The old man rose painfully, and in a voice unsteady with age and emotion, told of outrage that brought hot blood to his sovereign's cheek. The night before—he had been waiting all day to make his complaint—his house had been broken into by a Viracocha soldier, and his granddaughter carried away. His voice rose as he finished, and he tottered forward to the dais, extending his trembling old hands in appeal.
"In the name of the God who shineth in mercy upon us both, Sapa Inca, I pray to you for vengeance! She is but a child—a mere child—and the light of mine old life. Grant that your just wrath shall fall upon the head accursed of the son of that wholly accursed race."
The Inca had started partly to his feet, his dark eyes ablaze. He sat again. "Where is the girl?" he demanded, hoarsely.
"Cowering in the darkest corner of the darkest chamber of her home, Sapa Inca—half mad—a blighted bud—a blemished pearl!" He turned abruptly upon Almagro, who, unacquainted with the Quichua, had given him little heed, lolling wearily in his chair.
"O, thou Viracocha, offspring of Supay!" cried the old Indio, shaking his clenched hands toward the Spaniard, "dost yawn at my sorrow, monster? Hast the heart of a wolf—thou who wearest the aspect of a man? May the great Inti strike thee with thrice my grief, thrice mine infirmities!"
Almagro, listening with some surprise to the violent apostrophe, looked toward the younger Pizarro: "What saith he, Juan?"
"By God, he hath told a tale of bitter wrong, Diego!" responded the other, vehemently. "One of our men hath stolen his girl. It calleth for the garrote, or I'm an Ethiopian!"
Almagro sat up and glanced quickly at the Inca, who raised his hand to silence the complainant, and was now regarding the commandant with stern eyes and burning cheeks.
"Viracocha Almagro," said Manco, "before thy general went from Cuzco he engaged that neither house nor person of my subjects should suffer violation. Thy soldier hath committed a crime which is punished in Tavantinsuyu with death. I look to thee for vindication."
"Why, blood and wounds!" exclaimed the cavalier, when Manco's words had been translated. "Tell him, Juan, that we will indemnify with—Fiends! but these people set no store by money. Say, then, that we will punish with any just severity—short of death. That is out of reason."