The Crimson Conquest 35

The Crimson Conquest 35

It is conceivable, therefore, that Rava’s delicacy, ingenuousness, and

gentleness of nature, together with his consciousness of protectorship,

and of her implicit faith in him, should have stirred in his strong

heart the affection whose many evidences she had not failed to read.

The sense of guardianship alone, to a man of his stalwart and generous

temperament, would have gone far toward creating the sentiment; more

than that, in addition to the attraction of her youth and beauty, he

felt the charm of a graceful and high-bred mind. Her culture was not

Christian, but it was culture, nevertheless. The Inca civilization was

refined; more so, in many respects, than that of Spain at the period,

and the children of the sovereigns and nobles were scrupulously trained

in such knowledge and accomplishments as their rank demanded. And so,

although Rava was unaware that the earth was round, that her continent

had been discovered by one Cristoval Colon, and that Charles the Fifth

was emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, until she had been informed by

Cristoval, yet he found her a gentlewoman and quite the intellectual

equal of any he had known across the sea. She was, in fact, as he

discovered, better versed in the lore of her people than were most

Christian girls in the scanty knowledge then afloat in Europe. Learning

was not deemed an entirely desirable possession for women in the Old

World, nor were there many avenues open to them for its acquirement.

Rava’s lack of information in matters familiar to the cavalier was

therefore not disturbing.

 

Of infinitely more concern was her paganism, and this Cristoval set

about to correct. He found her a willing and grateful listener. Her

unquestioning faith in him was broad enough to cover every word he

spoke. If she accepted the fact that the earth was a sphere, she would

have believed it flat again had he said so the next moment—or that it

was a cube, or upside-down, or inside-out. Ah, Cristoval, it was well

for this trusting heart that thine was true and chivalrous! Hadst been

the Antichrist thou wouldst have had a gentle votary ready for martyrdom

for her faith in thee!

 

Rava renounced her gods. She learned her Aves, Paternosters, and Credo,

and accepted Cristoval’s rosary and crucifix, nevermore to be laid

aside.

 

"Cristoval," she said one day, "dost think my soul is saved?"

 

"Thy soul saved!" he replied, looking fondly down into the soft eyes.

"I would that the souls of half the Christians, or mine own, were near

as sure of Heaven as thine. Some day we must have thee baptized. If I

could but lay hands upon the good Father Tendilla! However, that will

come about. Meantime, be diligent with thy prayers, and we shall have

no fear."

 

As we may be sure, a new bond was thus created; and Cristoval, as

spiritual preceptor, took on new lustre for his grateful proselyte. The

good cavalier, now relieved of fear for her soul’s welfare, returned

earnest thanks to the Virgin, and looked upon his ward with affection

growing perilously fast.

 

But, alas! Rava was paying dearly for their idyl in Xilcala. At night

she knelt with tears, his crucifix tight-clasped, and with a hundred

prayers for every one he enjoined. And her prayers were not the

litanies prescribed, but supplications such as many a maiden, borne down

by the sense of love unreturned, has made before and since. Thus,

through long hours she knelt, until weariness drove her to her pillow.

 

In the mornings the swollen eyelids were excused to the solicitous

Maytalca with pleas of sleeplessness. But the settled sadness was not

explained. It vanished momentarily in Cristoval’s presence, to return

and be noted by him in silence. He asked no question, but there was

often questioning in his eyes, and asked thus it was hardest to bear.

Many times when she read it she turned from him with quivering lips, and

then his impulse to take her again in his arms was dangerously strong.

But he forced it down relentlessly, with a whispered prayer to San

Antonio of transcendent continence. Only once he took her hand,

tremulous and unresisting; but the quick rising of color to her cheeks

and the deepening of her eyes warned him of the frail barrier between

them and peril, and he relinquished it with the faintest pressure. But

that night Rava prayed without tears!

 

Stout-hearted Cristoval! It cost sorely to turn away from the light

half veiled by those drooping lashes, but the inevitable parting was

always before him. Soon he must fly Tavantinsuyu—if, by the grace of

Heaven, the way should be open. If not flight, then death in the

attempt; and in either event what would be left behind? The gentlest

breast that ever sheltered a womanly heart torn by lifelong grief. No;

he would give no further sign. The dearer the happiness now, the deeper

the wound for each to carry to the grave. And what was his vow to

Atahualpa? Ah, Blessed Virgin, lend thy strength!

 

So, while Rava wept and offered midnight prayer, Cristoval paced his

room and offered none. The sunlight of Xilcala had grown dim for both.

The cloud was not unnoticed by Maytalca; with a woman’s intuition she

divined the cause, with a woman’s delicacy forbore to speak; and pressed

the desolate girl in tacit sympathy, longing, but not daring to bid them

both to hope. They were more constantly together than before, driven by

the impulse that would not accept defeat. But alone, they walked or sat

in silence seldom broken by words.

 

One evening, just after sunset, they were standing on the shore of the

lake, watching the afterglow on the mountains. The valley was already

shrouded in twilight, but the distant peaks gleamed brilliant rose

against the darkening blue of the eastern sky. Alone, Cristoval would

have swept the prospect with a glance and turned away; but now, as his

eyes followed her guidance, he grew conscious of the beauty of creeping

shadows and dying light, and echoed her quiet admiration.

