Part 7

"Had no part in it!" repeated the princess, with incredulous scorn. "But he is here, an invader! His part began when he set foot upon our soil, sword in hand. Say not that he had no part in it! Doth he hold himself guiltless?--Can you hold yourself guiltless of that blood, Viracocha?" She turned upon Cristoval, her dark eyes burning, her form quivering from head to foot with the bitter intensity of her resentment. "Are you absolved of the foul treachery by which my people were led hither to their death? Of the perfidy that lured my brother into the snare, unarmed and unsuspecting? You have had no part in all this?--Oh, Toparca, canst thou call one of these dreadful beings thy friend whilst Tavantinsuyu still mourns her dead? He had been more worthy the name had he not preserved thee to witness the infinite misfortunes his people have brought upon our unhappy country! He had been merciful had he permitted thee to perish in ignorance of the slavery of our brothers and the dishonor of our sisters. Thy friend, my brother? Tell me sooner thou hast friends among the vultures! They, at least, prey not upon the living. Farewell, Toparca!"

The princess drew her cloak about her, and passing Cristoval with a brief glance in which was concentrated all the infuriate enmity that a woman, raging at injury and helpless to avenge it, can feel for the oppressor, she left the apartment, followed by her frightened maids.

Cristoval had heard her in silence. No doubt his uppermost feeling was compassion, for he felt the heartbreak beneath her denunciation. He knew better than she how well her indignation was justified, and was thankful that she could not know the sordid greed back of the invasion. Many of her words he had been unable to catch, but he did not fail to get her meaning clearly enough, for that was expressed in every tone and gesture. His freedom from the stains of the massacre had made him proof against much of her reproach, but he could not be indifferent to her hate and scorn. Through all he felt her beauty, somewhat ferine and stormy now, he thought, but still of a transcendent, queenly kind. Altogether, he had listened with sympathy quite without resentment; so that when she met his look in passing, instead of the rage and cruelty she expected, she read a grave pity of which she thought afterward; and in place of the stern, perhaps brutal rejoinder she looked for, a bow of profound respect and deference.

Cristoval expressed his keen regret for the inopportune entry which had sent her away so abruptly, but Toparca was even more disturbed, uncertain of the effect of her anger upon the Viracocha.

"I hope you will not think of her words, Viracocha Cristoval," he said, anxiously. "The princess is young, and hath already known much grief. She will learn that there are generous and humane hearts----"

"Even among Spaniards!" said Cristoval, with a trace of bitterness in his faint smile. "I trust so, my Lord Toparca. But the princess hath my earnest sympathy." Then he changed the subject quickly, and soon departed, giving little further thought to the Nusta Rava.

It was not long before the constraint at first existing between the Inca and the Spanish officers began to wear away under the influence of the uniform courtesy with which he was treated, partly in observance of Pizarro's strict injunctions, but due quite as much to the innate stateliness of the monarch himself. His captors soon learned to know him as a man of alert intelligence, eager for knowledge of their world. As the months dragged on he formed several friendships with them which went far to moderate the dreariness of captivity, in which he displayed his discrimination of human character. From the first he was attracted by De Soto, whose superiority over most of his comrades he was not slow to recognize. De Soto, in turn, conceived for the unfortunate monarch a deep regard, a sentiment shared by Hernando Pizarro and Candia.

But before all others in the Inca's esteem was Peralta. Atahualpa had not forgotten his part in the affair on the plaza, and his gratitude and confidence had been increased by the rescue of Toparca. Thus predisposed in Cristoval's favor, the cavalier's growing knowledge of the Quichua dialect made their acquaintance of easy growth. Cristoval's wide experience as a soldier appealed vigorously to the warlike prince, and he spent many hours listening to accounts of European campaigns and methods.

It is doubtful if the monarch had ever, since his youth, known real companionship unconstrained by his majesty. The gulf separating him from his most exalted subject was immeasurable and not to be bridged by any human feeling. As far as friendship was concerned he was alone, wearied to the limits of endurance by the perpetual reverence and awe by which he was surrounded. He did not undertake to exact, did not want, and could not have had from the Spaniards, the servile homage tendered by his subjects, and its absence was a relief. They treated him as a royal man, not as a Child of the Sun, and he was grateful. It is not to be supposed that they were always tactful, that they never overstepped the bounds of familiarity; but his natural dignity protected him, and it occurred infrequently--with Cristoval never. The cavalier was neither presuming nor humble, and their friendship prospered.

