Читать книгу The Crimson Conquest - Charles B. Hudson - Страница 10

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The column found convenient halting places in the caravansaries, or tambos, established for the troops of the Inca. These were of great extent, with barracks, magazines, and extensive fortifications. They afforded more than ample security for Pizarro's force, and he availed himself of their shelter and stores of food without scruple.

Five days out from San Miguel there occurred an incident but for which this story had not been written,—an incident, not only of momentous import to the fortunes of Cristoval in its sequence, but one which threatened as well to end Pizarro's dream of conquest.

The command had halted at a tambo, finding it, as usual, ungarrisoned. Details were quickly made for guard and other duties, and Cristoval was assigned to command a patrol to reconnoitre the neighboring village. An hour after sunset the detachment returned, and Cristoval went to his quarters to disarm. De Soto entered a moment later, and together they repaired to Pedro's.

The portly cook had already established himself as no mean adjunct of the expeditionary force, and at every halt set up his cantina, opened his wineskins, and served whatever broils, fries, or stews his unscrupulous energy as a forager made possible. He was a good cook, his kettles and spits always held something more savory than the kitchens of the companies afforded, and as a consequence he was well patronized by the soldiers, of whatever rank. On the march, with Pedrillo leading his two pack mules, himself astride of an ambling gray, his peg-leg in a stirrup specially contrived, his saddle festooned with vegetables and other predatory trophies, he brought up the rear or jogged along beside the column, bantering the soldiers, telling droll stories, or singing ballads of doubtful propriety. When camp was made, headquarters were not established more promptly than Pedro's cook shop, and from sunset until closed by the rounds it was full of men, eating, gambling, or drinking chicha, the native beverage distilled from maize.

Places were made for the two cavaliers at one of the tables, and soon Pedro limped across the room, wiping his hands on an apron once white. "Well, Señor Cristoval," said he, lounging against the table, "what news?"

"News? I'm hungry."

"No news at all!" retorted Pedro. "Who ever knew thee otherwise? I have better. A few more turns, and I'll have a haunch of llama done to a brown; and it will taste none the worse for the fact that it is a misdemeanor for anyone but an Inca—a noble, that is—to eat of it."

"Oh, Pedro, thou prince of foragers!" exclaimed Cristoval. "How camest thou by it?"

"Why," said Pedro, "I made an excursion this morning with my boy."

"Unhappy Peru! Well?"

"Well, we met a herder on the road, a few miles back, with a beautiful drove. We dismounted, my boy and I, and I paraded my wooden leg to the marvel of the Indio; took a pack of cards from my saddle-bag and wrought divers tricks of magic—vanishing cards and the like—thou knowest; swallowed a horseshoe nail and took it out of mine ear; swallowed it again and took it out of his ear. He was spellbound with wonder—turned to stone, as if he had looked upon the ægis of Minerva,—and at this juncture my boy threw his jacket over the head of one of the calves, or lambs, or colts, or pups, or whatever Heaven may be pleased to call the offspring of these heathen quadrupeds, and vanished into the bush. He might have removed the herd entire! I patted the Indio on the back, embraced him as a brother—found he had no pockets!—and sent him on his way. When last we saw him his jaws were still agape!"

As Pedro finished, his face grew red, his eyes closed in a convulsion which gradually extended over his broad body, and from the depths came a succession of wheezes that shook his frame. He made no other sound. Apoplexy seemed imminent, and Cristoval exclaimed:—

"Gods, man! Be sparing of thy laughter, if that is the form it taketh. Thou 'rt too plethoric to do it safely, Pedro!"

Pedro's symptoms subsided, and he stumped away to send Pedrillo with the roast.

