The Crimson Conquest 52

The Crimson Conquest 52

Cristoval was silent, and after consultation the others advanced

scowling. At a few paces they halted, and Mendoza demanded: "Come!

Have ye no tongues, you two? If ye have, find them; or move aside and

give us way. _Diablo_! Is it thou, cook?" He had caught sight of

Pedro’s peg, and surveyed him in astonishment, then Cristoval, whom he

failed to recognize in De Valera’s armor.

 

Cristoval saluted, first the noble, and then, with deliberation, each of

the two cavaliers, saying graciously: "Señores, your right of way endeth

here. We have waited to inform you."

 

Mendoza started. "Ha! Peralta! God’s life!—wilt dispute me passage?

Stand aside, thou—"

 

"Gently, Señor!" interrupted Cristoval, with increased suavity. "Thy

way endeth here! Canst doubt it?" He waved his hand toward the hills,

and the two followed his gesture with an exclamation. The Antis were

closing rapidly from all sides. The young Indio looked at the advancing

warriors with no less astonishment. Cristoval went on:—

 

"However, Señor Mendoza, the circumstance need not prevent our personal

settlement of the question of thy right of way. Here is a fair level of

road—"

 

"Trapped, by the fiend!" bellowed Mendoza, and he turned savagely upon

the noble. "Hast played us, thou dog? Well done! But—" He cast aside

his lance and drew his sword—

 

A most sudden man, this Cristoval. He was upon Mendoza almost before

the sword was bared, mace in hand. His first blow crashed upon the

sword-wrist, and the murderous weapon clanged upon the roadway. The

second followed like lightning, and Mendoza rolled from his saddle with

a shattered helmet, while the riderless horse dashed across the plain.

The second cavalier whirled his steed to fly, when Pedro charged him,

struck him in mid-volt, and horse and rider went down before the impact.

 

The young noble had sprung back out of danger, bewildered, and hardly

less shocked by the unexpected violence and clangor than if the earth

had suddenly opened. Cristoval dismounted and was bending over Mendoza,

unable to determine whether the man was dead, and not much concerned.

The other rider was sitting up, in some disorder of mind, with Pedro

hovering over him, lance in rest, admonishing him gently that he was

expected to preserve a quiet demeanor. The Antis had closed upon the

group, and Cristoval became aware of a hush in the encircling line.

Every man was upon his knees. Mocho was just rising from a prostration

before the young Indio.

 

"_El Inca!_" ejaculated Pedro. "God bless my soul!"

 

Cristoval started. He had scarcely noticed the youth, except to observe

that he wore the ear ornaments of one of rank; but now he saw before him

a replica of the features of Rava, darker, ruggedly masculine, but still

the well-remembered traits. The _llauta_ was absent. The young monarch

turned from Mocho and spoke a word to the Antis, who rose with a shout,

tossing shields and javelins in a frenzy of jubilation, as he advanced

to the astonished Cristoval.

 

"Viracocha," he said, as he offered his hand, scrutinizing the

cavalier’s face. "I owe thee my life. My Lord Mocho, tell me whom I am

to thank."

 

"The Viracocha Cristoval, Sapa Inca," replied Mocho, "to whom

Tavantinsuyu is—"

 

He stopped. The Inca had dropped Cristoval’s hand as if stung, his face

suddenly darkening with enmity. Cristoval stiffened, and his face slowly

reddened at the affront. There was a flash in his eyes as they met the

frown, and he formally saluted, saying:—

 

"The Inca Manco oweth me nothing."

 

Manco turned away abruptly. Remembered his obligation, and again faced

the cavalier, as he said, without gratitude and with an effort plainly

visible: "You have saved my life, Viracocha. My Lord Mocho, see that he

and his companion are suitably rewarded. Assemble thy men."

 

He moved away burdened by a debt heavier upon his proud heart than all

the insults borne at Viracocha hands; haunted by the crucifix seen on

Rava’s bosom—placed there by the one for whose death he had given

fervent thanks to Inti a hundred times: by the hand which had now saved

him from the sword of one whom he hated less. Black thoughts, with

blacker ones beneath: his liberty a loathed thing! He pushed on alone,

far in advance of the column which Mocho was hurriedly forming.

 

Cristoval glanced after him, watched the Antis gathering up Mendoza, who

was groaning feebly; saw the other Spaniard secured, and as the column

moved off, turned to Pedro who was regarding him with inquiry.

 

"By the saints, Pedro, I have little taste for such a host. I misdoubt

our welcome. However," he added, after a moment’s gloomy thought, "I

see no help for it." He recovered his lance, which he had dropped to

catch up his mace, mounted, and they rode after the column.