For the Spanish commander the Inca never acquired a liking. It was impossible for him to regard Pizarro otherwise than as his arch-enemy and author of his misfortunes. As a soldier he exonerated the other officers in a degree, reflecting that they were subordinates, and attributing to their leader the absolute authority over them which he himself wielded over his troops. So upon Pizarro he placed the entire weight of responsibility. He was repelled, however, by the cold austerity of the taciturn leader, who possessed little of the graciousness of his brother Hernando and had no wish for the good will of the man he had so mortally injured.

To Cristoval the tour as commander of the guard at the palace was always welcome. On one of these occasions, having some need to see the Inca, he was directed by one of the attendants to the garden, and taking one of the side-paths which wound through the shrubbery, had gone but a few yards when a turn brought him face to face with the Nusta Rava, followed by one of her handmaidens. He bowed, stepped aside, and waited, toque in hand, for her to pass, fully expecting to encounter the indignant scorn which he had seen last in her handsome eyes. He found it, however, quite absent, and in its stead one of some confusion, not unmixed with fear. To his surprise she halted and stood looking up to him with a timidity that made him uncomfortably conscious of the warlike attire which inspired her dread. He bowed again, and in response to his look of kindly inquiry she began:--

"Viracocha,--my words some days ago were spoken in ignorance of all my obligations. My brother, the Inca, hath told me of your many acts of generosity to him in his misfortune. Can you forget my injustice and accept my gratitude?"

"The Nusta Rava's words are forgotten," replied Cristoval; "and I can only thank her for the graciousness of those just spoken. I beg she will believe the sincerity of my sympathy for her august brother and herself."

"Ah, I do believe it, Viracocha Cristoval! It hath been proven by your friendship."

"You may count upon all that lieth within its power," said Cristoval, earnestly. "I would it could undo what hath been done; but if it can ever serve you, now or in the future, be sure of it."

He had spoken with the gentleness with which he would have addressed a child--in fact, he looked upon her as little more--and the voice of the unhappy princess broke when she tried to murmur her acknowledgment. As she turned away she extended her hand. Cristoval pressed it for an instant, and she passed on. He continued his walk meditatively. Presently he came to a bench and sat down, studying the gravel at his feet.

"A murrain seize this business!" he thought. "Heaven knoweth what is to become of her, or of any of them. God have mercy on them!--and may the fiend run away with the conquest! There's no glory in it, nor aught but foul outrage and devil's greed and lust. 'T is not even war! Would I had stayed back in Panama, and had no part in bringing this royal brother and sister into the power of these freebooters! Wolves!--She is gentle as a Christian--when it pleaseth her to be, that is! _Cara_! But I envy not the man who doth counter her disapproval. Ah, well!--what a pity she is not a Christian! I'll speak to Father Tendilla: he is a kindly old man, and hath gentleness of speech."

Cristoval rose and walked slowly on.

He came upon the Inca shortly, and found him restlessly pacing back and forth. He turned at the sound of the cavalier's footsteps, and his countenance brightened somewhat as he said, cordially proffering his hand, "May the Sun never hide his face from thee, Viracocha Cristoval!"

"God be with you, my Lord Inca!" said Cristoval. "I trust the day hath gone well."

"Not ill, though I have known better ones," replied Atahualpa, with a slight smile. "I have had another visit from thy general and his priest."

"Father Valverde?" asked Cristoval. "I would it had been Tendilla."

"And I!" said the Inca, with a frown, "for this one pleaseth me not. He persisteth in assailing my religion. Why is it? What is my religion to him?--and to Pizarro? It is the faith of my fathers. Why should I change it at their behest? Hath not every man the right to his own belief and form of worship? We of Tavantinsuyu never forced our gods upon other men; yet this priest saith your people have crossed the seas to bring your religion to me!--to teach me the words of the Prince of Peace--the Prince of Peace! Is it so? Tell me--is that the purpose of your coming?"

