The Crimson Conquest 45
Far down the street the bristling column of spears turned to the left,
and the thunder of the drums at its head grew faint, to rise again as
her _hamaca_ reached the corner. Now she could see the plaza with its
expectant crowds, and shortly she emerged from the narrow way, while
waiting companies fell in on the right and left to form a hollow square.
Suddenly her eyes rested upon a group of bearded faces crowded close to
the lines, and she drew back into the shadow of the _hamaca_. They
stared with quiet insolence, and others were elbowing through the throng
from the direction of a building on the farther side of the square, over
whose door she saw with sinking heart the flag of Spain and the dark
colors of the Army of the Conquest. In front of the building was a
picketed line of horses and a loitering knot of Spaniards. Rava turned
away with a shiver, her brief happiness gone.
Before the Amarucancha the escort halted, and passing a double line of
kneeling nobles, the Ñusta was borne beneath the sculptured serpents.
The first court was crowded, but she had barely time for a glance before
her hands were seized by the Auqui Paullo, her younger brother, who had
sprung to the side of the _hamaca_. Rava embraced him fondly and was
about to alight when she saw a familiar, swarthy countenance near the
door of the audience chamber. The owner was looking intently, and as he
caught her eyes, doffed his sombrero and started forward. Her heart
seemed to cease beating. Paullo was startled by her suddenly heightened
pallor.
"Great Inti!" he cried, in alarm. "What is it, Rava? Art ill?"
She grasped his arm convulsively. "Quick, oh, quick!" she gasped.
"Order my bearers forward—to my apartments!" and she sank, almost
fainting, into the shadow of the curtains. Mendoza halted with a shrug
as the _hamaca_ was raised, replaced his sombrero, and turned back. "By
the demon!" he muttered, with an unpleasant smile, "our haughty Señorita
Ñusta seemeth to disdain old acquaintance. _No importa_! _No importa_!
There are other days to follow."
As he entered the hall he cast a glance over his shoulder at the
_hamaca_ just disappearing into another court, and clicked his tongue in
his cheek.
*CHAPTER XXVI*
_*The Inca Manco*_
Ignoring the salutes of the two sentinels of the royal guard, Mendoza
lounged into the audience room and stood leaning against the wall near
the door. It was a spacious apartment, resplendent with the usual
profusion and wealth of mural decoration thus far left undisturbed by
Pizarro’s rapacious followers. At the farther end of the hall an
assemblage of natives stood at some distance from the throne, on which
was seated the young Inca Manco. Behind him stood a group of nobles,
and at his side, on a lower seat, was Almagro, commandant of the city in
the absence of Pizarro, then on an expedition to the coast. On the left
of the throne, in the front line of nobles, were Juan and Gonzalo
Pizarro, recently superseded in command by Almagro, and now alcaldes of
Cuzco. These three officials, with eight Spanish regidores, constituted
the municipal government established by Pizarro. To the Inca had been
left the insignia of sovereignty, and little more. He had the privilege
of his councils and the conduct of his realm so far as these did not
conflict with Spanish interests; but, as now, the Conquistadors were at
his elbow in humiliating censorship.
The Inca Manco was a youth of twenty years, though his serious and
resolute __EXPRESSION__ made him look more mature. He resembled his
half-brother Atahualpa, but his countenance, of a finer type, was
lacking in the other’s fierceness, and in its delicate modelling was
more like that of the Ñusta Rava. As he sat listening to the _curaca_
of a distant town who had brought a case for adjudication, he wore an
air of thoughtful gloom. The lines of care about his mouth and eyes
vanished when he spoke, announcing his judgment in brisk, quiet tones,
full of decision and confidence. The decree was favorable to the
speaker, and as the latter uttered his gratitude the Inca spoke again
briefly and in lowered voice, his face alight with a trace of pleasure.
The _curaca_ retired, and the next, an aged man, advanced with
hesitation, and having knelt with head bowed to the floor, seemed unable
to finish his obeisance, but remained prostrate. The Inca said kindly,
the customary address strangely inconsistent with their disparity of
age, "Rise, my son, rise! We are waiting."
The old man rose painfully, and in a voice unsteady with age and
emotion, told of outrage that brought hot blood to his sovereign’s
cheek. The night before—he had been waiting all day to make his
complaint—his house had been broken into by a Viracocha soldier, and his
granddaughter carried away. His voice rose as he finished, and he
tottered forward to the dais, extending his trembling old hands in
appeal.
"In the name of the God who shineth in mercy upon us both, Sapa Inca, I
pray to you for vengeance! She is but a child—a mere child—and the
light of mine old life. Grant that your just wrath shall fall upon the
head accursed of the son of that wholly accursed race."
The Inca had started partly to his feet, his dark eyes ablaze. He sat
again. "Where is the girl?" he demanded, hoarsely.
"Cowering in the darkest corner of the darkest chamber of her home, Sapa
Inca—half mad—a blighted bud—a blemished pearl!" He turned abruptly
upon Almagro, who, unacquainted with the Quichua, had given him little
heed, lolling wearily in his chair.
