As she spoke the evil-featured Inacayal stood by her side.
“The Queen is hurt?” he inquired with affected solicitude. “Shall Inacayal call hither the medicine man?”
“No, Inacayal,” she answered quietly, “but bid him use his arts against the evil Gualichu. By whose black arts think you the Cristianos obtained an entrance here?”
The chief shrugged his shoulders, but glanced meaningly at the youth Graviel, who, still bloody and covered with wounds, stood near.
“You know well, cousin, that I like not the presence of Graviel, and that I have ever warned you that the boy is haunted by an evil spirit. It is Inacayal’s firm belief, that the approach of the Cristianos was not unknown to him.”
The Queen turned sharply round. “Graviel,” she commanded imperiously, “come here.”
The youth at once obeyed. Not till he had done so did Aniwee realise how grievously he was wounded. A nasty sword cut had slashed his cheek, his left arm hung powerless by his side, and one of his potro boots was saturated with blood, and cut clean through in one part.
“The Cristianos have made you weak as a child, Graviel,” exclaimed Aniwee. “How was it you became wounded thus? Did you take part in the fight?”
“Great Queen,” answered the youth proudly, “my duty was to be beside the young Cacique. I fought on her behalf till I could no more. Then you came to the rescue. It was well, for Graviel was well-nigh overpowered.”
“And how came the Cristianos to fall upon a peaceful camp like condors on the dead?” again inquired the Queen.