A few minutes later an orderly entered, seeking De Soto. The latter rose, and, saying that he would return presently, followed the messenger, leaving Cristoval dawdling over his supper. There were few besides himself in the room—a spacious apartment with walls of unadorned stone, a flagged floor, and great doors opening upon the court. In the rear Pedro had his fire on the pavement, the smoke escaping through a hole in the roof, which, like all thus far seen, was of thatch. Rough tables and benches had been thrown together by the soldiers, always willing to do Pedro a service, and in the corner sat two troopers and three or four of the infantry. They had been conversing over their chicha, with heads together, and evidently occupied with a subject of interest. After De Soto went Cristoval noted casually that they were referring to him and glancing in his direction. Finally Moreno, one of the troopers, caught his eye, and beckoned him to join them. He sauntered over.

"Sit, compañero, and have a cup with us," said the trooper, pouring for him. "We would have thine opinion."

"My opinion!" said Cristoval, in slight surprise. "In what connection?"

"Regarding this," replied Moreno. "Thou hast soldiered enough to think with a cool head—to estimate chances for and against in a campaign. Now, what are thy views here? Thou knowest our strength,—some three-score horse, well equipped; a hundred foot, miserably equipped; two pieces of artillery, three arquebuses, a handful of arbalests. What force hath this Señor Inca whom we seek? God knoweth! We have heard, ten thousand warriors; again, fifty thousand; again, one hundred thousand. Por cierto, he may have at the beck of his finger every man and boy in his kingdom, not to say the women! Now, what will the Inca do with the Army of the Conquest some morning after breakfast? He will wipe it out! He will eat it up! We shall dance one merry fandango to his piping, and—pouf!—Adiós, la Conquista!"

"And copper-colored dames will rock their copper-colored brats in Spanish bucklers," added an infantryman named Juarez.

"And make soup in Spanish morions," growled another.

"Hast thought of these things?" asked Moreno.

"Aye, I have thought of them," replied Cristoval, "and I confess your prophecy seemeth not unlikely; but—"

"But the worst of the matter is that the farther we go the smaller our chance of plunder," continued Moreno. "At Coaque every varlet of the natives wore his gold and silver. They shed it at a poke of the finger in the ribs. Hereabouts the people are as innocent of precious metal as a flock of sheep."

"At Coaque, moreover," said Juarez, "we were not far from Quito, and if there was aught in the rumors concerning that city, the looting of it would load us all with what we seek. At any rate, if the Inca with his army lieth beyond these accursed mountains, he is not at Quito. We might have sacked the city and been away ere this, and getting the worth of our gold in pleasure at Panama."

Cristoval quietly sipped his chicha. "Well," said he at length, "what would you, Señores?"

"In brief, this," responded Moreno, emphatically. "Give over this harebrained purpose of bearding the lion and being made meat for his whelps, and go back where we found gold in plenty."

"But the general hath planned otherwise," remarked Cristoval, revolving his cup. "Dost think he is a man to alter at our discontent? I think not."

"Most certainly he will not alter—so long as he hath followers," replied Moreno. "But if we refuse to follow?"

Cristoval eyed him for a second before answering. "But we have given oath to follow, Moreno."

"A witch's blessing upon our oaths!" exclaimed Juarez, hotly. "Have we given oath to jump into fire after this loco? I, for one, set value on my hide. Let him lead with his senses about him, and we will go! Otherwise, by—"

"Softly, softly, amigo mio!" interrupted Moreno, unwilling that the disaffection should be too outspoken until Cristoval was more thoroughly sounded. "As thou sayest, we will go with him, Juarez, but," he turned again to Cristoval, "we are losing time and golden opportunity. If we but drop this insane purpose of conquest, a month's campaigning, rightly directed, will make us all rich men—thee as rich as the rest, Peralta."

Cristoval pushed away his cup. "Waste not thy breath, Moreno. If you men are discontented, quit the expedition. Return to San Miguel without spreading your dissatisfaction. It were better."

Moreno bit his lip. "Art thou, then, as mad as Pizarro? Canst not see that every league we march toward the Inca doubleth our peril? Dost not see this seeming friendliness on the part of these heathens is only to lure us farther into the trap? And what have we gained thus far? Not a maravedi!"

"Enough, Moreno!" exclaimed Cristoval, with impatience. "I see the danger, seguramente! But better the danger than perfidy."

