The virgin of the sun

by George Chetwynd Griffith

BOOK III

CHAPTER I.
AN INCA’S RANSOM

Nearly a week had passed since the massacre—for not even the Spanish chroniclers themselves have the hardihood to describe it as a battle—and Atahuallpa, but a few days ago the leader of a conquering host and the master of all the broad domains of the Incas, was now a close prisoner in that very House of the Serpent which he had ordered to be prepared for his reception before he came to his doom in Cajamarca.

It was early evening, and in one of the apartments of the great building which the fallen Inca had selected as his hall of entertainment he was sitting at one end of a long table of carved stone, covered with goblets and dishes of gold and silver containing the remnants of the evening meal, and round it sat the chiefs of the Adventurers, the Captain himself at the other end facing the Inca, with Filipillo at his elbow.

During the meal Atahuallpa had been strangely cheerful for one who within a few days had fallen from one of the loftiest pinnacles of human power and glory into the depths of a degradation which even he himself was not to fathom until he was about to take his last look upon the land that had so lately owned him as its Lord. But now that the feast was over he had sunk into silence and dejection, and the boisterous stream of conversation flowed by him unheeded.

The architecture of the room was similar to his own banqueting-hall in the palace at Quito, and its adornments, or such as the despoiling hands of his conquerors had left, were also somewhat similar. It may have been that, though his body was there, his spirit was far away in the City of the Great Ravine. His eyes were closed as though in sleep, but with other eyes he might have been watching that convulsion of nature which followed so swiftly upon the unnatural crime that had left him the sole heir of Huayna-Capac, and which he might now look upon as the forerunner of another catastrophe more fatal to himself, his dynasty and people even than the earthquake which had rent his capital in twain. In the darkening of the sun, too, he may well have seen the harbinger of the swift eclipse of the glories of his imperial race.

But although the thoughts of such a man in such a position may well be unfathomable to eyes which look upon them across the gulf of three centuries, it is yet within the limits of reason to suppose that one at least of his sentiments was a bitter though unavailing regret that he had not taken the advice of his war-worn and battle-taught old General, worthy brother of his own conquering father, who, even in the midst of the disaster that had overwhelmed his master, had had the skill and address, not only to withdraw the pick and flower of his regiments from the open fields where they would have fallen an easy prey to the Spanish cavalry, but also to conduct them in swift and orderly retreat into the mountains on the other side of the valley, where the dreaded war-beasts of the strangers would be of but little avail.

Had he but listened to him and accepted the wise and loyal counsel he had given these so-called guests of his, instead of being his masters, might have been his prisoners. His nobles might have learnt the mastery of these strange brutes which had trampled them down in scores on the pavement of the plaza, and the use of those terrible flame-and-thunder weapons which had wrought such fearful havoc among them, and then, if that had only come to pass, who should have set bounds to the glory and dominion that might have been his? Yet here he was a helpless prisoner, with even his life at the mercy of a few strangers from some unknown land, whose numbers were to his legions as a few pebbles might be to the sands of the sea shore!

How had the miracle come to pass? Was there no explanation of it? What was the power that had drawn these men from lands which to him were only names, and across oceans whose magnitude he could not even dimly guess at? What did they come for? How could their master, seated on some far-away throne, and, as they had told him, Lord Paramount of the world, covert so eagerly these distant dominions?

So far his train of thought had reached, and then his eyes opened, and his glance fell by chance on Carvahal, who at that moment, as it happened, half-drunk with wine and chicha, was holding up a great goblet of massive gold and crying in his thickly-laughing voice—

“Ah, comrades and soldiers of Spain! whether ye be servants of Heaven or Hell, as some of our enemies might call you, is not that a glorious thing to get in the grip of an honest man’s fist? Carrajo! It’s all very well to talk at home of the glories of conquest and the bringing of religion to the heathen, but there—there is the thing we adventure for and fight for. This is that for which we have crossed the world. It was the hope of this that kept us from dying of much despair and little food on the sands of Gallo. Look at the sweet yellow shine of it in the light of those fair silver lamps—that is the lustre of the day-star or night-star or will-of-the-wisp—call it what you please—that has brought us here. Gold, good gold, solid and shining and heavy—heavy—ay, Cristo y Santiago! mine is no woman’s arm, yet the weight of this pretty bauble is so preciously great that it drags it down.”

“Ay! and see thou well to it that its weight is not great enough also to drag thy soul down to Hell, blasphemer of our holy enterprise!”

The voice, harsh and cold, was that of Valverde, who had risen from his seat on the opposite side and was pointing across the table with his lean forefinger at Carvahal’s drink-flushed face.

“Remember you, Carvahal, and every man here, gentle or simple, who thinks with thee that gold is the highest object of his adventuring and the best reward of his labours, remember how it was said of old: ‘No man can serve two masters!’ Gold is the lawful reward of those who venture life and limb and dare great things in a good cause, but woe to him who would set the lust of gold before his duty to God. It is God’s work that ye have come here to do; I pray you, for your souls’ sake, beware of that which befalls him who would seek to serve God and Mammon with the same heart and hands!”

The shrill, harshly vehement tones of the priest, his attitude as he stood pointing over the table at Carvahal, and the great contrast between the garb and figure of the lean, ascetic priest and those of the burly swashbuckler, roused the dreaming Inca in an instant out of his reverie. He did not understand the words, but the gestures were more eloquent than speech, and his keen mind quickly made its way to a new revelation. He caught Filipillo’s eye and beckoned to him, and the interpreter, after a word of permission from Pizarro, went to him and stood by his chair waiting, with bowed head, for him to speak.

“If thou wouldst have thy heart’s desire, whatever it is, answer me this question truly, keeping nothing back either in thy mind or on thy lips: What is it that these strangers who have made thee their slave desire above all other things on earth?”

And Filipillo, for once at least in his life, spoke honestly, telling the truth as he had found it, and said—

“It is gold, Lord. Saving the lean man yonder in the strange garb, who bade the thunders slay thy people, I know not one of them who does not live for gold, and would not stake his life on the chance of getting it. From their talk I have learnt that in the lands they come from the vilest of men can buy all things he desires if he has but gold enough to give for them. They say much about their God and the great king who sent them hither, yet they speak ever of gold as the first reward of their labours.”

“So I have heard from others, and I believe that thou speakest truth. Now I am going to speak to all of them here, but more especially to their leader yonder, who hath falsely been called the son of Viracocha, and see thou that my words pass faithfully to their ears from thy lips.”

As he said this the Inca rose from his seat and went to the wall on his right hand. A line of white, which was part of the decorations of the room, ran along it level from end to end of the great chamber, at a height about half as high again as a man’s stature. He reached his hand up to this and laid his fingers on it and said—

“Tell them that if they have come here for gold and not to steal my life or the land of my fathers away from me they shall have gold. What is it to me? Have I not plenty? Is not the land full of it? Tell them that I will fill this room with gold, from the floor to this line, if when it is full they will give me back my freedom and depart from my dominions in peace. The wrongs that they have done shall be forgiven them, and my own servants shall carry it for them across the mountains to the sea. Tell them that, neither more nor less. Now speak.”

Filipillo bowed his head with his accustomed mock reverence; but before he could answer Pizarro beckoned to him and said somewhat sharply—

“What is it that he hath been saying to thee, boy? Out with it, and speak straightly if thou hast any love for thy back.”

The interpreter was but an unarmed lad amongst armed men; but he knew his power too well to be frightened at the threat, so he smiled and answered in his best Spanish—

“The Inca has just asked me, most mighty Captain, if it could become agreeable to your pleasure to release him on payment of a ransom, and if that be so he pledges his royal word that he will fill this room which you now honour by your presence with gold up to the level of the line he has just touched. In this land gold is of no value, and he promises, further, that, if after he is restored to his throne, you will lend the aid of your valour and your strange and terrible weapons to his service in the conquest of the peoples of the South, he will give to every man as much more as he can carry away with him.”

“Cuerpo de Cristo!” howled Carvahal before Pizarro could reply. “Mira! Mira! Caballeros! a room like this three-parts full of gold. A king’s ransom! By the sword of Santiago it would be more than the price of an empire! Surely the heathen hound must be lying, for never was such a thing as that seen in the world before!”

“Hold thy peace, fool—hold thy peace!” said Pedro de Candia, who sat beside him, dragging him down by the belt. “Canst thou not see the Captain is about to speak?”

He spoke in a voice that had a touch of awe in it, and indeed something of the same spell seemed to have fallen upon all present. Even the steadfast soul of Pizarro himself seemed shaken by the tremendous tidings which had so suddenly come to them. For some moments they sat round the table in silence, staring at each other and at the man who had spoken of giving away a treasure vast beyond even their wildest dreams as lightly as they would have spoken of throwing dice for a few pesos.

Then they stared round the great chamber and tried to picture it filled with gold up to the white line, and to attain to some calculation, however vague, of its value. All the treasury of Spain did not hold so much, and yet to them it would be but the price of a few hours’ slaughter of victims who were as helpless as sheep or little children under their weapons.

Soon too came the thought: Could it be believed? Was such a glorious golden dream possible of fulfilment on earth? Well, at least the Inca had said it, and they knew that they held him fast enough to make him pay with his body should he fail to pay with his gold. Then the thread of their thoughts was broken by the voice of the Captain. His emotion had already passed, or at least been overcome, and he spoke with all his wonted calmness.

“Tell the Inca,” he said to Filipillo, “that, greatly as his words have astonished us, we are well pleased to hear them. Let the ransom be paid, and we pledge our master’s honour and our own faith as good Christians and soldiers of Spain that he shall be restored to full freedom and all his dignities as the brother and ally of our lord the Emperor. Moreover, for a fair price that shall be agreed upon between us, not only myself and those with me here but others of our fellow-soldiers, who are even now coming across the mountains, shall teach his armies our own way of warfare, and fight beside his regiments until all the land is his from north to south and sea to sea. Have I spoken well, Caballeros?”

“Ay, well, well as ever, Señor!” rolled in a murmur round the table, and again the drink in Carvahal cried out—

“Cuerpo de Cristo! Tell him that if this side of the world is not big enough for him we will make shift to carve him out a piece of the other. Carrajo! how much gold, I wonder, has the heathen got? If he could fill one room, why not two, or twenty, or even one for each of us?”

It was the very thought that had been rising in the minds of most of them, so quickly does the greed of man grow when fed on dreams of countless wealth, but none of them spoke, for Pizarro was already holding up his hand for silence, and Filipillo, with grave deference outwardly, but laughing in his evil little heart, addressed the Inca and said—

“Son of the Sun, thy words are pleasing to the leader of the Christians and all his people. The truth is as I told thee, it is gold they come for, and for gold they will do anything and venture all things. The Captain bids me tell thee that when the room is filled to the mark thou shalt again sit on the throne of the Four Regions, provided always that it shall be found on inquiry to be made in the meanwhile that it is lawfully thine and not thy brother Huascar’s.”

The blood rushed into the Inca’s face, turning it to a ruddy bronze, and his eyes, always somewhat bloodshot, gleamed redly under his black, lowering brows. His broad chest heaved quickly with something like a sob, for now indeed was the dread and dismal truth fully brought home to him. These strangers were not only his captors and masters, they would make themselves his judges too, and if Huascar, whom his armies had already conquered and made captive, would but bid against him and throw the countless treasures of the City of the Sun into the balance, what hope had he of being able to buy even his life?

Thus did the thought so subtly put into his mind by a lad who was but little better than the slave of the strangers first stain the soul of Atahuallpa with the dark purpose whose carrying out became the excuse for his own doom. Low indeed had the Son of the Sun fallen! Better a thousandfold that he should have died a warrior and a king, or even as a martyr in the midst of his murdered people!

It was some little time before he could speak or subdue the emotions that were choking him, but at length the old kingly habit of self-command came to his aid, and he said with a strange, forced calmness—

“Tell thy masters that in the matter of the ransom I will do as I have said, but that concerning my brother Huascar there can be no question between us. My armies have carried out the will of my Lord and father, and Huascar no longer reigns in Cuzco, nor ever can again. Tell the strangers this, and for thyself, slave, learn that if I ever know thee to have spoken falsely between us thou shalt be flayed alive, and thy body shall be eaten by ants under the full noon-day sun.”

Filipillo bowed low and laughed again in his heart. Then he translated the first part of the Inca’s speech to Pizarro, and added instead of the latter part—

“My Lord the Inca trusts in the justice of his cause by right of birth and of arms, and fears no inquiry, but he would have your worships know that Huascar is already conquered and a captive, and by this time it may be dead, slain by hands which the Inca can no longer restrain.”

“By Santiago that must not be if we can prevent it!” cried Pizarro, bringing his hand down heavily on the table. “With the first light of dawn a force must be dispatched to his place of captivity to bring him hither in safety. Tell the Inca that we must know where Huascar is, and that we must have his orders for his instant surrender to us. We cannot have one who may be so precious to us murdered like a rat in a hole. Tell him that his own life shall answer for Huascar’s if need be.”

CHAPTER II.
THE INFAMY OF FILIPILLO

Very soon after the capture of Atahuallpa had been accomplished, and when Challcuchima had withdrawn his regiments into the mountains, whither the Spaniards, by reason of the smallness of the force with which they had to guard so great a treasure as they had gained, could not follow them, Pizarro proclaimed peace in the name of the Inca, and Atahuallpa, so soon as he found that his captors intended no violence or indignity towards him, had given this the sanction of his royal word, which, fallen and captive though he was, was yet the sole law of the Land of the Four Regions.

Now the proclamation of this peace had had two effects, both of which worked momentously on the future fortunes of captors and captive. Most sorely against his will, Challcuchima believed that his master—still stricken by the same stupor of madness that had caused him to reject the plans which might have placed the invaders at his mercy—had abandoned his people at the very moment when the tide of victory was rolling at full flood towards the South. Clearly divining the true character and purpose of the invaders, he had given him up for lost, and was already considering in the privacy of his own soul how the deeds of the Day of Massacre might be best undone and how, should Atahuallpa prove helpless or unworthy, the forces which he had so far led to victory might be best employed in upholding the throne of the Four Regions.

In the direct line of descent there were three princes of the Blood who possessed an almost equal right to wear the imperial borla. Of these the first was Huascar, whose title was better even than that of Atahuallpa himself, for Atahuallpa was the son of Huayna-Capac and Zaïma, Princess of Quito, and this marriage was by the Ancient Law inferior to the union between Huayna-Capac and Amara-Coyllur, his own sister and Coya, who was the mother of Huascar.

But Huascar himself was already conquered and a prisoner, and at any moment Atahuallpa might find means to send the order for his death to those who were guarding him. After him came his younger brother Manco, also of the pure blood-royal, and he, after the death of Huascar, would be the true heir to the throne. Lastly, there was the Prince Toparca, also a son of Huayna-Capac, but not born within the circle of the Sacred Blood, and he, following in the train of Atahuallpa, had shared his fate and was already a prisoner in the hands of the Spaniards.

