“True, true,” said Carvahal, “it looks well enough on paper, as they say of treaties, and we have good swords to turn it into practice. We will take the commission of His Most Catholic Majesty into a land that he would never have heard of but for the Captain yonder, and in his name judge a good judgment of cold steel and hot shot between usurper and rightful heir, for all the world as though we had God’s own right to do it, and then see which can give the most golden reasons for the justice of his cause. Ay, ’tis a merry trade, this adventuring, whether plied by kings at home or simple gentlemen abroad, and the devils must laugh to see how well it goes.”
“Peace, scoffer, peace!” laughed Molina. “Who art thou that thou shouldst deride our holy errand? And knowest thou not that these heathens believe us gods clad in impenetrable armour of light, invulnerable to all earthly weapons, and carrying the thunder and the lightning in our hands?
“Knowest thou not that thou thyself, ugly as thou art, art in their eyes a heaven-descended son of the great god Vira—Vira—what is it, Candia? ah! I have it—the great god Viracocha. Ha, ha! how likes your godship the sound of that? I’ faith, it will be worth all our labours heretofore to see them try and worship thee, good Carvahal.”
“Me a god! ho, ho!” growled Carvahal. “That will be a new trade for an old soldier; yet methinks I shall like it well enough if they do but lay sufficient offerings on my shrine. I will even put off fighting for awhile to see them do it.”
“And if the offerings be not big enough,” said Candia, “I can well picture thee splitting their heathen skulls in punishment for their idolatry.”
“That shows how little thou knowest of Carvahal yet,” he growled again. “Great or small, I would take all the offerings that came and then crack their skulls to boot for following after strange gods, as the Scripture saith.”
“Strange gods, i’ faith!” laughed Molina again. “They would go far before they found a stranger than thou, Carvahal!”
No doubt the old man had a retort ready near his lips, but it was never spoken, and so for a wonder he failed to get the last word, for at that moment Pizarro, who had been looking eagerly ahead with shaded eyes, suddenly pulled up and reined his horse round, holding up his hand as a signal to halt. Instantly the little troop came to a standstill, and Pizarro, riding back to the head of the column, said in a quiet but distinct tone—
“Caballeros, half an hour’s march will take us into the valley, and round the spur of the hill yonder I see a city of some size, and people are coming towards us over the fields; hence it behoves us to enter in due array. So mount and let the ranks be formed.”