The Crimson Conquest 7

The Crimson Conquest 7

Cristoval smote the table with his fist. "By the fighting Saint

Michael, he hath not his peer in armor!"

 

"No!" Pedro concurred with emphasis. "Thou sayst right, Cristoval. But

the poor _veedor_! Have ye seen him? He hath been waddling about the

square, swollen with consternation, now climbing to the fortress to

stare at the campfires on the hills, now scuttling down again to tell

how many there are; one minute praying, the next swearing, and the next

bellowing like a calf that he is a civilian, no fighting man, and is

misplaced. And misplaced he is, I’ll take my oath! Pizarro locked him

up at last, to prevent the panic he was beginning to spread. Gods,

gentlemen! were I the commander I’d melt him and make him into tallow

dips."

 

A bugle sounded in the square, and Cristoval exclaimed, rising,

"Officers’ call! The general hath something to say."

 

Pizarro had something of moment to say, and was in council with his

officers through the night.

 

 

 

 

*CHAPTER V*

 

_*The Monarch and the Princess Rava*_

 

 

The entry of the Spaniards into Caxamalca had not been spirited, nor

jubilant. But the rain, which had conspired with other depressing

circumstances to dishearten them, ceased during the night, and the

sixteenth of November broke with a cloudless sky. Its first light was

greeted in the Peruvian camp by the clamor of trumpets, the wailing of

conches and horns, and the thunder of drums—a warlike and mighty

dissonance which struck faintly upon the listening ears of the invaders

in the town, and set many a good Christian making the sign of the cross

and murmuring his prayers. The army of the Inca was portentously astir.

 

The monarch was quartered in a villa at the edge of the eastern

foothills. Not far away, their position marked by columns of rising

steam, were the hot mineral springs which had made the place a resort of

the Incas for generations.

 

The villa itself differed little in its severe simplicity from other

structures of the country. It was massively built of stone, with the

usual high-pitched covering of thatch—a form of roof far from primitive

in this instance, for the thatches of Peru were artfully and durably

constructed, often highly ornate in the weaving and gilding of their

straw. The building was without exterior decoration except for the

sculptured geometrical design bordering the entrance. This doorway,

like the small windows set high up under the eaves, and the numerous

niches with growing plants, which served to modify the severity and

blankness of the walls, narrowed from threshold to lintel as in the

architecture of ancient Egypt. The walls, too, broad at the base and

sloping inward as they narrowed to the top, further suggested the

comparison.

 

On either side of the villa entrance stood sentinels in the blue of the

Incarial Guard, in heavily pourpointed tunics or gambesons, similar to

those worn by the European men-at-arms of the fourteenth century. Each

wore a casque of burnished silver, with heavy cheek-plates descending to

the point of the jaw, and surmounted by the figure of a crouching

panther, the device of their corps. Above the head-piece rose a high

crescent-shaped crest, not unlike that on the helm of the warrior of

ancient Greece. Their arms were bare to the shoulder, but encircled by

heavy bands of silver above the elbow and at the wrist. Their legs were

protected only by the blue and silver lacings of their sandals, which

entwined them to the knees. They were armed with javelins, small round

shields of polished brass, and from their broad, heavily plated belts

hung small battle-axes and short swords of bronze, an alloy which the

Peruvians tempered almost to the hardness of steel.

 

At an early hour the throne-room was filled with officers and nobles

costumed as brilliantly as the court of an Oriental potentate. The

majority were Quitoans, but among them were a small number of the nobles

of Cuzco, recent adherents of Huascar, who had tendered their allegiance

to the successful Atahualpa, or whose presence at the court the latter

had commanded. All were in the sleeveless outer garment of the country,

belted at the waist, with skirts falling to the knees, and not unlike

the _tunica_ of the Roman. The stuff was of wool, woven in fanciful and

often elegant patterns, and not infrequently decorated with elaborate

passementerie, or with braid or scale-work of gold and silver. Every

stalwart form glittered with jewelled armlets, bracelets, necklaces, and

girdles in the precious metals, while the nobles of Cuzco wore, as a

distinguishing mark of their order, heavy discs of gold let into the

lobes of their ears.

 

The apartment in which they awaited the coming of the monarch was no

less splendid than the assemblage, and showed the same lavish use of

gold and silver, which in the empire of the Incas had no value except

for ornamentation. It was a lofty chamber with walls of polished

porphyry, divided by pilasters into panels bordered with vines in

precious metal, perfect in leaf and stem. Suspended from silver

brackets wrought in forms of serpents, lizards, and fanciful monsters,

were lamps burning perfumed oil, filling the room with faint aroma, and

dispelling the obscurity of the early morning with their radiance. The

ceiling, panelled by heavy rafters, was of rushes, gilded and

elaborately woven in squares and lozenges. At intervals the walls were

niched like those of the exterior, to receive natural plants or

imitations of them in the metals.