Upon Huascar the old General, well versed as he was in the ways of his master, looked as already lost. To rescue him would be to raise the standard of open revolt and once more to open the wound of dissension between Quito and Cuzco, and, moreover, Huascar, as he knew well, was but a dreamer of dreams and a lover of women, who lived such a life as no man could live who had great things to do; and even if he could have released him by force of arms he was but too well assured that he would lend a ready ear to the vain legend which had already deceived Atahuallpa, and greet the Spaniards, not as invaders and hungry adventurers, but as the true sons of Viracocha who had come to raise the Empire of the Children of the Sun to a height of glory before undreamt of. Toparca was a mere lad, unformed alike in mind and body, already the Spaniards’ captive, and, it might be, ready to become their puppet and their slave.

But Manco, bearer of the Divine Name, still remained. He was free, his blood was pure, and as for his manhood—the old General’s thoughts went back to the Day of Terror in the City of the Great Ravine when he stood with his brother chieftains, Quiz-Quiz and Ruminavi, on the terrace of the palace and saw the gallant lad leap up over the fagots piled around the scaffold on which stood Nahua, his beloved, and all her kindred awaiting the fiery death. He saw the sun, so soon to be darkened, flashing upon the blade of polished copper in his hand, and he saw that blade raised high above Nahua’s breast ready, in defiance of the sentence of his Lord, to fall and rob her doom of its worst terror.

Manco had done this and lived. Out of the ruin and desolation that had overwhelmed the whole city he had brought Nahua, his beloved, fairest of the Virgins of the Sun, unharmed. Since then he had fought gallantly against himself in the armies of Cuzco, and even after the defeat and capture of Huascar had made Atahuallpa master of the land, he had withdrawn his own regiments into the fastnesses of Yucay and Ollantay-Tambo and there had defied all the efforts of himself and his brother generals to reduce him to subjection. Upon whom, then, if not upon him should the hopes of the Children of the Sun rest?

So reasoned Challcuchima, brother of Huayna-Capac and General-in-Chief of the armies which the great Inca had so often led to victory. Yet, as he pondered over all these things, sitting by his camp fire high up in the mountains overlooking the plain of Cajamarca, the love of the Warrior-Prince who by some strange fatality was now lying captive in the city below him came back strong upon him, and he resolved even at the risk of his own liberty, and it might be his life, to make one more effort to break the spell that bound his master and to nerve him to the supreme effort which even now might save his life and his throne.

If this failed and he himself survived the failure, then he would lead his regiments to the South, leaving Atahuallpa to the fate that he had chosen, and, in the name of the army and the people, place the borla on Manco’s brow and hail him Inca and Lord of the Four Regions.

Of this resolve the upshot will be made plain in due course, but meanwhile other events were in progress in Cajamarca which, though small-seeming in themselves, were destined to produce results which would have made even the stout heart of Challcuchima quail could he have foreseen them.

The capture of the Inca and his instalment as a prisoner of state in the House of the Serpent had been followed after a few days by the gathering of a mock court, a poor semblance of the imperial state from which he had so swiftly fallen. Mama-Oroya, his Queen-Wife or Coya, together with the rest of the princesses and ladies of his household, had been brought from the pleasure-house by the hot springs on the other side of the valley under an escort of Spanish horse, and installed with perfect freedom of movement in the house of his captivity.

At the same time there had come into the city hundreds of other nobles and ladies of the court with their households and retinues, and these the Conquerors, as they may well now be called, after it had been decided in solemn council neither to slay them nor, as had also been proposed, to cut off their right hands before driving them out of the city, had taken as their attendants, or, as some have said, their slaves, so that, in the words of the old chroniclers, the meanest soldier that followed the banner of Pizarro lived in better style than many a noble of Castile.

Those who had so far endured unheard-of hardships and toil found themselves in a moment exalted to a position of undreamt-of luxury and ease. The spoils of the Inca’s camp had been so great that every man ate his rations and drank his liquor from dishes of silver and vessels of gold; and as iron became too precious, by reason of its rarity, such of the horses as wanted shoes were shod with silver instead of it.

Every cavalier in the army had taken to himself a mistress or two chosen from among the dark-eyed beauties of the Inca’s court, saving only Alonso de Molina, who had left his heart behind him far away in old Castile, and still remained faithful to her who had it in her keeping, although, as the wayward Fates would have it, the day was not to be far distant when his eyes should behold one fairer even than she.

Even Pizarro himself, yielding to an example he would gladly have controlled had he been able, had succumbed for a while to the luxurious temptations which beset the Conquerors in the hour of their first victories, yet, with true policy and chivalrous generosity, he had insisted that the sanctity of the Inca’s person and household should be respected. In the eyes of every Spaniard the House of the Serpent was sacred ground, and not even the Captain himself entered it save as the guest of his captive.

But there was one who laughed at these restrictions, though outwardly he obeyed them with all humility. This was Filipillo the interpreter, and he, though born in such a condition as might have fitted him to be the slave of the humblest member of Atahuallpa’s court, now dared to aspire to nothing less than the possession of the Princess Pillcu-Cica, whose beauty had fired his lawless fancy when he had first seen her sitting by the Inca’s throne at the Pleasure-House of the Hot Springs.

Moreover, Filipillo had cunningly made such use of his office as interpreter that he had got himself regarded in a measure as one of the Inca’s household, and had used the privileges attaching to this office to gain admittance to the House of the Serpent and the presence of the Inca and his court at such times as suited his convenience. It was some three hours later on the night of the banquet after which Atahuallpa had made his splendid offer of ransom, that he, unknown to the Spanish captains, succeeded, on pretence of important business, in having private speech of the Inca.

Atahuallpa was alone in his sleeping-room, walking with slow, unequal strides to and fro on the fur-carpeted floor. Filipillo stopped in the doorway and waited till the Inca’s eyes fell upon him. He paused in his walk, and, looking sternly at him, said shortly—

“Well, slave, what now? Has thy master and mine, as he doubtless thinks himself, sent thee with a message?”

“No, Lord,” replied the interpreter with his ever-unruffled humility, yet taking encouragement and some inspiration from the Inca’s words and tone. “I come without the Captain’s knowledge, and in thy service rather than his, yet I have a message which, though it comes but from my poor self, may not be unworthy of the ears of the Son of the Sun.”

The Inca turned his piercing glance on him as though he would read the inmost thoughts of his evil soul, as in truth it would have been well for him to do had he been able, but Filipillo’s smooth and boyish face was all outward innocence and gave no sign of the plot, so far beyond his years in its complexity, which he had that evening begun to work out.

“A message?” at length said the Inca curtly. “And from thee? Well, I have heard strange things of late, and it will scarcely harm me to hear that, so speak and let thy tongue be straight.”

“I have come to tell thee, Lord, of what Pizarro the Captain said to-night after mention had been made of thy brother, the Lord Huascar, which I was not permitted to translate. Orders have been given for messengers to start for Andamarca with the first light of to-morrow, and their mission is to bring Huascar here and confront him with my Lord, so that, as the Spaniards say, their relative claims may be judged and assessed, but as my Lord’s slave would rather think, guessing from what he has heard in the camp, to try them and prove which will give the greatest amount of gold for his liberty and the throne.”

Few half-truths had ever been more skilfully told, and the words went straight to Atahuallpa’s heart, and carried with them the conviction that their meaning, if they were true, could only be greater degradation and after that hopeless ruin for the land and its people, since none could believe that the invaders, having thus learnt its wealth, would go away contented till they had stripped it bare. He kept silence for some moments, for it was a weighty matter that had to be decided quickly. His decision was soon arrived at. Whether Filipillo’s news was true or false, the more quickly Huascar was removed from Andamarca to some place of safe keeping unknown to the Spaniards the better. He turned to the youth, and said more gently and with a faint note of pleading in his voice—

“Boy, can I trust thee to get me a message swiftly and faithfully conveyed to Challcuchima in the hills yonder above the hot springs? If I can, then thou mayst ask me for any reward that I can give thee.”

Filipillo’s small dark eyes twinkled as the Inca said this, and he looked up and answered meekly—

“Yes, Lord. So slight a service for thee is its own reward. There are several of thy runners in the city. I have but to make some excuse to walk with one of them beyond the sentries, tell him the message, and within an hour or so he will be telling it in the ears of Challcuchima.”

“This, then, is the message, and let it go quickly,” said Atahuallpa. “Let the runner take my greeting to Challcuchima, and tell him that my will is that he shall instantly send an escort to Andamarca with such speed that it shall arrive there before the Spaniards; that in my name he shall take over the charge of my brother Huascar from the Curaca, and convey him with all speed that he may to such a safe and secret retreat as his judgment shall select, and let his hiding-place on no account come to the knowledge of the invaders, and in token of my authority and command let him take this. Now, begone, and come for thy reward when Challcuchima has done my bidding.”

As he said this the Inca plucked a thread of crimson intertwisted with gold from the borla that he still wore in his fallen state, and gave it to Filipillo. The interpreter received it with great show of reverence and with a thrill of delight in his heart, for he knew that the bearer of such a token was the very mouthpiece of the Son of the Sun, and could give orders as sacred as the command of his own lips. He pressed it to his forehead and bowed almost to the ground, saying—

“The word of my Lord is the law of his slave. Within a few moments the runner’s feet shall be casting the leagues behind him.”

He shuffled out of the imperial presence backwards, and managed to leave the House of the Serpent unseen. Less than half an hour later one of the royal post-couriers was speeding swiftly and silently through the star-lit darkness, not across the valley towards the camp of Challcuchima, but straight along the great post-road due south to Andamarca, carrying the imperial token in his turban, and on his lips the mandate of Atahuallpa to the Curaca in whose charge Huascar lay, bidding him, on pain of his own life, and the lives of all his kindred, to take such means as his judgment might find best to ensure that his captive should no longer be a living man when the Spaniards came to seek him.

CHAPTER III.
“WILT THOU BE INCA OR SLAVE?”

With the first gleam of dawn Pizarro’s envoys set out on their already bootless errand to Andamarca. He made no secret of their object during an interview which he had that day with the Inca, and Atahuallpa, fully believing that he had forestalled them, contented himself with a feeble show of protest, saying that what he had not only inherited from his father but also won by the sword was surely his beyond all reach of foreign arbitrament; but very soon he took refuge in a dignified silence, as though he had made up his mind that the inquiry could result only to his own advantage—with which Pizarro, having his own plans, as he thought, already well matured, was well content.

Now Andamarca lay at such a distance from the Spanish camp that not even the imperial post-runners could convey a message there and bring an answer back in less than a week, and Pizarro had been given to understand that the roads were so unsuited for horse travelling that two weeks at the least would be necessary for his envoys to make the journey there on horseback and return with the captive Huascar, whose exalted station would render it imperative that he should be carried by bearers in one of the royal litters.

This, as Filipillo had foreseen, gave him ample time to push forward the plot which, with a cunning far beyond his birth and years, he had conceived with a daring as great as the ruthlessness with which he put it into execution. The day following the departure of the escort intended for Huascar he let fall certain vague hints about the camp and in the hearing of the Captain himself as to the stealthy departure of runners from Cajamarca for unknown destinations, and spoke of rumours that had reached him of movements of the army under Challcuchima which boded no good to the Spaniards, and promised but ill for the accumulation of the gold which was to pay Atahuallpa’s ransom.

It was but in reason that Pizarro, placed in circumstances still so difficult and dangerous, should be to some extent disquieted by this. He himself could neither read nor write his own language and knew not a word of the Quichua tongue, and none of his better-learned followers had deigned to make any acquaintance with it, saving only Hernando de Soto, and he knew but a few words and phrases which had served well enough on his embassies with Filipillo at his elbow, but were of no use in the lengthy conversations which they were obliged to hold with the Inca.

Thus the sole channel of communication between the Spaniards and their captive or any of his people was the youth, whose precociously keen intellect had been quick to perceive and make use of the advantages of his singular position, an advantage which, as has been shown, he was ready enough to use for his own purposes rather than in the service of those who, powerful as they might be in other respects, were yet utterly at his mercy in this one.

So far he had used all the opportunities that his position gave him to procure even a few minutes alone with the Princess Pillcu-Cica, whose girlish beauty had inspired him with a passion whose gratification was so far the sole object of his plotting. On the one side there were the stern commands of the Pizarro that the Inca’s household should be held sacred and inviolate, even by the greatest of those among whom he was the least. On the other was the immeasurable gulf which lay between one such as he and a princess of the Blood upon whom the Son of the Sun had looked with favour. The slightest outward sign of his passion might mean, not only the final ruin of his daring hopes, but such punishment as his heart quailed at the thought of. Yet day by day, almost hour by hour, he saw her and looked ever more and more longingly upon her beauty, and at last, when the time for the return of the envoys was growing near, he determined upon a bold and, as he hoped, decisive stroke.

The Inca had been growing impatient for news from Challcuchima, and on a suitable pretence had summoned him to his presence in his private apartment.

“Are there no tidings from the army yet?” he said as he entered the room.

“None, Lord,” he answered, “nor is any news to be had of the General himself. The runner whom I sent with thy mandate should have returned the next day, or at latest the day after, but I can learn no tidings of him. It may be that some of these Unbelievers, who are ever prowling about the valley, have met him and slain him for their sport, for every hour I hear people talk of such doings outside the city. Truly it was an evil day that they came into the Land of the Four Regions, and bitterly do I now repent the service that they have forced me into! Yet, though appearances may have deceived my Lord, still am I his faithful servant and would most gladly see him freed from the base bondage they have put upon him.

“Thou, Lord,” he went on, dropping on to his knee and spreading out his hands towards the Inca, “hast had but too good cause to know that, despite all their courtesy and present gentleness, these Unbelievers hold thee here a prisoner when thou shouldst be seated free and lord of all the land on thy father’s golden throne in the City of the Sun.”

The Inca’s brows lowered angrily, and his blood-shot eyes gleamed darkly as he listened to these bold words from the lips of one who was little better than a slave, yet in his heart he knew, bitter as they were, that they were true. He kept a moody silence for a minute or two, and then he said with the manner of one who is musing aloud—

“Ay, true—too true! Would that I had taken faithful old Challcuchima’s counsel! What madness made me trust these strangers who have murdered my people, and, with fair speeches, broken their faith to me! But it is too late. My madness has earned my doom, for even if the captains of my hosts led them here to victory I should be dead before it could avail me anything. What is lost is lost!”

“Yet not all lost, Lord,” said Filipillo, in his gentle boyish voice; “though what thou hast said is true, for I have heard the Spaniards talking of what they will do should thy Generals attack them. They will put thee and thy wives and children in front of the battle; their war beasts will be behind thee, and thine own legions before thee, so that they can strike only through thy sacred person. Of this I am well assured, for it is the common talk of the Camp.”

He paused for a moment or two to watch the effect of his words on the Inca, and seeing him shrink back and shudder with an irrepressible emotion of horror, he went on, speaking even more softly and insinuatingly than before—

“But there is another way, Lord, another path which the devotion of thy slave might open for thee to freedom and the regaining of thy lost empire.”

“Another way?” said the Inca, starting from the seat into which he had thrown himself in an attitude of dejection that was almost like despair. “Another way—a way to freedom and the empire that was mine! Boy, if thou knowest such a way—if thou canst open these prison doors of mine—speak, and when I am once more on the throne of Huayna-Capac, nay, when I once more stand a free man at the head of my hosts, thou hast but to ask and have. I would even bind the yellow Llautu round thy brow and have thee hailed one of the noble Blood, however base thy birth may be, for such a deed would make thee worthy to rank with the noblest. Speak now and open thy mind freely to me.”

