Part 24

As Cristoval looked out over the quivering one hundred and fifty feet of fragility, listening to the lugubrious creaking of the cables at their anchorage, his hardihood slowly oozed. The bridge was now clear for his passage. He swore a little in undertone, piously consigned himself to the Virgin's keeping, and led off. His horse sniffed at the footway with deep-drawn breaths and long, tremulous expirations, but followed at his word. A stiff breeze was blowing up the canyon, swinging the structure rhythmically through an arc of six or eight feet, and Cristoval's brain reeled as he glanced at the sinister, whirling rush of green and foam bellowing a hundred feet below. Steadying his eyes on a point ahead, he picked his way out into the air. An age in crossing, but at last he neared the end. Here his weight and that of the horse shifted the sag of the cables so that the last few feet were a steep ascent with scant foothold; but he scrambled up, and with a sigh of relief, stood on solid ground. He looked back. Father Tendilla was following, leading his mule and holding his hat in place, the wind tossing and tearing at his robe, and the cavalier turned giddy again as he watched the old priest's slow advance over the narrow, swinging floor. Cristoval gave him a hand at the end, and fairly jerked him to safety on the shelf.

Pedro and the senora were to follow, and here occurred a pause. The lady balked. She seated herself on the windlass, swelling with negation.

"Cross that unholy thing of strings and straws, Pedro?" she exclaimed, indignantly. "Not if I were a spider! 'T is a device of the devil, and may the devil fly away with it, or roost upon it! It is no place for a Christian. I'll go round, and that's an end to 't!"

"Go round!" retorted Pedro, impatiently. "Thou'lt march four hundred leagues to go around, Senora."

"Then I'll go back."

"Impossible to go back. The trail is full."

"Then I'll sit here till 'tis empty."

"Oh, the fiend, woman! Dost not see they cannot pass for our mules? The column is waiting."

"Then let the column wait and twiddle its fingers! The column can wait till it turneth to a column of waiting mummies if it see fit, but I'll not put foot to that bridge!"

Pedro stared at her helplessly. The way was blocked. Ocallo with his mule was behind them, and the narrow platform was full, the column at a standstill, its head at a safe distance from the heels of the rearmost animal. Somewhere, Matopo was storming, his voice rising above the roar of the stream, and echoing and reechoing weirdly between the granite walls. Cristoval was hailing, and shortly began to swear. The lady tossed her head, and pulling up a spear of grass, began to chew its end. Pedro laughed with exasperation; opened his mouth, but finding no expletives to fit the situation, closed it again and grew excessively red. The soldiers in the rear began to murmur. Pedro contained himself with an effort, and began sadly:--

"Well, so it must be, Senora! _Adios_! I shall remember thee. I shall think of thee with a pang. I shall see thee ever in my darkest moments, sitting dreary amid the lonely majesty of the eternal mountains on an uncushioned windlass, a spear of grass thine only sustenance, whilst tempest and avalanche thunder about thee throughout the drift of years. _Adios_, Senora! Thou'lt be in my dreams, a silent, graceful, but resolute form, waiting in solitude, holding the brittle remnants of a pair of reins; at thy feet a shrunken, staring, decayed cadaver of a mule, giving voiceless, desiccated testimony of thine inflexibility. _Adios_! _Adios_! I go. Come, thou, my steadfast and faithful steed, we obey the pointed finger of destiny. _Fata nos nolentes trahunt_!"

Pedro turned away, and straining to produce a sob, fetched a hiccough, and led to the bridge. The lady, at first bewildered by his burst of gloomy eloquence, then touched by the profound melancholy with which it was delivered, melted from determination to tenderness. As he stepped upon the floor she rose, glanced about despairingly, and shouted:--

"Hold, Pedro, thou dear love of a man! I follow! Wait for me, thou poor thing--and the fiend take the bridge and its makers if it serve me not across!"

But at the terror of the swaying structure she faltered, and Pedro turned. "Nay, Senora!" he cried, in a voice of sad but gentle deprecation, and raising his hand, "'t is too much. I ask it not. Turn back."

