The Sun Virgin
the ransom was to their mind of no importance if a native army were
approaching. His freedom under such conditions was the last thing
possible. He was the one power yet to be feared. They feared no other.
His people were automatons who obeyed his will. Hundreds of years of
state tutelage, hundreds of years of peace, plenty and safety under
their system had deprived the individual of initiative. They would not
move until their sovereign spoke. The moment he found himself free what
guarantee had his captors that he would not call every man capable of
bearing arms in his empire of twelve millions? The swarming of these
hordes armed only with stones, could overwhelm five hundred men by
sheer weight of numbers. To hold him in violation of their agreement,
of course, meant danger. For the knowledge of his stupendous ransom
had gone to the four corners of his kingdom, and the treachery of his
detention might of itself raise a resistless force if a leader could be
found.
They found themselves between the devil and the deep sea. Carefully
weighing the chances, they believed their safety lay in still holding
Atahualpa as hostage for the behavior of his people. Pizarro had been
warned some weeks before that swift messengers had been going from
Caxamalca to every Temple of the Sun. Nothing had come of it apparently
but he must be on his guard.
Meanwhile, the Inca cultivated De Soto. He had found in him a congenial
spirit and learned to trust his honor and integrity above the promises
of Pizarro. He pleaded his cause with an eloquence and justice that
convinced De Soto, who agreed to present his demands for freedom to
Pizarro and Almagro without delay.
The two men were, at the moment, listening to a report from Felipillo,
giving in detail the movements of a native army but fifty miles away.
De Soto presented the plea of the Inca and gave it his support. Pizarro
fenced and asked for more time to consider the question, but no hint of
the dark purpose now forming in his mind was given to his captain. He
proposed an interview with Atahualpa at once. He would know the truth
of those fresh rumors.
The three men appeared before the Inca and repeated the story. He
indignantly denied its truth.
“What treason is this?” Pizarro demanded, “you have plotted against
me! I, who saved your life from my maddened troops, and who have ever
treated you with honor, confiding in your words as those of a brother?”
The Inca smiled sadly.
“Surely you jest with me--as you have often jested before. How could I,
or my people, think of conspiring now against god-men who have proven
themselves so powerful?”
The innocence with which he spoke was convincing in its sincerity. Yet
Pizarro chose to believe it as savage guile. He frowned and was silent
while the Inca continued:
“Am I not a helpless captive in your hands? How could I plan such folly
when I would be the first victim of the outbreak....”
“Of that you may be sure!” the Spaniard broke in.
“You little know my people,” the Inca went on, “if you think they would
move without my orders. The very birds would scarcely fly against my
will.”
Pizarro left the room half convinced of Atahualpa’s innocence and more
puzzled than ever as to his true course of action. His soldiers now
crowded about him in a frenzy of excitement. There was no sort of doubt
in their minds. They believed every word they had heard and more. Their
spokesman fiercely shouted his fears.
“This time we know that a large force is at Huamachuco, but fifty miles
away, ready to strike our camp, murder us to a man and take our gold.”
“All right,” Pizarro snapped, “the patrols will be doubled. Let every
man sleep on his arms. Hold every horse bridled and saddled.”
They hastened to obey his orders.
The Crown officers in charge of the king’s millions demanded
Atahualpa’s immediate execution.
“I protest,” De Soto cried, “in the name of God at such an insane
atrocity!”
Pizarro eyed his indignant captain with a look of stern inquiry.
“You certainly agree that we must reconnoiter the neighborhood and
learn the truth at once.”
“By all means,” was the prompt reply.
“Select fifty horses,” Pizarro commanded, “and ride with all speed to
Huamachuco and report to me the state of the country.”
De Soto hurried to obey his orders little dreaming of the deadly
resolution already fixed in Pizarro’s mind. Almagro, with clever
understanding of the Chief, foresaw the coming tragedy in a flash,
pressed his partner’s arm, laughed and said:
“A man of brains as well as brawn, Francisco. The one man to give us
trouble you’ve sent where he can do no harm.”
The moment the hoof beat of De Soto’s horsemen had died away Pizarro
called his trusted lieutenants into conference to settle the question
of the Inca’s life.
CHAPTER XXVII
Teresa returned from a long tour of the empire with no news of Molina.
He had disappeared and had left no trace behind him. And Yma had wisely
withheld from the Inca the facts.
Teresa had stationed her faithful servant in Caxamalca with
instructions to watch Yma’s movements day and night. He had important
information which he gave with tense excitement.
“I have watched the premier Sun Virgin as you commanded. She goes
from the royal household to the convent daily. But at night she slips
through the darkness, climbs the mountain toward the fortress and
disappears.”
“Disappears--what do you mean?” demanded Teresa.
“I follow her. I look. She is before me. I look again and she is gone.”
“She does this trick on the mountain top?”
“No, Señorita, always at the foot of the mountain before she starts to
climb the steep stairway.”
“We’ll follow her to-night.”
With Gaspara and a single soldier, the four watched the convent until
Yma emerged. The native followed softly with Teresa at his heels.
Gaspara and his companion brought up the rear at a distance.