His face had grown stern as he put the question, and without pausing for an answer he went on with increasing vehemence: "Do you tell me it is for this, Viracocha Cristoval, that I am a prisoner, surrounded by guards like a common criminal, while so many of my children lie in unhonored graves? Is it that I may become a Christian? Let me have the truth, Viracocha!"

"By heaven, I will!" blurted Cristoval, weary and disgusted at the cloak of religion under which his countrymen strove to mask their rapacity. "I'll tell you why we are here, Prince! We have come for your gold! Now you have the pith and meat of the whole matter. Had your country not been cursed with wealth you and your people could have gone peacefully down to hell unheeded by Spanish priest or soldier. But you have gold, and we want it!"

Atahualpa regarded him with amazement and incredulity. "Gold!" he exclaimed. "Gold! Dost tell me you have come so far for such stuff as this?" and he pulled the jewelled bracelets from his wrists and cast them scornfully at Cristoval's feet.

"For such as that, my Lord Inca," replied Cristoval, ignoring the precious ornaments.

Atahualpa gazed at him for a moment in silence, the look of astonishment in his eyes rapidly yielding to one of anger. "Dost mean to say," he demanded, in a voice grown suddenly harsh, "that this measureless calamity hath been brought upon me and mine by the childish desire of thy people for these trumperies? Great God! Are you madmen, that you count human lives paltry beside this dross which we dig from the earth? Are the murder of my people and the base treachery to me but trifles?"

"My lord, even greater wrongs have been committed for the love of gold. Few crimes in the fiend's category but have sprung from it. It hath reddened the earth with blood, and made hell populous."

Cristoval encountered a look of mingled wonder and abhorrence. It was some seconds before Atahualpa spoke. Then he said slowly: "Strange beings! Do you consider that it hath some magic virtue, this gold, or doth it not possess some hidden power to give madness?"

"Both, my Lord Inca! It hath a magic that can bring all things to its possessor--save only happiness, love, and salvation; and it can cause madness."

"It is a riddle!" exclaimed the Inca, with impatience. "But enough! Thou tellest me you have come for gold. Dost thou want gold, Viracocha Cristoval? Hear me!" He drew near and lowered his voice, speaking rapidly and with intensity: "I would be free! I want thine aid and friendship. I can give thee more gold than thou couldst carry the length of this garden--more than thou and the strongest of thy companions could raise from the ground!"

Cristoval raised his hand: "My Lord Inca, I pray you, do not offer it. My friendship cannot be purchased. You have it now; and when my aid availeth you shall have that also, though not for gold, my lord. I will do all in my power in your behalf and to procure your freedom. I know not my commander's design, but should a greater evil threaten you than hath already befallen, reckon my sword, if need be, in your defence."

Atahualpa studied him intently. The sincerity of Peralta's tone was in his eyes, and not to be mistaken. "Viracocha Cristoval," said the monarch after a pause, giving his hand, "I know not whether an Inca ever before asked forgiveness of any man, but I ask thine now! I believe I know thy friendship's worth."

"I thank you, my Lord Inca," replied Cristoval, simply. "But now, let me counsel you. If you have gold at your command, offer it to Pizarro. You shall find that when his nose smelleth a ransom he will turn a willing ear. Have others present to witness your proposal; have De Soto--he is an honorable man--and Candia, and Hernando Pizarro--the more the better. And heed this carefully: Be not too liberal in your tender; rather, be a shade niggardly at first, lest you over-stimulate his cupidity. Your offer to me was extravagant, my lord. Be moderate, or you may defeat your end. The hint of a too bountiful source from which to draw may rouse ambition to possess the source itself. Were your supply boundless as heaven, greed would rise to its full measure."

Atahualpa had listened with close attention. He pondered a moment, then said: "I believe thy counsel is wise. I thank thee, my friend. I will follow it."

*CHAPTER X*

_*A Royal Ransom*_

Cristoval's suggestion let a ray of hope into the Inca's heart. To make it effectual without delay, and to bring the Spanish officers together, he decided upon a banquet. He mentioned his purpose to Cristoval.

