When he reached the verse recounting Atahualpa’s martyrdom, a great shout went up in the temple. The King, from his throne, raised a sceptered hand, and spoke. The end of the bondage placed upon his people by the gods was near; he, Huayna Gapac Runtu, had been chosen by the Sun to drive out the strangers; and as a gage of his reconciliation with the faithful, the god had permitted them to offer him in sacrifice the noblest and most beautiful virgin of the hated race, a descendant of one of those who had murdered Atahualpa.
At the King’s words, all eyes were carried to Maria-Teresa, and a roar of “Muera la Coya!” beat round her. Was she not already dead, then? The savage cries did not even make her eyelids quiver. If she was still alive, she must be unconscious. Dick, falling to his knees, thanked heaven for that.
Again the King’s voice rose, telling the people that the day of deliverance was near; that their empire would be re-born in all its splendor. The altars of their god, served for centuries in the darkness, would soon smoke anew in his light. Once again would they be the Free Children of the Sun.
“Let the Children of the Sun advance!”
The young men approached the royal throne. For thirty days they had gone through the tests of yore; they had fasted, fought, displayed their skill in wrestling and with arms; they had worn coarse clothing, walked barefoot, and slept on the hard floor. Now they advanced in their white robes, the cross on their breasts, like young knights of the Middle Ages in the Gothic cathedrals of another faith and land.
They surrounded the golden pyramid and
Huascar, taking evergreen branches from a golden vase held by two virgins, bound them in their hair as a sign that the virtues they had acquired must last for all time. Then, one by one, he called their names to the King, who, as each young man knelt before him, pierced his ears with a golden awl. They descended, their white robes smeared with blood, while Huascar, from another vase, took heavy ear-rings, with which he adorned them. Nothing in the young faces betrayed their suffering. Then all raised their hands and took the oath of bravery and of fealty to the Inca.
“That is well,” said the King. “Let them now put on their sandals.”
This part of the ceremony was performed by the quipucamyas, the most venerable among them strapping on the young men’s feet the sandals of the Order of the Incas.
“That is well,” repeated the King. “Let them be given their girdles.” Again the old men passed down the ranks, buckling on the heavy war-belts.