eyes?

Oh, would that I were Pedro! then this immodesty were reduced by half.

Blood and Misery!"

 

He was standing helpless when Markumi entered with his breakfast.

Cristoval eyed him closely, but the boy observed nothing unusual, merely

announcing as he set to work to arrange the table that the man would

come presently to trim his hair. His knees were bare too, of course,

and Cristoval envied their brown. _Bien_! He would sun his own

assiduously—and he sat down with a gradually returning feeling of

composure.

 

By the time he had breakfasted the barber arrived. Cristoval hoped to be

shaved; but learning that the Peruvians used only tweezers, gave it up,

forced to be content with the closest possible trimming. Even this he

would have forgone but for Rava, who disliked, and more than half

feared, the Viracocha beard. An hour later, with head and face reduced

to order, Cristoval strolled out in search of his hostess.

 

The court in the rear, as he had observed the night before, was open

toward the lake and guarded on that side by a low parapet from which

steps descended to a broad avenue through the trees, from terrace to

terrace to the shore, a few hundred yards distant. In the middle of the

patio was the usual fountain, and on each side a parterre, at one of

which a venerable servant was at work on the budding plants. Before

Cristoval could prevent, the old man prostrated himself; on being asked

for the Palla, he rose painfully and led Cristoval to the steps, saying,

"She walked toward the lake a moment ago, Viracocha, with two young

friends. No doubt you will find her on the shore."

 

The cavalier thanked him and looked about. The building was of the

customary massiveness and severity of style, modified somewhat by

numerous windows and niches, and by the sculptured border surrounding

each doorway. This decoration struck Cristoval forcibly as being

identical with the simpler forms of Grecian frets seen in European

architecture. Among the trees on either side were smaller buildings for

the accommodation of the Palla’s servants. The site had been chosen

with the fine appreciation of natural beauty of surroundings

characteristic of the ancient Peruvians. From the foot of the hill the

lake spread out like a mirror, reflecting in perfect detail every rugged

feature of the opposite mountains, with here and there a streak of

silver where its surface was ruffled by the morning breeze. To the

right was the village of Xilcala, and ten miles or more beyond, the

narrow gorge through which the waters of the lake found exit on their

way to the distant sierra. On his left, toward the canyon he had

descended the day before, was a stretch of rolling fields with groups of

men at work, and he caught the plaintive melody of a ploughing-song. He

listened, impressed by the sense of peace which pervaded the valley, and

descended the steps to the avenue. The bank was terraced to the water’s

edge, each terrace with its trees, shrubbery, winding paths, and nooks

with benches inviting idleness. At the margin of the lake was a sunny

space, or hemicycle, from which opened a charming panorama of the lake;

and surrounding it were broad, high-backed stone seats, shaded by

overhanging foliage. One bench was covered with rugs and cushions, and

bits of half-finished embroidery indicated the recent presence of the

ladies.

 

The cavalier turned into the path along the shore. He had not gone far

before he heard voices, and another step brought him face to face with

his hostess. She was advancing slowly, her arms encircling a maiden on

each side. They walked with hands resting affectionately on her

shoulders, bending forward and listening, the attention of all so

engaged in conversation that Cristoval had been unheard. The Palla

started slightly when she perceived her guest, but disengaged herself

and came to greet him.

 

"May the Sun shine kindly upon you this morning, Viracocha Cristoval,"

she said, offering her hand. "I rejoice to see that your recent

hardships have left few traces."

 

Her cordiality and freedom from constraint, due in part to his altered

appearance, but in a great degree also to Rava’s influence, placed the

cavalier at ease, and he forgot his knees.

 

"The traces must be deep indeed," he replied, "not to be banished by the

gracious hospitality of the Palla Maytalca. The hardships are no longer remembered."