The captain saluted, and, turning his horse, cantered to his troop to select a following for the perilous mission. In a few minutes, with fifteen chosen cavaliers, he was clattering down the street. Pizarro looked after him, and said, turning to his brother:
"Hernando, take twenty more and go with him. He hath too few."
The second detachment followed at a gallop.
Pizarro briefly surveyed the place. The plaza was enclosed on three sides by low stone buildings, thatched like the others, with great doors opening upon the square. At the western end, toward the Inca's encampment, rose a redoubt or citadel, overlooking the country and commanding the plaza, from which it was entered by a flight of steps. Hither Pizarro rode, dismounted, and ascended to the terre-plein, followed by his officers. Here he could view the Inca's position with the intermediate plain and its river. The road followed by De Soto led over a causeway extending from the town to the bank of the stream, and from time to time the watchers caught glimpses of the cavalcade, until it was finally lost to sight.
It was twilight when the detachment returned, but the dusk could not conceal its gloom. The result of the mission had not been cheering. De Soto and Hernando Pizarro dismissed their detail, and hastened to the commander to report the interview.
Cristoval was in his quarters in one of the large buildings on the square, seated with José over a flask of chicha when, an hour later, Pedro entered.
"Good evening, Señores," said he, smiling benignly. "My blessing—a cook's blessing. Ah, Cristoval, thou 'rt the first cheerful-looking man I've seen this night! 'Tis most commendable. Put a good face on 't, and discountenance the devil. Hilarum semper fac te et lubentem!—which meaneth, gentlemen, be cheerful and good-humored always—a good maxim just now, is it not?"
"Excellent!" replied Cristoval. "Sit and have a cup with us, Pedro. These be serious times."
"True!" said the portly cook, squeezing himself between the bench and the table with difficulty. "And there is something like demoralization abroad among the men. So many are clamoring to Father Valverde to be shriven that the good priest is beside himself. Terror incidit exercitui, bonum facit militem—fear striketh the army and maketh the soldier good. They have just consecrated the building next the infantry quarters for a chapel—and 't is well placed, I'll swear, for not a pikeman but is a thief!—and there will be services all night. Pizarro goeth about among the men like their own father, blowing upon the embers of their extinguished courage. What a man! He knoweth neither fear nor doubt, and he can talk both out of any man who weareth ears. Cara! To-morrow might be a fiesta so far as it fasheth him. Just now I met him on the square. 'Hola, Pedro!' quoth he, 'hast heard? This pagan king cometh to-morrow for a visit, and I would give him a taste of Christian cooking. Canst scrape up a meal?' What d'ye think of that, Señores?—with the army in a cold sweat from looking at the Inca's camp and counting his tents!"
Cristoval smote the table with his fist. "By the fighting Saint Michael, he hath not his peer in armor!"