The three horrible skulls swayed gently.
Then Huascar, before leaving, had chanted the words of an Almara psalm: “Blessed are those who shall come pure to the Kingdom of the Sun, pure as the hearts of little children, at the dawn of the world.”
“Huascar, have pity! Remember my mother! Have pity!”
Huascar bowed to the Guardians of the Temple and went out silently.
Maria-Teresa, crooning over little Christobal, covered him with kisses. “Why did you come, little one? Why did you come?”
“To tell you not to be afraid, Maria-Teresa. Papa and Dick are coming. They are following, and will save us both. But if you must die, little sister, I will die with you.”
The mammaconas, moving silently, had lit the sandia in their precious vases; brother and sister slept together, in each other’s arms.
Now she had awakened in the House of the Serpent, and Christobal was not with her. She struggled to regain consciousness, heard his cries near by, and rose from the cushioned couch on which she had been reclining. There was Christobal, naked, struggling in the hands of the mammaconas. Terrified, she made as if to rush to his assistance, but six of the women surrounded her, calmed her with fluttering hands. No harm would come to the child; he was being dressed, as she would be dressed, in a robe made of bat skins. They spoke with infinite respect, giving her a title she had not heard before; they called her Coya, which, in Inca, means queen.
The mammaconas took her in their powerful arms, lifting her like a child, and took off the sulphur-hued robes with which she had been adorned in the deserted hacienda. Again they anointed her with sweet oils and perfumed creams, chanting the while a slow and restful lullaby, stilling to the senses. They were tall women from the province of Puno, born on the shores of Titicaca, strong and beautiful; their walk was almost rhythmic, supple and harmonious, while their rounded arms showed golden against the black of their veils. They had splendid eyes, all that could be seen of their faces.
Maria-Teresa and little Christobal were afraid of them, but they were not cruel. Two of their number were to die with Maria-Teresa, to prepare the nuptial chamber in the Palace of the Sun, and they were the most lively, the happiest, the most consoling and understanding. They were wholly happy, and were sad that the Bride did not share that happiness, doing all they could to make her understand the joy of being chosen among all as the Goya. On their ankles they wore great golden bracelets, and in their ears heavy circlets.