The Crimson Conquest 38

The Crimson Conquest 38

For several days the garrison remained within the fortress. A fortnight

later word came that Prince Manco had met Pizarro peaceably at

Xaquixaguana, and had presented his claim to the throne. His right had

been formally recognized, and the prince was proceeding with the

Spaniards to Cuzco, where the coronation would take place straightway.

Accompanying the news was his command that all hostility should cease,

and soon natives and garrison were on friendly terms. Those Spaniards

privileged to do so took quarters in the town, and among them was Pedro.

 

Pedro established his _cantina_ near the square. One afternoon he was

leaning idly beside his door, watching the passers-by, with an

occasional glance down the thoroughfare toward the north. A _chasqui_

had announced the day before that a small company of Viracochas was

approaching, newly arrived from Panama, on the way to join Pizarro. The

_cantina_ was prepared, and a roast of llama on Pedrillo’s spit divided

the attention which the proprietor paid to the street. The latter was

interesting, for the day was a festival of some sort and the town was

full of the country people, gayly clad, and notwithstanding recent

calamities, in full holiday spirits. As Pedro stood he noted that the

crowd was growing. By and by he observed that his establishment was

drawing a deal of persistent attention. No one had stopped in front of

it, but a number had passed and repassed, and one Indio, conspicuous for

his dignity of bearing, had already grown familiar. He was a tall old

man, wrapped in a long, colored poncho of unusual elegance, its heavy

folds falling to his knees and decorated with a profusion of

conventionalized forms of birds and beasts. The object of particular

interest to Pedro, however, was his suite. Following close as he

stalked past for the sixth or seventh time, was his wife; and in her

train a numerous family ranging in age from five to eighteen years or

thereabout, the eldest a maiden of comely face and figure who glanced at

the cook with shy but unmistakable curiosity. The old man seemed never

to see him, apparently disdaining show of interest; but his family were

less scrupulous, and favored him with stares undisguised. This group

was but one of many, but it was notable to Pedro by the presence of the

shy though curious eighteen-year-old of the comeliness mentioned. Pedro

was not unsusceptible. Having once or twice caught her eyes, he

straightway experienced a responding interest.

 

"Ho!" thought he. "How now? Have thy charms survived thy years, Pedro,

my boy? Are there yet lines of grace in thy portliness? That was a

wistful, surreptitious, yearning contemplation, or there’s some mistake.

It swept thy traits and fair proportions most lingeringly.—Ha! She

cometh again! Stew me if she cometh not again! Hold! Guard thine

eyes, admired cook. Bank their fires, lest they startle with too much

ardour. I’ll look at the sky till she is near. Ah! Fair sky! Ample,

roomy, easy-fitting vault of blue! Large, capacious dome! Dome with

space enough for stars to knock about in, and space to spare— But she

is here! Now look! Oh, hot kettles, Pedro, how comfortable thou art!

Was there not warmth in that stolen glance? O, my patron saint!— But

who is she—and where abideth? That patrolling image in her lead must be

her papa. I’ll inquire."

 

With his jovial countenance glowing pleasantly he cast about for a

possible source of information, and his eyes lighted upon a youth across

the street who was surveying him with unmitigated wonder, his eyes and

mouth equally broad open. Pedro motioned him, and the boy started

hesitatingly across the street. At once the interest of the crowd was

fixed, and they formed a respectful circle, across which the lad

advanced with evident trepidation. Pedro had acquaintance with the

Quichua, and hailed him cordially.

 

"May the day bring thee good fortune, and the night better, my lad.

Come hither. There is something I would ask. This seemeth a gala day,

is it not?

 

"The Feast of the Full Moon, Viracocha," replied the boy, respectfully.

 

"The Feast of the Full Moon! Good! Dost live in Xauxa?"

 

"No, Viracocha. I am here but for the day. I live yonder, up the

valley," indicating the direction by turning and pursing out his lips, a

gesture habitual with the Peruvians, and surviving to this day.

 

"Yonder, up the valley!" said Pedro, imitating his grimace. "Hum! Thou

’rt a good boy, I take it from thy face. Sleepest at home, and early?"

 

"Why, where else, Viracocha?" asked the other innocently.

 

"Ah! Where else, to be sure! But in my country o’ nights, the boys oft

go chasing nightingales—a bird which I have not yet seen in

Tavantinsuyu. ’T is quite as well. But what I would ask is this: The

folks seem curious. Now, what draweth their attention hereabout? What

held thy lower jaw away from its fellow a moment since?"

 

"Viracocha?" asked the boy, puzzled.

 

"I observed thee looking this way. What is the interest which hath

brought this crowd?"

 

"Oh!" exclaimed the youth, enlightened. "Why, you are one of the

Viracochas—your pardon."

 

"No offence," answered Pedro. "A mere chance which hath befallen others

of my race. Is that all?"

 

The boy hesitated. "No, not all. The bare bone of your leg,

Viracocha—"

 

"Oho!" shouted Pedro. "The bare bone of my leg! God bless my soul! The

bare bone of my leg, for a surety! Why, stew me! Now, ’t is a sight, is

it not—to see a man with a part of his skeleton sticking out into the

glare of day! But, lad, what if I were to show thee my ribs? Nay!" he

added, as the boy drew back aghast. "I’ll not do it in the presence of

ladies, never fear. Ha! The bare bone of— But is that all?" He

lowered his voice. "Yonder damsel, for instance, just now passing—do

not look too quickly—hath she been drawn by my leg, thinkst thou?"