 

In the rear of the apartment, beneath a canopy resplendent with

embroidery and featherwork, was a dais of serpentine on which stood the

Inca’s seat, a low stool of solid gold, richly chased and jewelled.

Back of this, against the wall, was the imperial standard, on whose

folds blazed and sparkled in embroidery and precious stones a rainbow,

the insigne of the Incas.

 

The room was nearly bare of furniture, but its marble floor was softened

by richly dyed rugs and the skins of animals. In a word, in this

country villa of the ruler of an empire of the farthest West was a

wealth of decoration that would have dimmed the splendor of the palace

of a maharajah.

 

Presently, a door in the rear swung open, and a silence fell as a

grizzled veteran in the splendid uniform of a general of the Quitoan

troops entered and raised his hand. He was followed by two officers of

the Incarial Guard, who halted and took post at each side of the

doorway. A breathless moment, then came the Inca Atahualpa, attended by

his personal staff. The nobles went upon their knees, bending until

their foreheads touched the floor, and so remained until the monarch,

moving with brisk, soldierly pace, had gained the dais, where he turned

with a brief command that they arise.

 

Atahualpa was then close to his thirtieth year. His countenance was one

which would have been striking among men of any race. He had the

warrior-face of the American aborigine—the aquiline nose, the high

cheekbones and firm jaw and mouth, the calm pride and dignity of

__EXPRESSION__—but refined by generations of Inca culture. It was the face

of a fighter, and a slumbering ferocity was perhaps lurking in the dark

and somewhat bloodshot eyes; but it was also an intellectual one,

clear-cut in line and contour, and backed by a well-formed head,

handsomely poised. His complexion, of the usual bronze of the Indian,

was yet not more swarthy than that of many Spaniards. His black hair was

closely trimmed, and on his head was the royal diadem, the _llauta_, a

thick cord or band of crimson, wound several times around, with a

pendant fringe covering his forehead to his brows from temple to temple.

Set closely in the _llauta_ above the fringe, diverging as they rose,

were two small white feathers, each with a single spot of black. These

were taken from the wings of the _coraquenque_, a rare bird sacred to

the Incas. He was simply clad in deep red, the royal color. His tunic

was quite devoid of decoration, but the cloak thrown over his shoulders

glittered with embroidery and scales of gold, and besides his heavy

ear-ornaments he wore at his throat a collar of emeralds worth an

emperor’s ransom.

 

A powerful man, well and serenely accustomed to his power, mentally and

physically equal to its exercise, and sufficiently wonted to it not to

be self-conscious, is truly a fit object of admiration. There is

nothing more sublime, in its way, on earth: nothing more majestic, and

only suggested by the brute kingliness of the lion. Atahualpa, the

descendant of a long line of absolute monarchs, a line believed by the

Peruvians to have sprung from Inti, the Sun-god himself, wore his

majesty as naturally as he wore his cloak and with as little thought of

it.

 

On this occasion the audience was short, and the Inca did not seat

himself. Having heard the reports of his generals, he directed that

supplies be sent to the Spaniards in Caxamalca, gave a few orders

concerning the disposition of his troops and the formation of his escort

for the visit to Pizarro that afternoon, and retired, while the nobles

went again upon their knees until he had quit the apartment. In the

court outside he dismissed his staff and descended a terrace into the

garden in the rear of the palace.

 

It was an alluring place at any hour, and to its quiet seclusion the

young monarch often resorted when he wearied of councils, the affairs of

government, and the endless formalities of the court. From the rear of

the villa an avenue, bordered with flowering shrubbery and spreading

palms backed by tall quinuars, led to an open lawn in the middle of

which played a fountain. Around the margin of the green, set in shady

niches in the foliage, were marble benches. Over one of these rugs had

been thrown, and leaning sadly on its arm with her cheek resting on her

hand sat a maiden of seventeen. A few paces away were half-a-dozen

attendants, seated on the sward, arranging armfuls of flowers. So busy

were they, and so deep the maiden’s reverie, that the Inca’s coming was

unnoted, and he paused, surveying the group and hesitating to interrupt.

At that moment, slightly turning her head, the girl observed him; with

sudden pallor and a movement of her hand to her heart she arose.

 

She was handsome and womanly, and as she stood timidly awaiting her

monarch’s approach he did not fail to note her beauty with brotherly

pride; for she was his half-sister, the Ñusta[1] Rava. Her dark eyes,

heavily veiled by their lashes, were downcast, and her color came and

went with every step of his advance. Her cloak, falling back as she