"O, thou Viracocha, offspring of Supay!" cried the old Indio, shaking
his clenched hands toward the Spaniard, "dost yawn at my sorrow,
monster? Hast the heart of a wolf—thou who wearest the aspect of a man?
May the great Inti strike thee with thrice my grief, thrice mine
infirmities!"
Almagro, listening with some surprise to the violent apostrophe, looked
toward the younger Pizarro: "What saith he, Juan?"
"By God, he hath told a tale of bitter wrong, Diego!" responded the
other, vehemently. "One of our men hath stolen his girl. It calleth
for the garrote, or I’m an Ethiopian!"
Almagro sat up and glanced quickly at the Inca, who raised his hand to
silence the complainant, and was now regarding the commandant with stern
eyes and burning cheeks.
"Viracocha Almagro," said Manco, "before thy general went from Cuzco he
engaged that neither house nor person of my subjects should suffer
violation. Thy soldier hath committed a crime which is punished in
Tavantinsuyu with death. I look to thee for vindication."
"Why, blood and wounds!" exclaimed the cavalier, when Manco’s words had
been translated. "Tell him, Juan, that we will indemnify with—Fiends!
but these people set no store by money. Say, then, that we will punish
with any just severity—short of death. That is out of reason."
The Inca’s eyes were fixed steadily upon Almagro while the answer was
being made known to him. "Viracocha," he said coldly, "this outrage is
not the first of its kind. Now, I demand the penalty of death."
Almagro’s scarred face flushed as his single eye met the Inca’s frown,
and he replied bluntly: "I refuse! Tell him I refuse, Juan. We’ll make
what reparation lieth within our power, but curse me if we’ll waste a
soldier at any man’s behest!" and Almagro glanced defiantly from the
Inca to the stern faces of his nobles.
Manco rose abruptly, dismissed his court with a few quick words, and
left the dais. As he passed the old man he spoke to him in an
undertone, and touching his white head lightly as he sank upon his
knees, moved toward the door, followed by his suite.
Almagro sprang to his feet. "How now, my puppet king! Dost turn us an
angry back? For the price of a breath of air I’d trim the fringe from
thy toy of a diadem!"
"Not so loud, Diego!" remonstrated Juan Pizarro. "He hath good offence.
I tell thee, we are not wise to make light of this soldier’s trespass,
_amigo_. One such outrage unpunished will breed a thousand, and before
we are aware the country will be about our ears. ’T is a cut at their
tenderest sensibility. I say, hang the knave and keep the peace."
"Kill a good fighting man for the sake of a twig of a heathen girl!
Thou ’rt mad, Juan. I had as lief sacrifice a horse. We’ll iron him
for forty days, and the matter will be forgotten. Come! Set the
business afoot. Have a public trial and advertise thy zeal, then keep
the affair hanging until interest is worn out. Parade justice for a
week, and these varlets will forget their grievance. _Vamos_!" They
left the empty hall, and indifferent to the dark looks of the throng in
front of the palace, sought their quarters in the old palace of the Inca
Tupac Yupanqui.
With the few nobles so privileged, Manco went to his apartments.
Controlling his agitation, he faced his counsellors. For a moment he
studied each, reading under their impassiveness the fire smouldering in
his own breast. In the group was Villaoma, the Villac Vmu, or high
priest of the empire, most sagacious of his advisers, as he had been
before to Huayna Capac and to the ill-fated Huascar. The old priest met
his look with one of keen scrutiny. Manco had been his favorite, and
from boyhood had been watched with an interest as deep and hopeful as if
of his own flesh and blood. Manco’s admission to the military order
came when Cuzco was prostrate before the conqueror Atahualpa, her armies
scattered, and the Inca Huascar a prisoner in the fortress at Xauxa.
When Pizarro, after the death of Atahualpa, marched upon the capital
with the new Inca, Toparca, Manco reassembled the forces of Cuzco and
prepared for resistance. Following the counsel of the Villac Vmu,
Prince Manco had suspended hostilities after Toparca’s death and laid
before Pizarro his own claim to the imperial _llautu_, temporarily
humiliating himself to forestall such other pretender as this king-maker
might advance. If he had underestimated the cost of this surrender of
dignity to policy, the Villac Vmu did not share his mistake; and when
the monarch presently realized the penalty for his pawned manhood, the
stings of injured pride, the chafing under arrogance, and the wounds of
slighted majesty, it was with difficulty that the priest restrained a
premature outbreak. Now he saw the fire long kept in check burning near
the surface. He held his peace, however, and Manco said merely:—
"I would have thee come hither to-night, Villac Vmu, after the third
watch—and you, my generals, Quehuar, Mayta, and Mocho. And come
prepared to counsel no longer caution, delay, but—action!" The effect
of the last word was electrical—but as a flash of heat lightning, and as
silent. It brightened their dark faces and fierce eyes for an instant,
and was gone. But he knew them well, this young warrior-emperor;
expected no reply, nor wished it. Presently he was alone.
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