The Sun Virgin
of the Trinity. Atahualpa frowned and looked incredulous.
“What is that you say?”
Felipillo, the proud interpreter, hastened to explain:
“The Christians believe in three Gods and one God and that makes four!”
The explanation gave little light to the perplexed heathen and Valverde
hastened on. He told the story of the creation of man, his fall in the
Garden of Eden, and his salvation through the crucifixion of Christ
on the Cross. He proclaimed the ascension and the appointment of the
Apostle Peter vice-regent on earth. This power had been passed to his
successors, now called Popes, who held authority over all the powers of
the earth.
“One of these Popes,” he continued with special emphasis, “has
commanded our Emperor Charles V, the mightiest monarch of the world,
to conquer and convert the world to the true faith. He in turn has
appointed Francisco Pizarro his general and viceroy to execute this
work.”
“I beseech you,” the friar pleaded with eloquence, “that you receive
him kindly, in the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I beg
that you renounce the errors of your religion and accept the true one,
your only hope of salvation in this world and the next. I advise you to
acknowledge yourself tributary to our mighty Emperor Charles V who will
forever protect you as his royal vassal.”
Whatever doubts Atahualpa had over the Doctrine of the Trinity, even
after Felipillo’s luminous explanation, he caught the import of
Pizarro’s claims and his request that he resign his powers as sovereign
and acknowledge himself the vassal of another.
The darkened brow of the ruler was lowered for a moment. His lips
twisted with an angry sneer as he lifted his head in answer.
“You ask of me, the greatest prince on earth, that I become the vassal
of another? Your Emperor may be great. I do not doubt it, seeing that
he can send you across the seas. I will gladly hold him as my brother.
As his vassal, never!”
He paused with an angry smile.
“As for your Pope, he must be mad to talk of giving away my country
which does not belong to him. My faith I will not change. Your altars
may be erected in our temples if you like. There is room for all
religions here. I would gladly hear more of your gods at my leisure.
But when you tell me that your Lord was killed by the men whom he
created, I answer--”
He stopped and pointed to the sinking flame of the sun.
“My God still lives in the heavens and looks down with love on all his
children.”
Turning to Valverde he slowly asked:
“By whose authority do you dare to say to me the many things which you
have spoken?”
“By this,” the friar answered, pointing to the Bible which he extended.
Atahualpa took the volume and turned its leaves casually. That a man
should enter his empire and make such preposterous claims and demands
based on meaningless characters written on parchment in an unknown
tongue stirred his anger.
The suggestion was an insult to his intelligence and a mockery of his
power. He threw the book on the pavement and faced Valverde.
“Tell your commander that he shall give me a full account of his doings
in my land and I will not go from here until he has made satisfaction
for all the outrages his people have committed on mine.”
The friar seized the sacred volume and hurried back to Pizarro. He
indignantly informed him of all that had passed, dwelling with rage on
the insult to the Bible.
The commander had complied with the letter of the law provided in the
charter. He had taken council of the Church and Valverde’s advice was
sharp and to the point.
“Do you not see,” he whispered, “that while we stand here talking to
this dog full of pride, the fields are swarming with his soldiers. Lead
_on at once_. I absolve you.”
Pizarro sprang for the doorway and waved a white scarf to Pedro Candia.
A cannon roared from the ramparts, and he sprang into the square,
lifted his sword and shouted:
“_Christo y Santiago!_”
From every Spanish throat came the answering shout:
“_Christo y Santiago!_”
The long strain of the day’s waiting, their alternate high hopes and
uncertainty, combined with the dangers of their position transformed a
hundred and sixty-eight men into as many fiends.
At the first roar of the cannon from the fortress, tearing a path of
death through the dense crowd, filling the plaza with smoke, a mad
panic seized the natives. They stood a moment like terrified sheep
trembling in their tracks, unable to know what had happened or was
about to happen. From the wide openings swept sixty-seven horses, their
riders shouting, hundreds of bells on their breastplates jingling an
added terror that gripped the hearts of the natives. The cavalry cut
avenue after avenue of death in the huddled ranks. The two cannon and
four muskets from the ramparts flamed, thundered and roared. Wheeling
again and again the cavalry cut their way through the helpless throng
with cyclonic fury, trampling, slaying, yelling. The infantry cleaved
with swords and thrust their long steel spears into defenseless breasts.
Valverde in the van of the foot-soldiers screamed a warning:
“Thrust! Thrust with the points of your swords or you’ll break your
weapons!”
Stunned by the roar and blinded by smoke, the panic-stricken crowd at
last surged toward the narrow entrance of the gate and trampled each
other to death in a mad effort to escape.
They swerved back from the piles of the dead and again the cavalry
plunged through their ranks. So great became the pressure of the human
mass packed against the stone and plaster wall, the structure gave way
and fell into the street in a cloud of dust and débris.
An opening eighty feet wide freed hundreds who fled only to be followed
and cut down by the pursuing horsemen.