 

The boy looked round cautiously at the girl lingering at the edge of the

circle. "I cannot say for her," he said, "but if the Viracocha wisheth,

I will ask her," and full of accommodation, he started in her direction.

 

"Stay!" cried Pedro, seizing him. "_Santa Maria_, no! Let it pass.

I’ll endure the doubt.—The bare bone of my leg, saith he! Oh, pots and

skillets!" Pedro exhibited some symptoms of a coming laugh, but the

attack did not develop, and he went on: "A marvel, in truth! But if it

hath merited so much attention I’ll show it worthy of more."

 

Steadying himself upon the boy’s shoulder, Pedro unscrewed his peg from

its socket, and as an exclamation of amazement and dismay arose from the

crowd, tossed it high in the air, caught it, and set it whirling in his

nimble fingers. The circle spread abruptly. The old Indio forgot his

dignity and watched in stupefaction while the cook juggled his member

with the skill of a mountebank. Transforming it into a weapon, he

attacked a fancied enemy, hopping about, striking, and guarding, until

the foe was laid low by one last fell stroke. From the role of a weapon

it passed to that of a flute, and as Pedro’s fingers ran over imaginary

keys he whistled a Spanish air, then one of their own, to their infinite

wonder and delight. He finished with a bow to the old Indio, and

tendered the peg for inspection. It was taken gingerly, and the ice was

broken.

 

The old man examined it with profound solemnity, while his daughter

looked upon the gracious cook with a round-eyed fascination most

grateful to his complacent soul. It ended with an invitation into the

_cantina_, and, having screwed his peg back into place, Pedro ushered in

the entire family and served a luncheon, at the end of which he was

asked to their _huasi_, six miles out beyond the fortress. The Indio,

Municancha, was a master-mason engaged upon the uncompleted

fortifications. Thus the cook opened an acquaintance which he afterward

found of value.

 

Pedro bade his guests farewell, bestowing a significant squeeze upon the

hand of the daughter, Coriampa, and was pleasantly reviewing the

circumstance, when a shout from his boy at the door hurried him to the

street. His expected countrymen were approaching. A distant flutter of

pennons and the gleam of steel showed above the heads of the crowd, and

soon Pedro was cheering lustily as the company passed. In the lead rode

Sotelo, the commander of the company, with Saavedra, commandant of the

fortress, his travel-stained accoutrements contrasting with the latter’s

burnished armor. Following, and escorted by Father Tendilla, were

half-a-dozen priests and friars, a few on mules and jaded horses, but

most of them on foot. As they passed, Pedro suddenly ceased his

greetings.

 

"Aha! Thou back, Fray Mauricio!" he muttered. "Hast renewed thy courage

and venom, my small, liver-colored brother? I’d exchange thee for the

devil himself, my friend, and so would José, had he his choice. Would

thou wert back in Spain—or farther! I’ll warn the armorer, be sure of

it. And now, the cavaliers—two, four, six, eight. Not bad! But,

father of famine, what a hungry lot! _Hola_!" he shouted. "What fare

on the way, _compadres_? Saddle-leather and surcingles, I’ll be bound.

Cheer up! There’s better beyond. Come, smile thou, my empty

_caballero_ in the rear! In a week thy waistband will renew

acquaintance with thy pansiere. There’s that in Peru to fill it, and

some to be left over for the infantry. Oho! Here they are—our honest

lads of the foot! Twenty in all—and that is to say, twenty larcenies the

more for each day of the calendar. _Bien_! Were there no thieves we’d

have no love for honest men. What cheer, pikemen? Did ye ever see a

cold boiled ham? Ah, see them drool! They’re blest with powers of

memory, ’t is sure. What, ho! A civilian! A leech, _amigo_? No? A

barber!—next of kin. _Gracias á Dios_, a barber! Fall out, my friend;

thy journey endeth here."

 

A weary individual in civil garb, his legs bare to the knees but for the

fringe of rags that fell below them, turned out of the column.

 

"_Nombre de Dios_! Is this an inn?" he asked in astonishment, peering

through the open door and sniffing the fragrance.

 

"An inn, and no less. An inn, and no more," replied Pedro. "Enter.

Thou ’rt as welcome to it as the smell of it seemeth to be to thee."

 

The stranger shook his head. "I have no money, Señor."

 

"The fiend!" ejaculated Pedro. "But thou hast an appetite, or thy looks

belie thee. Enter, and call for what there is. Thy credit is good.

Are there any others—civilians?"

 

"My gratitude, Señor," said the other, with feeling. "Yes, there are

four in the rear of the baggage, and three women with the rear guard."

 

"Three women!" repeated Pedro. "Native women, thou wouldst say?"

 

"Of our own race, Señor."

 

"What!" exclaimed Pedro, in amazement. "Three Spanish women? _Santo

Sacramento_! sayst thou so? What do they in this land of paynimry? Oh,

these modern women!"

 

"Two are wives of cavaliers. The third is alone. And, Señor"—he spoke

earnestly—"beware of this third."

 

"Ho!" responded Pedro, with a shrug. "I have all my feathers, _amigo_."

 

"Nay; but, Señor—" he was interrupted by the jubilant bray of a

pack-mule which had divined the end of the march. When he would have

continued Pedro was badgering a muleteer. The stranger entered the

_cantina_—and Fate rode down upon the unsuspecting Pedro.

 

The rear guard approached. Sure enough, there were three señoras, two

heavily veiled, riding mules. Pedro was bowing profoundly.

 

"Welcome, Señoras! Welcome to the land of gold. ’T is a Heaven’s blessing to look once more upon your kind."