The Crimson Conquest 53

The Crimson Conquest 53

CHAPTER XXXI*

 

_*Inca and Conquistador*_

 

 

The Inca Manco did not sleep. His attendants dismissed, he found

himself alone with torturing thoughts. Lashed, stung, and seared by the

recollection of a thousand Spanish outrages, of the humiliations during

his imprisonment, his mind seethed with purpose of vengeance, with plans

of action, and impatience for their execution. Most merciless of all

was the thought that beneath his very roof were sheltered two of the

hated aliens, harbored through the demands of a gratitude which he could

not feel. And one of them (the one who had seduced Rava from her faith

in the ancient gods, whom he had seen her mourning with he knew not—O,

Inti!—what secret cause of grief, and whom he would have gladly given to

death) had imposed upon him the final obligation! The sense of it bit

to his proud soul like the thrust of a javelin. He would have seen this

Viracocha hurled from a precipice as he would a common criminal, but the

debt was there, burdening his heart like a monstrous incubus. He strode

about, clutching his head, now resolved to issue a fell command, now

restrained by the stern injunction of honor. The Viracocha was his

guest; had, moreover, said Mocho, been zealous for storming the

Sachsahuaman; had served Tavantinsuyu in other ways, and professed a

wish to serve still further. With what motive, this allegiance? Ah!

what motive could a Viracocha have but one?—the hope of gold! He was

merely more astute than his fellows, and of deeper cunning; but the

incentive was, could be nothing else. Then this debt could be

acquitted!—should be acquitted that very hour! The Viracocha should

have his gold and be gone. At once! Before the sun should find him

beneath the roofs of Yucay!

 

Manco hastened to the door. He threw it open, restrained the sentinels

with impatience from their obeisance, and sent one in hot haste for

Mocho. The general was soon in the royal chamber. Manco stood in the

middle of the floor, hot-eyed and scowling.

 

"Fetch the Viracocha!" he cried, impetuously, as Mocho appeared.

"Hasten—the one called Cristoval—and—I will see him alone, Mocho."

 

Mocho hurried away, wondering and disturbed. The Inca saw the door

closed, and became active. On his table was his untouched supper,

served on plates and salvers of massive gold. He seized them, opened an

outer door, flung out their contents, and stacked the utensils in a

glowing heap. In an adjoining room were toilet articles of precious

weight. They were piled beside the table service. From the niches in

the walls he snatched the vases, hurled out the plants and soil, and

bore them, an armful of wealth, to the stack on the table. From a chest

he tossed out a fortune in jewelled armlets, wristlets, and girdles.

From the walls he tore their decorations, bending and crushing them into

shapelessness.

 

He worked eagerly, casting the articles upon the heap with scorn for the

object for which they were being collected, and hating them for their

worth to his enemies. As he deposited the last he heard steps, and

turned to face the unwelcome guest. Cristoval was ushered in by Mocho,

who retired at once, closing the door. The cavalier saluted, observing

the half-suppressed agitation on the Inca’s face. The monarch made

slight acknowledgment, noting quickly that he wore the native costume.

Manco stood beside the treasure, darkly watchful for the Spaniard’s

__EXPRESSION__ at sight of the gold. Cristoval glanced at the pile as he

entered, but gave it no further look, regarding Manco with calm

attentiveness. Unexpectedly the latter found it not easy to begin.

There was a dignity in the bearing of this Viracocha which forbade the

tender of the treasure and abrupt dismissal ready to his tongue a second

before. The silence had become onerous when he said at last:—

 

"Viracocha, I have summoned you to say once more that I am in your debt.

Lord Mocho hath told me all he knoweth. I am aware of your service

to—to one of my kin. Yesterday you added further to my obligation, and

I desire to discharge it immediately, and if possible, to your

satisfaction."

 

The bitterness in the words and the curl of lip did not escape the

cavalier, who replied, coldly: "Lord Inca, there existeth no obligation

to be discharged. You will pardon my denial that any act of mine hath

imposed a debt upon the Inca Manco."

 

The Inca made no pretence of concealing the disdain with which he

received the answer and waved it aside. Stepping back from the table, he

pointed at the pile of gold and said brusquely, "Take it!"

 

But the execrable lighting of the Spaniard’s face for which he looked,

and had seen so often on those of Pizarro and his companions, was

absent. Cristoval ignored the treasure, but the color flashed into his

face in resentment of Manco’s tone and manner. "Your gold hath no worth

to me, my Lord Inca," he said, with slow emphasis. "I ask no favor but

your authority to pass, to-night, the guards about the palace."

 

"Do you reject it?" demanded Manco, with a frown.

 

"I beg my Lord Inca’s gracious leave to decline it."

 

"It is not enough!" exclaimed Manco, with contempt. "Then I will

increase it."

 

"I fear my lord doth not get my meaning," replied Cristoval, with an

even voice that would have cautioned one acquainted with its

significance. "I repeat, the gold is of no use to me."

 

Manco’s frown darkened. "Then what will you, Viracocha?" he cried,

impatiently. "Name it! It shall be yours. If this gold is not enough,

I will load your beast with all he can bear away. But let me acquit

this debt before the sun riseth upon it again."

 

The scorn was now Cristoval’s. It burned in his steady eyes as he

replied quietly: "I fear, my lord, that you will compel me to speak

plainly, and I would not. If I have been of service, I beg you will

believe that I should feel it depreciated by the acceptance of reward.

