To one Spaniard, however,—to Cristoval,—viewing them from the ramparts of the Sachsahuaman, they gave hope and promise. Beside Mocho, and followed by Pedro as closely as his wooden member would permit, he had taken part in the storming of the fortress. Later, they watched the struggle in the streets below, and Mocho pointed out the Amarucancha, beneath whose roof was Rava. With strained nerves and fevered blood the cavalier had seen the conflict raging at the very doors of the palace, hardly to be withheld from descending to join in the battle, and deterred only by the manifest impossibility of reaching its front through the masses in the streets. Sick at heart he had witnessed the repulse, but with new resolution and a solemn, whispered oath. All day he had lingered on the parapet studying the city spread out like a map below him, and at nightfall the sight of the great girdle of campfires brought fresh courage. With such a host the Inca must triumph.
The next morning news came that Manco had engaged the Spanish cavalry near Yucay. Later, that the Spaniards were in full retreat toward Cuzco, and an order was received from the Inca permitting them to enter the city. On the following day they appeared on the Chinchasuyu road, uncovered for their passage. The highway passed at the foot of a spur of the hill Sachsahuaman, and from the height Cristoval and Pedro watched the entry of the cavalcade. Had it not been for a dozen empty saddles and the litters borne by Cañares in the rear, the return might have been from a victory. Pennons fluttered, plumes tossed jauntily on helmets, and as they passed the lines a trumpeter blew a quickstep.
Shortly after the column had entered the city a chasqui arrived at the fortress announcing the approach of the Inca, and Mocho paraded his Antis to receive him. Messengers were sent to the several generals of the divisions surrounding the city, and the afternoon was spent in council with the monarch in the citadel.
CHAPTER XXXIII
The Doomed City
About two hours after darkness had fallen Pedro appeared at Cristoval's door and beckoned him out. The cook's face was grave.
"What is it, amigo?" asked Cristoval, as they stepped upon the terrace surrounding the tower.
"I know not, nor can I learn; but something is afoot. Come!" He led toward the rampart nearest the city.
The plain within the fortress was now covered with tents, but as they traversed the encampment its streets were deserted. From the midst rose the pile of the citadel, Moyoc Marca, dimly outlined in the starlight, and showing a single lighted window below the battlements. At the edge of the camp they passed the embers at the kitchens, and beyond these were a few silent groups of camp attendants looking toward the south, where presently Cristoval descried the motionless masses of the garrison drawn up under arms and facing the ramparts. The cavalier looked about in surprise.
"What is the meaning of it, Pedro?" he demanded.