The Crimson Conquest 68

The Crimson Conquest 68

By the time his message ended, Pedro’s _hamaca_ and escort were waiting.

In parting the cook said earnestly: "Now, Cristoval, in the name of all

the names of all the saints on the calendar, have a care for thyself!

Thou’rt as prone to misadventure as an unweaned calf. Remember, thou

hast one to be anxious for thee besides myself—and relatives! Dost know

how many, since thine adoption?"

 

"Thou meanest—"

 

"Thy foster-brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, and what-not—dost

know how many?"

 

"I do not. I had not thought of it, Pedro."

 

"Not thought of it! of course not," returned Pedro, with irritation.

"’T is what I have said—always charging into trouble, head down and eyes

shut!" He regarded the cavalier with great disapproval. "On my soul, I

know not whether ’t is prudent to leave thee, with thy capacities for

indiscretion! However—well—with the aid of the Indio who hath attended

me, I’ve figured this multitude kin of thine, Cristoval, and Heaven fend

thee from ever having them dependent upon thy support! Man, we counted

three hundred, and more to tally, and without considering the concubines

the Señor Inca is entitled by law to acquire—and all of them royal, by

the eternal broiler!" His __EXPRESSION__ changed to commiseration. "Thou

’rt the worst relative-beridden Christian in my knowledge, _amigo_! and

but one among them who is not a pagan! I tell thee, Cristoval, if thou

dost rightly by thy family, thou’lt give over soldiering and turn

missionary! But farewell, old friend, and God with thee! It grieveth me

to leave thee."

 

Cristoval watched the _hamaca_ out of sight, stood looking into Pedro’s

vacant tent, and returned slowly to his own.

 

In the palace of Yucay, in a chamber from which he could overlook the

verdant and beautiful valley, ministered to by solicitous attendants,

and visited by Rava, Pedro mended steadily. His gentle hostess spent

many hours beside his couch with her maids about her, busy with

embroidery and going white and red over it as he recounted Cristoval’s

adventures, enumerated his virtues, and mildly deprecated his rashness.

Rava had daily messages by _chasqui_ from her cavalier, and repeated the

news, or brought the bearer himself. She had not seen Cristoval since

the removal of the barrier between them, but in her happiness and

implicit faith in her prayers for his safety, she waited with patience

for what now seemed assured. Of the ultimate triumph of the arms of

Tavantinsuyu she had no doubt.

 

One morning she came into Pedro’s room with more than usual animation

and said with a smile: "Pedro, to-day thou shalt see two of thy friends.

I have sent for them, and have word of their coming. Canst think who

they are?"

 

"Two friends of mine, Ñusta Rava? ’T is easily guessed. One is

Cristoval, but who the other—"

 

Rava shook her head archly. "Not so good a friend as Cristoval—but I

will tell thee. One is Father Tendilla, and the other—"

 

Pedro rose suddenly upon his elbow and startled her with his __EXPRESSION__

as he whispered with explosive force, "Bolio?"

 

Rava surveyed him with concern, and replied gravely: "Father Tendilla

and my dear Margarita. I thought it would give thee pleasure."

 

Pedro sank back and drummed on the coverlet with his fingers. "Oh! It

doth, Ñusta Rava. It doth give me pleasure. So would a fly-blister,

had I lumbago—a figure of speech, Señorita, give it no weight. Hum!

The señora!" He startled her again with a spasm intended for a smile,

and resumed with some constraint: "Ha! The señora, did you say, Señorita

Ñusta? Stew—Well, the señora is a good soul, my head on’t. A bit

rampant and superheated, look you, but altogether good-hearted, and

I’ll—I’ll be glad—be glad to see her once more—baste me with hot tallow

if I’ll not—prithee, let that pass too: it hath no significance.

_Infierno_!—I—I mean, _Paraiso_! But," he raised himself again and

continued earnestly, "but, Ñusta Rava, would you as lief have the

servants tell her I am full of holes and like to leak red gore in a

thousand places if so much as a finger be laid against me, or my nerves

be wrought upon? She is impulsive, Señorita, surcharged and

double-shotted with impulse, and when she findeth me in this present

state there is no knowing what sympathy may lead her to say, or do.—Pure

exuberance of feeling, mind you! but I misdoubt me if my wasted frame

would stand the stress.—And kindly have her told I am subject to spells,

of late, and ofttimes bite. And that—but, no: never mind it—I’ll advise

the servants myself." Pedro lay back, quite breathless, muttering: "The

señora! The señora! Ah! diablo! This is what cometh of being—But she

is a kindly-hearted woman, and ’t would be graceless in me to deny it."

 

Rava, bewildered by his agitated effusion, much of it in Spanish,

gathered that he desired the señora to be warned of his enfeebled

condition, and having promised, withdrew. Pedro lay the rest of the

morning starting at faint sounds and perspiring freely.

 

At mid-afternoon a guide, two mules with riders, and a baggage-carrier

lightly burdened, ascended the zig-zag road through the park to the

palace. The leading animal was bestridden by a lady in native attire,

but wearing a Spanish sombrero in its last stages, riding with the

dignity of a _generalisimo_, a battle-axe at her saddle-bow. Behind,

rode the good Father Tendilla, his cassock yet more seedy, but the same

gentle-visaged priest. They were received with ceremony by a detachment

of the guard, but the lady rode past with elevated chin, and followed

the guide into the outer court. Rava was waiting with her attendants.