The last word was unwelcome. A foot-soldier swore, and a murmur rose from the group.

"Peace!" commanded Moreno, glancing at his fellows with darkened face. "Thou hadst best consider, Peralta. Listen," he lowered his voice and leaned over the table. "As a matter of truth, there is dissatisfaction among the men at rushing blindly against the Inca's unknown strength. They would have a more prudent leader, Cristoval, and—several have spoken of thee."

Cristoval blurted a sudden oath and pushed back from the table, glaring from one to another with kindling eyes. "What! Hath it gone so far?" he demanded. "Have ye settled the details of your treason? Furies and devils! And ye would have me one with your cursed scheme of mutiny? A more prudent leader, forsooth! By the saints, ye should have a swineherd! Ah! Have ye smelled an enemy, that ye've so suddenly lost your bowels for going farther? Then go back!—sneak back with your tails between your craven legs!"

Moreno sprang to his feet. The others rose with him, and a growl went up as they turned upon Peralta, several with swords half drawn. He remained seated, contemptuously ignoring the menace, and continued:—

"Thou hast asked mine opinion, Moreno, and, by Saint Michael, thou shalt have it to sleep over!—and these pig-driver's dogs of thine shall have it as well!"

However, they did not have it. His words were not uttered before a confused gleam and the sinister ring of steel went round the table, as every weapon was bared. In a flash Cristoval was on his feet, sword in hand. Moreno and Juarez vaulted over the table. The others came round its end, pell-mell, stumbling over one another in blood-thirsty eagerness. The soldier nearest was too close to use his blade, and before he could step back Cristoval felled him with the heavy hilt of his own; but felt the steel of the man behind as it grazed his side. He sprang back of the overturned bench and placed himself in the angle of the wall, his right partly protected by another table. They were upon him in the instant, but the confusion of their combined attack was in his favor. There was a lightning play of steel about him, but each of the assailants impeded the others. Aided in defence by a poniard in his left hand, Cristoval warded cut and thrust, and after a short moment of rapid clash and glitter his opponents fell back, one with a cheek laid open, another coughing from a thrust in the chest.

"Damn your zeal, learn a lesson of caution!" muttered Cristoval, and they were upon him again. This time the assault was circumspect. Moreno, by far the most formidable, had been hampered in the first attack by the crowding, but now he assured himself of ample room. Cristoval found himself hard pressed, and thrice he felt the burning of their points.

Meanwhile Pedro, who had gone out before the conflict began, reëntered and stood for a moment transfixed. The confusion was so great that he was unable to distinguish the sides opposed; but when he saw the danger of Cristoval he broke into a stream of oaths, dancing about, frantic at his own unarmed helplessness. His boy stood petrified, a fork in hand, gazing at the battle. Pedro sprang at him.

"Fetch Pizarro!" he shouted. "Call the guard! Quick! Jump, thou imp, or I'll spit thee!"

The boy dashed out, and Pedro jerked a kettle of boiling soup from the fire, seized a ladle, and threw himself into the fight. A flood of the scalding liquor descended upon a pikeman, and he whirled upon the cook with a howl of rage, to be promptly knocked down by a blow from the heavy ladle. Shower after shower fell upon the group in front of Cristoval, carrying scalds, dismay, and demoralization. Blinded and smarting, they fell away from the attack, and Moreno, recognizing the source of the hot counter assault, lowered his head and charged the cook with his rapier. Pedro's ammunition was exhausted. He hurled his kettle, missed, fell backward over a bench, and rolled under a table, where Moreno was thrusting at him ineffectually when a heavy hand jerked him back, and Pizarro stood before him, black with anger. The guard had followed him in, and was already making the other combatants secure.

"How now?" Pizarro demanded hoarsely. "Fighting among ourselves? Name of God! Is Spanish blood so cheap that we can waste it in brawls?—Seize this man!" he commanded, turning to the guard.

