Читать книгу The Crimson Conquest - Charles B. Hudson - Страница 6

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Toward the end of a day in the year Fifteen Hundred and Thirty-one, as the air cooled slightly with the sun's decline, the plaza of the little Spanish city of Panama grew languidly animate. The square had blazed, shimmered, and baked all day, shunned in its fervor except by those compelled to cross it in order to avoid the exertion of going round, or by the few straggling natives whose half-naked bodies and sun-tanned hides were proof; but this was the hour of listless awakening, and groups formed at the corners, exchanging gossip—if by a blessing there was gossip to exchange—and awaiting the sole break in the sultry monotony of the day, the evening parade of the garrison with its stimulating bang of the culverin at sunset.

The dominant type in these groups was that of the fighting man. Some were sailors, a few were planters; but most of the swarthy faces wore the unmistakable marks of the soldier. The dress and bearing of a small number indicated rank; but all, save a sprinkling of ecclesiastics and civil officers of the Crown, were adventurers, and bore evidence, in their worn apparel, in their scars, and in their bronzed and weatherbeaten features, of severe campaigns and hardship.

This particular evening the ceremony of the parade received less than usual attention. Two ships had entered the harbor the day before, bearing news and plunder from Francisco Pizarro's expedition to the coast of South America. The inn at the side of the plaza was full of men. Its wineshop was overflowing, but the rattle of dice, the oaths, and controversy were wanting. In front lounged a crowd, thickening at the door, where swayed lazily a banner displaying a device new to heraldry,—the arms of Pizarro. At the portal stood a halberdier in corselet and morion fresh-burnished, recounting with vaunt and gasconade an alluring tale of rapine, which was heard with varying degrees of interest, credulity, or scepticism. There was no enthusiasm. Some sauntered doubtfully away. A few heeded, and finally entered the door. Within, there was more animation.

Behind a table near the rear, leaning comfortably against the wall, his legs sprawled under the board and his hands thrust into his belt, sat a sturdy cavalier. He was listening with some amusement to the excited comments of the men about him as they passed a golden bracelet of barbaric design which he had tendered for their inspection. He was between thirty-five and forty years old—perhaps nearer the latter. His sunbrowned countenance gave the impression of being stern, almost fierce. A close-shorn beard, nearly black, covered a firm, well-formed jaw, and with the trim cut of his hair, suggested a care of person conspicuous among the rough-looking campaigners in the room. The upward twist of his mustachios and strongly aquiline nose gave his face a pronounced military character, borne out presently, when he straightened up from his lounging attitude, by the erect bearing and squareness of shoulder that belong to the soldierly calling. A closer view dispelled the first notion of fierceness, for from the ruggedly marked brows looked a pair of dark eyes, clear, frank, well lined about with crow's-feet, and enlivened by good humor.

While he conversed with those nearest, the bracelet circulated from hand to hand, was scrutinized, bitten, rung upon the tables to test its metal, and was finally handed back by a seedy-looking soldier, who observed: "By my faith, Señor Cristoval, that bauble hath the proper color. There is more of yellow in its complexion than I've seen for many a day. Thou mayst set me down. I go to Peru. Hola! camaradas, d'ye hear? I go to Peru. Who will follow?"

His example and the lure of the gold had their sure effect. In a moment the officer was busy with his pen, while an eager group leaned over the table to watch as he wrote their names and answers to his brisk questions. Their enthusiasm spread among the loungers outside, and before it subsided a dozen or more enlisted for the expedition. Most of the recruits were half-starved fellows who had idled about the colony for months, unable to secure employment for their swords since the rebellion in Nicaragua had been suppressed, and disdainful of work less honorable. A few were fully equipped, but many had sold, pawned, or gambled away their arms and armor, and had only their rapiers, which they retained as a necessity. During this first day of recruiting, a score had been sent to the temporary quarters, with instructions first to gather up or locate whatever of equipment they could find.

Candles had been brought, the room had nearly emptied, and the officer was arranging his papers, when he heard the sound of hoofs and the voice of the halberdier, evidently addressing a rider.