"Good!" said the cavalier, emphatically. "Nothing could be better, my Lord Inca. 'T is an expedient in favor among Christian statesmen, and much history hath grown out of roast meats and wine--articles uncommonly fertile in liberal views of human affairs, and productive of flow of words in expressing them. Feed Pizarro well, and your proposal will follow most judiciously upon your cheer."

The Spaniards were unprepared for the splendor of their entertainment. Banqueting was a function which the Peruvians had developed to a degree of elegance hardly equalled in Christendom. The table was laden not only with the choicest viands of the region, but with a lavish display of plate that dazzled the eyes of the guests and rendered the _veedor_ suddenly speechless.

The Inca watched closely to observe the effect of the gold, and a moment convinced him that Cristoval was right. He noted the quick lighting of Pizarro's saturnine countenance and the significant glance at his companions, though the leader gave no other sign. Some of his officers retained less of their equipoise, and there were ejaculations of the names of saints, the Faith, the Cross, the Sacrament, and the like, invoked to witness their astonishment. Mendoza broke into a coarse guffaw and slapped his neighbor on the back. De Soto, Hernando Pizarro, Cristoval, and two or three others of the cavaliers of gentle breeding, stood with faces reddened or pale with humiliation, until Pizarro put an end to the exhibition with a stern "Attention, Senores! For the sake of Heaven, be silent! Ye are at the table of a gentleman."

An uncomfortable constraint of some minutes' duration followed the seating of the company. The Inca meditated upon the manifest craving of his guests for the tableware, a greediness to him preposterous. The Peruvians were diligent miners of the two precious metals, not because they assigned to them any especial value, but for the reason that they were beautiful and adaptable to purposes of decoration. The idea of their use as a medium of exchange, that they could be representative of the value of other things, of the luxuries, comforts, and even necessities of life, was beyond the Inca's conception. Money was a thing unknown in Tavantinsuyu, and Cristoval had not yet explained to him its use in Christendom. But Atahualpa saw the Spaniards display an interest in his plate which seemed emotional, even passionate, and which made them oblivious, not only of the common courtesy due to him as their host, but of their own dignity. The unaccountable appetite excited at once his wonder and scorn.

After a moment, however, he recalled the obligations of hostship, and with Felipillo's help engaged different ones in conversation. Pizarro swallowed his irritation and took part with more graciousness than Atahualpa had suspected him capable of showing, and the chill which had threatened to mar the evening gradually wore away. There were several of his nobles present, and they joined as freely in the sociability as circumstances permitted; for at the royal table the extreme formality of the court was for the time suspended, and the rigid distinction of prince and subject laid aside.

At last the table was cleared, cups were served and filled with _chicha_, and the Inca, dipping his finger-tip into the liquor, filliped a few drops into the air as a libation to Inti, the Sun. He raised his cup and bowed to Pizarro. The latter responded, and in accordance with an ancient custom of the Peruvians remarkably like our own, the Inca touched his cup to that of his guest, and they drank together. Thus, with each of the company in turn Atahualpa took a sip of _chicha_. This ceremony completed, he turned again to the Spanish commander and said with nonchalance:--

"I perceive, Viracocha Pizarro, that your people are attracted by some of our metals--especially so by gold. It is something you have in your own country?"

"It is something which some of us have in our own country, my Lord Inca," replied Pizarro; "and of which more of us have little; but something, by the Faith, which all of us are pushing hardily to get!"

"Ah!" said the Inca. "But you possess a metal of far greater value in your iron, Viracocha. It hath surprised me that you can set so much importance upon one of comparatively little worth. But,--I would ask a question,--can freedom be purchased with gold?"

Surprised by its suddenness, Pizarro seemed to fail for a moment to find a reply.

"Can freedom be purchased with gold, Viracocha Pizarro?" repeated Atahualpa.

Pizarro recovered himself, and replied with emphasis: "By the Crucifix, that it can!--provided gold enough be offered."

"Provided gold enough be offered!" repeated the Inca, unable to conceal his eagerness. "Then hear me, General Pizarro: Promise me liberty, and I will cover the floor of this room with gold!"