 

Mocho joined them at the first halt. His manner betrayed his uneasiness

at the reception accorded the two Spaniards by his master, and he

hastened to say: "The Inca is not yet aware of all his indebtedness,

Viracochas; but I will make him so. You will not find him ungrateful."

Cristoval inclined his head gravely, presently asking how the monarch

had effected his release.

 

"By ruse," answered Mocho. "He confided to the new commander of the

Viracochas, Hernando Pizarro, that there is treasure concealed near

Yucay, and was freed to guide the two soldiers to the hiding-place."

 

"Aha!" said Cristoval. "Hernando back! Well, his greed hath

overreached. What is in store for the Viracochas who came with the

Inca?—death, no doubt?"

 

"They will be left at Chinchero to make their way back to Cuzco as soon

as the injured one is able to walk," replied Mocho. Cristoval was

surprised, but made no comment.

 

It was near midnight when Urubamba was reached, and having despatched

heralds to announce the Inca, the command moved on to Yucay. The palace

occupied a rocky shelf far above the valley. It was approached by a

road which wound upward from terrace to terrace through an immense park,

and after a tedious ascent the great rambling group of buildings rose at

the head of the avenue. In a brightly lighted court large enough for a

regiment the escort halted, and the Inca passed between prostrate

menials to his apartments, accompanied by Mocho. On the latter’s return

the two Spaniards were led to quarters in a distant part of the

building, followed by a corps of servants.

 

Their apartment consisted of a large salon with sleeping-rooms

adjoining. It was already alight. Mocho was depressed, but took leave

with cordiality, promising to join them early the following day. A few

minutes later refreshments were brought. As they were about to sit

Pedro inquired,

 

"Canst feed thyself, Cristoval?"

 

"Assuredly!" replied Cristoval, with mild surprise. "Why not?"

 

"So can I," said Pedro. "Canst get to bed without assistance?"

 

"Nonsense, Pedro! What dost think?—that I may drink too much?"

 

"Then in the name of a saint, dismiss these servants! It neither aideth

me to eat to have twelve men observing me how I do it, nor my digestion

afterwards. Tell them to go. They need rest." Cristoval smiled,

indicated to the attendants that they were no longer needed, and Pedro

sat with evident relief. "That," he observed, "is one of the reasons

why I would not be a king. But now we can eat in comfort and

spontaneously as becometh hungry men, notwithstanding the iciness of His

Majesty. Hast guessed at the cause of that, Cristoval?"

 

"I’ve guessed in a hundred guesses, but can make naught of it. He

looked not unfriendly until he heard my name. It may be that Pizarro

hath smirched it with evil report. The name liked him not, ’t is

certain, and we may cast about for the reason. Let it go. But now,

Pedro, he is free, and that meaneth war against Pizarro. Thou knowest my

purpose to offer my sword."

 

Pedro nodded.

 

"It may be," continued Cristoval, "this enmity of the Inca will deny me

privilege, though I scarce can think it. If not, I will fight with

Mocho, and in that event, old friend, we are near to parting."

 

"Ah!" said Pedro, without looking up.

 

"Thy friendship," Cristoval went on, "hath dragged thee into rough

places and more dangers than one. Mine for thee is the only return I

have been able to make. It hath profited thee little, but I swear to

thee, Pedro, it is warmer than I ever felt for any other man, and it

will go sorely to part, _amigo_." Cristoval extended his hand over the

table. Pedro gave it a wrench, and starting to his feet, pegged rapidly

across the room and back. He halted before Cristoval with face slightly

flushed, and surveyed him sternly.

 

"Cristoval," he growled, "sometimes thou growest wearisome. Curse it,

dost think my friendship hath gone halt, like myself? Hath it travelled

so far and now can go no farther? Who hath said so?"

 

"Nay! God forbid that I should think it," said Cristoval, rising. "But

look thou, Pedro, this will be war, and against countrymen. Thou hast

no quarrel."

 

"No?" returned Pedro, remembering again his crushed thumbs and ravaged

chests. "But mayhap I have. If not, then one shall not be long

wanting."

 

What further protest Cristoval would have made was interrupted by a rap

on the door, and he opened it to Mocho. The general was disturbed and

said quickly, "My friend Cristoval, the Inca would see thee

immediately."

 

"What!" exclaimed the cavalier. "Doth he not sleep? It is near the

morning."

 

"He hath not slept," said Mocho.

 

Cristoval threw his cloak over his shoulders and followed him out