"Hola, Pedro! Blessed Faith! Is it thou?"

The response was not immediate, and the creaking of the saddle, with sundry grunts and adjurations to the animal, indicated that the newcomer was dismounting. The operation was made difficult by the fact that he had a wooden leg, the left having been taken off at the knee. He puffed as he finally stood, but presently answered the soldier in a voice of much volume and with uncommon blandness and fluency.

"It is I,—that is, my solid parts. Of the rest, those volatile are volatilized; those meltable, melted and bedewing the grass along my trail. Thou seest but a parboiled residuum. Wilt hold my mule?"

"Hold thy mule!" replied the halberdier, with proper soldierly scorn. "Not I, by the fiend!"

"Nay! Keep thy temper, my lusty buck soldier," said the other, with suavity. "I meant no flattery."

"Flattery!"

"In offering thee the privilege.—Here, boy," he called to a half-breed urchin, "guard my steed. But keep in front of him, for he hath a twofold nature,—tender-hearted to a fault as far as the saddle-girth; behind it, maleficent as the powers of evil." He turned again to the soldier. "Is this thy recruiting office, Señor Alabardero?"

"Ah!" assented the halberdier. "But, Sacramento! Dost think to enlist, Pedro?"

"And why not?" demanded Pedro.

"Why, if I can count, thou hast legs too few by half."

"Then thou canst not count, for I have three. Two I have with me,—one mine by right of birth, the other by right of purchase, and of as good wood as that of which thy head is made. The third lieth in Italy, four feet under ground, but still mine, nihilo minus,—which is Latin, my friend, and meaneth 'nevertheless.' But dost require more legs in thy recruits, halberdier? If so, it must be a running game, this campaigning in Peru."

"Bastante!" growled the soldier. "Thou hast legs enough, and tongue enough, God wot!"

"Good! Then I'll enter. Who is the officer?"

"Lieutenant Cristoval de Peralta."

"I've heard of him," said Pedro, and stumped into the room. Cristoval looked up, to behold a man ten years his senior, slightly corpulent, with a full round face, now reddened by the heat and exertion of riding, which he mopped vigorously as he advanced with sombrero under his arm. Smooth-shaven, somewhat bald, and with gray hair closely cropped, there was a suggestion of the priest or monk in his countenance, further aided by the genial benignancy of his expression. A frock would, indeed, have made him the most jovial-looking of ecclesiastics, and his well-fed and comfortable appearance would have helped the disguise. A large mouth, a nose formidable but well shaped, and eyes with ever a lurking twinkle, made up a face to be warmed to at first glimpse. The precision of his salute left no doubt in Cristoval's mind that the missing leg had been lost on the battle-field, and he surveyed the man with interest.

"Let me not interrupt, Señor Teniente," said Pedro. "I am in no hurry."

"I have finished," replied Cristoval. "How can I serve thee?"

"Thou'rt recruiting for Pizarro?"

Cristoval nodded, thinking of the rabble already enrolled that day, and wondering whether this one-legged veteran purposed offering himself.

"Bien!" said Pedro. "I would join the expedition."

"But thou'rt maimed, compadre!"

"Como asi! Just so!" replied the other, with a wave of the hand. "I'm not all here, as the cannoneer observed when his pieces were scattered over a thousand yards by the explosion of his gun. But there is enough of me for the purpose, señor, for I am a cook,—a cantinero. I seek not to enlist, but the privilege of filling a moderate space aboard thy brigantine with myself, my helper, called Pedrillo, and such stores and gear as will fit a canteen."

"Draw up a chair," said Cristoval, pleased with the cook's manner. "We will consider it. Thy name?"

"Pedro."

"So I heard thee called by the halberdier."

"Ah!—the rest of my name? H'm! Why, I'll tell thee, señor, I have not always been a cook—and—pardon me—"

"I see," said Cristoval, with delicacy. "No importa. We'll let it go. Thou'rt Pedro."

