Rava's eyes flashed as they met his. "Pizarro called him so, Manco?" she demanded; then after a pause, "Ah, yes—a traitor! But what wouldst say of a traitor to these men of evil?"
Manco studied her face before he replied slowly, "Much worse even than they—or much better."
"Then much better!" she said, with quiet emphasis. "His treason lay in this, my brother—that he fiercely resented Pizarro's perfidy to our kinsman, Atahualpa, whom he befriended in his darkest hours. And in this—that he saved me from worse than death when I was at the mercy of those vultures; that he fought for me, starved for me, kept hope alive when my heart was broken, and shielded me from a thousand perils, until he led me to safety. And all this, Manco, for the sake of a vow to Atahualpa, whom he promised to deliver me from mine enemies. A traitor! Oh, my brother, if thy nobles have virtues like his treason, thou 'rt a fortunate monarch!"
While she was speaking, and afterward, Manco searched her deep eyes until, conscious of his scrutiny, they fell. Her hand was trembling, and his face darkened with displeasure. "Rava," he demanded, "where is this Viracocha?"
She looked up, and the sorrow and desolation which had swept quickly over her gentle face brought generous remorse for his instant of sternness. Her lips trembled piteously. "Oh, Manco, Manco," she faltered, "he fell for me at last. He is no more!"
With head bowed and form shaken by grief, her hands sought his neck; and whatever he would have said a moment before in reproof of her feeling for one of the hated race, it was forgotten in pity as he drew her into his arms. With affectionate sympathy he endeavored to moderate her anguish, but words were vain, and he could only hold her tight-clasped until its force was spent. Then he half carried her, benumbed and yielding, to her couch and called her maids, lingering helpless beside her while they ministered.
Rava had grown more tranquil, and he was about to depart. She lay quiet, her eyes closed, their lashes yet moist, and he bent over to kiss the pallid cheek. As he did so she sighed deeply, and a small object slipped from her bosom and lay sparkling at the end of its slender chain. Its silvery gleam caught his eye. He started, looked more closely, and recoiled as if he had seen a serpent in the folds of her robe. He caught breath sharply, and an ashy paleness spread over his bronzed face. By a blessing of Heaven the girl did not open her eyes upon the mingled abhorrence, unbelief, and anger, with which he beheld the tiny image of the crucified Saviour—the emblem of all on the broad earth that he hated most savagely. He gazed for a fascinated instant, stood erect, glanced at the sad face once more, and left the room with features as rigid as if cast in the metal whose color they wore. The startled maids looked after him as he went, but none saw him stagger as he crossed the court with his hands pressed to his forehead. The Moon, goddess consort of the Sun, was rising over the dark roofs of the palace. He wavered out from the shadow into her rays and cowered beneath them, shuddering as if he felt her silent denunciation of his sister's apostasy. Gaining his apartments, he passed his attendants without a word, leaving them awed by a face they had hardly recognized.
When his generals met him, near midnight, his eyes were fevered, his voice hoarse and dry, and his words, fraught with war, were uttered with an abrupt tensity that fired their warlike hearts. The council was long. At its close the chasquis who were to bear his messages to the distant provinces, calling them to arms, were summoned to have the words from his own lips. They left it with nerves strung by their portentous import and the fierce, suppressed energy with which they were given.
Before the sun rose above Cuzco the fiat had gone forth that would convulse the empire.
Within the month every province, town, and hamlet within the realm was in secret preparation. Armorers doubled their industry. The great system of posts sprang to its highest activity, the tireless chasquis speeding day and night over every road and mountain trail, hurrying commands from the capital, bearing back reports of governors and curacas, in ceaseless radiation and convergence. Magazines and armories were replenished of their stores, and trains of carriers toiled over every highway, concentrating provisions and material of war upon the strongholds in the mountains surrounding Cuzco. All the machinery of the most elaborately perfect organization the world has ever seen was in motion, but as silently as clouds gather before a tempest. The couriers stole in and out of the city under cover of darkness. Few of them went to the Amarucancha, but were received and despatched by the Villac Vmu at his own palace, their tidings and quipus carried by him to the Inca. The impending cataclysm gave no faintest warning, and the Spaniards idled, caroused, and brawled, unconscious of its approach.