Читать книгу The Crimson Conquest - Charles B. Hudson - Страница 23

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There was a building fronting on the plaza which, from, the great sculptured serpent on its wall, became known to the Spaniards as the House of the Serpent. Plain and massive in its architecture as the others, it covered, in a rambling fashion, a large extent of ground. By chance the invaders had left it untouched until opened for the Inca and his suite. Being an old Incarial palace, Atahualpa requested that he be quartered there. This was readily granted, and Pizarro, to be near his prisoner, moved into the building himself.

That part of it abutting on the square was ancient, but in later years it had been added to from time to time until it could house five or six score people. It extended back a hundred yards or more, enclosing one large and two smaller courts from which entrance was given to the various apartments. In the rear was a park filled with trees and shrubbery, and surrounded by a high wall of stone and adobe. Since the erection of the villa near the mineral springs the palace had been disused, and the garden neglected; but it retained its beauty, enhanced, perhaps, by its touch of wildness. The fountains still playing in its shade were green with moss, the walks overgrown with grass, and wild flowers had invaded the lawns, as if Nature had gently striven against its artificiality. The melancholy of decay had entered the enclosure as in preparation to greet the fallen fortune of the royal prisoner, fated to spend many a moody hour pacing its walks and chafing in his bondage.

Whatever depth of hatred the Inca cherished toward his captors, however burning his thirst for revenge, no sign betrayed them. The bitterness of captivity must have sunk into his proud heart, but it lay hidden beneath unvarying dignity and calm. With strength and patience which rose above disaster and compelled the admiration of the Spaniards, he took up the affairs of his stricken country, and with masterly readiness stayed the demoralization already sweeping over his empire like a tidal wave. With the few nobles left him he held his councils. Fleet chasquis were despatched to the farthest confines of his dominions, bearing assurances of his safety, enjoining peace, and summoning his trusted advisers.

Meanwhile, everything practicable was done to mitigate the hardship of his captivity. The blue-uniformed guard in the anteroom had given place to a detail of steel-accoutred Spaniards, and sentinels were in evidence outside the palace walls, but the monarch saw little of them. Even the officers did not intrude upon his privacy; though later he found pleasure, or at least interest, in the society of certain of them and invited them often. He gave daily audience to his people, who were admitted freely to his presence. They found him still wearing the llautu and possessing the semblance—to all immediate intents and purposes the actuality—of his imperial power. They were commanded by him to be acquiescent to the strangers, by whom they were treated with due consideration, and went away reassured.

The soldiers were now removed from the temporary barracks and assigned to quarters in the houses, largely left vacant by townspeople who availed themselves of the privilege of leaving Caxamalca. Cristoval, with De Soto, took a dwelling not far from the palace. He dismissed most of the Indies placed at his service, and assigned a suitable number to the wounded Toparca, whom he left in his old quarters on the square.

The prince was mending rapidly under José's skill, but was still unable to rise. Cristoval visited him daily, thereby improving his knowledge of Quichua and acquiring information about the country. As their acquaintance ripened he found the noble to be very much a man, and beneath his reserve he discovered a genuine urbanity. Toparca, on his part influenced by gratitude, increased by Cristoval's unfailing thoughtfulness, had become strongly attached to his rescuer, whose friendship he regarded as the condescension of a being somewhat more than human.

Returning late one afternoon from a reconnaissance to the southward, Cristoval stopped to inquire for the prince. He entered the patio, rapped upon the half-open door, and, without waiting for an answer, pushed aside the hangings and entered,—to find himself confronted by half-a-dozen young women. He recognized them at once by their costume as attendants at the palace. The sudden apparition of his mailed figure threw consternation among the damsels, nearly equalled by his own at their half-suppressed scream. Stammering an apology, part Spanish, part Quichua, he bowed and was hastily retiring when Toparca called from his couch:—

"Wait, Viracocha Cristoval! Do not go before I have made you known to my sister, the Ñusta Rava. Tarry a moment, I pray you."

The princess had risen, terrified by the formidable man in steel, whose face she could scarcely discern beneath his lifted visor. To her unaccustomed eyes he was huge and monstrous—a direful, enigmatic being from another world, of a race prodigious in destructiveness, unassailable and irresistible as gods, murderous as fiends. The sound of his approach as he moved toward her, the clank and harsh rustle of his accoutrements, struck dread to her heart. Cristoval perceived her trembling. He halted, hurriedly unlatched and removed his helmet.