“Know then, Son of the Sun,” replied Filipillo, speaking almost in a whisper, “that Mama-Zula, the Palla, the Wise Woman, has journeyed hither from Pachacamac, the temple of the Supreme One. I have spoken with her in secret and she hath put into my mind the thought that I am about to speak to thee. She knew of the coming of these strangers long ago, since she dwells in the temple by the sea-shore and saw their ships go by many moons ago. She knew how their white shining clothing and thunder-smiting weapons made them irresistible to all assault of battle. She knows, as she told me but yesternight, that though thy hosts came against them a thousand to ten yet would they be conquered, even as unnumbered waves are beaten back from the face of one rock.

“But, though some have called them the sons of Viracocha, they are but mortal men like the meanest of thy servants, for some of them have died since they came into the land, and some of their war-beasts too. Therefore, though the weapons of thy warriors are harmless against them, there are others that may prove of more avail.”

He paused here and looked up at the Inca again as though mutely asking his permission to proceed.

“And those, if I mistake thee not, boy,” said Atahuallpa, with a thrill of honest anger in his voice, “are not the weapons of kings and warriors. I know the Palla’s fearful power, but it was given her by the demons, not by the gods. If that is thy way say no more, for my ears are closed. Captive and fallen I may be, but I am still a warrior and a king.”

“Ay, Son of the Sun, but king by no better deed than that which would now rid thee of thy tyrants!”

The voice came from the doorway. The Inca started back and looked up and saw the tall, lean figure of a woman who might almost have been Mama-Lupa herself come back from the fiery death to which he had consigned her years ago. She stretched her long, skinny arm out and pointed at him and said again—

“Shall those eyes of thine which looked upon thy great father’s death shrink from beholding the death of thy masters and plunderers? Have they not slain thy helpless people in thousands with pitiless treachery? Have they not already sent to bring hither Huascar, who, if thy father’s will had been made known before he died by thy mother’s hand, would have been sharing the double throne of the Four Regions with thee now? Will they not set him up against thee when he comes? Will they not play the two Sons of the Sun off against each other like two counters in a game and perchance slay them both when the game is played out? Wherefore shrink then, O Son of the Sun, from using my arts to strike the only blow that thou now canst strike for liberty—ay, for life itself?”

As she said these terrible words the Palla had advanced with slow steps towards where the Inca was standing, staring with fixed eyes and dropped jaw at her.

“How—how knew you—from whence had you such lies?” he gasped, retreating before her as he might have done from a spectre.

She laughed a low, wild laugh at him as she answered—

“How do I know, Son of the Sun? Did not Zaïma the Queen shriek out her confession as the wives of Huayna-Capac dragged her away to join their Lord? Did she not scream it out again louder than before as the flames touched her and she called upon his spirit to be merciful to her, and did not many hear her whose lips thou hast closed as thou didst those of Mama-Lupa, my sister—yet not before she had sent me trusty word of the truth?

“But that is past. It was not thy hand that did the deed. For thee the question is now: Wilt thou be Inca or slave? Wilt thou live or die? The price to pay is not great. In a few hours I can have potions ready, distilled from my roots and herbs, enough to slay every unbeliever in the city so swiftly that none of them shall know the manner of his death. The boy here who speaks for them can see that they are secretly mixed with their food and drink, and an hour after they have eaten and drunk thou art free, and Lord of thine own land again.”

“And the price?” said the Inca in a hoarse whisper, once more dropping on to his seat and covering his eyes with his hands.

“For me,” replied the Palla, “the office of Chief Priestess of the Sun and Mother of the Virgins in Cuzco—a gift that a word of the Inca’s can give me. The boy can ask for himself.”

“And thine?” said Atahuallpa, raising his head and looking at Filipillo.

It was a moment when, strange as the saying may seem, the fate of an empire hung on the word of a boy. Had Filipillo had but a few years more of life’s discipline to teach him wisdom and restraint, had he even known how enormous was the mistake he was about to make, he would have asked only what the Inca had already promised him—elevation to noble rank and the right to wear the insignia of the Sacred Blood—and trusted to the course of events to cool a passion which the Inca could no more gratify, even if he had the will, than he could have diverted it from the Princess Pillcu-Cica to a more attainable object. But instead of that his wayward love and longing flamed up hot in his untaught heart, and, seeing, as he thought, the prize within his grasp, he said, with somewhat less of meekness in his voice than he had used before—

“My Lord has already promised me the right to wear the yellow Llautu and to take my place among the nobles of the land. That would have been more than his slave had dared to hope for had not the service demanded of him been so great and full of danger. Mine is the only hand that can put the poison into the Spaniards’ meat and drink; but were I discovered—nay, even suspected—nothing less than a death of fiery torment would be mine. Therefore, Lord, to give me greater hope and a better heart in so deadly an enterprise, I pray thee add to thy promise the gratification of a love that has so far consumed my heart with hopeless longing.”

He paused for a moment, and the agile intellect of Atahuallpa instantly went back to the scene of de Soto’s embassy at the hot springs, and he remembered the lad’s bold and lawless glances at the princess, and the disquiet, as she had afterwards told him, they had caused her. His black brows met suddenly over his eyes, and fixing a steady, staring gaze upon him, he said in a cold hard tone—

“Say on and tell me which it is of my handmaids’ handmaids that thou hast honoured with thy choice.”

The note in the Inca’s voice and the flash in his eyes told Filipillo plainly that the crisis had come. One older or wiser or less ignorantly daring would have taken the warning and deferred the request, or asked only that his Lord should have given him a mate befitting the new rank that was to be his. But he, puffed up by the arrogant sense of the power which he knew to be his, lifted his head and said boldly—

“I love none of thy slaves, Lord. If I did those other masters of mine would give me as many as I needed. If I am to stand by thy favour among the other Children of the Blood I would wed only one of its daughters. Such a one does my heart already long for. Give me thy royal word that the Princess Pillcu-Cica——”

Before he could say another word the skinny hand of the Palla was clasped tightly over his lips. The Inca had staggered back, his face purple-red with rage, stricken aghast by the bare mention of such a sacrilege as had never before even been thought of in the Land of the Four Regions.^[14] He could find no words in his speechless wrath, but the voice of the Palla broke the silence with a low, fierce hissing sound as, with the sudden strength of passion, she flung him back against the wall—

“O thou, base-born and accursed, canst thou know what thou hast said! Wouldst thou make the price of thy Lord’s salvation the dishonour of himself and his whole race? Dost thou not know that, by the Ancient Law that may not be broken, the very telling of thine impious love hath already doomed, not only thee, but also her whose fame thou hast sullied by the foul breath of thy passion, together with all her kindred, to the fiery death? Thou fool, why didst thou not ask for the borla itself? Thou couldst have had it as easily as this! Henceforth and for ever thy name and thy memory are accursed among the Children of the Sun! Slay him, Lord! Slay him—worthless as he is for thy sacred hands to touch—ere he hath time to add some deadly mischief to thy dishonour!”

Atahuallpa started at the shrilly-spoken word, and, with a low cry like that of a sorely-wounded wild beast, he came across the room with outstretched hands.

A cry of fear burst from Filipillo’s lips. He saw nothing else but swift death in the awful aspect of Atahuallpa’s countenance. With an effort whose vigour was far beyond his years he tore the Palla’s clinging hands away from him, hurled her to the floor in front of the Inca, and fled swiftly and silently from the room and through the passages and chambers of the House of the Serpent till he reached the gate that was guarded by Spanish sentries. They stopped him with crossed halberds. But already his quick wit had found, even in the few short moments of his flight, a way to safety and revenge.

“Let me go!” he gasped breathlessly. “It is life or death for the Captain and all of you! Let me go, or one of you take me with you to the Captain. It is life or death, I tell you! Let me go!”

Then, with a swift, sudden motion he slipped under one of the halberds and sped away across the square towards Pizarro’s quarters as fast as his fleet and fear-winged feet could carry him.

CHAPTER IV.
HOW MAMA-ZULA DARED THE ORDEAL

The two sentries, knowing the peculiar position in which Filipillo stood, as it were, between the Inca and his captors, contented themselves with laughing at his escape, and they were the more content because they had no mind to call out the guards and engage in a matter of explanations which might have kept them a good hour or so beyond the time of their stated duty.

It was a dark, cloudy night, and Filipillo’s swiftly-moving form had traversed the plaza and he had reached the entrance to Pizarro’s quarters before any of the soldiers lounging about the square had noticed him. The crossed halberds again barred his way. He stopped breathless and panting in front of the sentry-guarded door.

“How now, lad, how now? Whither in such haste?” growled one of them, who was the same Michael Asterre who had plucked the borla from Atahuallpa’s brow. “Is the Foul Fiend behind thee, or dost thou expect some fair Inca princess waiting for thee inside?”

“Let me to his Highness the Captain at once, I pray you,” he gasped. “It is a matter of life or death!” he went on, using the same words that he had used to the sentries on the other side of the square only a few yards away, and yet measuring, as it proved, the interval between the fall of one empire and the establishment of another. “Let me in, or else go one of you and tell his Highness that I must speak with him at once. Quick, quick, if you are true servants of your master!”

Michael Asterre gripped him by the shoulder and turned him round so that the light from a torch burning in a copper socket in the doorway fell upon his face. He stared at him for a moment or so and then said to his fellow-sentry—

“There is earnest in the lad’s face, Andreaz, whether it be honest earnest or no, and so I will risk a breach of duty and take him to the Captain. Do thou call up one of those idlers about the square and let him mount guard with thee till I come back. Now come along, boy. The Captain has already gone to rest and for the sake of thy worthless skin I hope thy tidings will merit the trouble of awakening him. Come on!”

With that, still gripping Filipillo by the arm, he led him into the house and to the door of Pizarro’s sleeping-chamber, which was also guarded by a sentry. A woollen curtain hung across the doorway, and through it could be seen the faint glow of a light burning in the room. The sentry brought his halberd to the charge and said—

“What would you? By strict orders no one passes here to-night.”

“Orders or no orders,” said Asterre, “I have made bold to bring this lad here. He came running across the plaza from the house where the Inca is lodged, out of breath and babbling about matters of life or death, and seeing that he is his Highness’s own interpreter, I make bold to bring him to him.”

Before the sentry at the door could reply they heard a quick, heavy tread on the floor of the room inside, the curtain was pulled away and Pizarro himself stood in the opening.

“What is this I hear about life and death?” he said shortly. “Thou, Asterre, hast left thy post, and thou, Filipillo—from the Inca’s house! what does this mean? Come in, boy, and thou, Asterre, back to thy post. We shall see whether his tidings are grave enough to excuse thee from thy breach of duty.”

Asterre, who had not forgotten the Captain’s words when, a few days before, he had torn the borla from the Inca’s brow, saluted and fell back somewhat abashed. Pizarro caught Filipillo by the arm and pulled him into the room, letting the curtain fall behind him. The interpreter looked in a half-dazed way about him, coming thus suddenly from the darkness into the light. He soon saw that the Captain, instead of having retired to rest, was holding a council, for, standing and seated about the room, were the chiefs of the adventurers, Pedro de Candia, Riquelme, the king’s Assessor, Alonso de Molina, Carvahal, now sober and sententious, Hernando Pizarro, Juan, the youngest scion of that famous family, Hernando de Soto, Pedro de Mendoza, and the priest Vincente de Valverde.

“Now, lad, what is this that thou wouldst tell us about at such an untimely hour of the night?” said Pizarro in a low tone, bringing Filipillo into the middle of the room.

The boy seized his hand and dropped on one knee before him, and said—

“It is treachery, master——”

“Hush!” whispered Pizarro, who, as has been said before, was a man who never knowingly gave away chances in the desperate game that he was playing against Destiny. He loosed himself from the boy’s grasp and went to the door again.

“Ciezo,” he said to the sentry, “go and join the guard at the outer door, and send round word for every man to awake and hold himself in readiness instantly, in case he’s wanted.”

The sentry saluted and tramped away, and Pizarro, coming back into the room, said—

“Señor de Candia, and you, de Molina, do me the kindness of crossing your swords over the doorway, and see to it that no one comes within earshot of the room. It may be that this is a serious matter. Now, boy, stand up and speak shortly and to the point, for we have no time to waste.”

Filipillo rose from his knee, and facing the Captain with an air of unwonted assurance which no doubt he thought justified by the gravity of the tidings he brought, said—

“Master, I have sought to serve you well so far, and I know that you are strong to protect your servants as well as generous to reward them. I have just come from the House of the Serpent, from which I escaped at the peril of my life. A strange woman, an ancient witch, one of the heathen priestesses from the great temple of Pachacamac down by the sea-shore, has this night come to Cajamarca, and is even now in audience with the Inca. She is deeply skilled in poisons, and between them they have made a plot to set Atahuallpa free by poisoning the meat and drink of my Lord and all his brave followers.

“Knowing that, in a certain measure, I have gained the confidence of your Lordship, the Inca sought to win me over by promises of gold and rank—nay, he even promised to give me one of the princesses of the Blood for my wife if I would secretly put this poison which the Palla, Mama-Zula, would give me into the cooking-pots and drinking-vessels of my Lord and his followers, and when I refused Atahuallpa would have strangled me with his own hands, but I escaped and fled hither with all speed to tell my Lord of his danger.”

“Humph!” said Pizarro, stroking his beard and looking steadily into Filipillo’s eyes. “That is a story which at another time and in another place I should much misdoubt, but here it will be none the worse for the proof. Caballeros,” he went on, turning to the others, “this is a matter which, true or false, brooks but little delay. Buckle on your swords and come with me. We will sift this to the bottom at once. What say you, Hernando?”

“As you say,” replied his brother. “Let us front the accuser with the accused.”

“There is no faith to be found in the heathen,” said Valverde the next moment. “It was but to be expected that, being conquered by arms, the Inca should seek to regain what he had lost by foul treachery and murder.”

“Powers of light and darkness!” growled Carvahal. “Treachery and murder! That was well put. May I have such an advocate as the holy father when my own good and bad deeds come to be assessed! Cuerpo de Cristo! I thought I was somewhat of a liar myself, but until the holy father and that heathen lad shall have settled which of the two is the greater, I will henceforth call myself a speaker of the truth. Well, let us go.”

“There are lies and lies, friend Carvahal,” whispered Riquelme, who was standing close beside him and heard the soliloquy, “and surely thou hast heard by this time of the end that justifies the means.”

“I know but one end and that is my sword-point, and as long as I can swing good steel I will see to it that it well justifies all the means that I may have to employ!” replied Carvahal with a chuckle, as he followed the Captain and the rest out of the room.

They left the house, Filipillo walking between Pizarro and his brother Hernando, and marched across the square to the House of the Serpent. By this time Asterre had given his message, the drum had beat to quarters, and every Spaniard in the city, drunk or sober, was standing to his arms as best he could.