 

They turned away at length, and walked slowly toward the villa,

unconscious of the evil lurking in the growing dusk. They passed up the

avenue, and a dark form rose stealthily from the shadow, parting the

branches and leaning forward with the tense alertness of a cat to watch

their receding steps. They disappeared, and after a moment’s listening

the half-naked figure skulked along the terrace, crouching to avoid the

overhanging boughs, reached the enclosing wall of the garden, and was

over, speeding away in the darkness like an apparition.

 

An hour later two Cañares rose from their lair in a ravine half-way up

the mountain-side to receive him. He spoke a dozen words, answered by a

grunt from his companions; groped in the obscurity for his cloak, threw

it over his shoulders, and the three filed out from their concealment,

heading toward the lower end of the valley. Six days afterward they

entered Xauxa.

 

 

Spring was now well advanced, and Xilcala grew daily more fair in fresh

verdure and blossoming orchards. Stray, fragmentary rumors began to

float in, borne by herdsmen on their way to pasturage in the higher

Cordilleras. But the tales had reached them from mouth to mouth, and so

far as they concerned the Spaniards, were tangled and over-colored. One

day, however, there came news of a different order, brought by a

_chasqui_, the first to enter the valley in many weeks. The first item

was the death at Xauxa of the young Inca Toparca, and the burning at the

stake by Pizarro of Challicuchima, the Quitoan general, on the suspicion

of having poisoned the Inca. The second item, heard with greater grief

by the Xilcalans, was Pizarro’s advance upon Cuzco, and the defeat of

the Auqui Manco in the Pass of Vilcaconga, where he had opposed the

invaders. The Spaniards, it was thought by the _chasqui_, were

doubtless in possession of the capital. Pizarro had left Xauxa

garrisoned by a small force of infantry and several hundred Cañares to

serve as a base upon which to fall back if forced to retreat from Cuzco.

 

With the exception of Toparca’s death there was nothing in the news

which occasioned surprise to Cristoval. He was too familiar with Spanish

prowess to doubt that Pizarro would take Cuzco. He mourned the young

prince, but there was more than the intelligence itself to cause him

uneasiness and depression. The seclusion of the valley seemed violated

by its intrusion, and he awakened to reluctant thought of the end which

must come to the half-dreamlike days, bringing uncertainties, dangers,

and the parting which had grown more and more unwelcome.

 

The day of the arrival of the evil tidings Rava and Maytalca spent in

retirement, and Cristoval was condemned to solitary wandering. His

rambling did not take him far from the hemicycle, and he returned

thither frequently, lingering with many a glance up the avenue; then

strolled again, or lounged where he could view a certain favored seat.

He often turned at fancied footfalls; a distant flutter of the garments

of some maid of the Palla’s household was strangely suggestive of Rava;

and more than once he was deceived by a glint of bright sunlight on the

foliage. Curiously, the garden seemed haunted by dim phantasms of that

familiar, graceful form, and after the hundredth illusion he took

himself to task: "What, Cristoval! Art a boy, to go mooning along these

paths, starting at thine own conjurings? What aileth thee? Once thou

wast good companion for thyself. Now thou goest about peering and

stretching thy neck into the bushes like an unmated cock-pheasant.

Come! Go saddle up and ride. Thou ’rt in sore need of exercise,

_camarada_."

 

He started back with resolution. As he approached the hemicycle his

steps slowed, and he halted in front of the seat where Rava had worked.

There lay a forgotten skein of thread. He picked it up, contemplating

it with an interest disproportionate to its importance or value. Useless

to try to follow his thoughts. It was intrinsically feminine, that

trifle, and the soldier succumbed to its femininity. He drew a small

pouch from his bosom and placed the skein beside the half-dozen other

precious trinkets it contained. He closed the pouch; reopened it

hastily, removed the thread, and replaced it upon the seat where he had

found it; then sprang to his feet and walked rapidly away. A half-hour

later he was galloping along the lane toward the canyon by which they

had approached Xilcala weeks ago.

 

 

Now the valley, stirred for a moment by the _chasqui’s_ tidings, sank

again into its repose. The mourning for the defeat at Vilcaconga was

mitigated by confidence in ultimate victory. What enemy of Tavantinsuyu

had ever triumphed? Soon a call to arms would come, and the nation

would respond with overwhelming potency. All in good time.

 

At the villa of Maytalca the days went as before. But—were they days of

growing happiness, or of more rapidly growing pain? Cristoval could not

have said, nor could Rava. He had learned to interpret the evanescent

light in the brown eyes that so often sought his own, but the joy it

gave him was for the instant, and followed at once by a deeper pang. He

turned away from the gentle face whose beauty, waxing daily more

alluring under the tender burning of the soul within, would have shaken

the knees of the resolution of one thrice more saintly than Cristoval.

But though he told himself that the parting must be only a question of

weeks, though he rode hard and invoked the good San Antonio, Cristoval found little peace.