The Sun Virgin
side of a gorge at the bottom of which roared a river’s torrent.
A love witch of the old days had chosen the spot for its magnificent
views, its uncanny setting, and its appeal to the superstitions of the
race. The shrine was built of beautifully fitted stones in the same
style as the walls of the fortress.
The priest was an old, wrinkled man of an age beyond the memory of any
inhabitant of Caxamalca. He was famed for the wisdom of his advice to
the lovelorn, and his charms were held in high esteem by maidens as far
as Quito. Not one in the Inca’s train had failed to pay him tribute.
Until now Yma had felt it sacrilege to speak her secret to the old
conjuror. Now that she felt the shadows of a tragedy creeping toward
her, she was a child again. She knew instinctively that he made his
living by peddling silly advice to fools and yet--who could know the
full truth of love? He might, in his long life of patient waiting, of
fasting and prayer, have found a key that would unlock her lover’s
heart.
The girl was on the alert for his sharp tricks in taking the last
treasure she possessed. He was noted not only for his sage advice, but
was famous for the high prices he managed to get for it. She determined
to give him a taste of his own medicine. His eyes were failing. She
had high hopes of getting his advice and saving at least a part of her
jewels.
She told him of her hopeless love for the fair god-man and begged help.
His advice would cost her six emeralds of good value. He felt the
stones and dropped them in his huge pocket. He commanded her to stand
before him. He measured her matchless figure silhouetted in the doorway
and felt the rounded lines of her arms.
“For you, wondrous Virgin of the Sun, the way is plain. Take him by
storm. Circle him with your arms and smother him with your love. He
cannot resist you.”
Yma frowned. The old flatterer had chosen the simple device of an
appeal to her vanity. She had been cheated. She nestled close to his
side, slipped her hand gently into his pocket and removed her gems. As
she stood in the doorway about to go, the old man laughed in cracked
tones and said:
“Of course, the charm that never fails, advice or no advice, is one I
cannot give for less than twelve emeralds of good form and value.”
“Twelve, dear father?” Yma breathed.
“’Tis much I grant you,” the old man sighed, “but this magic charm,
made of the teeth of a serpent, if worn around the neck has never
failed.”
The girl seized the charm, placed the twelve jewels in his claws,
waited for him to put them in his pocket, and knelt again beside the
treasures. Pressing close with one hand she seized his and pressed it,
murmuring her thanks while she carefully found her jewels, rose, and
turned from the shrine.
She laughed aloud at the folly of it all and yet it might work! She
had felt instinctively that any effort to take Molina by storm would
be a failure, yet many days had passed since the night she counted her
wedding day. He had surely grown fond of her. They had studied the
languages. He had taught her--and she had grown proficient in the use
of his shining sword. They had spent many intimate hours together, and
he had held her in his arms. She had felt the fierce warmth of his
passion. He was not made of stone. The old man’s love charm was a fake,
of course, but his advice might be worth many precious stones. She
placed the charm carefully about her neck. The longer she thought of
it, the wilder beat her pulse, the deeper was the flush on her cheeks
and the swifter grew her step.
She would act to-night. She would be the first to tell him the truth of
his captain’s arrival and the danger of his position. She would save
him at all hazards--but she meant to save him for herself first.
Arrived at the fortress she sent Congo down the mountain with orders
to her maids for a feast of unusual luxury. He would be hungry after
the long day in the mountains.
She took the luncheon and led Molina to a huge stone of smooth, flat
surface hidden by the boughs of trees in a densely shaded glen. She
spread the food on a cloth and both ate ravenously.
Yma rose and languidly stretched her figure to its height.
“And now,” she softly asked, “may I give for my Señor, the dance of the
serpent taught me in the great temple at Cuzco?”
“You may, my Virgin of the Sun,” the cavalier gayly responded. “In this
weird spot I think the serpents will watch you as charmed as I.”
The girl removed her outer cloak and Molina saw to his surprise that
her body was bare above the waistline except for the gold-meshed
brassiere. Never in the wildest flight of fancy had he dreamed the
alluring grace with which her arms, body, and supple limbs now moved
in a silent imitation of every motion possible in the sinuous glide
of the serpent. She seemed a living part of the wild spot which she
had chosen. He half expected to see a boa constrictor swing from an
overhanging bough and embrace her in a passion that was death. For the
first time in his life he realized the use by the ancients of the snake
as an emblem of love.
He felt his hand tremble in an instinctive desire to touch the smooth,
beautiful skin as she glided close by his side.
The dance over, she laughed with a girlish joy, wound the cloak about
her shoulders and gazed inquiringly at him.
“Beautiful, my Yma!” he sighed.
“I am glad if I please you, Señor,” and without, waiting for him to say
or do more, she led the way down the long steep way.
She outdid herself that night at the home feast. With her own hand she
prepared delicacies forbidden to any save the Inca. Her maidens were
not sun virgins. They could not know. She would dare all for the man
she loved. In his stern resistance she had begun to believe him in
reality a god. But she felt the love charm and softly laughed.
The cavalier praised the dinner which she had served. He declared it
fit for a king of Spain. The wines were the finest yet tasted in Peru.