Scarcely fifteen minutes had passed from Filipillo’s flight from the Inca’s sleeping-chamber to his return with Pizarro and his captains. Without any ceremony, and not even being announced, the Spaniards marched with heavy steps straight into the Inca’s presence. They found him seated in his chair, his face buried in his hands, and the Palla standing beside him speaking to him in vehement accents.

“There she is, Master, the priestess, the witch, the poisoner!” cried Filipillo as they entered. “She is even now telling the Inca to dissemble with you until her plot shall be executed.”

Mama-Zula turned as he spoke and faced them, her old eyes blazing again with the angry fires of youth, and her hands suddenly thrown up above her head.

“Ah, slave and son of a slave!” she cried shrilly, “so thou hast returned with thy new masters to whom thou hast betrayed thy Lord. Truly his doom lies heavy upon him since his life is at the mercy of so base a thing as thou art!”

“What is that, she says?” said Pizarro.

“She says, Master,” he replied, “that though I may have saved you from her poisons, and though you may slay her and the Inca too, yet none can save you from the tempest of spears that is about to burst upon you.”

“Take her and search her, some of you,” said Pizarro shortly. “Let us see if she has brought her poisons with her.”

He looked round at his followers as he said this. They were men of a hard and cruel age, men with but little mercy or gentleness in their hearts, and all, saving Vincente, who had incited them to it, had wetted their steel with innocent blood but a few days before; yet it seemed that this was a business but little to their liking; still it had to be done, and Pizarro, seeing their hesitation, smiled one of his grave almost sorrowful smiles, and said—

“Caballeros, I know it is mean work for soldiers’ hands to do, yet it must be done if we would know the truth. De Candia and de Molina, go you and guard the Inca yonder so that he does no harm to himself or any other. De Mendoza and Avila, take hold of the witch, if so she be, and Holy Father, since it may be yours to exorcise the evil spirit in her hereafter, your hands will be most fitting to make the search.”

So this was done, though by no means willingly, Atahuallpa remaining seated all the while in the stoical silence of despair, and when the search was over Vincente had found some half-score of little bags of finely-dressed leather concealed about the Palla’s garments, and when these were opened they were found to contain fine powders of greyish-white and red-brown colours.

Mama-Zula, seeing that all was hopeless, had relapsed into silence and bore the degrading ordeal with the stoical resignation of her race, and when the search was over she stood between her two captors, looking at the little bags of powder in Valverde’s hands with an angry glow in her eyes and a smile of scornful defiance on her thin, withered lips.

“Such things, Caballeros, may be carried for good purposes or ill,” said Pizarro drily, when the angry murmurs that had greeted this discovery had died away. “These may be harmless and healing medicines, simples such as these Indians have ever been renowned for the use of. So, too, they may be poisons intended for the deadly use which Filipillo here has warned us of. We have the proof at hand. Fetch a goblet of water one of you.”

De Molina went out and presently returned with a silver cup three parts full of water.

“Now,” said Pizarro, taking the cup in his hand, “you, Filipillo, ask His Majesty which of these powders he will drink in this water.”

The interpreter did as he was bidden, and Atahuallpa, taking his hands from his eyes, stared in stony silence first at him and then at Pizarro and his companions, but neither spoke nor moved a muscle of his countenance.

“Well?” said Pizarro again. “I have seen innocence look more innocent than that, yet if they be poisons it would scarce become us to do His Majesty to death by force in such a manner. Take a little of all the powders, mix them in the water, and you, boy, tell the old woman to choose between drinking it and being burnt at the stake to-morrow morning at sunrise.”

Valverde instantly took the office of mixing the powders, while Filipillo translated the order to the Palla with certain additions of his own which speedily proved to her that her case was hopeless.

“Give me the drink!” she said. “Since I have failed to save my Lord as I would have done, and since the day of doom has come for the Children of the Sun, let me no longer live in a land that is made vile by so foul a thing as thou art—yet shall thy death when it comes be worse than mine, for I die old and at my life’s end, and thou shalt die while thou art yet young with every desire of thy heart unfulfilled.”

Filipillo shrank back as though smitten by the force of her bitterly spoken words, and the next moment Valverde held the cup to her lips. Avila, who was holding her right hand, released it. She took the cup and with an unfaltering hand put it to her lips and drank a little. Then, with a swift motion, she dashed the rest of its contents full in Filipillo’s face, crying out—

“There is thy baptism of death, accursed one! Now go and ask thy princess if she will look with favour on thee.”

The next moment a swift and fearful change passed over her. Her limbs grew stiff and her face grey and rigid, her jaws came together with a sharp snap and her eyes, fixed in their sockets wide open and staring, glared at Pizarro for one never-to-be-forgotten moment, and then, like a figure of wood or stone, she leaned forward without the bend of a joint and fell at his feet face downwards on the floor.

At the same moment scream after scream of agony rang through the room, and Filipillo, with his hands clasped over his eyes and face, ran, bent double with torment, blindly about the chamber, butting his head against the bodies of the Spaniards and stumbling from them against the walls, till at last he fell down writhing and shrieking on the floor, and tearing at his eyes and mouth with his nails.

“Take him out and wash that vile stuff from his face, and see if you can give him some ease,” said Pizarro in a voice that had but little pity in it. “Santiago, Caballeros! that was a narrow escape for us! We should soon have changed El-Dorado for a land where gold has but little value had any of that devil’s mixture got into our meat or drink. De Candia, it is time we had done with courtesies so far as His Majesty is concerned. Henceforth he is not our guest but our prisoner. I charge thee strictly to see to it that he is placed forthwith in chains, and removed to the fort on the hill yonder. After this none of his people, not even his wives or women, must have speech with him save in the presence of two trusty guards at least. To-morrow we will inquire further into this matter and see what is to be done.”

And the first news that the morrow brought came by the envoys who had been dispatched to Andamarca, and they brought the tidings that on the night before they arrived Huascar, the Inca of the South, had been put to death in accordance with the secret and urgent orders of Atahuallpa.

CHAPTER V.
TO THE CITY OF THE SUN

At such a juncture as this it needed all the clear insight and instant decision of the true leader of men to decide upon the best course of action. The all too successful stratagem of Filipillo, although it had failed in its object as regards himself and his own desires, had so far entrapped Atahuallpa in the snares of his own scheming as to give Pizarro sufficient reason for changing his honourable captivity into a more sternly-guarded durance.

On the other hand the death of Huascar, although it had closed one road to him, had opened another. True, he could now no longer arrogate to himself the office of mediator between Atahuallpa and his brother, but he had now got the Inca of Quito under the shadow of a charge of murder, which, if it suited his plans, he might press even to the death. Then, too, there was the young prince, Toparca, whom he had captured with Atahuallpa’s retinue, and he, so far as he could learn, stood next in succession to the throne of the Incas of Quito.

But there was one other who, if the pure descent alone were counted, stood nearer still, and this was Manco-Capac, own brother to the murdered Huascar, who had an even closer title, now that Huascar was dead, than Atahuallpa himself.

Now between the two possible claimants there was this difference in Pizarro’s eyes. Toparca was a poor lad, weak-willed and indolent, a piece of already wetted clay that could be easily moulded into any shape that his masters might wish for, while Manco, by all accounts, was made of sterner stuff, since, as has already been said, he had withdrawn his own regiments into the mountain fastnesses beyond Cuzco, and had seemingly prepared for a struggle to the death either with the invaders themselves or the Army of the North should the captive Inca ally himself with the Strangers.

For a day and a night the Captain took counsel, chiefly with himself, although he held more than one conversation with those for whose judgment he had some respect, and the result of this was that he did three things.

First he had the young Prince Toparca placed in a safe lodging, and took care that no one should pass between Atahuallpa and himself without the intervention of one or more of his own men. Second, he dispatched his brother Hernando with twenty horse and a sufficient number of Indian followers to the great temple of Pachacamac, which was reputed to be one of the greatest of the treasure-houses of the Incas as well as the shrine of their chief deity. This he was to despoil, not only of its treasures, but also of the repute of sanctity with which it was encircled. Third, as he knew nothing beyond mere hearsay of Cuzco, the true City of the Sun, or the disposition of its inhabitants, he determined to send, under the sanction and with the authority of Atahuallpa, an embassy which, like the envoys of Joshua of old, should spy out the weakness or strength of the land as the case might be.

For this embassy he chose Hernando de Soto, Pedro de Candia, Alonso de Molina, and Sebastian ben-Alcazar as being, after his own brothers, the most trusty of the cavaliers in his train, but he was forced to delay their departure for nearly a fortnight on account of the pitiable state into which the interpreter Filipillo had been cast by the potency of the poison which Mama-Zula, with the last gesture of her life, had flung into his face.

Not enough of it had gone into his mouth to poison him, but for five days he had lain in great agony and almost at the point of death, and, moreover, what had gone into his eyes had well-nigh destroyed them, and so far blinded them that he never afterwards saw anything clearly; which in itself was something of a just punishment for his double treachery and the presumption which had prompted him to look with unworthy longing upon the beauty of the Princess Pillcu-Cica.

It was necessary that he should accompany the embassy for two reasons, since he was the only one who knew enough of Spanish and Quichua to bring back an intelligible account, and, moreover, after what he had been guilty of, there was no telling what Atahuallpa might cause to be done to him, even in the strict captivity in which he was now placed.

For reasons best known to himself Atahuallpa, from whom Pizarro, with true state-craft, had carefully kept his own knowledge of Huascar’s death, not only consented to the dispatch of the embassy, but sent one of his own secretaries with it with authority to procure for it the same conduct over the royal roads and the same entertainment at the resting-places on the way as he would himself have exacted. It may be that he saw in this a means of hastening the collection of his own ransom, or it may have been that he had deeper designs, but the truth is that, like many other incomprehensible things that he did, he here again played completely into the hands of his enemies.

So it came about that, some ten days after Hernando Pizarro had started to Pachacamac by way of the northern coast-road, de Soto and his three comrades departed with their retinue southward through the central valleys between the two great ranges of the Andes on their way to the City of the Sun.

They had been told that a great part of the way was almost impossible for horses, and further that the bridges over the many rivers they would have to cross were made only for foot-passengers, and would break down under the weight of such heavy beasts. More than this, the journey with horses would be very long and tedious, as well as not a little dangerous, so after due deliberation it was decided that they should leave their chargers behind them and make use of the litters and relays of bearers which the Inca had provided for them; and on the morning of the thirteenth day after the death of Mama-Zula—whose body had been burnt the next morning in the plaza to satisfy the scruples of the Fray Valverde—they took their places in their strange vehicles and started for the South.

For twelve leagues they were conveyed down the valley with what was to them incredible ease and swiftness. At every three leagues there was a rest-house, where the relays of bearers were changed. They did not know then that they were being borne by the same bearers who carried the royal litter, men who had been trained from generation to generation to the same work, and who knew that the penalty of even a stumble was death, and so they marvelled as much at the ease of their progress as they did at the splendour of their entertainment, the richness of the country, and the absolute order which everywhere prevailed.

Of this last they had an example as they crossed the pass leading over a transverse range of mountains out of the valley of Cajamarca. At the narrowest and steepest part, where the hills rose up like walls on either side, and where ten resolute men might have held the road against a thousand, they found themselves suddenly surrounded, front and rear and all along the rocks on both sides, by a multitude of men armed with bows and arrows, slings and lances and swords and axes of polished, tempered copper.

Perforce a halt was called, and after the first parleyings were over an old warrior, glittering from head to foot with gold and jewels and gaily-coloured feather-work, came down the pass and spoke with the Inca’s secretary. It was Challcuchima himself, who all this time had been keeping watch and ward over the passes leading out of the valley, determined to let none of the hated strangers escape from it with their lives. Yet when the Inca’s envoy had showed him the thread of intertwisted scarlet and gold which was the token of his authority, and had explained to him the purpose of the embassy, so strong was the loyalty bred in his blood through many generations, that he pressed it to his forehead and gave it back, saying—

“Strange though it seems to me, yet it is well, since my Lord the Son of the Sun has said it. Not on me or my children be the evil if it comes! As for me I have heard and seen, and it is enough.”

Then, without deigning to look at the Spaniards, who had alighted from their litters and got their weapons ready against any possible trouble, he turned and walked slowly up the pass, followed by his attendants. A few moments later the soft, singing notes of some reed instrument sounded on both sides of the road, and the soldiers who had barred the way vanished as rapidly and as silently as they had appeared.

“A strange country and a strange people!” said de Soto to Alonso de Molina as they were getting back into their litters. “Knowest thou any land in Europe where a captive king would be so well obeyed? It is well for us that they do not fight as well as they obey.”

“It may be,” he replied gravely, “that they have not fought well because they have obeyed too well. To tell thee the truth, de Soto, there is more strangeness about these people than I like to see. Such order and obedience could not be found anywhere else in the world. It is no common genius of rulership or kingly wisdom that hath founded such a state as this. Who are we that we should bring disorder in a land where such good order reigns?”

“That smacks somewhat of treason, de Molina,” laughed de Candia, who was standing by. “I know not what that rascally Friar of ours would say if he heard thee, and yet there is much in thy words which a plain soldier can scarcely fathom.”

“That may well be so,” said de Soto shortly; “but come, Caballeros, we are not out of the wood yet. Who knows what this little parley may have meant, or what there is yet to befall us between here and Cuzco. Let the event prove itself, and let us get out of this ill-favoured spot with what speed we may.”

“That is sound advice,” said ben-Alcazar, “and yet to me there seems but little need for suspicion, whatever there may be for due caution, for never did I see or hear of so strange a people as this. Methinks even the holy father himself might take a few lessons worth the learning from them or some of their priests, whatever their creed may be, in the matter of Christian charity, and especially that doctrine which tells him who is smitten on one cheek to turn the other to his enemy, for surely never did a people give good for evil as these poor folk have done to us.”

“There spoke the old infidel blood in thee, ben-Alcazar!” said de Soto, with a laugh that he would not have let into his voice had the Fray Valverde been within hearing. “But come, let us onward. I would rather rest to-night in another of those fair valleys than up here among these chilly mountains.”

So they got back into their litters and the bearers lifted the long, pliant, silver-shod poles to their shoulders, and once more they started off southward at the easy, swinging trot which, after their labours on horseback and afoot over the mountains from the sea, seemed in truth the very luxury of locomotion.

Thus they went on, making the most marvellous journey that men of their race had ever made in the world, for the space of eight days.

Down between the two vast ranges towering far into the sky on either hand they went, ever at the same swift, rhythmic pace. Some of the mountains were huge, bald rounded domes of brown rock, some tapered up into pointed pyramids, and others were broken into clusters of fantastic shape. Others, again, as they went southward, towered up above the nearer ranges, far-off pinnacles of ice and domes of snow ever rising higher and higher and coming nearer and nearer; but the lower slopes, walling in the valleys through which they travelled, were green with verdure or golden with rustling maize, and cut out into countless terraces, each one of which was as carefully tended as a garden.

On the bleaker uplands they could see vast flocks of llamas, the only beast of burden which this strange people possessed, and smaller herds of vicuñas, which yielded the wool that was spun into textures as fine and soft as silk. Each night they were lodged in the tambos, or rest-houses, welcomed with a silent, stately deference which showed them that their entertainers held no ordinary rank in the land of the Inca, and their fare was such as might have been offered to princes.

