The Crimson Conquest 62

The Crimson Conquest 62

Pedro brought the tidings,—a double sorrow to Cristoval, for Juan

Pizarro had been steadfastly his friend. The cavalier rose abruptly.

"Look thou, Pedro! To-morrow I ride. These poor devils of Indios are

throwing brave lives away for want of knowledge. ’T is as if they were

children dashing themselves over a precipice without warning. They know

not even where a Spaniard is vulnerable in his armor. Why, man, were

they mine enemies ’t would sicken me to see them fight at such hopeless

odds! And now, with Juan dead, Rava will be more than ever in danger. I

go to-morrow."

 

Pedro scrubbed his forehead vigorously and growled: "Cristoval, thou ’rt

an unringed bull-calf, and I’m of a notion to choke-pear and

strait-jacket thee. What canst do in thy condition? Thou’rt

sore-footed from thy burns, and wilt shed thy blisters like a lizard his

skin before thou ’rt in the saddle an hour. Thou ’rt bad enough, and

not over-amusing as it is; but what wilt be with legs like two peeled

carrots?"

 

"No worse than now," replied Cristoval, doggedly, "and at least not

idle."

 

"But what dost think to do?—to fight thy way to the Ñusta Rava?"

 

"That, if possible. At any rate, to teach these people that cavalry is

not to be stopped with bodkins, nor chain-shot with wisps of straw."

 

"Well," admitted Pedro, thoughtfully, "it would be a God’s mercy."

 

The next morning, with Markumi and Ocallo following, they made a long

detour of the Peruvian lines to the camp of the Antis, east of the city.

Although the ride was full of pain, the activity was a relief to

Cristoval, and as the sun rose upon the valley full of martial sights

and sounds, his spirits rose with it. Near midday they were guided to

General Mocho, who was on the lines with his troops. They found him

with a group of officers on a rise of ground in advance of his

battalions, overlooking the ruined suburb, Toco Cachi. He hastened

forward to meet them, greeting the cavalier with warmth. The latter

lost no time in broaching the subject. Mocho interrupted to summon his

officers. They gathered round, listening intently while the cavalier,

with his usual brevity and clearness, laid the project before them.

 

While Cristoval and Pedro refreshed themselves, Mocho went to the

pavilion of the Inca on the heights east of the city. Soon _chasquis_

were flying to summon the generals in council.

 

Evening came, with notes of evening calls from trumpets, conchs, and

drums, and the movement of battalions relieving those on the line around

the city. Then, night with its myriad stars, myriad fires on the hills,

and silence. But in Cuzco’s blackened purlieus the besiegers were

toiling through the hours.

 

Near midnight Cristoval returned with Pedro from observing the

operations which his counsel had set afoot, to have a few hours’ sleep.

Toward morning he was roused by Pedro.

 

"Come, Cristoval! Up and helm. The thing’s a-ready to simmer. Stir,

man! Thou hast piped, bassooned, and hautboyed until the night hath

shuddered and my mule hath wept. Stew me! Cristoval, had I a

sleeping-voice like thine I’d gag myself with a saddle-bag, or wear a

coffin for a night-robe. Wake up, thou scorched hurdy-gurdy! ’T is the

prime hour of chilly misery and the last watch of ghosts and goblins.

Ah, curse it! I would I were a barber, and no cook. See what it hath

led to, this culinary art! _Hola_! Art awake at last? Well, here is a

bite I’ve spread for thee. Eat, and ballast thy treason, since thou ’rt

on treason bent, whilst I look to our saddles."

 

He went out into the darkness where Ocallo and Markumi waited with their

steeds, while Cristoval, now alive, attacked a cold luncheon laid by his

thoughtful comrade. He finished hurriedly, and left the tent.

 

The two Spaniards were quickly in saddle, and with Ocallo and Markumi

following, crossed the camp toward the Antisuyu road. This highway,

connecting the capital with the eastern provinces, becomes the street in

which Cristoval and the Antis encountered the patrol on the first night

of the fire. A few minutes’ ride brought them to the road, now occupied

by a waiting column. Turning toward the city, they were presently in

its outskirts. Here they found Mocho with his staff, and dismounting to

join them, Cristoval felt his arm touched. He glanced round and beheld

a tall figure, clad and armed like the Antis, but wearing a turban.

 

"Abul Hassan!" exclaimed the cavalier, extending his hand. "I am

rejoiced to see thee, old friend. Dost take part with us? I would thou

hadst a horse and thine accoutrements."

 

"With the help of Allah I shall have both before the sun setteth again,"

replied the Morisco, calmly. He motioned toward a group of twenty or

more men with lassos standing near. "Thy herdsmen, Cristoval. I have

heard of thine expedient—a most excellent one!"

 

"I pray it will prove so," said the other, "and that we soon shall see

thee mounted. When equipped, seek us. We’ll find thee occupation."

 

The Morisco nodded grimly, and Cristoval and Pedro passed on to Mocho.

In front were men at work in the darkness, and the general gave his

hand, saying, "The task is well advanced, Viracocha Cristoval. Let us

move forward."

 

He led the way into the street, which had been made, in pursuance of

Cristoval’s instructions, a confusion, of half-burned timbers, pieces of

furniture which had escaped the fire, and all manner of _débris_.

Heaped, lashed together, and interlaced, they formed an entanglement

difficult for men on foot, and for cavalry barely surmountable. The

adobe walls on each side had been pierced with loopholes for the

archers, and the side-streets barricaded against flanking.

