The Crimson Conquest 57

The Crimson Conquest 57

In the distant suburbs were splashes of flame and towers of smoke in a

huge, infernal circle, and the watch-fires on the hills were gradually

blotted out by a broken, rufous curtain. Now the roofs of palaces stood

out in pallid relief against the inky blackness of the streets, and the

golden thatch of the Temple of the Sun was gleaming fitfully in the

wavering illumination. From the square, at the first outbreak of the

fire, had risen shouts of alarm, the startled clamor of trumpets, then

the dismal howling of Cañares. But shortly these had ceased, the

beleaguered stricken into dumbness by the terrific vengeance with which

they were menaced. The city had grown strangely still, as if waiting,

aghast, for its fate.

 

Cristoval gazed in stupefaction, held in a paralysis by thought of the

danger to the loved one within the swiftly growing chain of

conflagration. It seemed an age before his tense muscles obeyed his

will. A suppressed exclamation from Pedro at last dissolved the spell,

and with a groan he dashed toward his quarters.

 

Mocho was approaching, and the cavalier ran against him. "Whither,

friend?" demanded the general, detaining him forcibly.

 

Cristoval made a wild gesture toward the fire. "To arm—into the

city—the Ñusta Rava!" He broke away.

 

Mocho looked after him, dumbfounded, then hastened to his command and

called an officer. "Take fifty, Rimachi," he said, hurriedly, "and

follow the Viracocha Cristoval. Obey his orders as mine. He goeth into

Cuzco in aid of the Ñusta Rava. Go first to his quarters in the Paucar

Marca. Speed!"

 

Rimachi entered Cristoval’s apartment and reported his orders. Pedro

followed him in. The cook had come at his best speed, but the cavalier

was finishing his arming as he entered.

 

"Wait for me, Cristoval!" he panted, as he donned his corselet.

 

"Nay!" said Cristoval, latching his helmet and seizing his buckler.

"This time we part, good old comrade. Thou hast risked thyself too often

for friendship’s sake. I go alone. Farewell!" Pedro wrung his extended

hand, swearing and almost weeping at being left behind, but before he

could protest, Cristoval was gone.

 

Outside, the whole world to the south seemed aflame. A monstrous,

reddened cloud leaped and surged toward the heavens, apparently against

the very ramparts of the fortress. The plain, its tents, the towers,

the battalions of the garrison, and every inequality of the ground, were

as clearly marked in the ruddy, reflected glow as if by dawn. Cristoval

paused for an instant, overcome by the terrible magnificence of the

spectacle and the grewsome roar and crackle of the fire, which had grown

apace in the short time it had taken him to arm; then consigned himself

to the Virgin’s care and hurried to the southernmost gate, followed by

the Antis.

 

Here the road drops abruptly down the cliff to the terraces of the

Colcampata, several hundred feet below. Part of the way was by steps

made treacherous by the unusual lights and shadows, and uncertain by the

dense smoke drifting from the western suburbs; but Cristoval descended

at a run, and was soon at the foot of the declivity. Here he was

overtaken by his party, and paused to consider with Rimachi the possible

avenues of entry. In front, the nearest buildings were a mass of

flames. To the right, he could see the district called Huaca Puncu,

already burning fiercely in a score of places. On the left, he

remembered, was the stream Tullamayu, and after a brief consultation

they hastened across the terraces. Through gardens and over walls, they

were presently following a street to the eastward, stumbling in the

murk. At the edge of the ravine was a low wall, surmounted in a second,

and they rushed down the terraced bank to the stream. Cristoval was

harrowed by a fear that the almost solid belt of fire before him would

prove impassable. The few gaps were closing momentarily, forming a

nearly continuous sheet of leaping, whirling flame whose heat reached

even to where he stood. The narrow course of the Tullamayu presented

the only breach, and this was already perilous, dense with smoke and

illumined by a storm of falling sparks and burning brands. He glanced

about at the Antis. Their faces were alight and their eyes gleaming

with the fire, but they showed no sign of fear, and with a word to

Rimachi, Cristoval started down the stream.

 

Shortly they were within the fire-belt, heads bent forward, groping

through the stinging smoke and rain of embers, blundering and slipping

on the water-worn bowlders, under an appalling canopy. The bed of the

stream was pent between walls of masonry with a narrow quay along either

bank. The structures on both sides were now topped with spouting flames

whipped out overhead by the wind in huge streamers and pennons. The

sound of the stream was drowned by the roar and snapping of the

conflagration, the crash of falling timbers, and the incessant hiss of

firebrands showering into the water. The air grew hotter and more

stifling, until they breathed in gasps, but pushed on, dashing water

over their apparel to save themselves from being burned alive. Panting

and floundering, kneeling from time to time to cool his scorching armor

and fill his lungs from the lower air, Cristoval led onward.

 

At length he could see that the glare in advance was growing less. They

had gained the inner edge of the fire-zone. A few yards more, and they

were in a freer atmosphere and partial darkness, and they halted,

leaning against the walls or crouching in the stream to recover from the

exhaustion of the ordeal. Cristoval anxiously counted his men. None

were wanting, and they groped on, presently passing beneath a bridge.

Below was a flight of steps leading to the quay. Cristoval mounted, and

motioned the Antis to follow. The air was thick with smoke beaten down

by the wind, but still dangerously light from the blazing buildings they

had passed, and the cavalier felt the insecurity. A few yards away was

the entrance of a street leading westward, somewhat darker by reason of

being parallel to the line of fire, and he ran his men into its shadow.

Now he wished with fervency that he had a guide; for he learned that

neither Rimachi nor his Antis were acquainted with Cuzco.