Upon espying her, the señora emitted a shout, muffled by the vigor of

her exertion in dismounting—on the wrong side—and in a second was

embraced, sombrero and all, and joyfully wept over, weeping herself, and

quite inarticulate.

 

"Oh, my honey-jar, my lady bird!" cried the overjoyed señora in Spanish.

"God bless thy dear heart, what a happiness to see thee! But I’m

covering thy pretty robes with dust! Oh, thou sweet baby! ’T is

thou—and handsome as a rose! Dainty as a fairy! ’T is good for one’s

eyes to behold thee—now, is it not, Father? Come, let him see thee,

love. Is she not an angel?" The señora stopped suddenly and glanced

sternly about the court. "Ho! They’ve lugged off my mule and my

cleaver—"

 

"Thou’lt have no need for them, my daughter," said Father Tendilla,

quickly, and gave Rava his blessing. The señora forgot mule and cleaver

in a fresh outburst of delight, and Rava presently led to her

apartments. Here the effervescent lady was struck by the thought of

Pedro, of whose wounds she had learned at Ollantaytambo, and demanded to

be conducted to him forthwith. Rava sent one of her maids as guide.

The damsel endeavored to give warning of the injured man’s condition;

but the señora’s understanding of Quichua was limited, and her

eagerness, moreover, made her deaf, so the words created slight

impression.

 

Pedro heard the firm, rapid step, invoked a saint, and waited with beads

gathering upon his brow. As the lady swept—nay, swooped—across the room

with a cry of mingled joy and pity, the cook saw that his precautions

were ineffectual. He could have sworn that in another second he should

have been embraced; but with rare presence of mind he raised a warning

hand, fetched a dismal groan, rolled his eyes, and gritted his teeth in

so unearthly a fashion that the lady was brought up with a shriek.

 

"God’s mercy, Pedro! What—"

 

"Sit down!" commanded Pedro, in a voice supernormally strong for one, as

he seemed to be, _in articulo extremo mortis_. "Sit down!—No!—Farther

away!—On the floor—anywhere—but sit, woman, or I perish!"

 

He continued his ghastly symptoms until he saw the señora seated,

completely unnerved but foiled! Then he recovered quickly, sought his

kerchief, wiped a clamminess from his forehead, and observing her

pallor, said gently: "It is past, Señora. Be not alarmed. But hold!

Stay where thou art, or it will come again. Move not a finger!"

 

"_Santa Maria_! Pedro, dear," she said, tearfully, "I thought thee

dying. Thou ’rt dreadfully hurt, my love?"

 

"I am a very sieve, Señora!" replied Pedro, in a hollow voice. "So full

of holes that I cannot cast a decent shadow! So weighted with copper

slugs, leaden balls, and scraps of iron from Candia’s guns that I could

be molten up and cast into a fair culverin of bronze."

 

"Ah, pity of Heaven!" sobbed the lady, rocking herself. "I fear thou

liest to some extent, Pedro, but I knew harm was to come of it when I

left thee with that bandit, Cristoval. But may I not come nearer,

_chiquito_?"

 

"Presently," said Pedro, softened, "but approach by easy stages, and not

too near. I am better, my dear. Take heart, now, there’s a good soul;

and we will talk—but at a distance, look thou! or I’ll be thrown into a

fit. Hast been well?"

 

"As well," said the señora, drying her eyes, "as a lone woman in an

infidel country with naught but a cleaver to give her courage o’ nights

and a helpless innocent of a priest to look after like a baby, and not a

dress fit to put on her back save this, borrowed from a heathen woman

whose name I cannot pronounce, could be."

 

"Ah!" said Pedro, with sympathy.

 

"Thou didst wrong to leave me, Pedro, and see what it hath come to! But

who fired the gun at thee? I’ll seek him out, as he liveth!"

 

"Now, toast me on a bodkin!" retorted Pedro. "Dost fancy I went back to

ask his name? It would have escaped me by percolation had I heard it.

I was a-leak on all sides, top and bottom, like a lobster-pot

fresh-hauled. So thoroughly did he riddle me, Señora, that I could not

have held a secret grief, or a good intention. But let the man go, my

dear. He that loaded the gun hath half the responsibility."

 

"I’ll find them both!" said the lady, with resolution.

 

The entrance of Father Tendilla ended the conversation, and Pedro heaved

a sigh of relief. Thereafter, the señora usurped the role of nurse,

chiding him gently for exaggerating his hurts when she learned their

real extent, but caring for him faithfully.

 

Week after week the siege went on, fierce, bloody, and relentless.

Sorties were attempted, savagely opposed. The defences of the Spaniards

were assaulted, fought over with the fury of hate and desperation, and

the assailants repulsed. To the Peruvians, the loss in each attack was

sickening, but they returned with valor undaunted, until the Inca in

humanity ordered a cessation and determined to reduce the enemy by

famine.

 

Cristoval, in the meanwhile, yet unfit to resume his armor, gave his

time to training a number of warriors in the riding school and the use

of arms on horseback. Fearless, agile, and adaptable, they acquired the

horseman’s art with the readiness with which it was learned by the

tribes of the North American plains, and by constant drill the cavalier

produced a squad of riders, equipped with captured arms and mail, which

was destined to prove formidable. The Peruvians, trained with the

battle-axe and shield, easily exchanged these for mace and buckler; but

Cristoval soon found that for a skilful use of the lance months would be

required, and he was forced to see that weapon laid aside. Of all his

pupils, none was so apt as the Inca Manco.