At length, however, the first consignment arrived, borne on the backs of porters. The news spread rapidly. The Indios were halted in the square by an importunate rabble of soldiers, clamorous for a sight of their burden, and made to open their packages. As the rich booty was disclosed the soldiers stared a moment in stupefied silence, then raised a shout. Others came running, gazed for a second, and added their whoops. They went mad. They embraced one another, joined hands and danced around the glowing yellow heap, bellowing their glee. They mauled each other in heavy horse-play, roaring in uncouth laughter, without words to fit their raptures. The Indian porters looked on, wondering, as had the Inca, whether gold had not some hidden power to give madness. The soldiers seized them, whirled them into their clumsy fandango, clapped their backs and called them "amigos," "hermanos,"—friends and brothers,—and made them dizzy. Presently the treasure was gathered up and borne by the singing, yelling mob in triumph to Pizarro's headquarters in tumultuous invasion. That night no man slept.
Thereafter, the stream of gold flowed steadily into Caxamalca for weeks, fortunes in a day. But soon came the inevitable reaction. Exultancy gave place to uneasiness and discontent. The treasure did not come in fast enough! The Inca was delaying for the purpose of gaining time to prepare for hostilities! Even Pizarro became suspicious, and went to Atahualpa with the charge. The Inca met him with a dignified reminder of the distance to be traversed by the gold, and the difficulties of the road. Pizarro was half satisfied; his soldiers less. Rumors persistently arose of native uprisings to rescue the monarch and regain the treasure, which the Spaniards could not conceive to be less an object of greed to the Indios than to themselves. Pizarro bluntly accused the Inca of conspiring against him, but Atahualpa disdained the imputation. The event proved his innocence, for a reconnaissance by Hernando Pizarro to the south not only failed to find disquiet, but was received everywhere with good-will. For a time the suspicions were allayed, only to rise again later in greater strength.
About this time an event occurred which still further strained the relations between Pizarro and his captive. Huascar, Atahualpa's half-brother, then a prisoner at Xauxa, learned of the ransom being paid the Spaniards, and sent secret emissaries offering an even greater price for his own liberty. The negotiation was terminated suddenly by Huascar's death. Whether the unfortunate prince was executed by the Inca's order is a matter of doubt, but the fact that he was drowned in the river Andamarca gives credit to the belief that he perished in an attempt to escape.
As soon as the tragedy was reported to him the Inca sent for Pizarro and informed him of Huascar's death with every expression of regret, apparently sincere.
"What!" shouted Pizarro, his face livid. "Huascar dead! What tale is this? Beware trifling with me, my Lord Inca! You will produce your brother in Caxamalca, alive and unharmed. This controversy between you shall be tried in a Christian court, as I have said to you before. Seek not to avoid it by subterfuge, my lord!"
"General Pizarro," replied the Inca, with dignity, "I have said that Huascar is dead."
"Then, by the Eternal!" flamed Pizarro, "you shall pay for it with your life!" and turning on his heel, he left the room.
CHAPTER XI
The Inca's Last Prayer
Thereafter Pizarro's interviews with the Inca were as few and brief as possible. Indeed, after the night of the banquet the captive was rarely seen by most of the Spanish officers, for, with the exception of Hernando Pizarro, De Soto, and Peralta, they were seldom invited to the palace. Now a settled melancholy had come over Atahualpa, which however disguised, did not escape Cristoval. The depression of his captivity was increased by the enmity which the Spanish commander took no further pains to conceal. The grief of the Ñusta Rava for her brother, moreover, had thrown a gloom over the palace, and deeply concerned Atahualpa, who loved her with a brother's solicitude and felt her unhappiness more keenly than was apparent to one unable to penetrate the impassiveness of his bearing.