 

The party picked their way slowly, climbing over here, bending to pass

under there, while Cristoval inspected, commended, or advised, until

they had penetrated far into the suburb, where the workmen were still

toiling. Until near dawn they directed the Antis pouring silently into

the suburb and occupying the ruined buildings along the obstructed way.

Cristoval saw the men with lassos properly placed, and the party

returned to the outskirts.

 

A few minutes later, a company of warriors made its way through the

entanglement into the city, going forward to draw a Spanish attack.

 

Cristoval and Pedro stood near the group around Mocho. The sky was

light when far in the distant streets they heard the war-cry of the

Antis. Immediately followed the hoarse shouts of the Spaniards, shots,

and trumpets calling to arms. The sounds were faintly borne on the

morning breeze, but full of portent, and echoed in many a warlike heart

among the ruins of the suburbs. Mocho moved forward, giving Cristoval a

wave of the hand as he passed, and a rustling and shuffling rose in the

road back of where the two Spaniards stood as the waiting warriors took

their places in column.

 

As Cristoval mounted, he heard a grunt and a sigh from Pedro, then the

creaking of the saddle as the cook swung from the ground, and the two

picked their way slowly down the littered street. Arquebuses were

crackling, and now, the heavier and sharper report of a falconet. The

firing ceased, and arose the nearing din of cavalry. The decoying party

of Antis was flying before it in a dash for the fatal entanglement upon

which the Spaniards were blindly rushing. The Antis reached it; were

dimly seen by Cristoval as they leaped into the _débris_; then came the

crash of breaking timbers when the pursuing troop struck the

obstruction, a confusion of yells and Spanish shouts of warning, drowned

by the war-cries of the tribesmen behind the walls as they delivered

their terrible volley. A wild, tossing disarray of horses and riders,

plunging and falling among the snapping beams, ridden over by the

resistless torrent from behind. Men and animals down and struggling in

the wreckage, crushed beneath those borne onward by the momentum of the

charge, and assailed by the hordes of Antis rushing from the buildings.

Riderless steeds, maddened by fear and wounds, careered wildly forward,

or turned to the rear and added to the chaos. Troopers retaining their

seats were blinded by the tempest of arrows and javelins, and could only

shelter themselves behind their shields, bending low over saddle-bows to

avoid the hail. Still they were forced on up the narrow, encumbered

street, which roared with tumult indescribable.

 

Now Cristoval heard a Spanish voice rising above the clamor: "Forward!

Forward! Forward!" and the notes of a trumpet, broken and faltering

before it could blow the command. The column must fight through, or be

crushed by those in the rear. The leading riders pressed on, sabring at

the multitude crowding from all sides. Cristoval advanced with Pedro to

meet them. A lasso serpentined through the haze of flying arrows,

settled over the foremost trooper, and jerked him from his saddle, to be

lost among the Antis as if swallowed by the sea. Other sinuous lines

shot out, fastening upon the Spaniards and dragging them to quick

obliteration. Those in advance paused, fear-struck by a weapon against

which their blades were powerless. They saw comrades totter and go

down; turned in panic, and Cristoval was among them.

 

Fell and relentless purpose in this cavalier; his arm nerved and

strength doubled by thought of Rava. The nearest troopers, dismayed and

disordered, opposed feeble resistance to the furious onslaught of

Cristoval and his comrade; while those behind, aware of a new check to

the advance, the cause of which they could not see, raised the cry, "To

the rear!" It was caught up at once; and now, panic and disorder

tenfold.

 

As Cristoval fought he heard a cry rising shrill, "_Allah il Allah!

Allah il Allah!_" and Abul Hassan was beside him, mounted on the steed

of some fallen Spaniard. Into the fray the Morisco, reckless of want of

armor, fighting with the ferocity of a demon.

 

The retreat was more disastrous than the advance; but slowly the troop

fought back to the open street, shook itself free, and fled. The jaunty

sorties were to be made no more.

 

At Hernando’s council that night, once more glum taciturnity. From dawn

there has been, on every hand, sharp repulse unexampled since the siege

began: many saddles empty for result, and a general call for surgery.

Every street by which many a brisk sally has been made in previous

weeks, now impassable for cavalry; and barricades pushed within bowshot

of the square. The abrupt change in the tactics of the besiegers is

ominous. The presence of Peralta—for the identity of the cavalier seen,

and felt, fighting among the Antis, is not doubted—is significant, and

the price on his head is doubled.

 

Toward evening Cristoval was joined by Pedro at the edge of the

barricade. The cavalier had laid off his helmet and was begrimed to the

roots of his hair with ashes and black dust from the charred timbers,

his face streaked with perspiration, his reddened eyes gleaming

strangely through their surrounding sootiness. He turned to his comrade

and said with a grim smile:—

 

"Aha! Pedro, we seem to have put them on the defensive, yonder in the

square. What sayst thou?"

 

"Why, I say first," returned Pedro, eying him sharply, "that if I caught

myself with a grin as weird as that of thine, I’d wear a wooden face as

well as a wooden leg. Untwist thy features, man! Thou hast the look of

a devil. Ah! Now, I’ll reply to thine observation by saying that I’m

hungry; and as for those knaves in the square, we have them where they

will stay for a spell, or longer, without being told. So let us go and

eat."

 

Cristoval, about to reply, noted a sudden silence among the Antis.

Every one of them was on his knees and bending toward the three or four

nobles who had just drawn near.

 

"_Madre_! The Inca!" exclaimed Pedro, then he growled beneath his

breath, "Now look at these pagans! Every man doubled up like a razor,

and everything dropped without a word of warning! Suppose the Inca had

come about this morning, Cristoval! We had been undone."