“Is this your earnest, Caballeros?” asked Don Hernando somewhat anxiously, for he saw that the matter was now getting serious. “Have you in sober truth sworn to do so mad a thing? Is it possible you would go back and give yourselves up to this heathen?”
“Ay, by God and Santiago we will!” replied de Candia solemnly. “Our honour is pledged and our oaths are passed, and though we had to cut our way through the whole army we would do it to redeem them. Now what say you, Don Hernando? Which think you will have the more worth in the eyes of our sovereign lord when the news gets home to Spain—the honour and the lives of four cavaliers who have fought and bled for him, or the torment and death of two helpless and innocent women?”
It was an awkward situation plainly and skilfully described, and Don Hernando looked up with something very like admiration at the four cavaliers; for, making allowance for the age he lived in, and the profession he followed, he was a kindly-hearted man save when his passions were aroused, and, moreover, he was well enough skilled in the ways of the Spanish court to know how terribly black an accusation might be made against him out of such a circumstance. Still, having spoken so positively, he did not see his way to yield to such a peremptory summons, and he was looking round the table somewhat anxiously when his eye caught that of his half-brother Juan, the noblest youth and most gallant knight of all the Pizarro family. His ready wit grasped the situation instantly—the more quickly since he was entirely on the side of the four cavaliers. He rose to his feet and said, speaking to them all through de Candia—
“Caballeros, good as your motives are, and merciful as your errand is, it is yet a hard thing for one placed as my brother is in authority to turn aside from his path because he is threatened with certain pains and penalties. Nevertheless, speaking for myself, I will say as a private cavalier and not as Don Hernando’s brother, that he did not do this thing of his own will and judgment. He will not deny that the evil thought was put into his mind by that lying knave, Cepeda, who is himself a living proof of the wisdom of that decree of our august master which forbade lawyers to set foot in this land, and which has since, to my sorrow, been repealed. He, as you know, is heart and soul with the Almagrist faction, and he has no more a human heart in his breast than the mummies of the Incas which we found in the Temples of the Sun. The plan was his, and its object was not only the getting of more gold, but also the possession of the person of the Princess Nahua by himself——”
“Cuerpo de Cristo!” cried de Molina taking a couple of strides up the room and half drawing his sword from its scabbard. “What! Has that lean and scoundrelly anatomy of law and lying dared even to dream of that? Then, by the glory of God, am I the more fixed in my oath. Now, Don Hernando,” he went on, turning to the Governor, “we want you, not to yield, but to do justice. It cannot be that you knew of this thing. It cannot be that you, Governor of the city and brother of his Highness, could have entered into a league with this vile quill-driver to dishonour the promised bride of a prince who, be it remembered, received us as friends and honoured envoys.”
“It is true,” said Juan, “for I know it of my own knowledge, and so does Gonzalo here, and had you never returned we had determined that if Cepeda persisted in his intention he should not live to accomplish his infamy.”
“That is true,” added Gonzalo, with a nod; “for I was captain of the guard over the palace where the queen and princess are lodged, and the sentry told me how Cepeda went to them but to-day with an interpreter to tell them at what price he would save them from the punishment decreed against them did the Inca not return. When I heard of it I ordered him to be thrown out of the palace if he would not go for less persuasion, but he had already gone, looking as black as the gates of his future abode.”
“Then if that is so, Caballeros,” said Don Hernando, who meanwhile had been industriously reviewing all the aspects of the case, “since we do not make war on women or trade with their honour, I will willingly take back what I have said. The anger that I showed on your first entry you will doubtless take as natural in one who has lost an almost priceless prize. But now, in cooler blood, I am willing to confess that, situated as you were, you could have done only what you did, since the loss of four such gallant cavaliers to our little army would have been even graver than the loss of the Inca’s person. As you have sworn so shall you do, granted always that you will faithfully uphold me against these Almagrists.”
“Ay, that we will, Don Hernando!” exclaimed de Soto, well pleased that the seemingly difficult matter had been after all so easily settled; “and we shall do so with none the less heart and strength for that we were firmly resolved to keep our oath to Manco. That being kept we are more than ever devoted to your person and our holy cause.”
“Then, Señores,” replied Don Hernando, rising from his seat, and bowing gravely towards them, “you are at liberty, so far as your loyal duty to his Majesty permits, to provide for the present safety of the queen and the princess and their restoration to the Inca as may seem best in your eyes. But I pray you let there be no trouble with Cepeda if possible. I will answer to him for what is done, but we can afford no divisions in the camp now.”