The company ceased talking. Pizarro looked at him in astonishment, while a smile of incredulity went round the table. Atahualpa misinterpreted the silence and the expression, taking them to mean that his offer was too meagre. He looked from one to another for a moment, then sprang to his feet, and striding to the wall, stretched his hand above his head as far as he could reach.

"I will fill the room to this height with gold, Viracochas!--Is it enough?" he demanded, his eyes blazing with hardly suppressed excitement. "Is it enough?"

Still the Spaniards were silent--dumb with amazement. Several had arisen. "Mad!" whispered one. The Inca stood waiting for their reply, his arm upraised, his commanding figure drawn to its full height, glittering in the lamplight with gems and golden decorations, while his dark eyes gleamed from beneath the fringe of the _llautu_ as he surveyed the astonished Viracochas.

"Is it not enough?" he demanded again. "Then a like amount of silver!"

"Hold, in the name of Heaven!" exclaimed Cristoval warningly in Quichua.

Pizarro regained his voice: "What sayest thou, Peralta?--Can he do it? Ask the noble beside thee!"

The noble answered with emphasis in the affirmative.

"Then 't is done!" shouted Pizarro, unable to restrain his excitement. "Done! Agreed, my Lord Inca! We accept your offer. Make good your terms, and you are a free man--at liberty to go and come without let or hindrance. Here is my hand upon it. Wait!--We'll give you an instrument in writing. Zapato, step out and send an orderly for my secretary. Hernando, mount a chair and scratch a mark with thy dagger where the Inca put his hand. My lord, deign to raise your hand again. By the gods, Senores! What say you to 't? A hundred thousand demons! D'ye believe your ears? We are all rich men! Ask the noble again, Peralta, whether he can do it!--Ask another of them! Saith he yes? Art sure? Blood and wounds and gods of war! Ha, ha! What say ye to't, Senores?"

Pizarro's cold reserve had gone. Cristoval had rarely seen him smile before: now he laughed, even roared, not pleasantly; and his pale countenance showed unaccustomed color. The _veedor_ had pulled several times at his sleeve, unheeded.

"Pizarro!" he whispered. "Pizarro! Hold off a bit! He would have offered more, I am sure of it!"

Pizarro turned upon him with impatience: "Oh, a curse upon thy money-gluttony, Rogelio! Hath it no bounds? Art insatiable? Be silent!"

"He had opened his mouth to offer more, I'll swear it! Oh, misery!" snuffled the _veedor_, as he turned away.

The room was in a hubbub. Every man was on his feet, talking at the top of his voice and gesticulating. Now the _chicha_ flowed without stint. When the secretary entered and set about the work of drawing up the agreement they crowded upon him, explaining, suggesting, and advising, until in despair he appealed to the commander, and they were ordered back while Pizarro dictated the document. Rogelio was a notary, and the paper was duly attested and sworn to, the Inca looking on with interest, and making his mark at last in accordance with a confusion of instructions from the wrought-up Spaniards. The business finished, he retired with a faint significant smile to Cristoval; but his going was almost unnoted by the others, and they lingered over their _chicha_ and their jubilation until the small hours, when the guard was summoned to carry certain ones to their quarters. Rogelio was hauled from a corner, and awoke to bitter tears and incoherent reproaches hurled against Pizarro's want of commercial sense. Pedro had appeared upon the scene at its close, and directed the _veedor's_ removal.

"What, my fat pet!" exclaimed the cook in commiseration. "What, Rogelio, my barrel of grease! Melting thus in tears? Wasting thy blubber in futile drippings? Prithee, now, check thy thaw! A most melancholy deliquation, my friend! A sad prodigality of tallow! Come, stay thy liquefaction! Swab, wipe, stop thy leaks, desiccate, run dry, my civil officer of the Crown; thou'rt growing soggy!--What! Damn Pizarro? Agreed!--Damn the Inca? Fie, my cherub!--Damn everybody? Ah! But with one exception, and that's Pedro, the cook. Now thou 'rt hiccoughing, and I'm done with thee. _Adios_, Rogelio, my lard-firkin! Good-night, my Cupid!" and Pedro stumped away.