Indeed, such sumptuous treatment did they receive that, as Alonso de Molina said towards the end of the journey, there seemed to be something of shame in taking it all as they did from the hands of one who had suffered such treatment from them as Atahuallpa had.

There were no signs to show that this lovely and wonderful land had but lately been swept by the tempest of civil war. Everything was in perfect order, and every man, woman, and child seemed contented with what Heaven and the Inca had bestowed. They passed strong fortresses fully garrisoned, and guarding narrow passages and gorges which looked impregnable if well defended, and they crossed broad, swift-flowing rivers by swinging bridges held up by cables which, huge as they were, looked like threads when stretched across the vast abysses, and so at last they came to the greatest of all these bridges, which hung in mid-air from rock-wall to rock-wall, looking frail and slender as a spider’s web as it hung more than a hundred feet above the dark, swift-flowing and hoarsely roaring torrent of the “Great Speaker.”^[15]

As their litters were borne across it the whole fabric swung to and fro over the abyss with a pendulous motion like that of some huge hammock swayed by the wind which swept through the gorge; and though de Soto and his companions were men of well-proved courage there was a prayer for safety on the lips of each as they began the crossing and one of thankfulness when they got to the other side.

“I have seen nothing more like the Bridge of Jehennan, which, according to the faith of my fathers, stretches from this world to the next across the Gulf of Hell, than that!” said ben-Alcazar, when they stood on the little platform from which the bridge sprang on the Cuzco side, and where they had dismounted to take a better look at the wonderful structure.

“There would be little else than Hell for the unbeliever who fell unshriven from it,” growled de Candia sententiously, yet with a grim smile at ben-Alcazar, whose near relationship to the arch-enemies of the Cross was a somewhat serious joke in the army, and one over which there had been a certain amount of blood-letting before he had got convinced that no reproach was meant by it.

“Ay, and I for my part would not give much for the unshriven soul even of a good Catholic who chanced to fall from the middle of it while his hands were yet red and his blade wet with innocent blood,” he retorted, paying de Candia back in kind. “By the beard of the Prophet, as my fathers used to swear, I would give no more for his soul than I would for the chance of finding his body.”

“Well hit, ben-Alcazar!” laughed de Molina as they got back into their litters. “Even de Candia’s big carcase would be as sadly to seek there as charity for the heathen in Valverde’s breast.”

From the bridge the narrow yet perfectly paved and smoothed road ran ever upward round huge mountain buttresses overhanging fearful abysses, out of which the voices of the torrents rose like the whispering of spirits guarding these gloomy and lifeless regions. They rose higher and higher into wildernesses ever bleaker and bleaker, till at length they reached the beginning of the topmost pass of the journey, running between two colossal mountains which rose, snow-capped, and glacier-clad, many thousands of feet on either hand, fitting sentinels to guard the enchanted realm into which they were about to enter.

On the eighth night they rested at a tambo about three leagues to the southward of the pass, and about a league farther on they could see that the road rose up again on to a broad broken plateau, but beyond this they could see no other hills or mountains.

They were roused very early the next morning, and found their first meal prepared for them, although it was barely yet dawn. But they had been so well treated, and the journey had been made with such marvellous expedition, that they thought it best to ask no questions, and getting into their litters, they were well on their way again before sunrise.

It was plain to them that their bearers and attendants were making unusual haste for some reason, for they swung up the long, steep, winding path at a marvellous speed. Then suddenly on the crest of the ridge they stopped and set the litters down.

“How now!” exclaimed de Soto, leaping to his feet and looking about him. “Ah! madre de Dios! was ever such a sight seen in the world before?”

“By Allah!—that is, I should say, all the Saints!” said ben-Alcazar, coming to his side. “It might be one of the valleys of Paradise itself. Are the wonders of this land never to cease for us? I, for one, am beginning to doubt whether I am still on earth.”

“This, then,” said de Molina, ranging his eyes over the vast and lovely prospect before them, and drawing in a deep breath of the keen, fresh morning air—“this can be nothing else than Cuzco itself, the City of the Sun!”

“Ay, that is so, comrade,” said de Candia; “and look you, yonder comes the Sun himself to show us his royal city in all its splendour.”

As he spoke the swiftly rising sun blazed out suddenly over the peaks of the huge mountain wall that stretched along to the eastward of the valley, and in an instant earth and sky were blazing with light. All their retinue faced with one movement to the east, and, spreading their arms wide apart, gazed upward for a moment with raptured eyes and then bowed low in worship of the rising symbol of their Father and their God, and in the midst of them the four Christians stood erect, gazing in speechless wonder at the glory of the scene spread out below them, and looking, for the first time Christian eyes had ever looked, upon the visible and splendid reality of the long-sought, long-dreamed of El-Dorado, the Place of Gold.

CHAPTER VI.
THE RETURN OF MANCO

At the moment when the Spanish cavaliers arrived on the brow of the hill overlooking Cuzco, Manco-Capac was walking with Nahua up and down a broad, paved path in a vast garden which formed part of the precincts of the great Temple of the Sun. It was one of the most wonderful gardens in the world, unequalled even by those lying round the Temple on the Island of Titicaca, or by the marvellous gardens attached to the pleasure palaces of the Incas in the valley of Yucay, “the Vale of Imperial Delights.”

It was oblong in form and of considerable extent, containing some three acres by English measurement. The high walls of smooth, dressed stone were half pierced by deep niches or alcoves lined with plates of alternate gold and silver, and converted into shady bowers by veils of creeping plants suspended on trelliswork of silver.

The centre of the garden was laid out in exact imitation of the city, that is to say, each straight street was represented by walks which crossed each other, as the streets did, at right angles, and the squares and fountains were all reproduced exactly in miniature. The flower-beds were brilliant with many-tinted blossoms and odorous with a hundred perfumes. Every flowering plant that would come to maturity in the valley was represented, and those of the warmer valleys at lower elevations were cunningly counterfeited in gold and silver and copper coloured so as to exactly imitate stalks and leaves and blossoms.

They had just met, Manco coming from the garden entrance of the Temple, and Nahua from the gateway opening out of a long passage leading from the House of the Virgins of the Sun. The five years that had passed since their escape from the City of the Great Ravine had changed them from a boy and girl to a youth and maiden on the threshold of manhood and womanhood. Nahua was now nearly sixteen and Manco within a few months of twenty.

During the last three years the young prince had borne arms almost constantly in the wars between Atahuallpa and Huascar, always, of course, under the banner of his own elder brother, than whom there could in his eyes be no other rightful heir to the throne of the Land of the Four Regions. In the stern school of battle and misfortune his body and his spirit had alike grown and strengthened, and now, in this hour of near approaching disaster, young as he was, there was no better warrior in any of the armies of the Sun than he, no head cooler to plan or quicker to execute, no soul stauncher or more steadfastly determined to fight out the battle with Destiny to the bitter end.

In a word, Manco-Capac, now the sole remaining prince of the pure and sacred Blood, was now also the last hope of the sore-afflicted Children of the Sun.

As for Nahua, it may be enough for the present to say that the years had more than fulfilled the bright promise of her early girlhood, for of all the Daughters of the Sun she was the fairest and sweetest, even as Manco, now her Lord as well as her lover, was the strongest and most gallant of his sons. Between them they represented all that was noblest and best in the splendid traditions of their Divine race, and from their long-promised and hoped-for union could alone spring a posterity worthy to carry those traditions on to the days of unborn generations.

The day before Manco had heard of the coming of the Spanish envoys, and had instantly determined on a course of action as bold as it was politic. Rumours of the death of Huascar at the hands of Atahuallpa’s agents had already reached the city, and as soon as he had learnt these terrible tidings he had marched all the regiments that remained to him out of the mountain fastnesses to the north-east, and taken formal possession of the capital.

The inhabitants and chief officials of the city had received him with the respect and enthusiasm which his rank and tried valour deserved. The great fortress of the Sacsahuaman, the wonderful gateway of Piquillacta, a colossal fortification extending from mountain to mountain across the south-western entrance to the valley, and all the other strong places commanding the few and difficult approaches to the city, had been joyfully entrusted to his keeping, and that morning he was to be proclaimed Regent and Protector of the realm, pending confirmation or disproof of the news of Huascar’s murder.

He had already given orders that the Spanish envoys were to be hospitably received and entertained in one of his own palaces outside the city until the formal act of proclamation should have authorised him to confer with them in the name of his people.

It would not be the first time that he had met the Strangers, for he was in Tumbez when the Spaniards landed there over three years before when they first set foot on the mainland. It had so happened also that, during one of their battles with the natives on the island of Puna in the Gulf of Tumbez, two of the Spaniards had been badly wounded and taken prisoners. These men had afterwards escaped on rafts and reached the mainland, and, after many wanderings, had found their way southward to the valley of Chimay, in which the great Temple of Pachacamac stands, and there Manco had met them and brought them back with him to Cuzco.

Here, in gratitude for the kindness they had received at his hands, they not only took infinite pains to teach him their language, which he now spoke with admirable grace and fluency, but had told him all they could of the weapons and tactics of the Spaniards, and had given him many valuable hints as to their methods of attack, their formation of the line-of-battle and many other things which were eagerly seized upon by his keen intellect to be made good use of when he came to drill his own regiments.

Later on the two Spaniards had gone with the Army of the South to war against the Usurper, but, unhappily for the fortunes of both Huascar and Manco, one had been killed in the first great battle of the war, and the other had been captured with the Inca, after which nothing had been heard of him.

Nahua and Manco had not met for several weeks before his sudden entry into the city, and this was their first meeting in private, for there was no one else in the great garden save a few slaves and attendants, none of whom would have dared on pain of his life to approach without being summoned within anything but the most respectful distance of the person of the prince, nor would have ventured even to so much as raise his eyes and look upon him without permission.

They had just saluted the rising sun, standing hand in hand in the central square of the garden, and as they turned to resume their walk Nahua, chancing to look up towards the north-eastern hills, suddenly uttered a soft little cry, half of wonder and half of alarm, and shrank closer to Manco’s side.

“What is it, my Princess?” he asked tenderly, putting his arm round her shoulders. “Surely there can be nothing here to raise thy fears?”

“Look yonder, my Lord,” she answered, raising her hand and pointing towards the ridge. “Look, there come the Strangers! Canst thou not see the glances of our Father sparkling on that strange white clothing of theirs such as was worn by the two who fought for our Lord?”

Manco looked up and saw dotted along the ridge bright gleams of white light which his instinct, no less true than Nahua’s, told him could only be the sunlight reflected from the polished helmets and cuirasses of the mysterious strangers.

He was not as unfamiliar with these as the rest of his countrymen were, for he alone among the warriors of the Sun possessed a cuirass and morion and sword of good Milan plate and Toledo steel, which had been bequeathed to him by José Valdez, the Spanish knight who had fallen fighting by his side in the great fight at Jauja. He and some of his followers had borne him tenderly out of the battle, and Valdez, who had many a time before buckled the armour on to him and taught him how to use the sword and shield, had besought him almost with his dying breath never to go into battle without them, and to his obedience to this behest the young Inca had owed his liberty or life in many a hotly-contested battle and skirmish since then.

“Ay, thou art right, dearest. They can be no other,” he said, half eagerly, half solemnly. “Truly thine eyes are as keen as they are soft and bright. I wonder what the vision of those little points of light augurs for us and the Children of the Sun?”

“It augurs evil, my Lord!” she replied, turning and facing him, and laying her two hands on his shoulders. “Sore and deadly evil, if there be any truth in the voices of the spirits who come to us in our dreams; for last night, Lord, I dreamt that the fearful things which we have been told of these cruel strangers’ doings in Cajamarca were being done by them again here in our dear and sacred City of the Sun. I saw roofs blazing red over palaces and temples, and the war-fires alight on all the hills and on the Sacsahuaman itself, and I heard a great wailing cry of misery and despair going up from thousands of our people, for these strangers, mounted on their fierce and wonderful war-beasts, which I have never yet seen, save in my dream, but which looked very terrible, were flying hither and thither among them, hewing them down by thousands and trampling them under foot. And I saw too, those strange things which the messengers from Cajamarca told us of—the pipes from which they pour out the llapa and smite men dead long before they can reach them—and then, my Lord, I saw one of them point his llapa-pipe at thee, who wert ever foremost in the battle—and then—my Lord—I screamed aloud and woke. An evil omen, was it not?”

The young prince looked down tenderly on to the sweet face and into the loving eyes that were turned up, and after a short space of silence said—

“The Wise Men have often told me, dearest, that there are omens which should be read backwards to reach the truth of them, and others that have no truth at all in them, but are only the idle freaks that the spirits of the night love to play with us. Of a truth I think more of thy loving care for me in thy vision than of the vision itself.

“Knowing that these strangers were coming it was but reasonable that thou shouldst go to sleep thinking of the tales that have come to us from Cajamarca, and I have often heard that the last thoughts of our waking time remain with us through sleep and come to life again in strangely altered shapes. For me, I see nothing fearful in it. We have not yet heard the full truth of what the Strangers did at Cajamarca. It may be that the Usurper invited them peacefully into the city so as to take them in an ambush, and they did but lawfully punish him for his treachery. Thou knowest how cruel and unsparing he is, and how he trapped our Lord Huascar with his smooth words and false promises, only to take him prisoner and to murder him—if what we hear be true.

“It may be that these Spaniards, as they call themselves, are not such as report hath painted them. Those two who lived and fought with us were as true men and good comrades as princes and warriors could wish for. Why should not these be like them? No doubt this embassy that they are sending to us is one of all honour and friendship. At least we cannot forget that it is their hands that have avenged our wrong, and taken the Usurper prisoner in the midst of his triumphs.”

Nahua heard him with downcast head, but when he had finished she looked up quickly, and said in an anxious, pleading voice—

“Nay, nay, my Lord and my beloved, do not think so, I pray thee by the glory and goodness of our Father. It would ill become me to pit my poor wisdom against thine, yet, as the Pallas have often told me, there are times when a woman’s heart can find truth more quickly than a man’s head, however wise he may be, and now my heart which loves thee so well tells me, doubtless because it loves thee, that thou art wrong. These strangers have no good-will for us or our people and they would treat thee as they have treated Atahuallpa, wert thou in their power as he is. They care nothing for the rights or wrongs of our quarrel save to use it for their own ends. Hast thou forgotten what thy two friends told thee, how they had come hither for gold, and gold alone, and would use all means to get it.

“I was talking last night with the Villac-Umu in the House of the Virgins, and he told me that, by all the signs of the stars, sun, and moon, these men were coming hither to deceive thee with smooth words and fair promises, so that afterwards they may entrap thee as they have done the Usurper.”

“And he told thee this,” the young prince replied in a tone that was serious almost to sternness, “so that he might have that sweet voice of thine on his side. I know his mind, for I too have spoken with him on this matter. If he had his way he would have me treat these strangers as their chief has treated Atahuallpa. He would have me receive them as friends and then entrap them and slay them as enemies, as though a Son of the Sacred Race and the pure Blood could do so base a thing as that!

