The Sun Virgin
he passed, Gaspara flung himself upon him and a grim struggle ensued.
The man had muscles of steel and fought with courage though stunned
at first by the sudden attack. He bore his assailant on his broad
shoulders to the stairway and attempted to plunge down its steep stone
steps. Gaspara caught the wall in time, hurled his antagonist back into
the corridor and fought his way inch by inch through its length and
against the wall at the end.
The soldier seized the maid as she leaped through the door and Teresa
with drawn sword sprang into the room and saw Molina with a cry of joy.
Before him stood the rigid figure of Yma, the sword of the cavalier
gripped in her right hand. She had torn it from the wall, at the sounds
of the struggle outside.
Molina started. He lifted his arms in a desperate appeal.
“The struggle is over, dear Yma,” he cried.
“It has just begun!” Her voice, torn by love and hate, sounded
unnatural, her wide, staring eyes fixed on Teresa. “He taught me to
defend myself--I shall!”
A quick thrust of her sword was caught by Teresa. They fought, a duel
of mad courage while the men outside struggled with the guards. The
noise had called the relief sentinel from below.
In vain Molina tugged at his chains. In vain he commanded them to stop.
He feared for Teresa, but also, and for a split second he wondered why,
he feared for Yma. She had not possessed him, and yet....
Yma’s tense figure moved with the agility of a tigress. Her defense was
perfect and her unarmed body began to tell against the coat of mail
with which Teresa was burdened. The Spanish girl was slowly driven
against the wall and by a swift turn of her supple wrist the Sun Virgin
disarmed her opponent, sprang back and leveled her sword for the death
thrust. She smiled cruelly and a bit of the savage of centuries past
screamed within her.
But Molina plunged the length of his chains and gripped the sword.
“Dear Yma,” he pleaded, and his voice also, was torn, “if the love
you swear means much, you cannot do this thing of horror. This is my
beloved. She is mine--I am hers. It is written. Pierce her heart and
the sword will skewer mine also.”
The tense arm relaxed and the lustrous eyes grew dim. She faltered
and flung her arm to her eyes. And again she sobbed--sobs which
reverberated hollowly in the dungeon, while Teresa and Molina looked on.
She dropped the sword, crossed to Teresa and stared into her face.
“You _are_ beautiful!” she sighed as she studied Teresa’s
wondering countenance. “And you will love him I know. But never as I
love and worship.” She paused, and added, “I yield him to you.”
She took her enemy by the hand, led her to Molina and stared as they
embraced. The longing they had known burst forth in a frenzy of emotion
and tears. Turning from the scene with a sharp cry of pain Yma rushed
into the hall and commanded her guards to cease the struggle. Teresa’s
servant had been knocked unconscious and the four evenly matched men
were still fighting.
At her sharp command the struggle ceased and she led Gaspara, the
soldier, and their antagonists into the room, where she ordered the
manacles stricken from Molina.
The cavalier had just grasped his sword and buckled it on when Toparca
entered and stared in amazement.
Yma saw the terror in his face and guessed its secret.
She seized the youth....
“You have heard? The news is bad?”
“The worst!” Toparca groaned.
“What is it?” Molina demanded. “Speak freely, boy. I am no longer a
prisoner--I am the friend of Yma and your Inca.”
“The commander has called a court. Even now they sit in judgment on our
Lord of the Sun!”
“You will help us try to save him?” Yma asked with a shiver.
“I’ll fight to save him--fight to save my country from this disgrace.”
Teresa seized the hand of her rival. She smiled.
“And may I be your friend also? I’ll fight by his side with every ounce
of strength I have. We’ll do our best.”
The Sun Virgin kissed her enemy’s hand.
Without pausing to arrange his clothes, Molina asked the guards to
release his negro servant and have him report immediately to the
assembled court, while he hurried to the Square in Caxamalca.
There was need of haste.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Pizarro’s decision had been made quickly and the execution of his
purpose went forward with sure and deadly speed.
With Almagro he assumed the place of chief judge. His brothers
Hernando, Juan and Gonzalo were chosen associates. He would take no
chances of a difference of opinion. His word must be law.
The forms prescribed for court procedure were ironically observed.
His secretary was made clerk of the court, and its organization duly
recorded. A prosecuting attorney was appointed, who at once summoned
Atahualpa on trial for his life.
The Crown treasurer, Riquelme, with his associate royal officers,
crowded close to the judges. They loudly demanded the Inca’s death as
necessary to the safety of their treasures and the peace of the country.
Molina’s sudden entrance with Teresa, Gaspara, and Yma created a
sensation that stopped the proceedings.
Pizarro’s rage against the Inca flamed anew over this outrage on
the right of his ambassador. Almagro’s impetuous spirit rose to the
occasion with a practical suggestion.
“We’ll burn the dog to death without a trial!” he shouted.
A chorus of approval shook the roof. But Pizarro lifted his hand for
quiet and asked Molina his feelings.
Molina challenged the assemblage with head erect.
“I can but express my amazement,” he cried, “at your proposal to
execute the Inca.”
“And this you say,” Pizarro exclaimed, “after months of chains in one
of his dungeons?”
“Certainly, my captain. You sent me as your secret scout and spy. I
understood the nature of my undertaking.”