Pedro bowed. After some conversation the arrangement was made. "Now," said Cristoval, "there are three or four of us from the ship quartered together, and we need a cook. There is Ruiz, the pilot; José, the principal armorer; and I look for De Soto from Nombre de Dios. He is to command when we sail. Couldst take charge of the rancho whilst we remain in Panama? Couldst begin at once? Good! Then 'tis agreed. I've taken the inn kept by Señora Bolio for quarters for the company, but her cooks are all Indios and worthless, and—What aileth thee, man?"

At the señora's name Pedro opened his mouth, pushed back his chair, and sat looking at the cavalier in manifest disquiet. "Bolio!" he whispered. "Bolio! Dost know her, Señor Teniente?"

"No. What of her?" demanded Cristoval, remembering that certain of his recruits had heard her name with similar uneasiness. "I saw her only for a moment when we came ashore yesterday. Dost know her, thou?"

Pedro turned away with a gesture as if to wave him off. He faced about. "Do I know her! Warily and charily, señor—as a pup knoweth the family cat! Ah, Madre! Lieutenant Cristoval, she hath a tongue like a flail—like a red-hot rapier. Thou shouldst hear her storm—at some other man—when she is roused! Nay, smile not! I once heard her berating her servants, and they wilted, withered, shrivelled like spiders on a hot skillet. Ah, stew me! Bolio!"

"Thou dost stir mine interest, Pedro," said Cristoval. "Who is the lady?"

Pedro laid a broad hand upon the table with suppressed vehemence. "Bolio!" he replied, as if nothing could be added.

"I know little save from hearsay, señor," he continued; "she was a vivandera with the armies in Italy in her youth. Thou knowest that training. Diablo! I saw her in the Neapolitan campaign against Louis XII."

Cristoval interrupted. "What! Didst serve with Gonsalvo?"

"With the Great Captain," said Pedro.

"Then, by Saint Michael, we were comrades!"

Pedro nodded without surprise, and continued quickly: "She had beauty then, señor. Poor girl! She was learning, by hard experience, to hold all men her enemies. She hath not forgotten. I heard of her again in the campaign of '22, and again at Pavia, where I left my leg. After that, no more until I found her here at Panama, two years ago. It is said she worked her way hither from Spain, disguised as a common sailor, and I doubt it not, for I have known of another woman who did as much. Por cierto, her eloquence was not gained in camps alone! It hath the savor of the sea as well, and she commandeth the most vigorous that each affordeth, my head upon it! But whatever her youth, Señor Cristoval, the saints preserve the man who would turn a soft eye upon her to-day. She weigheth, I should guess, some twelve or fourteen stone. 'T is all hostility!"

Cristoval reflectively gathered up his papers. "Well," he said, "we can pray for peace. Let us go."

"Whither?" asked Pedro.

"To the señora's."

"Misericordia! I think I had best ride back to my hacienda for the night, Señor Teniente."

"How far?" asked Cristoval.

"Three leagues or less."

"Absurd, Pedro! Thou 'rt to begin thy duties in the morning. Come."

Accompanied reluctantly by the stout cook leading his mule, and followed by the halberdier, Cristoval led down a narrow, garbage-littered street to a large house built around the usual patio. It had been the residence of some officer of government, and its size made it suitable for the recruiting officer, the poverty of whose levies made it necessary to provide for their keep before sailing to join Pizarro. They entered the suggestively quiet court, and having seen that his recruits had made proper use of the kitchen, Cristoval gave orders concerning quarters for the night, and ascended to the second floor in quest of the señora. He found her alone in a dim-lighted, lofty, bare-walled apartment,—the salon of the establishment in its better days.

The señora was a black-haired, black-eyed woman of generous proportions. She wore, now and generally, an air of stern repression of what Cristoval, after Pedro's account, knew to be the hostility mentioned. Notwithstanding the marring effects of a stormy career on her rather florid face, she was not uncomely. Her eyes were those of her race, which seem always smouldering with the fire of passion, gentle or the reverse as the case may be. She received the cavalier with dignity; heard his explanation of Pedro's status; directed, coldly, that her servants be called upon for assistance, and Cristoval bowed himself away with relief.