“No, dearest, thou mayst calm thy fears. I shall know how to guard our land and our people should it come to open warfare with them, but they are coming now as envoys on a mission of peace, and as such they must be received with all honour and kindness. What quarrel have we with them or they with us? It may be that they come to treat with me for Atahuallpa’s ransom. Well, if they want gold for that they shall have it, not to buy his freedom but his person. If they will deliver him in his chains into my hands they shall have all the gold that they and their strange beasts can carry away with them—ay, if I strip the very palaces and temples to give it to them—for then when they were gone I would do justice on him for the murder of my brother and my Lord, and I would reign over the whole land and there should be peace in it again.”

Nahua looked up at him again and said, smiling sadly and gently shaking her head—

“Nay, my Lord and my beloved, there was truth in my dream, and my heart tells me there will never be peace in the Land of the Four Regions while one of these strangers remains alive within it. But that Anda-Huillac can tell thee better than I. I can only give thee what my heart has given me, and pray thee, for my love’s sake, to listen to it.”

“And so I will listen, dearest of my counsellors,” he answered, stooping down, and kissing the lips that were held up to him with such tempting pleading; “but with these men I must treat as my great father would have done. Surely thou wouldst not have me dishonour his name and his blood with treachery or violence to those who come as envoys? Yet fear nothing for me, I shall take all means to guard myself and those who trust me. If they come with clean hearts and straight tongues they shall find me a friend and a prince who can give without stint, but if they come as enemies, whether open or hidden, they shall find that some share of the spirit of the great Huayna dwells in his son Manco.

“But see, our talk must come to an end for a time, for yonder is Anda-Huillac himself with his priests come to summon me to the ceremony; so farewell for awhile, dearest. When it is over I will take care that thou shalt be by my side when I receive the Strangers, and then thou shalt judge of their looks and their speech for thyself.”

CHAPTER VII.
DE SOTO’S AUDIENCE

The ceremony of proclaiming the young prince Inca-Regent and Protector was brief and simple, though by no means without a due impressiveness. Escorted by a procession of the Priests of the Sun and the Curacas of Cuzco and the other towns in the valley, who had been summoned the evening before, he entered the great Sanctuary of the Temple, where, laying his hands upon the altar, and looking up at the great image of the Sun upon the wall above it, he swore to rule according to the Ancient Laws as long as he should hold his office, and to instantly relinquish it as soon as it should be shown that his brother Huascar was still alive and restored to freedom; that he would defend the throne and country against all enemies, whether from within or without, and that, should it be proved that the Usurper had in truth compassed the death of Huascar, he would neither rest nor spare toil or danger until he had meted out to him the punishment due to so awful a crime.

After this Anda-Huillac, the Villac-Umu, or Chief Priest of the Sun, took the yellow Llautu, or turban, which betokened his princely rank, from his brow, and replaced it with the red one which was only worn by the reigning Inca. But there was one of the insignia of royalty wanting, and this was the imperial borla, the fringe of intertwined scarlet and gold thread, which Manco had vowed never to assume, come what might, until the Usurper had paid the penalty of his crimes, and he was undisputed lord of all the land that had owned the sway of his father.

Thus semi-crowned he was escorted back to the palace of Viracocha, fronting the great central square of the city, and there his attendants buckled on the polished steel cuirass which his friend Valdez had bequeathed to him, and girded him with the long, straight sword, for which his own artificers had made a golden sheath of very cunning and beautiful workmanship, and a sword-belt of flat links of gold and silver thickly studded, as the sword-hilt was, with gems.

From his turban sprang an aigrette of the white feathers of the coraquenque, which none but a reigning Inca might wear, fastened by a golden clasp, from which hung a great flat emerald, which in Europe would have been worth a prince’s ransom. Under the cuirass a woollen tunic, as fine as silk and dyed a brilliant purple, descended to his knees, leaving the rest of his shapely, muscular legs bare. His feet were shod with the royal sandals of linked and flexible gold, bound on by jewelled cross-straps, and from his shoulders hung a cloak of pure white wool, embroidered with gold and scarlet thread, and bearing on the left breast an image of the sun in beaten gold, which was an exact miniature of the great effigy in the Sanctuary. The cloak was fastened loosely across his broad shoulders by a clasp formed of two great rubies of equal size and similar shape, set in curiously chased gold.

Such was the figure of Manco-Capac, the last of his royal line and Divine Blood, as he strode out of the great gateway of the palace on to the terrace in front of it, before which the Spanish envoys with their attendants were already drawn up awaiting his coming. A great open space had been kept in front of the terrace by close, orderly ranks of the Regent’s own regiments, armed with sword and spear and shield; and on the terrace his own bodyguard of picked warriors, splendidly armed and uniformed, kept the space round the throne-seat, which had been placed for him at the top of the low, broad flight of steps which led from the terrace to the square.

A shrill blast of silver, sweet-toned trumpets, followed by a deep shout of welcome and homage, heralded his coming, and the amazed and dazzled Spaniards involuntarily bowed their respectful greetings to him as he walked with slow, stately strides to the silver throne-seat, looking, as ben-Alcazar murmured to de Soto, every inch a warrior and a king.

He did not at once take his seat, but stood beside the throne looking straight out across the square, as though he were not even aware of the presence of the Spaniards. There was another lower seat beside his, and presently from another door of the palace came Nahua, attired in flowing robes of pure white wool, bare-headed save for a broad band of polished silver which encircled her brows and confined the long, shining brown hair which fell in thick rippling masses over her shoulders and below her waist.

She was followed by an escort of the fairest and noblest of the Virgins of the Sun, twelve of whom, attired exactly like her, walked on either side of her. As she approached the front of the terrace, Manco turned and held his right hand out towards her. She took it with a gesture in which love and reverence were visibly blended, and bent over it for a moment, and then Manco, with a softly-spoken word of welcome, bade her take her place beside his throne.

Then he himself sat down, and, still without making the slightest sign of greeting or recognition, he stared straight at the Spaniards who were standing at the foot of the flight of steps, divided between admiration for the splendour of the scene and wonder at the cuirass and sword—which a single glance had told them must have crossed the ocean in one of their own ships—in the possession of the young Inca. It was in this moment, too, that Alonso de Molina’s loyalty to the dark-eyed Señorita who was waiting for him in far-away Seville first wavered as he gazed in admiring wonder on the sweet and gentle beauty of Nahua.

At length the Inca made an almost imperceptible sign with his hand, and the Villac-Umu came and stood beside his chair and said to the leader of the Spaniards’ escort—

“Who is the chief among the strangers? Let him ascend to the midway of the steps that his eyes may be blessed with the sight of the glory of our Lord, and his ears with the graciousness of his words.”

All the members of the escort, even Atahuallpa’s own secretary, carried light wands across their shoulders in obedience to the rule which compelled all who came into the presence of the Inca to come bearing the semblance of a burden in token of their service to him, and the Curaca who was addressed immediately gave his to de Soto, and bade Filipillo tell him what to do with it, he himself instantly taking another from an attendant and laying it across his shoulders. But de Soto, who knew perfectly the meaning of the act of homage, refused it somewhat indignantly, and said in a loud voice to the interpreter—

“Bid him tell his master that we are gentlemen of Spain and pay homage to none save our own king, from whom we come as honourable envoys, not as slaves.”

Then, to the amazement of all of them, and before Filipillo could translate what he had said, the Inca, looking straight at de Soto, beckoned to him and said in perfect Spanish, and with scarcely a trace of foreign accent—

“There is no dishonour in the act, Señor, yet I have no wish to force our customs unwillingly upon you. Approach, therefore, in your own fashion, and show me your credentials, and tell me the message you bring from your master.”

Then de Soto left his wondering companions and mounted the first of the double flight of steps, with his left hand resting on his sword-hilt and carrying in his right the thread of gold and scarlet which the chief of their escort had given to him. He stopped on the broader step which divided the flight, and, holding this out, said in a voice still full of wonder but instinct with respect and knightly courtesy—

“This is the sign that was given to us by his Majesty the Inca, who is presently our guest at Cajamarca, to be presented to the chief men of this city, where, to our great amazement, we find one who can himself be nothing less than a prince and chief of the royal house, and, to our still greater marvel, one who speaks the Castilian speech as purely as the most gently-bred hidalgo of Spain.”

As Manco’s glance fell upon the symbol of Atahuallpa’s authority his brows came swiftly together in a frown, but his lips curved in a scornful smile as he said, with a contemptuous wave of his hand—

“Señor, if you have no better sanction for your embassy than that you may take it back whence you had it. There is no other majesty in this land than that of my Lord and brother Huascar, in whose place of rule I sit to-day, holding it for him till our Father the Sun shall restore him to us, or—as a grievous rumour has already told us—call him back into his own presence. He from whom you had that is no Inca or lawful ruler. He is a traitor to our laws, a dishonourer of the memory of his great father and mine, and an oppressor and slayer of his people.

“Moreover,” he went on, speaking even more sternly than before, “if report has told me truly, you, Señor, are not speaking to me with a straight tongue. The Usurper is not your guest but your prisoner, and in taking him captive you slew with great cruelty and with no just cause many of his people, who were also ours, and who had done you no harm—though at my hands they might have merited death, since they had followed the Usurper and forsaken their rightful Lord. What have you to say to that, Señor? But first tell me from whom you come. It cannot be that you are here as envoys from your captive.”

De Soto, no less than his companions, was almost as much disturbed by the stern directness of the Inca’s charge and reproof as he was astonished by the strength and majesty of his bearing and his wonderful, and to them inexplicable, command of their own language. His bronzed cheeks flushed with something very like shame, but his quick intelligence told him that, if his embassy was not to end there and then in abrupt failure, and it might be disaster, he must make a bold stroke to gain the goodwill of this superb young prince, whether his instructions warranted it or not. So he paused a little, meeting as well as he could the steady, frowning gaze of the Inca, and when he had somewhat collected his thoughts said with a note of respectful deprecation in his voice—

“Your Majesty, for such I now truly perceive you to be, and so lawful ruler of these realms, since the Prince your brother hath been dead now for many days, slain, as we have reason to believe, by order of him whom your royal justice rightly describes as a usurper, I will state my errand first. We are not here to explain or excuse what was done in Cajamarca. We are only simple knights and soldiers. What we did, we did under orders from our leader, who was put in authority over us by our sovereign lord, the King of Spain. Touching that matter he himself can best explain that which he found necessary to do.”

“He shall do so,” the Inca interrupted curtly. “Proceed, Señor. So you come from this leader of yours, and not from the Usurper? It would have been better for you to have said that at first.”

“And doubtless I should have done so,” replied de Soto, who had now regained his self-possession, “had I not been overcome for the moment by the splendour of the scene about us and my wonder at your Majesty’s strange command of the Castilian speech. He who sent me hither is Don Francisco Pizarro, a noble of Spain, and Generalissimo of his Catholic Majesty’s army of exploration and discovery in these regions, hitherto strange and unknown to us. He hath come hither to offer friendship and alliance to the sovereign of these realms, and, seeing Atahuallpa enjoying that state and title, and knowing nothing of the disputes which have lately rent this land, invited him to honourable conference. But he, as was believed, came with other and treacherous intent, having surrounded the city with armed men, who would have fallen upon us while we peacefully entertained him; so our Commander, to be beforehand with him, took him prisoner, and in the doing of it, to his sorrow and ours, blood was spilt. But of that, as I have said, your Majesty will doubtless hear the true explanation from his own lips.

“As for us,” he went on again after a little pause, during which he sought in vain to read the effect of his words on Manco’s stern and impassive face; “as for myself and my companions, we have been sent hither by our leader on a twofold errand, one part whereof was to set the matter of Atahuallpa’s ransom, which he himself hath fixed at a great and most marvellous quantity of gold, before the chief men of this city, to which end he sent the symbol of his authority by me, ordering them to do their part in collecting it with all possible speed. The other part was to perform a commission which the unexpected but most pleasing presence of your Majesty already in authority over this city has made at once easier and more speedy of performance.”

“If it is to invite me to Cajamarca, as thy master hath already invited Atahuallpa, you may spare yourself the trouble of speaking your message, Señor,” again interrupted the Inca, with a somewhat disconcerting laugh running through his tone. “I need no invitation to my own city, and when I come it will be at the head of my armies. Now say on, but say no more of that.”

De Soto saw the force of this home-thrust instantly, and, being well-nigh as skilled in tongue-fence as he was in sword-play, parried it as quickly as it was delivered.

“It is true, your Majesty,” he said, returning the Inca’s smile with frank deference, “that I am the bearer of an invitation from our Captain-General, but not such a one as that. Don Francisco, being cognisant of your royal birth and your just claims to the throne of these realms, and being, moreover, well informed of the valour and fortitude with which you have sustained the labours and misfortunes of the late unhappy war, bade me seek you out and offer to you, in his name and that of his august master and ours, his Most Catholic Majesty, friendship and alliance and the assistance of his arms in the regaining of your lawful inheritance.

“For his reward in doing this he will cast himself upon your Majesty’s generosity, and, the matter being happily ended, he will depart peacefully to bear the news and tokens of your friendship and alliance to our master in Spain, leaving here only such an ambassador as your Majesty shall choose from among us to be the channel of communication between this court and that of Spain, as is the custom among monarchs in the lands from which we come; and, with your Majesty’s permission, he will also leave certain holy men who shall instruct the people of these realms in the beauties and mysteries of the one true Faith.”

“True faith! What is that?” the Inca broke in sharply, and once more frowning. “If by that you mean a new faith and the worship of strange gods, such as I have heard of from men of your race who have dwelt with us, say no more of it. The faith of my fathers is enough for my people; and, moreover, how should I, who bear the name of the Divine founder of our race, and who am of his blood, make way for another god in my own land? It seems that it is you, Señor, who need teaching something of true faith and courtesy as well.”

De Soto saw instantly that he had made a false step, and at once hastened to repair the mistake.

“I crave your Majesty’s forgiveness,” he said, with greater deference than ever. “It was foolish of me to speak of matters that are beyond the comprehension of a plain soldier. I pray you think no more of it. I doubt not that when you come to have speech with Don Francisco on the matter there will be no great disagreement found between you. And now, your Majesty, so much being said, this part of my mission is performed.”

The Inca sat with his elbow on the arm of the chair and his chin in the palm of his hand staring at de Soto for some moments after he had done speaking. Then he said slowly—

“These are weighty matters, and not to be lightly disposed of. You, Señor, have done your part well, and I hope with honour and truthfulness. You and your companions shall be my guests during your stay in the city. I must talk with my wise men and trusted counsellors over these things, and you shall have my answer to take back to your leader as soon as may be. Till then my palace over yonder, which you have just come from, shall be your home. When I have more to say to you I will send for you, but when you come again do not bring that sore-eyed slave with you. I have heard of him. He is a Yunca, and a slave, and a maker of mischief, and you see that I can talk with you without his help. Tell him that if I see his face again I will have him killed, for the sight of him is not good for my eyes. Now adios, Señor, till we meet again.”

De Soto received his courteous dismissal with a ceremonious bow, saying—

“I thank your Majesty for your gracious words and generous hospitality. So far as our duty to our master may permit, we are your servants so long as we shall remain in your realms. Adios!”