"I trust the Ñusta Rava will forgive me for appearing in my harness," he said in Quichua made lame by his embarrassment, and bowing gravely; "but I had no thought of finding any one here but my Lord Toparca. With her gracious permission I will retire."

"No, no!" said Toparca. "Let me present you:—Rava, this is the Viracocha Cristoval, who, as I have told thee, rescued me from death."

Cristoval made a low obeisance, but the princess recoiled from him in undisguised horror. Toparca saw the movement and expression, and said quickly: "Rava, thou needst have no fear. I beg thou wilt know the Viracocha Cristoval as my friend."

"Thy friend, Toparca?" she exclaimed, her low voice trembling. "Dost think that I can look upon one of these as the friend of any of our race? The blood-marks have not yet vanished from the square."

Toparca raised himself in anxiety to exonerate his benefactor. "But, my sister," he said, hurriedly, "the Viracocha Cristoval had no part in that."

"Had no part in it!" repeated the princess, with incredulous scorn. "But he is here, an invader! His part began when he set foot upon our soil, sword in hand. Say not that he had no part in it! Doth he hold himself guiltless?—Can you hold yourself guiltless of that blood, Viracocha?" She turned upon Cristoval, her dark eyes burning, her form quivering from head to foot with the bitter intensity of her resentment. "Are you absolved of the foul treachery by which my people were led hither to their death? Of the perfidy that lured my brother into the snare, unarmed and unsuspecting? You have had no part in all this?—Oh, Toparca, canst thou call one of these dreadful beings thy friend whilst Tavantinsuyu still mourns her dead? He had been more worthy the name had he not preserved thee to witness the infinite misfortunes his people have brought upon our unhappy country! He had been merciful had he permitted thee to perish in ignorance of the slavery of our brothers and the dishonor of our sisters. Thy friend, my brother? Tell me sooner thou hast friends among the vultures! They, at least, prey not upon the living. Farewell, Toparca!"

The princess drew her cloak about her, and passing Cristoval with a brief glance in which was concentrated all the infuriate enmity that a woman, raging at injury and helpless to avenge it, can feel for the oppressor, she left the apartment, followed by her frightened maids.

Cristoval had heard her in silence. No doubt his uppermost feeling was compassion, for he felt the heartbreak beneath her denunciation. He knew better than she how well her indignation was justified, and was thankful that she could not know the sordid greed back of the invasion. Many of her words he had been unable to catch, but he did not fail to get her meaning clearly enough, for that was expressed in every tone and gesture. His freedom from the stains of the massacre had made him proof against much of her reproach, but he could not be indifferent to her hate and scorn. Through all he felt her beauty, somewhat ferine and stormy now, he thought, but still of a transcendent, queenly kind. Altogether, he had listened with sympathy quite without resentment; so that when she met his look in passing, instead of the rage and cruelty she expected, she read a grave pity of which she thought afterward; and in place of the stern, perhaps brutal rejoinder she looked for, a bow of profound respect and deference.

Cristoval expressed his keen regret for the inopportune entry which had sent her away so abruptly, but Toparca was even more disturbed, uncertain of the effect of her anger upon the Viracocha.

"I hope you will not think of her words, Viracocha Cristoval," he said, anxiously. "The princess is young, and hath already known much grief. She will learn that there are generous and humane hearts——"

"Even among Spaniards!" said Cristoval, with a trace of bitterness in his faint smile. "I trust so, my Lord Toparca. But the princess hath my earnest sympathy." Then he changed the subject quickly, and soon departed, giving little further thought to the Ñusta Rava.

It was not long before the constraint at first existing between the Inca and the Spanish officers began to wear away under the influence of the uniform courtesy with which he was treated, partly in observance of Pizarro's strict injunctions, but due quite as much to the innate stateliness of the monarch himself. His captors soon learned to know him as a man of alert intelligence, eager for knowledge of their world. As the months dragged on he formed several friendships with them which went far to moderate the dreariness of captivity, in which he displayed his discrimination of human character. From the first he was attracted by De Soto, whose superiority over most of his comrades he was not slow to recognize. De Soto, in turn, conceived for the unfortunate monarch a deep regard, a sentiment shared by Hernando Pizarro and Candia.