The plaza had become a bloody shambles. It was never a fight--always
sheer butchery. Francisco’s picked men had not yet reached the litter
of the Inca. Guarded by his faithful nobles, cheered by the shrill
voice of the Sun Virgin, his throne had swayed above the heads of the
surging crowds from side to side of the plaza. Every effort of Pizarro
to cut his way to the monarch’s litter had failed. As one nobleman
fell, another blocked the way. When a horseman was called to hew a path
through his defenders, the dauntless group of guards who now surrounded
him sprang on the horse’s haunches and gripped his legs until he could
not move. When a flash of steel killed one, another took his place. Not
a horseman succeeded in reaching the Inca. His litter still swayed
over the heads of the crowd when Pizarro led the final assault with his
twenty picked men. Forming a flying wedge of the soldiers he drove a
way to the surging throne. A maddened trooper killed a litter bearer,
the handle dropped and the monarch fell towards his assailants. The
sword of an excited officer flashed towards the falling body. Pizarro
sprang to the rescue and received a slight wound in the wrist.
“Let no one who values his life strike the Inca!” the captain shouted,
catching the monarch in his arms.
The imperial _borla_ was snatched from his brow by a struggling
soldier, his arms were pinioned, he was led into the building and
securely chained.
CHAPTER XIX
Yma had held her place beside her royal master until she saw him fall
into the hands of his captors. With a cry of despair she slipped
through the surging mass of nobles yet pressing about the body of their
fallen ruler, fled for the fortress, and reached the entrance to the
building on the terrace below without accident.
Faithfully obeying her commands, Toparca had guarded the fortress with
a new relay of men and stood at the lower entrance impatiently awaiting
her return.
He could not believe his ears.
“The Inca taken! Dear Yma, it is impossible. They dare not lay their
hands on God himself.”
“It is done. I saw them bind him with cords and lead him away a
prisoner. Thousands have been slain. There is no one to command and all
left alive are fleeing....”
“But the army?”
“The captains, in terror, without a leader, have dispersed the army.
The men are flying secretly to their homes. I passed the camp and saw
them running, every man for himself.”
“The woman will attack the fortress?”
“Yes! Quick, we have work to do. They shall not take my man. I know
they are coming.”
Through a dense mass of evergreen bushes the girl pushed her way to the
door that opened the way up the long stairway into the fortress. It was
the work of an hour to carry out her plans of defeating Teresa.
When she reported the slaughter of five thousand unarmed people and the
capture of the Inca, Molina refused to believe it.
He lifted his manacled arm in a gesture of impatience.
“Dear Virgin of the Sun, you are overwrought. You are hysterical.
Such things cannot be done by the followers of Jesus Christ. You are
raving....”
“I saw it all!” she shivered “Your people are devils, not gods.
They lured our Lord of the Sun into an ambush and slew his unarmed
attendants without mercy. I felt this coming in the sorrow of your
voice when first I told you of the strangers’ invitation to the Inca. I
warned him in vain.”
“Is it possible!” he cried in anguish.
“They will come for you with their horses and their flaming tubes--but
they shall not take you!”
Her face flushed and the young cavalier watched her with a deep pity
shadowing his soul. Two years among a gentle, friendly, happy people
had done something to his character. He had no desire to share the
ghastly victory with his people. A feeling of nausea overwhelmed him.
“I have no wish to see my people to-night, dear Yma,” he muttered sadly.
“Then you will not be more unhappy if I take you to the lower rooms
before they come to smash in the doors of the fortress?”
“I am in chains, I cannot stop you if I would.”
The girl stooped and kissed the manacles. “They hold you for me yet a
little while.”
The Spaniard touched gently the dark tresses of her hair.
“I’m learning many things, in these silent days, dear Yma. The world I
live in has grown larger and more wonderful and beautiful since I’ve
known you.”
She watched him wistfully for a moment, her deep emotion raging, but
she repressed it, smiled and hurried to her task.
Toparca called the guard, and found the eye holes in a massive stone
that paved the lower passage. These holes were safely hidden by soft
earth from which sprigs of grass were carefully removed in a compact
piece of turf and laid aside to be replaced.
Grappling hooks of heavy bronze were fixed in those holes and the
combined strength of five men lifted the huge trap door that opened the
way to the lower fortress hundreds of feet below.
With all speed Molina’s furnishings and clothes and all the effects of
his servant and Yma’s maids were removed to the lower level. Then the
cavalier followed Yma down the long dark stairway, hundreds of feet
into the depths below.
The guards replaced the stone, reset the grass, and left the fortress
unguarded. They obeyed Yma’s command without question.
When Teresa arrived two hours later with a force of twenty men and one
of Candia’s cannon no sound came from the ramparts in answer to her
call.
Gaspara warned her to move with care as Pizarro had commanded. He had
refused to allow her to engage in the attack on the Inca. She had
agreed on condition that he give her permission to take the fortress
the moment the monarch was in his hands. Now she waited impatiently.
A complete survey of the walls from every angle gave no sign of
defense. A sentinel had always walked the ramparts day and night.
Gaspara ordered the men to try the heavy stone door and it yielded at
once to their shoulders, swinging heavily on its massive pivot.
Teresa turned to her native servant.