The Sun Virgin moved with unusual haste and recklessness, evidently
under great excitement.
She paused in the underbrush at the foot of the first tier of steep
stone steps. Her enemies stepped into the shadows but a few feet away
and listened. She was standing stark still, either waiting for some
one, or in a ruse to throw off any possible followers.
The bushes behind her rustled and voices could be plainly heard in an
excited conversation.
“Oh, Toparca,” Yma cried, “I shudder for the Inca. The Spaniards plot
to take his life. Even now they talk in secret council. I will command
the guard to-night. Go quickly, mingle with the drunken men in the
gambling halls, and report to me.
“You wish me to return to-night?”
“Yes. The door will be unbolted. Bring news. I shall not sleep.”
Toparca hurried toward Caxamalca and Yma began her passage toward the
hidden entrance of the lower fortress. In her excitement she threw
caution to the winds and boldly ran to the fissure in the cliff that
marked the door. The dark height rose five hundred feet, on the summit
of which sat the stone masonry of the upper structure.
Teresa ordered her servant to wait with the two men until she returned.
Softly following Yma’s careless footsteps she saw her disappear in the
fissure. In a flash she realized that the fortress could be entered
here by another door. Undoubtedly there were rooms hewn out the solid
rock below the masonry which she had explored above.
With quick, careful steps she returned to the pathway and reported to
Gaspara the discovery. They stole swiftly to the door and opened it.
They entered in silence and utter darkness and began to climb the stone
stairway stealthily.
Yma had reached Molina’s room in a frenzy of climbing without the
slightest suspicion that she was being followed.
Her eyes were wide with excitement as she faced the cavalier.
“What is it now, dear one?” he asked gently.
“They plot the death of our Lord!” she breathed.
Molina winced.
“Surely that cannot be. Men of Spain do not stoop to such perfidy!”
“I’ve heard it from more than one. They’ve sent the Inca’s only friend,
De Soto, on a fool’s errand to Huamachuco while they plot his death.”
“I cannot believe it,” Molina protested.
The girl drew near and touched the chains that bound the Spaniard to
the wall. Her eyes were wide with a grief beyond words. She spoke in an
awed whisper:
“Dear god-man, the blow falls because of my sins. I confess to you now
that I have kept you in chains. The Inca would have freed you but for
me. I told him that I feared the vengeance of Pizarro on his head when
he learned of your suffering. ’Twas true, I did fear this, but far more
than all else I feared to lose you forever to the woman you love.
Forgive me. I could not let you go. The vengeance of heaven now falls
on all because I have sinned.”
Her voice sank in a sob and Molina touched her hair in a gesture of
pity.
“And now,” she went on passionately, “my Lord of the Sun will be slain
and I shall also lose you....”
“You have given to me, dear Yma, something I shall never lose, a
breadth of sympathy for all God’s children, and an abiding wonder at
the miracle of love....”
She lifted her hand and brushed the hair from his forehead.
“They will come to take you--this I know. I feel the dark shadow of the
hour coming closer each day....”
She stopped suddenly, and threw her arms around his neck, her voice
lost in sobs that shook her frame, and the sobs lost in the futile
kisses with which she bruised his lips.
She moaned, covering his lips again with kisses and crushing him to
her heart. She paused and held him at arm’s length looking through her
tears.
“Is my love, then, finally futile?” She asked it as if she were a
prisoner on the gallows.
“I shall always love you, dear little sister to the wilderness, for the
deep lessons of life and death your love has taught me. But, God help
me, I love one in Panama. Were I chained to death, dear one, I should
love her....”
The girl leaped back in a quick defiance. For the first time Molina
saw swift feminine fury strike her and with terrible force. She gave a
hoarse cry.
“She shall not have you! I swear by the Sun to die before I’ll yield
your body to her....”
She stopped and sprang to the door, startled by the sound of footsteps.
She listened in an agony of suspense and the sound died away. Perhaps
the guards had changed at an unusual hour. She passed into the hall,
walked its length to the turn of the stairs leading below. She could
hear only the measured tread of the sentinel pacing his beat before
Molina’s door. The sound had come from the direction of the stairs. The
sentinel was at the other end of the corridor.
Yma met him at Molina’s door and sharply asked:
“Did you hear footsteps on the stairs?”
“Nothing, my lady....”
But while they talked careful feet were climbing the stairs at the
moment. This time they made no sound.
Teresa and her attendants had felt their way up the long steep stairway
ascending the three or four hundred feet to the first tier of rooms
used for cooking and the housing of the servants and guards. An evening
meal was being prepared for the prisoner.
They hid until the servant emerged from the kitchen carrying a platter
filled with savory food. With the tread of a cat, Teresa followed at a
safe distance and by the faint light from Molina’s door saw her enter.
It was the work of a moment to call her confederates and plan an
attack. She asked Gaspara to seize and bind the guard while the soldier
made sure of the maid so that no help could be summoned. Her own
servant would help Gaspara.
The three concealed themselves in the shadows of an alcove near the
entrance of the prisoner’s door. This alcove had been cut for the use
of a double guard. The sentinel approached without suspicion, and as