And so saying, in true courtier style he saluted the Inca, bowed low before Nahua, whom he naturally believed to be already his consort, and, without turning his back, descended the steps and rejoined his still wondering companions.

CHAPTER VIII.
SENTENCE OF DEATH

In Cajamarca the days grew rapidly into weeks, and events multiplied quickly, but the cavaliers did not return from Cuzco, nor was any more news heard of them than the meagre tidings of their arrival and reception which had been brought by Filipillo, who, in accordance with Manco’s wish, had been sent back at once with the escort. This had, unhappily, given the interpreter still further means of mischief-making, for he had brought back to Pizarro a cunningly-concocted story of a plot, which he had himself hatched, between Manco and Atahuallpa, and this had at length forced the Captain-General into a course which he had long been contemplating, and to which he was now strongly urged by his old comrade Almagro, who had arrived from the coast with some hundred and fifty men. This was to bring the Inca to trial for the murder of Huascar and for plotting the overthrow of the Spanish authority.

His brother Hernando, too, had returned from Pachacamac, followed by a train of thirty-five bearers, each carrying as much gold as he could stagger under. Meanwhile, too, streams of treasure from the other coast and inland towns had been flowing steadily into Cajamarca, and now the golden tide in the Banqueting Hall of the House of the Serpent was at length approaching the mark that the Inca had set for it.

But the higher it rose the more remote grew the chances of Atahuallpa’s freedom. The coming of Almagro and his men had put a new face on the whole situation. The sight of the treasure heaped up in the House of the Serpent and scattered so lavishly about the city had roused the gold-lust fiercely within them. They began to clamour loudly for the division of the spoils that they had had no share in winning, and, as was but natural, Pizarro’s own men, who had borne the burden and toil of which it was the reward, began to demand the payment of their shares into their own keeping. But again it was plain that the treasure could not be divided until the ransom had been completed and the Inca released—that is, if he was ever to be released at all.

Sitting after sitting of the court that had been constituted to try Atahuallpa had been held, and at each one of them his guilt had been more and more openly urged, until even Pizarro himself had come to look upon his death as the shortest way out of all difficulties. There were three whose voices were raised with ever-increasing insistence to this end, and these were Almagro, Riquelme, and Vincente de Valverde, each of whom had his own reasons for such a course. At length Pizarro yielded to them, and this he did the more readily and with the better conscience as authentic reports of the gathering of great armies from all parts of the Empire were now coming in every day, each one of which added more and more colour of truth to the story which Filipillo had brought with him from Cuzco.

So it came about that at the last council it was resolved to melt the treasure down, to send the King’s fifth to Spain under the care of Hernando Pizarro, and to impeach Atahuallpa on the various counts that had already been formulated against him. How immense the treasure already was may be seen from the fact that the King’s fifth alone amounted to a million, three hundred and twenty-six thousand, five hundred and thirty-nine pesos of pure gold, which in modern English money is over three hundred and thirty thousand pounds sterling.

With this huge sum Hernando Pizarro, with an escort of twenty horse and a long train of Indian bearers, started out for the coast. The most of the simple folk believed that the others would soon follow and that their Inca would be immediately set free. But Atahuallpa had no such delusion, for when the Captain’s brother went into his prison-room to bid him farewell he shook his head mournfully and said, with the air of a man who believes himself already doomed—

“I am deeply grieved to see you go, for you are a good man and would be my friend and see justice done to me; but I know that when you are gone that fat man and that one-eyed man and that other one who is always seeking to make me worship his strange gods will most certainly kill me.”

Then Hernando Pizarro shook his head too and sought to reassure him, saying that he was going to the great king who was lord and master of all the Spaniards, and that he would see justice done to him. And then he took leave of him as quickly as he could, for he knew that his fate was already sealed, and was eager to get away out of so black a business.

No sooner had he gone than Atahuallpa, feeling now that if he remained in the power of the Spaniards his fate was sealed, and knowing that he could be no worse off whatever happened, suddenly resolved to do that which Challcuchima had so earnestly prayed him to do the night before he was taken prisoner, and in taking this resolve he gave his worst enemies among the Spaniards the one pretext that was now wanting to them. It may have been that at this last hour, when face to face with his fate, the old warrior spirit burnt up afresh within him, and he resolved that if he must die he would do so in the midst of battle and massacre rather than be slain like a felon after a mock judgment, and that at least he would not leave the world without the knowledge that some of his enemies had paid for the indignities they had put upon him with their lives.

The fifth day after the departure of Hernando Pizarro he managed, after four days of watching and waiting for an opportunity, to dispatch a knot of the fringe of the borla—which he still wore even with his chains in mournful mockery of his former imperial state—to Quiz-Quiz and Ruminavi, with orders to march instantly with every regiment at their command upon the city, first laying waste the whole country about it, and after that to fall upon it with fire and sword and avenge his insulted honour, even if rescue of his person was impossible.

Now the Curaca of Cajamarca, which was one of the cities that had owed allegiance to Huascar and had about a year before been seized by Atahuallpa, had never borne him any goodwill, and through the agency of Filipillo he had become a firm ally of the Spaniards, deceived, as many others of his simple race were, by their promises of kindness and protection. He had made it his business to organise a small army of spies, who had kept close watch on the movements of every one who had access to the Inca and afterwards left the city.

Thus it happened that Atahuallpa’s messenger, without knowing it, was stealthily followed until he reached an outpost of the army and delivered his message. Then, as he was coming back to the city to tell the Inca that his command had been obeyed, he was seized and brought before the Curaca, who at once took him to Pizarro, and he sternly questioned him through Filipillo, who, following his usual policy, so translated his answers that Pizarro, at length losing patience, ordered him to be tortured until he gave such answers as were required.

At the same time he ordered that every kinsman and friend of Atahuallpa’s in the city should be placed under close arrest. Then these also one by one were either stretched on the rack or forced to submit to the torment of the slow-match, all of which they bore with the fortitude of their race, until the extremity of the agony overcame their reason; and then from their frantic cries and incoherent babblings Filipillo, whose evil soul had delighted in the hideous work for the sake of the revenge that it gave him, made up a tale of accusations against Atahuallpa which left his fate no longer in doubt.

As it happened, there was a Doctor of Laws among those who had followed the fortunes of Almagro, no doubt being attracted, if not by the prospect of gold-getting for himself, at least by that of making spoil, after the manner of his kind, out of the disputes of rude and ignorant men placed suddenly in possession of such wealth as people of the same stamp in the Old World had never dreamt of. So by the help of this man, Martin de Zarate by name, the mock court which was to try a prisoner already condemned and to deliver a judgment already determined upon was constituted in due legal form, and so far was the solemn farce of justice pushed that an advocate was given to Atahuallpa to plead the cause of one already lost.

But there stood against the Inca an advocate more potent than all the doctors of Spain, and this was Filipillo, the only one of the interpreters in the camp who had sufficient skill and knowledge of both tongues to conduct the business of the court as regarded the accusations and pleadings of the accused, whom he, by his falsehood and treachery, had done so much to entrap in the fatal mesh from which he now saw there was no escape.

But Atahuallpa, as though divining that his last days had come and that it behoved him to bear himself as the son of his great father should do, suddenly threw off the stupor which up to now had seemed so strangely to paralyse his mind, and bore himself in a fashion worthy his ancient race and his own fame as a warrior and a prince. When he was first arraigned before his judges, and Filipillo, blinking maliciously at him out of his still swollen and half-blinded eyes, translated the deed of indictment and asked him, as the mouthpiece of the court, what answer he had to make, he drew himself up and crossed his manacled hands upon his breast and replied, with more dignity than he had ever spoken with from his golden throne—

“Tell thy masters, slave, that I know that my doom is already decided, though I have done nothing that one betrayed, oppressed, and ill-used as I have been might not have done and yet go blameless. They have taken my gold and given me their faith. They have broken it without ruth or shame to me and mine, and now, that they may the better steal my country and make my people slaves, they are going to kill me. Since my armies have failed me and all my friends and servants have deserted me, there is nothing left for me but to die in accordance with the decree of the Unnameable. To His judgment I bow, but not to theirs. The will is His and theirs is but the hand, for the sins that I die for they have never seen. There can be no tribunal in this land high enough to judge one who is himself the law, and even were their justice pure it would be polluted in passing through so foul a channel as those lying lips of thine. Tell thy masters what I have said. Tell them also that, since they have assured themselves beforehand of my guilt, there is nothing left for them but to tell me the manner of my death. Now I have spoken, and not even their torments shall bring more useless words from me.”

So saying he turned his head away and looked out of an open window near him over the green valley and the terraced mountains beyond, with their rugged, broken heights piercing the blue and cloudless sky, and from that moment to the end of his trial he never spoke again or seemed to take any interest in the proceedings on which his life depended. It was in vain that Pizarro ordered Filipillo to put question after question to him, threatening and promising by turns. The fallen Inca had wrapped himself in unbending dignity and unbreakable silence, and neither word nor sign of interest in what was going on could be drawn from him. At length Valverde, who had long lost all patience, said angrily—

“Señores, how much longer shall we suffer this heathen to trifle with us? We have made others speak, why not he as well?”

“Ay,” added Almagro, with an evil twinkle in his one eye, “the reverend father is right. I warrant that a very brief trial of the match or the thumbscrew, or maybe a few minutes on the rack, would speedily open his Majesty’s lips and loosen his royal tongue.”

“No, Caballeros, while I have a voice in the matter, no,” said the Captain-General, shaking his head and looking as some thought almost sorrowfully at the prisoner. “It seems to me that the Inca hath already suffered enough at our hands, unless of course the finding of this honourable court be that he is guilty of the crime imputed to him, in which case let the just penalty fall upon him, but let us not forget, Señores, that, whatever his fault may be, he is a crowned monarch, and that it would ill-please the tender mercy and high chivalry of his Most Catholic Majesty to learn that soldiers of his had put the indignity of torture upon a brother sovereign.”

“And moreover,” chimed in Riquelme, in his soft, official voice, “methinks there is but little need, even if such a thing might be permitted, to which I, as the servant of his Majesty, could never consent. Have we not proof enough already—nay, have not the Inca’s own words convicted him of contumacy? Has he not defied us and laughed our careful justice to scorn? Have not all the witnesses spoken against him, and since none have spoken for him, not even himself, is it not best that we should deliberate forthwith on our judgment, and when arrived at consider the best means of putting it into effect?”

Pizarro, who all this time had been looking at the unmoved, averted face of the Inca, now glanced round the table at which they were sitting, and, reading approval in the faces of all present, he said in a tone which plainly showed how weary he was of the whole base business and how glad he would be to see it ended—

“Very well, Señores, since that seems to be the wish of all of you, so be it. Let the Inca be conducted back to his apartment.”

The captain of Atahuallpa’s guard saluted, and then touched him on the shoulder. The touch seemed to waken him out of a dream, for all this time he had never taken his eyes off the distant hills beyond which, as he knew, thousands of his faithful subjects were encamped, or it might be even now on their way to attempt his rescue. A little shudder seemed to run through his frame at the touch. He turned and saluted his judges with a gesture full of royal dignity, and without a word followed his guards from the room.

As might be expected, the court did not take long in finding its verdict, and within an hour Atahuallpa was found guilty of crimes enough to have sent half-a-dozen men to their death if judged by such a tribunal. He was guilty of fratricide in procuring the death of Huascar; of treason and conspiracy against the Spaniards and their sovereign as rightful lord of the country; of wasting, embezzling, and misapplying its revenues after the Spaniards had entered into possession of it. Further, he was guilty of idolatry and concubinage; and lastly, as though to fitly cap the solemn farce, he was convicted of prosecuting unjust wars to the injury and oppression of his country and its people!

“And now, Señores,” said Pizarro, when these formidable counts had at length been agreed to, “since the finding of the court is ‘guilty’ it remains but to pass sentence. Señor Zarate, what says the law in such matters?”

“The court,” replied the Doctor, rising and speaking in a pompous, inflated tone, “hath by the laws of Leon and Castille discretion to pass on one found guilty of so many grave offences two sentences at least. Should its judgment incline rather to mercy than justice it may pass sentence of a fine proportionate to the means of the culprit and banishment to some place of safe keeping. Should it, on the other hand, see in these heinous crimes no room for the exercise of mercy that would be compatible with the safety and good order of these realms, then the only sentence that it can pass will be death by such means as may be considered best merited by the crimes of the condemned.”

“But is there not a third course?” said Pizarro, as though even as this last moment he shrank from soiling his hands with the blood of his captive. “Is not this a somewhat hasty proceeding, Señores? I confess that of late my mind has somewhat misgiven me as to our competence to do this thing. Hath not, after all, the Inca a right to be tried, as every other man hath, by his peers? and if so, would not a more proper course be to pronounce the lighter sentence and send our prisoner, with a due statement of this process that we have held, to the government at Panama, so that either final judgment may be pronounced by the Viceroy or the Inca may be sent to Spain to receive his sentence from the august lips of our master the Emperor?”

In this wise and temperate proposition lay the Inca’s last hope of justice or even of life, but when, after a heated discussion, it was put to the vote only five out of the fifteen members of the court voted in favour of it. Valverde, Almagro, Riquelme, and Zarate all spoke vehemently in favour of death, and in the end their arguments and the veiled threats which they did not scruple to use so far prevailed with the Captain-General that when the vote had been given he, although with manifest reluctance, ordered his secretary to affix his signature to the death-warrant. The five dissentients, to their everlasting credit, not only refused to sign, but afterwards drew up a formal protest against the haste and injustice of the act which was about to be done, and this document has to-day an honourable resting-place among the archives of Spain.

As soon as the fatal parchment had been signed Pizarro took Filipillo with him and went himself to the Inca to acquaint him with his doom and make him ready to die on the morrow. Atahuallpa heard it with the dignity and composure which proved how fully he had already resigned himself to the inevitable, but this did not prevent him from reproaching Pizarro, albeit with mildness and dignity, for this shameful breach of all his promises and his treachery in first taking the ransom and then consenting to his murder. These reproaches, well merited as they were, did not reach Pizarro’s ears as the doomed Inca spoke them, for the malice of Filipillo, still unsatisfied even by the knowledge that by the light of the next sun he would see Atahuallpa done to death, translated them so that they became the vilest opprobrium, which, being uttered, as Pizarro saw it was, without passion or violence, appeared to him doubly insulting on account of the scorn and contempt which the Inca’s manner seemed to display.

So in the end he fell into a violent passion and, swearing that Atahuallpa should have no further aid or protection from him, strode from the room after ordering the guards on pain of their lives to let no one come near the Inca with the exception of Valverde, who had piously undertaken to prepare him for his end, and not to lose sight of him until the moment that he should be led out to execution. Filipillo took his opportunity to stay behind for a moment, and going up to the Inca, who had thrown himself on to his couch and buried his face in his hands, he whispered in his ear—

“Would it not have been better, Lord, to have accepted my service and given me the Princess in payment of it? To-morrow I shall ask the chief of the Strangers for her, and he will not refuse me.”

