“Now you have heard,” he said. “Let your priests and wise men interpret the message.”
Quizquiz called Soncco and a number of other sages and after they had all admitted that they were unable to interpret the strange sound he dismissed them in anger with a flick of his whip.
“Twenty strokes of the lash for each one,” he shouted, and a body of soldiers promptly stepped forward to obey the order.
“Mercy, great and glorious father,” one of the older men cried out, falling upon his knees and extending his hands in supplication.
“An additional ten strokes for the beggar! Take him away,” Quizquiz ordered. “And if any one of them so much as sigh while the lash is falling on his back, run him through with a lance.”
“If it pleases the king, I will explain the message,” Stanley announced.
“I will hear your words, but let your speech be brief, for I am weary.”
“The great vehicle would carry the Inca into the sky, high above the tallest mountain-peaks, where the air is pure and where not even the condor dares venture; out of reach of the contaminating earth, to play among the clouds and to bask in the bright sunlight; it would take him so high that the radiance of the sun could descend upon his sacred person; men would be blinded by the dazzling splendor of the great king,” Stanley announced solemnly.
“Is that the message?”
“That is my interpretation. A few days are needed for preparations for the momentous event. And then, the flight into the heavens which even an Inca has never visited.”