But before all others in the Inca's esteem was Peralta. Atahualpa had not forgotten his part in the affair on the plaza, and his gratitude and confidence had been increased by the rescue of Toparca. Thus predisposed in Cristoval's favor, the cavalier's growing knowledge of the Quichua dialect made their acquaintance of easy growth. Cristoval's wide experience as a soldier appealed vigorously to the warlike prince, and he spent many hours listening to accounts of European campaigns and methods.

It is doubtful if the monarch had ever, since his youth, known real companionship unconstrained by his majesty. The gulf separating him from his most exalted subject was immeasurable and not to be bridged by any human feeling. As far as friendship was concerned he was alone, wearied to the limits of endurance by the perpetual reverence and awe by which he was surrounded. He did not undertake to exact, did not want, and could not have had from the Spaniards, the servile homage tendered by his subjects, and its absence was a relief. They treated him as a royal man, not as a Child of the Sun, and he was grateful. It is not to be supposed that they were always tactful, that they never overstepped the bounds of familiarity; but his natural dignity protected him, and it occurred infrequently—with Cristoval never. The cavalier was neither presuming nor humble, and their friendship prospered.

For the Spanish commander the Inca never acquired a liking. It was impossible for him to regard Pizarro otherwise than as his arch-enemy and author of his misfortunes. As a soldier he exonerated the other officers in a degree, reflecting that they were subordinates, and attributing to their leader the absolute authority over them which he himself wielded over his troops. So upon Pizarro he placed the entire weight of responsibility. He was repelled, however, by the cold austerity of the taciturn leader, who possessed little of the graciousness of his brother Hernando and had no wish for the good will of the man he had so mortally injured.

To Cristoval the tour as commander of the guard at the palace was always welcome. On one of these occasions, having some need to see the Inca, he was directed by one of the attendants to the garden, and taking one of the side-paths which wound through the shrubbery, had gone but a few yards when a turn brought him face to face with the Ñusta Rava, followed by one of her handmaidens. He bowed, stepped aside, and waited, toque in hand, for her to pass, fully expecting to encounter the indignant scorn which he had seen last in her handsome eyes. He found it, however, quite absent, and in its stead one of some confusion, not unmixed with fear. To his surprise she halted and stood looking up to him with a timidity that made him uncomfortably conscious of the warlike attire which inspired her dread. He bowed again, and in response to his look of kindly inquiry she began:—

"Viracocha,—my words some days ago were spoken in ignorance of all my obligations. My brother, the Inca, hath told me of your many acts of generosity to him in his misfortune. Can you forget my injustice and accept my gratitude?"

"The Ñusta Rava's words are forgotten," replied Cristoval; "and I can only thank her for the graciousness of those just spoken. I beg she will believe the sincerity of my sympathy for her august brother and herself."

"Ah, I do believe it, Viracocha Cristoval! It hath been proven by your friendship."

"You may count upon all that lieth within its power," said Cristoval, earnestly. "I would it could undo what hath been done; but if it can ever serve you, now or in the future, be sure of it."

He had spoken with the gentleness with which he would have addressed a child—in fact, he looked upon her as little more—and the voice of the unhappy princess broke when she tried to murmur her acknowledgment. As she turned away she extended her hand. Cristoval pressed it for an instant, and she passed on. He continued his walk meditatively. Presently he came to a bench and sat down, studying the gravel at his feet.

"A murrain seize this business!" he thought. "Heaven knoweth what is to become of her, or of any of them. God have mercy on them!—and may the fiend run away with the conquest! There's no glory in it, nor aught but foul outrage and devil's greed and lust. 'T is not even war! Would I had stayed back in Panama, and had no part in bringing this royal brother and sister into the power of these freebooters! Wolves!—She is gentle as a Christian—when it pleaseth her to be, that is! Cara! But I envy not the man who doth counter her disapproval. Ah, well!—what a pity she is not a Christian! I'll speak to Father Tendilla: he is a kindly old man, and hath gentleness of speech."

Cristoval rose and walked slowly on.

He came upon the Inca shortly, and found him restlessly pacing back and forth. He turned at the sound of the cavalier's footsteps, and his countenance brightened somewhat as he said, cordially proffering his hand, "May the Sun never hide his face from thee, Viracocha Cristoval!"

"God be with you, my Lord Inca!" said Cristoval. "I trust the day hath gone well."

"Not ill, though I have known better ones," replied Atahualpa, with a slight smile. "I have had another visit from thy general and his priest."