“I sent you as my ambassador to his court,” Pizarro corrected.
“I had no credentials. You had no charter and could give none. The
Inca knew from the first that I was a spy. He found the sketches of
his forts and maps of his kingdom, which I had made, in my possession.
Death would have been the penalty under Spanish laws for this offense.
He only detained me until he could make sure of your purpose. I ask
that the Inca be treated with Christian humanity.”
Pizarro saw that the cavalier was set in his determination to defend
the monarch. Words on this point were a waste of breath. He wished
confirmation of some conclusions of his own which bore directly on the
wisdom of his course.
“I see,” he mused. “You have studied the customs and laws of the
empire?”
“With care and keen interest.”
“Is it true, then, as we have been told,” Pizarro asked, “that the
twelve million people of the kingdom are children of the State, their
every want provided by the sovereign?”
“It is.”
“And the Inca is the State?”
Molina nodded.
“Not only is he the State, he is the living incarnation of their Sun
God on earth,” he added.
“His word is the supreme law of life?”
“Absolutely.”
“His death would rouse or paralyze their wills?”
The cavalier caught the deadly purpose behind the question and
hesitated to answer.
Pizarro faced him angrily.
“I am asking you, sir, for your report as my scout and spy. Answer.”
“His death for the moment would undoubtedly paralyze them.”
“And they would be twelve million automatons without a will?”
“Until called to action by some inspired leader--yes.”
The chief smiled.
“I thank you for your faithful services, and relieve you of duty until
you regain your strength under the care of the brave girl who came to
your rescue.”
Molina glared, but left the room with Teresa followed by Yma. Outside
on the Plaza the cavalier turned to Teresa eagerly.
“You know the way to Huamachuco, the town to which they have sent De
Soto?”
“Every mile of it. I’ve ridden there twice.”
“You must ride again and with all speed. Unless De Soto gets here
before Pizarro can take action, the Inca’s fate is sealed. De Soto is
not only entitled to sit as one of the chief judges, he commands a
hundred men.”
“You’ll go, beautiful one?” Yma pleaded.
“I’ll go,” Teresa cried.
“Tell De Soto that they are putting the Inca through the farce of a
trial in his absence. Beg him, if he loves truth, honor and decency to
ride with every ounce of strength his horses possess.”
“And you will fight for his life until he comes?”
“I’ll do my best. I know none of these men save Almagro, and in this
he will follow Francisco Pizarro. Have a care for your own life, my
Teresa, but ride--ride for the life of the Inca and the love we bear
each other.”
The fiery young horse was bridled, saddled and led to her. She mounted
and followed the causeway to the north.
Yma seized the cavalier’s hand and kissed it.
“My glorious one--you, I shall worship always!”
Molina’s hand pressed hers.
“We’ve no time to lose, child--go quickly to the Inca’s mother and
warn her of the peril of her son. Have her instruct Atahualpa under no
circumstances to lose his temper at the trial. No matter what crude
insults he may receive he is to answer not a word. I must return now.”
The girl flew to do his bidding and Molina entered the council chamber
as the crisp words of Francisco Pizarro were summing up the situation
for final action.
“The Inca alive is our constant peril. Molina has just confirmed my
own opinions. His death at our hands will strike terror to twelve
million people with no will save his. Our safety will be assured and
the safety of our treasures. We cannot hold him prisoner without facing
an uprising which he may order secretly at any time. The moment he is
dead, the road to Cuzco is open and we are masters of the empire. We
must comply with the forms of court procedure as a matter of record for
the King. But we know what we are doing and we are going to complete
the work without flinching. It is not a question of morals. That is
past; it is a question of our lives or his. What say you, try him or
not?”
“Try him!”
The vote was unanimous.
The clerk had been ordered to prepare the indictment. He was putting
the finishing touches to the brief document when Molina reëntered.
“And this is your unalterable decision?” he asked Pizarro.
“That the Inca stand trial for his life within the hour.”
“I demand the right to appear in his defense,” Molina declared. “I have
known him for two years and more. I am the man best fitted for the
task.”
“You understand that as an officer of our expedition you can not vote
on the verdict if you act as his counsel?”
“I understand.”
“Then it is agreed,” Pizarro replied without asking the opinion of his
colleagues. “Bring your prisoner into court.”
“But I protest, your honors,” the cavalier gravely said, bowing both to
Almagro and Pizarro, “that I have had no opportunity to confer with the
accused. I have not seen the articles of indictment. I have had no time
to secure or examine a single witness. I ask for an adjournment for at
least twenty-four hours that I may prepare the defense.”
“We grant you one hour, no more,” Pizarro replied turning to Almagro.
“You agree?”
“The hour’s too much time. I say burn him first and then discuss the
case.”
“And I,” Molina protested, “will enter my solemn impeachment of this
indecent haste. I demand that the clerk of the court put it on record.”
Pizarro waved his hand to his secretary.
“Enter it.”
The cavalier demanded of the clerk his indictment and read it with a
scowl of contempt.
The charges were twelve in number. The important items in the bill of
indictment charged that he had usurped the crown of the empire and
murdered his brother Huascar, the rightful heir to the throne; that he
had squandered the public revenues of his kingdom since the conquest