The Sun Virgin
could have no adequate motive to risk his life in accepting a bribe. A
man might act for love; he might act for hate, but for gold--that was
a motive unheard of in Peru. There was no use for such stuff in the
Kingdom of the Four Corners of the World. No man or woman in the empire
had ever seen a piece of money until Molina gave one to the Sun Virgin.
And that piece she now wore as her most valuable love charm.
“No, dear lady,” the new servant warned. “No guard would risk his life
and brave the anger of the Inca for that stuff.”
Verily, the soldiers of Spain had invaded a new world--a world turned
upside down, with all known values reversed or destroyed. For a moment
the girl was puzzled.
“In what part of the fortress are its prison cells?” she asked
impatiently.
“There are no cells, lady. The best rooms are used by the guards and
all are located on the western side overlooking the cliff and valley
below. He is in one of these rooms, I have been told.”
“Can it be reached by ladders?”
“The cliff is straight five hundred feet downward. The walls of the
fortress are flush with the cliff. No ladder could be long enough.”
“You know the guards?”
“No, dear lady, but for your sake I’ll know them soon. The trouble will
be that they are loyal to Yma....”
“So much the better that they do not know you,” Gaspara broke in.
“After to-day you will be a marked man if seen with us. Go to-night to
your own house and give every hour of your time learning the secrets of
the prison. Cultivate the guards and when you know them, report to us.”
“I’ll do better than go to my house,” the man suggested. “If you can
find the way down the stairs and back to your people at Caxamalca, I
will enter the fortress to-night as one caught in the storm, ask for
shelter, and begin my work.”
“Good!” cried Teresa. “We’ll find our way, never fear. The moment you
have mastered the inside of the fortress come to me at once.”
“I will, dear lady.”
Teresa withdrew into the dense forest and waited until he called his
distress signal and was admitted to the fortress.
CHAPTER XVIII
The commander at Caxamalca received the report of the reception of his
captain with grave fears. The situation was far more serious than he
had anticipated.
De Soto discussed it with dispassionate care.
“Know at once and clearly, Francisco Pizarro,” he began deliberately,
“that the monarch into whose camp we have marched is a ruler of vast
power and endless wealth. His army is strong; its discipline perfect.
No mobs of soldiers moved from their tents drawn by the word of our
coming. They had orders from the Inca to keep to their tents. They
kept to them. Only a few men on leave saw us. Their action under such
conditions evinced a discipline unknown to our soldiers.”
“How many men do you estimate his army to contain?”
“Look for yourself at their campfires.”
The leader stepped through the doorway and looked at the miles of
gleaming fires on the slope of the hills. The storm had passed and the
stars had come out. The flickering lights of ten thousand tents made
pale the stars.
“I should say,” De Soto continued, “their numbers cannot be less than
forty thousand. There could not be less than ten thousand tents in
that vast array. There must be at least four soldiers to a tent. There
might be six.”
Hernando Pizarro was equally impressed by the gravity of the outlook.
He made no effort to mince matters in his report.
“And above all,” he said in conclusion, “was the cool insolence with
which he gave us orders to be carried to you. His words were cold
enough. His manner in speaking was far more significant. He spoke as a
ruler conscious of unlimited power. Mark well his words:
“‘I will then visit him with my staff. Let him occupy the public
buildings on the square, _and no others_, till I come, when I will
order what shall be done.’ He does not propose to consult your wishes
in the matter. He will call to make known to you his decision as to
your fate. I don’t like the looks of it. We’ve got to face the facts.”
Francisco Pizarro suddenly left his brother in conference with De Soto
and began to move among his men. Most of them stood in the shadows
watching the blaze of the campfires on the hills beyond the valley. He
felt instinctively the gloom that depressed them and it was his task to
dispel it.
He called them together, a hundred and fifty thoroughly discouraged and
frightened men. They gathered close around the dying fire in the center
of the plaza beside which Pizarro stood. He spoke in low tones vibrant
with passionate courage.
“Soldiers,” he began, “for seven years, through toil, dangers and
disappointments we have dreamed of the day that we should confront
the mighty monarch of this rich empire. At last our eyes have seen the
glory of which we have dreamed. We are face to face with the foe we
have sought. Let us rejoice and be strong in our joy. This is no hour
for faint hearts. It is the hour when real men should shout defiance.
Rely on your strong arms and the might of God who has led you safely
through so many perils. Your God will not desert you now. What matters
how great the number of our enemy, if God be with us?”
The men stirred. They caught the daring spirit of their leader,
and their sagging shoulders lifted. And the greatest appeal to the
adventurers, when all else failed, was that which struck the deep
religious strain that underlay the character of the Spanish soldier.
Pizarro returned to it with renewed enthusiasm as he saw their first
response.
“My comrades,” he went on steadily, “you are carrying the banners of
Spain in a holy crusade for your God, His Church, and our Empire. Are
you ready when I call to you ‘_Christo y Santiago!_’?”
Almost with a single voice, the men caught his enthusiasm. A shout
arose, “_Christo y Santiago!_”
Pizarro left them with quick step and called his officers.