 

Cristoval knew where the Amarucancha must lie, and that the street they

were on would lead toward it; further than this he was ignorant. He

knew, moreover, that the palace stood beside the stream Huatenay, and

trusted that, the rivulet once gained, he could find his objective with

little difficulty. Once within with his Antis, he could wait for a

favorable moment to escape with Rava.

 

Cristoval pushed forward through the half-dark, straining eyes and ears.

Little could be seen but dim walls looming on either side, with a flying

drift of smoke above, racing before the wind and weirdly lighted,

curling over roofs, and sucked down in ghostly swirls into the street

before them. Now, it happened that, deceived by the apparent length of

time during which they had struggled down the course of the Tullamayu,

Cristoval fancied himself in the lower part of the city. But the street

they were following was the one in all Cuzco which should have been

avoided. It was the highway leading from the Antisuyu road directly to

the great square. It was deserted now, however, and Cristoval pressed

rapidly on, passing cavernous doorways of palaces, many of them standing

broad open as they had been left by their Spanish occupants when the

starting conflagration had hastened them to the open plaza. Cristoval

passed them cautiously, peering into the dark courts to make sure there

were no lingerers. But all seemed vacant, and save for the murmur of

fountains caught occasionally, all were silent.

 

At a broad street crossing he halted, half disposed to make farther

toward lower Cuzco, suspecting from the nearness of the fire, now only a

few hundred yards to the north, that he was closer to the square than

was prudent. But the brighter illumination of the intersecting street

decided him to continue his way. He was about to advance when Rimachi

seized his arm. The keener ears of the Indio had caught a sound. The

cavalier listened with concentration. From somewhere in the obscurity

came the ordered tramp of soldiers and the murmur of voices, but in the

confusion of sounds from the fire he was unable to determine the

direction. Anxious, above all things, to avoid the mishap of an

encounter that would be most certain, whatever the result, to abort his

plans, he turned to motion the Antis back into the shadow of the street

from which they had emerged, when an abrupt challenge from the darkness

ahead left no doubt of the source of the sounds. Standing in the

half-light of the crossing, he and the group about him were more plainly

visible than he had thought. Before he could effect a retirement, he

received a second challenge, and a party advanced from the darkness at a

run. It was too late to retreat. A score of pikes and halberds charged

into the light. With a shout to his men Cristoval drew and attacked.

 

The Antis, excited by the conflagration, and maddened by burns, needed

but the word. They rushed with a yell that startled even Cristoval by

its ferocity, and drove into the Spanish patrol with a savage impetus

which would have shaken a regiment.

 

The fight was terribly brief. Cristoval had hardly flashed his blade in

the first collision before the party was swept away from him by the

charge of the Antis. The Spaniards recovered, resisted sharply for an

instant, then broke for the square with the Antis in hot pursuit.

 

But a stubborn opposition would have been less disastrous than this

victory. Already a trumpet was sounding, alarmingly close at hand. In

quick realization, Cristoval rushed after his men, ordering them back,

collaring a few whom he was able to overtake, only partly successful in

staying the chase. Before he ceased he saw the dim lights of the open

square a few steps distant, heard the shouts of the startled Spaniards

and the uproar of moving cavalry. The Antis in front, aware of their

peril, came flying back, and he joined their retreat just as a party of

horse entered the head of the street.

 

It was a dash, now, for life. Cristoval noted the interval before the

trot behind broke into a gallop. Weighted by his armor, his speed was

slow, and he heard the Antis pass him in the darkness. The street was

clamoring with the din of hoofs, nearing every instant. He stumbled

over a prostrate form and almost fell; recovered, and sped on. The

fleet Antis had left him far behind, and he was flying alone with death

at his back. Now the troop was almost upon him. He was lost!—No! A

doorway! He flung himself into its shadow headlong, and the charging

column went past with a roar that shook the earth. By the grace of

Heaven, he had not been seen. Or, if seen by the foremost troopers,

those behind had forced them past, and for a moment he was safe. For a

moment only, for infantry would follow; and as the last files thundered

by he staggered to his feet and hurried after.

 

Ahead was the broad thoroughfare where he had stood with Rimachi, and in

its light he could see the glint of the helmets of the troop. An

instant, and they had vanished into the darkness beyond. Could he cross

the lighted space unseen? He was panting with the weight of his steel

and the previous exertion, and his pace slackened. When he reached the

corner he was stumbling and plunging with weariness, and he paused to

breathe and reconnoitre before venturing to cross. Toward the Tullamayu

he heard the uproar of the still receding troop, and a glance up and

down the lighted street showed him that all had kept on in that

direction. But behind was the rushing of many feet. The infantry were

following. He dashed across the open, conscious of the fierce glare in

the north, already perceptibly more intense, and gained the farther

obscurity. He remembered the open doorways, and struggled forward with

desperation. As he turned into the shelter of one of them at last, a

glance over his shoulder showed him morions gleaming in the firelight at

the crossing.

 

He had strength to swing the ponderous door and place the bar, but no

more, and sank down beneath armor that weighed a ton. He lay straining

to suppress his heavy breathing that he might listen for the approach of

the infantry. He heard them presently, and rose to his knees, gripping

his sword. They seemed so long in passing that he fancied they were

gathering about the door; and expecting every instant to hear it

assaulted, he gained his feet, praying for new strength to fight. But

they passed, and the street grew quiet. Still he hearkened, minute

after minute, for sounds which might indicate whether the Antis had been

struck, until, after what must have been an hour, he heard the troop

straggling by on its return to the square. An interval, and a party of

the infantry tramped by in the same direction, and he surmised from the

smallness of the number that it had divided into squads to search the

streets. After this, a welcome silence.