CHAPTER I
Booty from Peru
Toward the end of a day in the year Fifteen Hundred and Thirty-one, as the air cooled slightly with the sun's decline, the plaza of the little Spanish city of Panama grew languidly animate. The square had blazed, shimmered, and baked all day, shunned in its fervor except by those compelled to cross it in order to avoid the exertion of going round, or by the few straggling natives whose half-naked bodies and sun-tanned hides were proof; but this was the hour of listless awakening, and groups formed at the corners, exchanging gossip—if by a blessing there was gossip to exchange—and awaiting the sole break in the sultry monotony of the day, the evening parade of the garrison with its stimulating bang of the culverin at sunset.
The dominant type in these groups was that of the fighting man. Some were sailors, a few were planters; but most of the swarthy faces wore the unmistakable marks of the soldier. The dress and bearing of a small number indicated rank; but all, save a sprinkling of ecclesiastics and civil officers of the Crown, were adventurers, and bore evidence, in their worn apparel, in their scars, and in their bronzed and weatherbeaten features, of severe campaigns and hardship.
This particular evening the ceremony of the parade received less than usual attention. Two ships had entered the harbor the day before, bearing news and plunder from Francisco Pizarro's expedition to the coast of South America. The inn at the side of the plaza was full of men. Its wineshop was overflowing, but the rattle of dice, the oaths, and controversy were wanting. In front lounged a crowd, thickening at the door, where swayed lazily a banner displaying a device new to heraldry,—the arms of Pizarro. At the portal stood a halberdier in corselet and morion fresh-burnished, recounting with vaunt and gasconade an alluring tale of rapine, which was heard with varying degrees of interest, credulity, or scepticism. There was no enthusiasm. Some sauntered doubtfully away. A few heeded, and finally entered the door. Within, there was more animation.
Behind a table near the rear, leaning comfortably against the wall, his legs sprawled under the board and his hands thrust into his belt, sat a sturdy cavalier. He was listening with some amusement to the excited comments of the men about him as they passed a golden bracelet of barbaric design which he had tendered for their inspection. He was between thirty-five and forty years old—perhaps nearer the latter. His sunbrowned countenance gave the impression of being stern, almost fierce. A close-shorn beard, nearly black, covered a firm, well-formed jaw, and with the trim cut of his hair, suggested a care of person conspicuous among the rough-looking campaigners in the room. The upward twist of his mustachios and strongly aquiline nose gave his face a pronounced military character, borne out presently, when he straightened up from his lounging attitude, by the erect bearing and squareness of shoulder that belong to the soldierly calling. A closer view dispelled the first notion of fierceness, for from the ruggedly marked brows looked a pair of dark eyes, clear, frank, well lined about with crow's-feet, and enlivened by good humor.
While he conversed with those nearest, the bracelet circulated from hand to hand, was scrutinized, bitten, rung upon the tables to test its metal, and was finally handed back by a seedy-looking soldier, who observed: "By my faith, Señor Cristoval, that bauble hath the proper color. There is more of yellow in its complexion than I've seen for many a day. Thou mayst set me down. I go to Peru. Hola! camaradas, d'ye hear? I go to Peru. Who will follow?"
His example and the lure of the gold had their sure effect. In a moment the officer was busy with his pen, while an eager group leaned over the table to watch as he wrote their names and answers to his brisk questions. Their enthusiasm spread among the loungers outside, and before it subsided a dozen or more enlisted for the expedition. Most of the recruits were half-starved fellows who had idled about the colony for months, unable to secure employment for their swords since the rebellion in Nicaragua had been suppressed, and disdainful of work less honorable. A few were fully equipped, but many had sold, pawned, or gambled away their arms and armor, and had only their rapiers, which they retained as a necessity. During this first day of recruiting, a score had been sent to the temporary quarters, with instructions first to gather up or locate whatever of equipment they could find.
Candles had been brought, the room had nearly emptied, and the officer was arranging his papers, when he heard the sound of hoofs and the voice of the halberdier, evidently addressing a rider.
"Hola, Pedro! Blessed Faith! Is it thou?"