For answer she sat down, and in her desperation heedless of exposure of limb, began sliding down the steep incline, clutching and moaning plaintively, the feminine now wholly uppermost. At last she neared Pedro's mule, and he called:--

"Stand up, my dear, and grasp his tail."

"Oh--God's mercy!--he will kick!" she replied, in a shuddering wail.

"Nay, stew me! a fly would not venture to kick out here," answered Pedro, with feeling. "Seize his tail!"

She did so, and with many a piteous whine and gasp, was at length across the abyss.

*CHAPTER XXX*

_*An Encounter on the Plain of Chita*_

Within a few days after the passage of the Apurimac Matopo crossed, by a rapid night march, the plateau of Chita, not many leagues from Cuzco. He moved with caution, and halted, near morning, at the eastern edge of the plain, awaiting daylight before the descent into the valley of the Urubamba where lay Ollantaytambo, the rendezvous of the Inca's forces and his objective.

The column moved at sunrise. Below, a full mile almost straight down, spread the floor of the valley. The road was a masterpiece of engineering. At points it was hewn out of the solid rock; at others, supported by masonry; but everywhere of even breadth and gradient, and smoothly paved. Cristoval soon had a view of a distant town which Matopo said was Urubamba, clinging to the lower slopes of the opposite mountains, and near it the palace of Yucay, faintly visible. He saw it with a heart-throb, for here might be Rava.

Upon reaching the plain the command went into bivouac. Three days of forced marches had been exhausting, and at the earliest moment possible Cristoval disarmed, stretched himself upon his cloak under a terrace wall, and was soon asleep. He was roused by a Conibo. The sun, far past the meridian, apprised him that he had slept long.

"Viracocha," said the soldier, as the cavalier sat up, "the general would see you at once."

Cristoval noticed the man's perturbation, and gathered up his cloak to follow. He saw signs of unusual agitation among the Conibos, and that the few still sleeping were being roused. Those awake were gathered in knots, some conversing excitedly, but most were standing about, silent and profoundly depressed. Those he passed glanced at him darkly and turned away, some with muttered words which he could not hear. The cavalier, though wondering, was little disturbed; but he grew more concerned at the gloom and gravity of Matopo and his assembled officers. As he drew near he saw several nobles in the group quite unknown to him, who had apparently just arrived.

"_Dios_! Something hath gone awry," he said to himself, and hurried his steps. Matopo said abruptly,

"Viracocha, the Inca hath been made a prisoner."

Cristoval stopped, thunderstruck, and looked about the grim-faced circle. For a moment he was speechless, then demanded sharply: "A prisoner, sayst thou! Where is he a prisoner? Who hath made him prisoner?"

"Ah, who!" returned Matopo, fiercely. "Who but the Viracochas? He is in the Sachsahuaman. He was taken on his way to Ollantaytambo. The Auqui Paullo, the Nustas, and most of his household are held in the palace at Cuzco, with--"

Cristoval interrupted him with a savage oath. "The Nusta Rava? Is she again in the power of those hell-hounds?"

"All who were within the palace. Guards were put around it the moment it was known that the Inca had left the city."

Cristoval stood glowering, observed with some astonishment by the strangers, who, although already aware of his identity, were unprepared for his demonstration, and still less so for his vehement demand:--

"Matopo, what dost purpose? Whatever it may be must be quickly done, for I tell thee, the Inca's life is not worth a hair among those miscreants, and should they suspect preparations for war it would not be worth--" and he snapped his fingers. "What is thy purpose?"

"Viracocha, this is my Lord Quehuar," said Matopo, indicating the noble beside him. "In the absence of the Inca he is in command."

The cavalier turned to him with as much force as he had addressed Matopo. "Lord Quehuar, if the movement of thy troops is known in Cuzco, there is not an hour to lose. The Pizarros will hesitate less to kill the Inca than in killing Atahualpa. Thou must act without delay. Have measures been taken for his rescue?"

The old noble hesitated before replying. But there was that in Cristoval's manner, in his vigorous intensity of speech, and his total unconsciousness of any consideration other than the Inca's danger, that banished doubt and commanded deference. The old Indio felt it, and without loss of dignity.