"Father Valverde?" asked Cristoval. "I would it had been Tendilla."

"And I!" said the Inca, with a frown, "for this one pleaseth me not. He persisteth in assailing my religion. Why is it? What is my religion to him?—and to Pizarro? It is the faith of my fathers. Why should I change it at their behest? Hath not every man the right to his own belief and form of worship? We of Tavantinsuyu never forced our gods upon other men; yet this priest saith your people have crossed the seas to bring your religion to me!—to teach me the words of the Prince of Peace—the Prince of Peace! Is it so? Tell me—is that the purpose of your coming?"

His face had grown stern as he put the question, and without pausing for an answer he went on with increasing vehemence: "Do you tell me it is for this, Viracocha Cristoval, that I am a prisoner, surrounded by guards like a common criminal, while so many of my children lie in unhonored graves? Is it that I may become a Christian? Let me have the truth, Viracocha!"

"By heaven, I will!" blurted Cristoval, weary and disgusted at the cloak of religion under which his countrymen strove to mask their rapacity. "I'll tell you why we are here, Prince! We have come for your gold! Now you have the pith and meat of the whole matter. Had your country not been cursed with wealth you and your people could have gone peacefully down to hell unheeded by Spanish priest or soldier. But you have gold, and we want it!"

Atahualpa regarded him with amazement and incredulity. "Gold!" he exclaimed. "Gold! Dost tell me you have come so far for such stuff as this?" and he pulled the jewelled bracelets from his wrists and cast them scornfully at Cristoval's feet.

"For such as that, my Lord Inca," replied Cristoval, ignoring the precious ornaments.

Atahualpa gazed at him for a moment in silence, the look of astonishment in his eyes rapidly yielding to one of anger. "Dost mean to say," he demanded, in a voice grown suddenly harsh, "that this measureless calamity hath been brought upon me and mine by the childish desire of thy people for these trumperies? Great God! Are you madmen, that you count human lives paltry beside this dross which we dig from the earth? Are the murder of my people and the base treachery to me but trifles?"

"My lord, even greater wrongs have been committed for the love of gold. Few crimes in the fiend's category but have sprung from it. It hath reddened the earth with blood, and made hell populous."

Cristoval encountered a look of mingled wonder and abhorrence. It was some seconds before Atahualpa spoke. Then he said slowly: "Strange beings! Do you consider that it hath some magic virtue, this gold, or doth it not possess some hidden power to give madness?"

"Both, my Lord Inca! It hath a magic that can bring all things to its possessor—save only happiness, love, and salvation; and it can cause madness."

"It is a riddle!" exclaimed the Inca, with impatience. "But enough! Thou tellest me you have come for gold. Dost thou want gold, Viracocha Cristoval? Hear me!" He drew near and lowered his voice, speaking rapidly and with intensity: "I would be free! I want thine aid and friendship. I can give thee more gold than thou couldst carry the length of this garden—more than thou and the strongest of thy companions could raise from the ground!"

Cristoval raised his hand: "My Lord Inca, I pray you, do not offer it. My friendship cannot be purchased. You have it now; and when my aid availeth you shall have that also, though not for gold, my lord. I will do all in my power in your behalf and to procure your freedom. I know not my commander's design, but should a greater evil threaten you than hath already befallen, reckon my sword, if need be, in your defence."

Atahualpa studied him intently. The sincerity of Peralta's tone was in his eyes, and not to be mistaken. "Viracocha Cristoval," said the monarch after a pause, giving his hand, "I know not whether an Inca ever before asked forgiveness of any man, but I ask thine now! I believe I know thy friendship's worth."

"I thank you, my Lord Inca," replied Cristoval, simply. "But now, let me counsel you. If you have gold at your command, offer it to Pizarro. You shall find that when his nose smelleth a ransom he will turn a willing ear. Have others present to witness your proposal; have De Soto—he is an honorable man—and Candia, and Hernando Pizarro—the more the better. And heed this carefully: Be not too liberal in your tender; rather, be a shade niggardly at first, lest you over-stimulate his cupidity. Your offer to me was extravagant, my lord. Be moderate, or you may defeat your end. The hint of a too bountiful source from which to draw may rouse ambition to possess the source itself. Were your supply boundless as heaven, greed would rise to its full measure."

Atahualpa had listened with close attention. He pondered a moment, then said: "I believe thy counsel is wise. I thank thee, my friend. I will follow it."