The Morisco had a pouch well supplied, and the cavalier broke his long fast. He wasted no time in words while a morsel remained of his prudent allowance; but finished and refreshed, he asked, "And thou, Abul Hassan, why art thou in Cuzco?"
"I am here to be near mine enemies."
"Thine enemies!"
"The enemies of my race," said Abul Hassan, with a quick flash in his eyes; then, regarding the cavalier steadily, he added, with increasing energy, "and of my faith! For, hear me, Cristoval, I am no more a Christian! I am a follower of Mahomet—an unworthy Mussulman whom Allah hath punished for his apostasy!"
Cristoval stared at him, horrified, and crossed himself. At the gesture the old man spat upon the ground in sudden rage.
"Ah! The Cross!" he cried, his face drawn in repugnance. "The Cross! The sign accursed! The sign which hath been stamped upon every atrocity the minds of fiends—of Christians—can invent! The sign under which murder, torture of body and soul, wreck of hearts and minds, have been works of piety! I scorn it, spurn it, and hate it with a living hatred!" He spat again and turned away, his gaunt form trembling with passion.
Cristoval had gained his feet, suspecting a madman. Abul Hassan controlled himself, and faced the cavalier. "Forget the words, Cristoval—if thou canst. I would not offend thee, but—I have suffered much. Behold me, an old and broken man, but hunted, hunted! Once I had loved ones— O, Allah, thy wrath is hard to bear!"
He bowed his head, and Cristoval said hastily: "Say no more, old friend! I owe thee much, and thy words shall not stand between us—nor thy faith, for, by Heaven! I've known other gallant men who were not Christians. Let it pass, Abul Hassan." Cristoval changed the subject, and presently the Morisco resumed his usual composure.
All that day they remained in hiding. Food and rest restored some of the cavalier's strength, but realizing the futility of a hope to accomplish his purpose in his present condition of body, he agreed reluctantly to the wisdom of leaving the city. Late in the evening they started, but though they were in the western suburbs, Cristoval was so crippled by his burns that notwithstanding his companion's assistance they were long in clearing the ruined outskirts. In the open country at last, the Morisco left him concealed while he went to the Peruvian lines for help. He returned with a hamaca and bearers, and Cristoval was borne to a hamlet among the foothills on the western margin of the Bolson of Cuzco. Here they found simple medicaments, and when Pedro appeared, two days later, he found his friend much as he had come upon him in Xilcala.
The cook stumped into the cottage without a word. Cristoval was lying, smeared to his eyes in grease, with bandaged limbs, and Pedro looked him over with great severity.