While they gathered, Teresa reported the staring news of Molina’s
imprisonment in the fortress.
Pizarro fixed her with a stern look:
“I rely on you to keep this fact a strict secret. Our lives may depend
on it.”
Teresa promised.
He then faced his officers with a smile. They sensed the quick beat of
his courageous heart before the first words fell from his lips. Each
man leaned close, and gave him breathless attention.
“Gentlemen,” he began in quick decisive tones, “I’ve a proposition to
make to you. It is of the utmost danger and requires the utmost daring.
But we are confronted by a situation that demands such a courageous
solution, and only a courageous solution. We are surrounded by an army
of forty thousand men. By sheer weight of numbers they can overwhelm
us in an open fight. At this juncture we can not risk it. Retreat is
impossible. We know that the wild mountain pass over which we have just
struggled has been closed. A hundred men in those overhanging bulwarks
of stone could stop an army of ten thousand!”
He paused and held their gaze in silence until the tragic dilemma was
clear in every mind.
“You realize this, gentlemen?” he flashed.
They nodded silent assent.
“Then there is but one way,” he cried in tones of exultation. “The
Inca is not only their ruler; he is their God on earth. They are not
accustomed to think or move without his command. Very well. Ambush the
Inca and take him prisoner before the army and we paralyze the whole
empire!”
His officers leaped to their feet to a man with cries of excited
approval.
“Excellent!”
“The only way!”
“A master stroke!”
“Once in our power,” Pizarro continued, “we will issue orders--the Inca
will see that they are executed. We can stay or retreat as we like. The
mountain passes will open as by magic as they opened for us to pass
in. His army will be our army, ready at his word to do our bidding.
No matter what his feelings towards us, friendly or hostile, we are
masters of the situation. To make sure of no outbreak led by his family
we will invite them to attend their sovereign here and hold them all as
hostages.”
Hernando Pizarro hailed the scheme with enthusiasm. It appealed to his
cruel nature with subtle force. He stepped forward, turned, and faced
the men.
“And make no mistake, gentlemen,” he cried. “The Inca is a crafty and
unscrupulous schemer. We can see now that he has deliberately lured us
to Caxamalca and closed the door behind us. His presents and his soft
messages were bait. We will give him a dose of his own medicine and
make sure of our lives.”
“And there is not an hour to be lost,” Francisco Pizarro urged. “We
have learned that the main army lies somewhere to the south under the
command of a famous general, Challcuchima. Rest assured swift runners
have already given him the orders to close in, block our way and join
his master. We have already invited the Inca to visit us here. He will
come, of course, with a guard of moderate size. It is not possible that
he will attempt to enter at the head of his army. We will dispose of
our forces by concealing them in the hills opening on the plaza and
when he walks into our trap we will close it.”
As the council was breaking up Pizarro lifted his hand in a word of
final command.
“See your men to-night and cheer them but say nothing. I caution the
utmost secrecy and the results will be in God’s hands.”
The commander busied himself at once with careful preparations for
the dawn of the day that would decide their fate. Guards were placed
at every approach to the town; sentinels stationed at every strategic
point to watch any movement to encircle the city. Guards were set on
both sides of the inner and outer forts with strict commands to report
immediately any movement of a suspicious character.
The night passed in silence, save for the occasional cry of an owl. And
the sun rose in a clear sky Saturday the sixteenth of November, 1532.
Francisco Pizarro was the first soldier to cross the plaza. He gave
orders in person to the trumpeter to call his men to their arms. The
shrill cry rang over the city and echoed against the hills on which lay
the white tents of the native army.
Every soldier sprang to his arms and buckled them on with quick nervous
haste. Something in the ring of the trumpet called to instant action.
Its notes were sharp as claws. What it meant they knew not, but the low
words of their leader spoken the night before were prophetic of daring
deeds to-day.
They gathered about Pizarro eagerly.
In low tones he told them of his plan. Excited comments arose and
murmurs of admiration and approval swept the crowd.
“God’s light!”
“As God lives!”
“_Por las entrañas de Dios!_ That’s a leader for you!”
In the halls with wide entrances on the plaza, he stationed his
cavalry, one division under his brother Hernando, the other under De
Soto. The infantry he concealed in the adjoining building under his own
command, reserving twenty picked men to attend him personally in the
capture of the Inca.
Pedro Candia, he stationed with his artillery on the ramparts of the
fortress commanding the plaza. The artillery was small in number and
size but its effects would be none the less terrible in their novelty.
The two falconets were set, loaded and pointed, the gunners standing
ready.
The orders of attack Francisco Pizarro delivered in person to each
division of his little army. Each man should be concealed until the
Inca and his attendants entered the plaza. He would give the signal
of assault to Pedro Candia who would fire a cannon. At the sound of
the cannon, the enemy should be charged and put to the sword. Except
the Inca. No hand should be lifted against his sacred person. He must
be taken alive and unharmed. The success of their daring enterprise
depended on this.
His final words rang with the temper of steel.