"No steps have yet been taken, Viracocha," he said, "for we have just been released from Cuzco. Nothing is known of the assembling of the Inca's troops. We have arrived at no determination. The calamity is overpowering."

Cristoval took a step forward as he answered, "The calamity will grow hourly, Lord Quehuar. The Inca must be released. Is the fortress strongly garrisoned?"

"Not strongly. Some thirty Viracochas."

"Good!" cried Cristoval. "Give me a hundred men and some one who knoweth the fortress, and we will release him.--_Hola_, Pedro!"

"_Aqui_! Here!" answered the approaching cook. "What is to do now? I have been shaken and thumped, and despoiled of sleep worth a _castellano_ the minute. What is wrong, Cristoval?"

Cristoval replied in Quichua, "The Inca hath been imprisoned, and the Nusta Rava is again in toils." Pedro halted with an exclamation, and Cristoval continued, "I say that with a hundred followers we can release him, Pedro. What sayst thou--wilt go?"

"Thou knowest, Cristoval!" replied the cook, with force. "But hast forgotten that I am myself a prisoner?"

Cristoval faced Matopo and demanded, "What of this, my lord? Wilt accept his word?"

The general signified his willingness emphatically, and Cristoval again turned to Quehuar with impetuosity: "My Lord Quehuar, permit us to march to-night."

Mocho, the fiery, strode forward. "Let me take a battalion of my Antis, General. I know the fortress to the last stone."

Quehuar deliberated, and turned to the other nobles. "My lords, we will consider it. Viracochas, we thank you for the offer of your swords." He bowed. Taking Pedro's arm, Cristoval withdrew.

The conference was prolonged. Doubts were expressed by some concerning the prudence of trusting a Viracocha, and Matopo was questioned closely. Markumi and the other Xilcalans were summoned, and finally, Cristoval himself. His manifest sincerity determined the matter, and a _chasqui_ was sent speeding to Ollantaytambo, some hours away, bearing a command from Mocho to his Antis.

Upon Pedro fell the task of apprising the senora of a short expedition with Cristoval, and of persuading her to accompany Matopo to Ollantaytambo. This the cook achieved with rare diplomacy. The lady, vehement in her obduracy for a time, in the end consented, and with Father Tendilla, marched with the Conibos that afternoon. The Antis arrived at nightfall, two hundred strong, the pick of Mocho's warriors. At dawn the expedition moved, with Cristoval and Pedro beside Mocho at its head.

Leaving the valley for the plateau of Chita, they took the direct road to the capital. Not long after midday a scout came in to say that two mounted Viracochas, accompanied by a third man on foot, were approaching from the direction of Cuzco. The two riders were in armor and bore lances. The pedestrian was a native, and appeared to be captive. Mocho heard the report and cast a critical glance over the country about. Some distance ahead was a low plain, boggy in spots beside the road, and surrounded by broken, rocky knolls. With a directness gratifying to Cristoval's soldierly taste, Mocho broke his command into parties to surround the plain, with orders to close upon it by squads when the strangers had reached the middle, and to cover, especially, gullies and slopes which might offer avenue for flight. Enough were retained to hold the road, and they retired to a rise of ground which concealed them from the oncoming party. Cristoval looked about in surprise. The two hundred had vanished as if by magic.

The wait was not long, and as the strangers descended the opposite slope Cristoval and Pedro spurred forward. There was some surprise at their sudden appearance, but the trio did not halt. Cristoval and his companion were first to reach the middle of the plain, and drew rein to await the strangers, who advanced without suspicion. Cristoval observed that the man on foot was a noble, and seemingly little more than a youth.

Presently one of the two mounted Spaniards hailed, and Cristoval dropped his visor with the word: "Mendoza, by the saints!" Pedro grunted his surprise and followed the example, but neither replied. The movement and silence seemed to excite uneasiness, for the trio slowed up, and Mendoza called again:--

"_Hola, amigos_! How far to Chinchero?"

Cristoval was silent, and after consultation the others advanced scowling. At a few paces they halted, and Mendoza demanded: "Come! Have ye no tongues, you two? If ye have, find them; or move aside and give us way. _Diablo_! Is it thou, cook?" He had caught sight of Pedro's peg, and surveyed him in astonishment, then Cristoval, whom he failed to recognize in De Valera's armor.

