The Crimson Conquest: A Romance of Pizarro and Peru

by Charles B. Hudson

Outside, the whole world to the south seemed aflame. A monstrous, reddened cloud leaped and surged toward the heavens, apparently against the very ramparts of the fortress. The plain, its tents, the towers, the battalions of the garrison, and every inequality of the ground, were as clearly marked in the ruddy, reflected glow as if by dawn. Cristoval paused for an instant, overcome by the terrible magnificence of the spectacle and the grewsome roar and crackle of the fire, which had grown apace in the short time it had taken him to arm; then consigned himself to the Virgin's care and hurried to the southernmost gate, followed by the Antis.

Here the road drops abruptly down the cliff to the terraces of the Colcampata, several hundred feet below. Part of the way was by steps made treacherous by the unusual lights and shadows, and uncertain by the dense smoke drifting from the western suburbs; but Cristoval descended at a run, and was soon at the foot of the declivity. Here he was overtaken by his party, and paused to consider with Rimachi the possible avenues of entry. In front, the nearest buildings were a mass of flames. To the right, he could see the district called Huaca Puncu, already burning fiercely in a score of places. On the left, he remembered, was the stream Tullamayu, and after a brief consultation they hastened across the terraces. Through gardens and over walls, they were presently following a street to the eastward, stumbling in the murk. At the edge of the ravine was a low wall, surmounted in a second, and they rushed down the terraced bank to the stream. Cristoval was harrowed by a fear that the almost solid belt of fire before him would prove impassable. The few gaps were closing momentarily, forming a nearly continuous sheet of leaping, whirling flame whose heat reached even to where he stood. The narrow course of the Tullamayu presented the only breach, and this was already perilous, dense with smoke and illumined by a storm of falling sparks and burning brands. He glanced about at the Antis. Their faces were alight and their eyes gleaming with the fire, but they showed no sign of fear, and with a word to Rimachi, Cristoval started down the stream.

Shortly they were within the fire-belt, heads bent forward, groping through the stinging smoke and rain of embers, blundering and slipping on the water-worn bowlders, under an appalling canopy. The bed of the stream was pent between walls of masonry with a narrow quay along either bank. The structures on both sides were now topped with spouting flames whipped out overhead by the wind in huge streamers and pennons. The sound of the stream was drowned by the roar and snapping of the conflagration, the crash of falling timbers, and the incessant hiss of firebrands showering into the water. The air grew hotter and more stifling, until they breathed in gasps, but pushed on, dashing water over their apparel to save themselves from being burned alive. Panting and floundering, kneeling from time to time to cool his scorching armor and fill his lungs from the lower air, Cristoval led onward.

At length he could see that the glare in advance was growing less. They had gained the inner edge of the fire-zone. A few yards more, and they were in a freer atmosphere and partial darkness, and they halted, leaning against the walls or crouching in the stream to recover from the exhaustion of the ordeal. Cristoval anxiously counted his men. None were wanting, and they groped on, presently passing beneath a bridge. Below was a flight of steps leading to the quay. Cristoval mounted, and motioned the Antis to follow. The air was thick with smoke beaten down by the wind, but still dangerously light from the blazing buildings they had passed, and the cavalier felt the insecurity. A few yards away was the entrance of a street leading westward, somewhat darker by reason of being parallel to the line of fire, and he ran his men into its shadow. Now he wished with fervency that he had a guide; for he learned that neither Rimachi nor his Antis were acquainted with Cuzco.

Cristoval knew where the Amarucancha must lie, and that the street they were on would lead toward it; further than this he was ignorant. He knew, moreover, that the palace stood beside the stream Huatenay, and trusted that, the rivulet once gained, he could find his objective with little difficulty. Once within with his Antis, he could wait for a favorable moment to escape with Rava.

Cristoval pushed forward through the half-dark, straining eyes and ears. Little could be seen but dim walls looming on either side, with a flying drift of smoke above, racing before the wind and weirdly lighted, curling over roofs, and sucked down in ghostly swirls into the street before them. Now, it happened that, deceived by the apparent length of time during which they had struggled down the course of the Tullamayu, Cristoval fancied himself in the lower part of the city. But the street they were following was the one in all Cuzco which should have been avoided. It was the highway leading from the Antisuyu road directly to the great square. It was deserted now, however, and Cristoval pressed rapidly on, passing cavernous doorways of palaces, many of them standing broad open as they had been left by their Spanish occupants when the starting conflagration had hastened them to the open plaza. Cristoval passed them cautiously, peering into the dark courts to make sure there were no lingerers. But all seemed vacant, and save for the murmur of fountains caught occasionally, all were silent.

At a broad street crossing he halted, half disposed to make farther toward lower Cuzco, suspecting from the nearness of the fire, now only a few hundred yards to the north, that he was closer to the square than was prudent. But the brighter illumination of the intersecting street decided him to continue his way. He was about to advance when Rimachi seized his arm. The keener ears of the Indio had caught a sound. The cavalier listened with concentration. From somewhere in the obscurity came the ordered tramp of soldiers and the murmur of voices, but in the confusion of sounds from the fire he was unable to determine the direction. Anxious, above all things, to avoid the mishap of an encounter that would be most certain, whatever the result, to abort his plans, he turned to motion the Antis back into the shadow of the street from which they had emerged, when an abrupt challenge from the darkness ahead left no doubt of the source of the sounds. Standing in the half-light of the crossing, he and the group about him were more plainly visible than he had thought. Before he could effect a retirement, he received a second challenge, and a party advanced from the darkness at a run. It was too late to retreat. A score of pikes and halberds charged into the light. With a shout to his men Cristoval drew and attacked.

The Antis, excited by the conflagration, and maddened by burns, needed but the word. They rushed with a yell that startled even Cristoval by its ferocity, and drove into the Spanish patrol with a savage impetus which would have shaken a regiment.

The fight was terribly brief. Cristoval had hardly flashed his blade in the first collision before the party was swept away from him by the charge of the Antis. The Spaniards recovered, resisted sharply for an instant, then broke for the square with the Antis in hot pursuit.

But a stubborn opposition would have been less disastrous than this victory. Already a trumpet was sounding, alarmingly close at hand. In quick realization, Cristoval rushed after his men, ordering them back, collaring a few whom he was able to overtake, only partly successful in staying the chase. Before he ceased he saw the dim lights of the open square a few steps distant, heard the shouts of the startled Spaniards and the uproar of moving cavalry. The Antis in front, aware of their peril, came flying back, and he joined their retreat just as a party of horse entered the head of the street.