It should be unnecessary for me to say more to a soldier, my Lord Inca."

 

Manco scarcely heeded his words. In his impatience to be done their

sense was quite lost. His experience with the sordid and greedy

Spaniards made it impossible for him to believe this one less so. He

rejoined hotly: "You saved my life, Viracocha! Why?"

 

Cristoval answered with patience. "I was unaware that it was you, my

lord. It calleth not even for your thanks."

 

Manco flushed, but went on. "You were about to take part in an

undertaking to release me from prison. Again, why? Lord Mocho hath

said that you would offer your sword to Tavantinsuyu. Why, Viracocha?

Is it without hope of reward, all this? Are you of so different fibre

from the plunderers of Cuzco?" He turned away with a gesture of

contemptuous disbelief.

 

Cristoval eyed him in silence, struggling to restrain his anger at the

imputation of venality. When he spoke the Inca faced him again, and met

a look grown intense.

 

"Lord Inca Manco," said the cavalier, "you have questioned my motives.

It is not my wont to defend them—with words; nor will I defend them now

further than to say that it was my purpose to offer my sword without

thought of reward, and less to aid you and your cause, just though it

is, than to rescue one whom you hold dear—the Ñusta Rava."

 

At the name the Inca’s face grew livid. "Ah!" he exclaimed, his voice

lowered and husky with passion. "One whom I hold dear! One whom I held

dear above all on earth until she came to me defiled by your accursed

love, broken-hearted, wearing the symbol of your damnable belief!"

 

His rage was not more quick than that of Cristoval, but the latter’s

years gave him better self-control. The cavalier, pausing to hold

himself, replied: "Defiled, my Lord Inca! ’T is a black and shameful

word, applied to the Ñusta Rava, and by the great Heaven, the man with

whom I could fight on equal footing should not leave this room alive

with the word unswallowed!"

 

The Inca snatched the _llautu_ from his head and cast it aside. He went

out, returning instantly with a pair of the short native swords. He

thrust the hilts toward the cavalier.

 

"Choose!" he cried, hoarsely.

 

Cristoval’s eyes blazed, and he stretched out his hand to seize the

weapon. Arrested the motion, and drawing back, stood surveying the

maddened youth in silence. Fight this prince, already laden with

unnumbered cares, the victim of inconceivable wrongs, and on the eve of

leading a life-and-death struggle to save his people? Turn a sword upon

the brother of Rava?

 

"Choose!" commanded Manco, passionately. "Doth the Viracocha hesitate?"

 

Cristoval grasped a sword, and as the Inca stepped back to guard, threw

it upon the table. "My lord," he said, "I have no mind to fight."

 

Manco’s surprise gave way to quick access of anger. "What mean you,

Viracocha?" he demanded, hotly. "Is this some new form of insult?"

 

"God forbid!" said Cristoval.

 

For a moment the monarch glared at him, speechless with rage and

uncertainty. "Do I look upon a coward?" he asked, slowly, the scorn

deepening in his eyes.

 

Cristoval knew that the stigma must follow his refusal, yet he started

and reddened at the word. "A coward! No, my Lord Inca, not that!" he

replied, meeting steadily the look of contempt and enmity. "Not a

coward; and I believe you cannot think it." During a fraction of a

second he felt the penetrating gaze which might have been Rava’s. It

passed, and Manco’s brow darkened again. He was about to speak, but

Cristoval raised his hand. "Lord Inca Manco," he said, gravely, "we

have no quarrel. I divined but now the nature of what you hold as

grievance. I call upon Heaven to witness that the Ñusta Rava hath had

from me naught but honor in mine every thought."

 

"Honor!" repeated Manco, with renewed scorn. "Honor in a Viracocha?"

 

"Nay, my lord! You have heard me say that I will not fight," returned

the cavalier. Manco colored under the reproof, and Cristoval went on,

"There is honor even among Viracochas, and something more than lust of

gold, God knoweth!" He paused again. "You spoke of the symbol the

Ñusta Rava wore. I tell you, Prince, that if you come not to the faith,

it betokeneth you will go upon your bended knees on the hot pavement of

hell and give up thanks that your sister hath been spared your fate!"

Then, with a gesture: "But I say once more, Lord Inca, we have no

quarrel. We have a common enemy."

 

Again Manco’s searching look, but he was silent, studying the man before

him. Here, assuredly, was a Viracocha who differed from his kind. He

had neither swaggered nor sneered. He spoke with a dignity and candor

that forced respect. In his bearing was a calm pride and consciousness

of strength which had baffled the unconcealed hate and bitterness with

which he had been received. The frank honesty of his eyes had lent

support to his words. Manco’s youth had not given him a knowledge of

men, and least of all could he fathom a Spaniard; but his own ingenuous

temperament, shamefully as it had been abused, made him quick in an

intuition that he had misjudged. But this was in his thoughts as an

under-current. Before him still was a Viracocha. He tossed his sword

beside its fellow, and demanded:—

 

"Why are you here? Of what concern to you is the rescue of the Ñusta

Rava?"

 

Candidly Cristoval faced the rights of a brother. "Of deep concern, my

lord. So deep that I overlook the manner of your questions and answer

them," he replied, bluntly. "So deep that I have proffered my service,

my life, if need be, to Tavantinsuyu in her behalf."