Pedro had gathered himself together, and was lifting Cristoval out of the corner where he had fallen. A sentinel was posted at the door, and a soldier despatched to summon the officers. De Soto and José, the old armorer, had followed Pizarro, and Cristoval's cuts were quickly bandaged. The officers hurried in, a summary court was organized for inquiry, and the assailants, with the exception of three who were receiving rough surgical care, were lined up under guard, blistered and sullen.

Pedro's testimony was the first to be taken, but it gave no enlightenment regarding the origin of the affray, and Juarez was examined. He was disposed to be recalcitrant, but Pizarro ordered thumbscrews, and the sight of the instrument loosed his tongue. Discipline was enforced in those days by effective means. Juarez well knew what was coming. He glanced at the screws, at Pizarro, and shrugged his surrender; then, with apparent candor, he told of the conversation and of the growing discontent among the men. Pizarro ordered the prisoners into confinement, and they were marched away by the guard, their relief at escape from the thumbscrews marred by a vision of a courtmartial and the garrote on the morrow.

Cristoval was conveyed to his quarters, and Pedro immediately turned the management of the cantina over to Pedrillo, assuming the role of nurse as a matter of course.

About midnight he stepped outside the cavalier's door and stood for a moment enjoying the freshness of the night. The tambo was silent except for the footfalls of the sentinel at the gate, a murmur of voices from the guard-room, where the affair was being discussed, and an occasional sound from the distant stables. A light shone through Pizarro's door, and as Pedro stood a shadow passed and repassed within. An hour before dawn he again stepped into the square. The light still burned, and still the shadow came and went. Clearly Pizarro was having a bad night. Pedro shook his head and muttered an anathema upon all traitors.

In fact, Pizarro was having a bad night. On his stone table, weighted down by one of his steel gauntlets, lay the record of the summary court, left there by his secretary hours before. He could not read it, for he was unlettered; but he knew every word of its content. It told of sedition. He could only guess how far disaffection had spread, but the knowledge that the spirit was abroad had come with stunning effect. Hour after hour he paced the room, his footfall a dismal accompaniment to dismal reflections. After years he had almost reached his goal with an army at his back, only to feel the earth crumbling beneath him, undermined by cowardice and treachery. As he walked, his thin lips moved as if in prayer. But Pizarro was not praying. He was heaping black curses upon his riffraff soldiery.

José relieved Pedro at daybreak, and an hour after reveille the cook returned with breakfast for the wounded man. His jovial countenance was perfectly blank.

"Well, what news?" asked José. "Do the conspirators get the rack or the garrote?"

Pedro put down his burden with deliberation. "Thou 'rt a fool at guessing, José, and I another. Neither rack, nor yet garrote! Let me tell thee. After roll-call and reports the general stepped forward. He looked along the line, and the line stopped breathing. Torres, of the infantry, let fall his pike. Then Pizarro began to speak—as quietly as I am speaking now. He said it had come to his attention,—had come to his attention, José!—that there are certain ones among us who have lost enthusiasm—not that they are damned traitors, José, but have lost enthusiasm! He would say to these that the hour is critical; that it is big with events which it will need all our courage to meet bravely, as becometh Spaniards. He would have no man go forward who goeth not with a whole heart, and to such as had liefer return the road is open. With those who choose to follow him, few or many, it is his purpose to pursue the adventure to its end."

José resumed tearing bandages. "Jesucristo!" was his only comment.

"Stew me to rags!" observed Pedro with slow emphasis. After a pause he continued, "Didst ever see such a man, José? He staked much on a single throw. On my oath, I should not have been surprised to see half the army take the route to San Miguel! Hah! He would have no coacted, weak-kneed service, quoth he; but to my mind he chose a perilous way of stiffening it and weeding out discontent. The rack were better. However, every cook hath his own way of cooking."

Before noon nine malcontents slunk out of the tambo and started back to San Miguel. Three wore bandages.

In a few days the march was resumed. Little fever resulted from Cristoval's wounds, and José pronounced him in condition, to go forward, borne in a litter.