Atahuallpa sprang from his couch to his feet, his face flushed purple-red and his blood-shot eyes aflame with sudden fury, and before Filipillo had time to slip out of his reach he had grasped him round the body with his chained hands and with a single effort of his great strength lifted him to arm’s length above his head and hurled him like a stone from a catapult through the doorway, where he fell between the two guards and lay stunned and bleeding as one dead on the stone pavement.

CHAPTER IX.
“SACRIFICE! SACRIFICE!”

That night the utmost precautions were taken to prevent surprise and rescue. The guards at all points of entrance to the city were doubled, and the difficult roads that led down the mountains towards the fortress where Atahuallpa was spending his last night on earth were strictly guarded. But the most potent safeguard of all for the Spaniards was the full moon which rose high in the cloudless heavens, filling the valley with a flood of light and making the mountain-paths stand out white and clear, so that no human shape could pass along them without being instantly seen.

But to make assurance doubly sure Pizarro had caused the Curaca to send out about half a score of his spies to go to the different divisions of the army as though they came from Atahuallpa, and these told the General and the captains of the advanced posts that the Inca had come to an agreement with the Spaniards by which they entered his service and would, for a certain payment in gold every month, help him to crush the insurrection of Manco in the South and restore his rule over the whole land.

Now since this was exactly what Quiz-Quiz and Ruminavi had said in their argument with Challcuchima that he would do, and as they believed that the Spaniards had been overawed and brought to reason by the threat of cutting off all provisions and the water from the city and afterwards assailing it with overwhelming numbers, they took the cunning story as truth and contented themselves with sending messengers into the city assuring the Inca of their undying loyalty and their willingness even to fight by the side of the Strangers against the people of Cuzco, since it was his will that they should do so. These messengers, who arrived very early in the morning, were no sooner safely within the Spanish lines than they were instantly taken prisoners and kept in close confinement till the tragedy had been completed.

By sunrise the whole Spanish force, now amounting to nearly four hundred men with sixty arquebuses and five pieces of cannon, were under arms and in all respects ready for battle in case at the last minute the Peruvian General should discover the fraud that had been practised upon them and attack the city.

In the centre of the square a great stake had been planted, and near this were piled heaps of fagots and dried grass, for in spite of the desire of the Captain-General that his royal prisoner should die, as became his rank, by the headsman’s axe, the rest of those who had made up the majority of the court, instigated by Valverde, had overridden his scruples, and it had been decreed that if the Inca persisted in his idolatry to the last he should die by fire. But they granted that if at the last moment he recanted his errors and received the Sacrament of Baptism at the hands of the holy father he should suffer by the milder death of the garrote and his body, instead of being scattered in ashes to the winds, should receive Christian burial and all honour due to his rank.

The whole of the next day was passed by the soldiery in anxious watching and by Valverde and his attendant monks in prayer for the turning of Atahuallpa’s soul—as they faithfully believed—from the path of inevitable damnation, and in exhorting him to abjure the error of his ways and escape the torment of the fire here and hereafter by embracing the Cross while yet there was time. But Filipillo, whose head was still singing and whose bones were still aching from his last night’s rough treatment, had determined that, so far as he could bring it about, the Inca should die by fire and not by the garrote, and therefore, with pitiless malice, he took care to turn all their pious words into the most ribald nonsense.

It was nearly two hours after sunset when Pizarro, at the head of a file of soldiers, at length went up to the fortress to tell the Inca that the fatal moment had come. As he entered the room Valverde and his monks stopped and Atahuallpa looked up. An expression of scornful reproach more eloquent than many words lit up his noble features, now made more noble than ever by the dignity of near-approaching death. His lips moved as though he would say something, but the same instant he bethought him that he could say nothing save through the interpreter, so he closed them again and turned his face away from Pizarro as though he could no longer bear to look upon the man who had taken his gold as ransom and then betrayed him to death.

“How goes it with his Highness, holy father?” said Pizarro affecting not to notice the Inca’s silent reproach. “Have thy sacred ministrations yet been crowned with success?”

“For his soul’s sake and to my own sorrow I say that though I have striven with him all day, he still hardens his heart against the blessed unction of our holy Faith and still clings to his false gods, not even confessing that he hath sinned, but remaining like one of his own dumb idols and refusing the grace that is offered to him. Greatly would I have loved to be the means of saving so great a sinner, and for many hours I have wrestled in spirit to this end; but the ways of Heaven are inscrutable, and it would seem that it is not to be. There is but one hope now, and that is that the fear of the fire may even at the last moment melt him into repentance.”

“It hath been found ere now a more potent reasoning than even such eloquence as thine, holy father,” replied Pizarro grimly, “and for my part, and not only for his soul’s sake, should I rejoice to see it, for truly he hath had hurt enough at our hands without dying by a death of torment.”

Valverde frowned at this and said sternly—

“Señor, he who could find mercy for the heathen or the idolater in his heart hath commonly little room left for the love of God. The Inca hath already passed beyond the civil power into the keeping of the Church, which now by my hands gives him back into thine for the execution of his body as an obstinate heretic and idolater as mercifully as maybe and without shedding of blood. Do thou, as a true son of the Church, see to this, and, shouldst thou need any excuse to thy conscience, find it in this charge of mine.”

Pizarro bowed and crossed himself, feeling now much lighter at heart, for to such a man in such an age this was full and sufficient warranty for the doing of any cruelty or injustice.

“Since it is the Church that bids me, by thy lips, holy father,” he said gravely, “my responsibility in the matter is discharged. I have come to tell thee and the prisoner of the Church that all things are ready for the carrying out of the sentence.”

“Then let us go,” said Valverde, solemnly clasping his hands and casting his eyes up to the roof; “and may God and the Saints in their infinite mercy change his heart even at the last minute of the eleventh hour!”

The Inca’s chains were then struck off and he was led out from the room into the forecourt of the fortress, and there the procession of death was formed between two rows of torchbearers. First went Brother Joachim bearing the great white crucifix aloft, then came Valverde in his full canonicals chanting the Mass for the Dying with the four monks who came behind him walking two and two on either side of the Inca, who, with his hands clasped behind him, gazed upwards to the sky gemmed with the innumerable stars of two hemispheres and flooded by the white radiance of the moon, the sister-wife of his Father and Lord the Sun.

Beneath him lay the broad moonlit valley spread out in ghostly and almost unearthly beauty, and to his mourning eyes it seemed as though it had never looked so beautiful before. Over against him the dim horizon was closed in by range after range of terraced hills, capped by their domes and pinnacles of bare rock, and behind him towered the tremendous snow and ice-crowned bulwarks which he, in the mad confidence of his strength and ignorance, had left unguarded, and which had so failed to keep out these pitiless and arrogant strangers who were now taking him helpless to his doom.

In the plaza the guards were drawn up in a hollow square round the stake, on either side of which stood a company of torchbearers. The procession moved slowly round to the side of the square which had been left open, and there, halting in front of the stake, the Notary stood out with a parchment in his hand, and in a loud voice read the indictment on which the Inca had been found guilty and the sentence that the court had passed upon him. All round the sides of the plaza stood dense throngs of the people, silent, cowed, and helpless, yet even now scarcely believing that their deity would permit his crowned and sceptred son to die without launching some fearful vengeance upon the heads of the impious strangers.

But there was no thought now of revolt or rescue, for the moment of the massacre with all its horrors was still fresh in their minds, and in every direction they saw the terrible war-beasts ready to ride them down, and the still more dreaded fire-tubes, or llapa-pipes as they called them, ready to rain fire and death and thunder upon them as they had done before.

Pizarro had expressly ordered that they should be permitted to be present, for now that he had finally decided that the Inca’s death was inevitable he was determined that his end should be made as awful and impressive as possible, so that the news of it might be carried throughout the length and breadth of the land and convince those who had not beheld it how vain all opposition to his will must ever be.

When the Notary had finished his reading Valverde went to the Inca’s side with a small crucifix in his hand and, pointing to the crucifix and then to the stake with the fagots piled about it, he gave him to understand by signs and the few words of Quichua that he had acquired that the moment of his final choice had now come. If he would take the symbol of the faith in his hand and speak the one word, “Credo,” then a swift and painless death should be his, and after that salvation. If he refused—there were the fagots and the torches, a death of lingering agony, and after that damnation and eternal torment.

In such an awful moment it could not but be that the doomed Inca’s thoughts should go back to that hour in Quito when he had himself doomed three generations of men, women, and children, and among them his own brother, to the same death of fiery torment which awaited him now.

He looked mutely from the crucifix to the priest, and from the crucifix to the stake and the executioner standing beside it with the torch that was to light his death-pyre. Then his thoughts flew back again into the past, and he saw his guilty mother dragged away to the fagot-piled scaffold. He saw the torches waving in the frenzied hands of the great Huayna’s wives, then he saw them hurled into the fagots, and as the flames sprang up he heard the shrieks and screams of agony mingling with the shrill strains of the Death Chant.

That which neither threats nor exhortations had done the memory of that dreadful hour and the result of his own pitiless sentence did. Once more the terrible words of Mama-Lupa rang shrilly in his ears—

“Sacrifice! Sacrifice! The gods are wroth and nought but sacrifice can appease them!”

Now the moment of sacrifice had come indeed, and he was to be the living sacrifice offered up to assuage the anger of the Powers whom his own crimes had provoked against his people. The spirit of his murdered father seemed to come back and tell him of the unjust doom of those who had died by his command, and suddenly his heart melted within him. He put out his hand and took the crucifix from Valverde and pressed it to his breast, and with bowed head murmured the saving syllables.

“Laus tibi Domine! Gloria, Gloria!” cried Valverde, spreading his hands out towards the heavens. “Shall there not be joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth? Brother Francis, the font quickly, ere the moment of grace shall pass!”

The monk immediately came forward with a silver vessel containing the holy water. Valverde signed to the penitent to kneel down, and as he did so he dipped his finger in the water and, making the sign of the Cross on the Inca’s brow, he cried in a loud, triumphant voice—

“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritūs Sancti, I baptize thee, Juan de Atahuallpa.^[16] By the prayers of our Blessed Mother and the intercessions of the Holy Saints thou hast been brought out of the darkness of heathendom into the light of the true Faith. By the authority given me by our Holy Father the Pope, God’s vicegerent upon earth, lawful heir and successor of him to whom it was said: That whosoever he should bind on earth should be bound in heaven, and whosoever he should loose on earth should be loosed in heaven, I now absolve thee from the sins and errors of thy past life, seeing that they were committed while thy soul was yet in darkness. That which was as scarlet hath been washed whiter than snow. Go now, son of the Church, and enter into the glory of thy new inheritance!”

They were strange words with which to send one who but a few months before had been lord of wide lands and master of many millions to the ignominious death of a common malefactor, and yet not even old Carvahal was able to look upon the face of Valverde as he uttered them and doubt his perfect faith. For him the miracle of the Church’s Sacrament had been accomplished by his hands, and no man believed anything more truly than he did that the heathen soul of the Inca was at that moment as white and pure as the soul of a little child.

He saw none of the mockery, none of the cruelty, none of the murderous injustice of which they were the sanction. If Atahuallpa could have understood them he might have taken them for the words of pardon and release, but a few moments would have bitterly undeceived him. In their inner meaning they were nothing less than a command to his executioners, the surrender of the body of the doomed man from the keeping of the Church to the secular arm in accordance with the hideous formula which has sent thousands of men, women, and children to the agonizing death of the flames.

But the Inca’s tardy recantation had saved him at least from the physical torments of such an end. The fagots were cleared away from the stake, and the fatal torch was extinguished. Two men-at-arms put their hands under his shoulders and raised him to his feet. He walked between them to the stake passively and in seeming unconsciousness of what was being done. Behind it Michael Asterre had taken his place with a noosed rope in one hand and a short thick staff of wood in the other. Then the Inca was placed against the stake and bound to it with cords. Before his right hand was bound he raised it and, looking towards Pizarro, beckoned to him. The Captain-General approached with Filipillo at his side, but Atahuallpa, with almost the last action of his life, turned his head aside and angrily waved him away. So another interpreter was brought, and by him he said to Pizarro.

“That other who speaks for you is a liar and a traitor both to you and me, and I would have my last words to come truthfully to your ears.

“You have entrapped me and betrayed me. You have plundered me and my people, as no doubt you came to do and as you will still do when you have murdered me as you are going to do. Since you have done me so much injury give me at least one pledge in return. When I am dead let my body be taken to my own city of Quito and there dealt with according to the customs of my race and the honour of my name. Protect those whom I leave desolate behind me, and let them suffer neither insult nor injury at the hands of your soldiers. Now I am ready, let me die!”

Even the iron soul of the Conqueror was shaken by these simply and solemnly spoken words, uttered as they were on the threshold of another world. The accusation struck him for the moment to the heart, and he bowed his head as though abashed by the force of it. Then he looked up and said shortly and in a husky voice—

“You have my pledge, Inca, and all that can be done shall be.”

Then he stepped back quickly and made a sign with his hand to Asterre. The next instant the rope was thrown round the Inca’s throat, noosed and knotted. As he felt the touch of it Atahuallpa started in his bonds and opened his eyes which a moment before he had closed. The next instant Asterre had passed the staff through the noose and given it a quick, wrenching turn. A short gasping cry broke from the Inca’s lips only to be instantly silenced as his executioner gave the staff another and yet stronger turn.

Those who stood round saw by the light of the flaring torches a hideous change pass over the face of the doomed man. Yet another turn and his jaw fell and his tongue shot out as though forced from his crushed throat. For a few moments there was an awful silence broken only by the spluttering of the torches and the dull murmuring of prayers for the safety of the departing soul, and then Asterre released the staff. It spun round and dropped to the earth, and as it did so Atahuallpa’s head fell forward on his breast, and so died the son of Huayna-Capac and Zaïma, his queen and murderess.

As soon as the Inca was proved to be dead the trumpet sounded and the square was cleared. In the midst stood the stake with the body still bound to it, left to a grim and solemn solitude, but after about an hour the Inca’s wives and sisters came in a sorrowful procession to Pizarro, praying that he would allow them to go and mourn by the body of their Lord, and this he, no doubt feeling some softness of soul, if not remorse, for the thing that he had helped to do, not only granted, but ordered that all the guards should draw back to the walls of the houses and the entrances to the square, leaving them unmolested for as long as they pleased.

Then presently upon the still night air there rose the soft, wailing sounds of the Death Chant, and hour after hour this went on, ever growing fainter and fainter, till at last it ended in the long, shrill, piercing cry of a woman’s voice, and then all was still.

The Spaniards thought that one by one they had worn themselves out with wailing and so fallen asleep; but when with the first light of dawn they went to take the Inca’s body away to lay it in the newly-built church of San Francisco, they learnt the true cause of the silence, for there in a circle round the stake at which their Lord had died they lay, maid and matron, each with her eyes upturned to his downbent head, and each with a slender dagger of gold taken from her dark unloosed tresses and plunged deep into her faithful heart.

And so too died the wives and sisters and daughters of Atahuallpa, and among them lay the Princess Pillcu-Cica, fairest form of all, saved thus from dishonour by the parting of the gentle soul which had gone in the fulness of its simple faith to rejoin its murdered Lord in the Mansions of the Sun.