They left a soft, fiery glow in his veins. To-night, her girls gave
the dance of the serpent in perfect unison, circling the table with
gliding, sinuous grace. The Spaniard watched them with an unconscious
smile playing about his handsome mouth. Yma! He felt her in the shock
of the nearness of her body. She vibrated a subtle appeal.
With an effort he suddenly dismissed himself.
He was not surprised an hour later to see her standing in his doorway;
nor was he really displeased. Her dress was the same as at dinner. But
there was a half terrified look in her eyes that hurt. She took his
hand, stroked it gently and whispered:
“Dear god-man, why are you so cruel to me? A slave who worships you?”
Molina felt his hand tremble from the sheer physical magic of her touch.
“I have told you, dear. I am betrothed to a beautiful girl in Panama.
My vows are taken.”
“But Panama is many, many miles away, Señor,” she pleaded. “Two years
have passed. You have no news. You may never see your loved one again.
I would not have you love her less. But I am near. My heart is sick of
longing for you. Surely this is not sin in me. How could it be wrong
that you should hear the cry of my heart and give me the chance to make
you happy? We are married by the laws of our Kingdom. Love me only a
little, dear god-man, and I will be content.”
He felt her warm breath on his face.
“You must not tempt me--” he began. “You must not tempt me--” His voice
trailed from its first brusque notes into the tenderest appeal.
But she did tempt him. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed
his lips. He held her. He could feel the throb of her heart. Teresa
_was_ many miles away. Here in the wilderness, this flower of the
Sun bloomed in voluptuous beauty. Here in the wilderness her love could
assuage his loneliness. Here in the wilderness, the free primitive....
He kissed her with the fierceness of his long hunger. They swayed, the
rhythm of their desire rocking them. Her kisses smothered him; her body
burned against him....
He released her and flung his hand to his brow. He spoke, and his voice
was husky with pain.
“My beautiful flower--” he began. But words were strangely futile. He
paused, staring at her. Once more he trembled and turned away.
Slowly she returned to her quarters, musing. Her god-man was, indeed,
strange. She could not possess him, and yet ... he desired her!
She determined to withhold from him the dread news for yet another day.
The excitement of the celebration still ran high. The noise from Tumbez
might be kept from his ears for days. The danger lay in swift action
by the Inca. She would find a way to meet that. Toparca would know the
doings of the palace.
She sent a messenger for him. She had not seen the youth for months,
yet knew that he would answer.
CHAPTER XII
Toparca was late in answering Yma’s summons. The Sun Virgin awaited his
arrival with an impatience all but unbearable. It was unlike him to
dally with a request from her.
“Why, why did you not come at once?” she cried.
“The council was in session....”
The girl seized his arm.
“They have--decided--on his--fate?”
Toparca nodded, and smiled.
“He is to die! You _smile_!”
“Could I smile at your anguish, dear Yma?”
In her joy she kissed him.
“Go quickly,” the girl commanded. “Find the Dowager and tell her that I
am bringing the stranger to see her. If she approves we will appeal to
the Inca to-night.”
She had decided on her course of action and would carry out her plan
without delay.
Toparca hastened to do her bidding and she again stood before Molina.
The cavalier had doffed his coat and was preparing to sleep. They
stood, gazing at each other.
“Dear Yma,” he began slowly, “why--why this folly? There can be no
_love_ between us. You are too young and too beautiful and have
honored me too highly to permit me to betray you.”
Yma looked at him long and tenderly.
“I am too simple, Señor, to understand your strange reasons and
behavior. I only know that you will not have my love. I cannot force
yours. I am not come to plead a vain cause or disturb you. I am come to
tell you that your people have landed at Tumbez....”
“What?” Molina cried, his voice jubilant. “Say that again, dear girl!”
“Your captain, Francisco Pizarro, has come....”
In his joy the cavalier swept Yma into his arms and kissed her lips.
She made no response. This embrace, this caress meant nothing to her,
to him. He shouted for joy because it meant the return to his people,
the return to Teresa. His kiss was given to her lips, but it stung--she
felt in its ardor, the yearning for another. She could not possess him,
and yet.... Here in this wilderness....
“You wish to join them at once, my dear god-man?” she sorrowfully asked.
“Yes, dear, at once. I will start to-night with the Inca’s permission.”
“They have discussed again the question of your death, Señor....”
“Of my death!”
“Yes. The Inca knows that you came as a spy for the strangers. He knows
that you have studied and made sketches of his defenses....”
“He knows--by your reports?” his voice was bitter.
The girl shrank back.
“You ask that cruel question, my beloved?”
He came forward impulsively and caught her hands.
“Forgive me! I know you incapable of such treachery. And I know that
you will help me go to my people....”
“Yes, my life, though it is as death to me....”
Molina started. Teresa had said that. He kissed her, as if by his now
cold lips he could assuage her longings. But she did not respond. She
drew away.
She paused and devoured him with her eyes.
“And such dreams I’ve had of life with you!”
He was eager again, excited, his blood and nostalgia calling for his
own kind.
“You’ll take me to the Inca, to-night?” he urged.