Cristoval saluted, first the noble, and then, with deliberation, each of the two cavaliers, saying graciously: "Senores, your right of way endeth here. We have waited to inform you."

Mendoza started. "Ha! Peralta! God's life!--wilt dispute me passage? Stand aside, thou--"

"Gently, Senor!" interrupted Cristoval, with increased suavity. "Thy way endeth here! Canst doubt it?" He waved his hand toward the hills, and the two followed his gesture with an exclamation. The Antis were closing rapidly from all sides. The young Indio looked at the advancing warriors with no less astonishment. Cristoval went on:--

"However, Senor Mendoza, the circumstance need not prevent our personal settlement of the question of thy right of way. Here is a fair level of road--"

"Trapped, by the fiend!" bellowed Mendoza, and he turned savagely upon the noble. "Hast played us, thou dog? Well done! But--" He cast aside his lance and drew his sword--

A most sudden man, this Cristoval. He was upon Mendoza almost before the sword was bared, mace in hand. His first blow crashed upon the sword-wrist, and the murderous weapon clanged upon the roadway. The second followed like lightning, and Mendoza rolled from his saddle with a shattered helmet, while the riderless horse dashed across the plain. The second cavalier whirled his steed to fly, when Pedro charged him, struck him in mid-volt, and horse and rider went down before the impact.

The young noble had sprung back out of danger, bewildered, and hardly less shocked by the unexpected violence and clangor than if the earth had suddenly opened. Cristoval dismounted and was bending over Mendoza, unable to determine whether the man was dead, and not much concerned. The other rider was sitting up, in some disorder of mind, with Pedro hovering over him, lance in rest, admonishing him gently that he was expected to preserve a quiet demeanor. The Antis had closed upon the group, and Cristoval became aware of a hush in the encircling line. Every man was upon his knees. Mocho was just rising from a prostration before the young Indio.

"_El Inca!_" ejaculated Pedro. "God bless my soul!"

Cristoval started. He had scarcely noticed the youth, except to observe that he wore the ear ornaments of one of rank; but now he saw before him a replica of the features of Rava, darker, ruggedly masculine, but still the well-remembered traits. The _llauta_ was absent. The young monarch turned from Mocho and spoke a word to the Antis, who rose with a shout, tossing shields and javelins in a frenzy of jubilation, as he advanced to the astonished Cristoval.

"Viracocha," he said, as he offered his hand, scrutinizing the cavalier's face. "I owe thee my life. My Lord Mocho, tell me whom I am to thank."

"The Viracocha Cristoval, Sapa Inca," replied Mocho, "to whom Tavantinsuyu is--"

He stopped. The Inca had dropped Cristoval's hand as if stung, his face suddenly darkening with enmity. Cristoval stiffened, and his face slowly reddened at the affront. There was a flash in his eyes as they met the frown, and he formally saluted, saying:--

"The Inca Manco oweth me nothing."

Manco turned away abruptly. Remembered his obligation, and again faced the cavalier, as he said, without gratitude and with an effort plainly visible: "You have saved my life, Viracocha. My Lord Mocho, see that he and his companion are suitably rewarded. Assemble thy men."

He moved away burdened by a debt heavier upon his proud heart than all the insults borne at Viracocha hands; haunted by the crucifix seen on Rava's bosom--placed there by the one for whose death he had given fervent thanks to Inti a hundred times: by the hand which had now saved him from the sword of one whom he hated less. Black thoughts, with blacker ones beneath: his liberty a loathed thing! He pushed on alone, far in advance of the column which Mocho was hurriedly forming.

Cristoval glanced after him, watched the Antis gathering up Mendoza, who was groaning feebly; saw the other Spaniard secured, and as the column moved off, turned to Pedro who was regarding him with inquiry.

"By the saints, Pedro, I have little taste for such a host. I misdoubt our welcome. However," he added, after a moment's gloomy thought, "I see no help for it." He recovered his lance, which he had dropped to catch up his mace, mounted, and they rode after the column.

