The Crimson Conquest 70

The Crimson Conquest 70

Cristoval flushed with sudden feeling, and the valley with all its

beauty, its dear associations and memories, rose before him.

 

"It is remote from Cuzco," continued Manco; "and as I remember it, could

be easily defended."

 

"A handful of men could hold it against an army," replied Cristoval,

positively.

 

"Then to Xilcala, and Heaven guide thy way! Mocho will escort with his

Antis, and thou’lt take thy riders, to hold them there until I call

thee. They cannot serve me now, for I shall be in the mountains. Mocho

will join me with his men in Apurimac. And now, go to Rava, who will be

waiting. I will be with you in an hour." He paused, and regarding the

cavalier earnestly, added, "I would, Cristoval, see you both

happy—before I say farewell."

 

Cristoval flushed again. "God bless thee, Manco!—God bless thee! I—I

will say a word to Rava."

 

Rava waited alone. As far as her door, but not beyond, we will follow

the eager steps of Cristoval, then await, with what patience we may, the

consequence of their meeting and tender duologue.

 

And the consequence was this. Within the hour Cristoval tore himself

away, and in a condition of agreeable agitation, sought Pedro, who had

expected his comrade’s arrival, and had not retired. The cavalier’s

mood, as infectious as it was agreeable, seized upon the cook; and the

cook, after interjections of the sort peculiar to himself stumped out in

quest of Father Tendilla. The good priest was asleep, but straightway

became broad awake, fell prey to the infection, and arose precipitately.

From Father Tendilla, Pedro went to the door of Señora Bolio, not

without trepidation. The Señora was likewise asleep, but after the

fourth knock came to the door—far from being forgetful of her

cleaver—and opened it to the slight degree consistent with modesty, or

caution, or both. Pedro imparted his item of intelligence.

 

The señora uttered a cry of delight, and, both incautiously and

immodestly, threw wide the door. "Is it so, Pedro? Is it so? Oh, the

dear angel of a girl! Oh, Pedro, thou ’rt the best and wisest of men!"

And in the exuberance of her joy the worst befell Pedro. He was

embraced. "Pedro, thou ’rt a love!"

 

"Fiends, woman!" cried the cook, wrenching himself free, "’t is no doing

of mine! They brought it upon themselves."

 

"Oh, do I not know that, thou simple! But had it not been for thee,

they never would! I will come at once, Pedro, dear."

 

Pedro retired, not only agitated, but disarranged, mentally and

otherwise.

 

Between midnight and dawn, within the dim, starlit ramparts of the

ancient stronghold of Ollanta, was a Christian wedding. Strange the

place, yet more strange the assemblage gathered to witness: A

stern-visaged young pagan monarch with softened eyes beaming beneath a

crimson _llautu_; about him, a score of grim, war-worn nobles of

Tavantinsuyu with scars fresh from recent conflict; a throng of

dark-haired women in loose-flowing robes and adorned with barbaric

splendor. A Spaniard with but one leg, and a Spanish señora were there;

the former glowing pleasantly with the sentiments of a genial heart; the

other weeping with that mixture of feminine emotions inspired by such

occasions, which must forever remain inscrutable to man.

 

 

Again a declining day in the fair Vale of Xilcala. Approaching by the

gorge and nearing its head, is a column of the Inca’s warriors, some of

them mounted and clad in Viracocha mail, and escorting a train of

_hamacas_. It is led by a cavalier whose armor bears many a mark of

hostile blade unknown when he rode out from the valley, long and stormy

months ago. The command halts at his signal, and riding back to one of

the _hamacas_, he dismounts and assists its precious burden to alight.

Together they walk forward to the edge of the lake, and Rava looks long

and dreamily over its unruffled surface and mirrored mountains. There

is the rocky promontory with its crowning of roofs and soft-gleaming

walls; the gently-sloping shores with their fields and groves; the

_andenes_ clinging to the lower steeps, and the pinnacles towering

above; and far across the valley, a hazy canyon from which these

two—long ago, it seems to them now—looked out over the welcome

peacefulness. The sheltering peaks are touched with rose; blue,

transparent shadows are stealing up the eastern scarp; and across the

still reflections creeps one thin, silvery arrow in the wake of a balsa

urged shoreward by a fisherman. His distant, plaintive song floats

across the lake and breaks into the murmur of the near-by stream. No

other movement in all the tranquillity; no other sound, unless the

whispered, liquid notes of the rippling on the pebbles of the beach.

 

Rava sighs, "Oh, Cristoval, is it not beautiful!"

 

"Most fair!" says the cavalier, as he said long ago, and passes a

steel-clad arm about her as he meets the deep eyes, now brimming.

 

 

There they dwelt—Cristoval and Rava—remote from the dreary scenes of the

wars among the Spaniards which followed close upon the fall of the

Empire of the Incas. They found peace and happiness in a love enduring

as their lives. Happiness, it is true, with a deep, life-long undertone

of grief, for Tavantinsuyu and its last Inca; but their sorrow drew them

nearer, as sorrow must. They found, too, palliative in alleviating many

an ill brought upon the people outside their valley by the subjugation,

and the twain—after their marriage, the Autauchi Cristoval and the Palla

Rava—are remembered in undying tradition.

 

There, withal, dwelt Pedro, beloved comrade of Cristoval, and his genial

head was silvered for many a long year. And all the children of the

valley, when, from Father Tendilla—who gathered his last flock in

Xilcala—they had learned about the saints, fixed upon Pedro as the vicar

of the Patron Saint of childhood. There, moreover, dwelt the señora,

the guardian angel of Pedro. A somewhat surcharged and superheated

guardian angel, perhaps, but gradually moderating, under the influence

of the repose of the valley, to a mild and kindly warmth. On one or

more occasions, in the early days, she requested Pedro’s hand in

marriage with affectionate impetuosity; but he gently though firmly

refused, and compromised with a promise never to leave the valley by

stealth.

 

And in support of all which precedeth thou mayst find, Reader, in that

peaceful valley, the _Palacio del Autauchi Cristoval_; and in its great

hall two suits of armor, side by side, one perfect the other wanting in

a jambe and solleret. They are cherished with almost equal pride and

reverence by the De Peraltas, who dwell there still, and from whom thou

mayst learn, though it may be with less detail, the history which endeth here.