Mocho joined them at the first halt. His manner betrayed his uneasiness at the reception accorded the two Spaniards by his master, and he hastened to say: "The Inca is not yet aware of all his indebtedness, Viracochas; but I will make him so. You will not find him ungrateful." Cristoval inclined his head gravely, presently asking how the monarch had effected his release.

"By ruse," answered Mocho. "He confided to the new commander of the Viracochas, Hernando Pizarro, that there is treasure concealed near Yucay, and was freed to guide the two soldiers to the hiding-place."

"Aha!" said Cristoval. "Hernando back! Well, his greed hath overreached. What is in store for the Viracochas who came with the Inca?--death, no doubt?"

"They will be left at Chinchero to make their way back to Cuzco as soon as the injured one is able to walk," replied Mocho. Cristoval was surprised, but made no comment.

It was near midnight when Urubamba was reached, and having despatched heralds to announce the Inca, the command moved on to Yucay. The palace occupied a rocky shelf far above the valley. It was approached by a road which wound upward from terrace to terrace through an immense park, and after a tedious ascent the great rambling group of buildings rose at the head of the avenue. In a brightly lighted court large enough for a regiment the escort halted, and the Inca passed between prostrate menials to his apartments, accompanied by Mocho. On the latter's return the two Spaniards were led to quarters in a distant part of the building, followed by a corps of servants.

Their apartment consisted of a large salon with sleeping-rooms adjoining. It was already alight. Mocho was depressed, but took leave with cordiality, promising to join them early the following day. A few minutes later refreshments were brought. As they were about to sit Pedro inquired,

"Canst feed thyself, Cristoval?"

"Assuredly!" replied Cristoval, with mild surprise. "Why not?"

"So can I," said Pedro. "Canst get to bed without assistance?"

"Nonsense, Pedro! What dost think?--that I may drink too much?"

"Then in the name of a saint, dismiss these servants! It neither aideth me to eat to have twelve men observing me how I do it, nor my digestion afterwards. Tell them to go. They need rest." Cristoval smiled, indicated to the attendants that they were no longer needed, and Pedro sat with evident relief. "That," he observed, "is one of the reasons why I would not be a king. But now we can eat in comfort and spontaneously as becometh hungry men, notwithstanding the iciness of His Majesty. Hast guessed at the cause of that, Cristoval?"

"I've guessed in a hundred guesses, but can make naught of it. He looked not unfriendly until he heard my name. It may be that Pizarro hath smirched it with evil report. The name liked him not, 't is certain, and we may cast about for the reason. Let it go. But now, Pedro, he is free, and that meaneth war against Pizarro. Thou knowest my purpose to offer my sword."

Pedro nodded.

"It may be," continued Cristoval, "this enmity of the Inca will deny me privilege, though I scarce can think it. If not, I will fight with Mocho, and in that event, old friend, we are near to parting."

"Ah!" said Pedro, without looking up.

"Thy friendship," Cristoval went on, "hath dragged thee into rough places and more dangers than one. Mine for thee is the only return I have been able to make. It hath profited thee little, but I swear to thee, Pedro, it is warmer than I ever felt for any other man, and it will go sorely to part, _amigo_." Cristoval extended his hand over the table. Pedro gave it a wrench, and starting to his feet, pegged rapidly across the room and back. He halted before Cristoval with face slightly flushed, and surveyed him sternly.

"Cristoval," he growled, "sometimes thou growest wearisome. Curse it, dost think my friendship hath gone halt, like myself? Hath it travelled so far and now can go no farther? Who hath said so?"

"Nay! God forbid that I should think it," said Cristoval, rising. "But look thou, Pedro, this will be war, and against countrymen. Thou hast no quarrel."

"No?" returned Pedro, remembering again his crushed thumbs and ravaged chests. "But mayhap I have. If not, then one shall not be long wanting."

What further protest Cristoval would have made was interrupted by a rap on the door, and he opened it to Mocho. The general was disturbed and said quickly, "My friend Cristoval, the Inca would see thee immediately."

"What!" exclaimed the cavalier. "Doth he not sleep? It is near the morning."

"He hath not slept," said Mocho.

Cristoval threw his cloak over his shoulders and followed him out.

*CHAPTER XXXI*

_*Inca and Conquistador*_