The Sun Virgin
A shout rent the air. The Peruvians in their _balsas_ swarming
about the ship mistook the cries for a farewell cheer. They lifted
their hands and called a joyous answer. Little could their simple minds
know the real meaning of the yell from the little ship’s deck.
Pizarro drew Molina aside.
“Señor Alonso de Molina,” he began in grave tones, “you shall be our
first ambassador to the court of Peru.”
The young cavalier flushed and bowed.
“I send you with this full rank. You know, of course, that our army is
not yet recruited to make good your credentials. You must go to the
court of their monarch as a scout and spy. Your life will be in your
own hands and God’s.”
“I understand,” was the firm response.
“Before my return I shall expect you to explore the Kingdom, find the
number of its people, the power and resources of its ruler and the
strength of its army. I wish a map of the roads and the location of its
forts. Report to me on the arrival of our fleet.”
The cavalier’s figure stiffened.
“I’ll do my best--”
In a few minutes, he stood beside the rail with a native interpreter
and Congo, his servant, ready to depart on his important and dangerous
mission. There was no need to launch a boat to set him ashore. A fleet
of _balsas_ again surrounded the ship bringing, with best wishes
from the governor, a fresh supply of food for their voyage. Pizarro
delivered his final message to the people.
He joyously promised them a speedy return!
CHAPTER IV
The governor of Tumbez received Molina with royal honors, insisting
on giving a festival of days to celebrate his coming. The cavalier
declined with reluctance.
“I am instructed, Your Excellency, to report at once to your sovereign
as the accredited ambassador of Spain.”
The _curaca_ gave swift orders to his attendants, and within half
an hour, two splendid litters draped in scarlet cloth, trimmed in gold,
drew up before the door. Four stalwart men held the bars of each sedan.
The governor led Molina to his seat and ordered his baggage placed in a
plain litter to follow the two of gorgeous draperies.
Congo hung back and grinned his embarrassment at the sight of his chair
of state. An attendant led him to the seat. He refused to get in.
Molina laughed.
“Take your seat, Congo,” the master ordered. “It is the custom of the
country.”
In spite of urging from all sides the negro still balked. Amid shouts
of friendliness they caught and lifted him to his seat in the royal
conveyance.
As the cortège of bearers and guards were about to start on the
journey to the court at Quito, a barefooted, barelegged athlete dashed
up to the governor and whispered a message. The _curaca_ waved to
a group of native soldiers lounging across the way and in a few minutes
a litter veiled heavily in deep purple drew up behind the baggage train.
Molina inquired the meaning of the message and the reason for the veil
which concealed his fellow passenger.
The governor was loath to reply but in answer to the inquiry of the
interpreter quietly answered:
“A prisoner under sentence of death goes with your train to the capital
for execution.”
Molina glanced at Congo. He was leaning back in state, and had failed
to catch the ominous announcement. But, seeing the guards of his litter
throw a startled look at the veiled seat, he called the interpreter and
asked the meaning of the stir. When the solemn words were repeated he
rolled his eyes toward the purple draperies, leaped from his seat and
ran for his life.
The guards at Molina’s command rushed to catch him. The black man ran
in leaps and bounds. With each frantic leap he breathed a prayer. He
reached the water’s edge and was about to dive when the guard caught
him. Four men dragged him back to his seat.
Molina confronted him with rage.
“What ails you, fool?”
“My seat’s too high,” was the trembling answer. “They’re carrying me to
my funeral!”
“Nonsense,” his master reassured. “You’ve nothing to do with their
laws. We live under the laws of Spain.”
Congo’s fear allayed, the procession started forward at a swift pace.
Outside the city they struck the great paved highway of the empire
leading northward.
At nightfall they stopped at a rest house and ate a sumptuous meal
served with choice wines. The attendants wore the royal ensign which
denoted their service of the monarch. The rest house was not a tavern
run for gain, but a contribution of the crown to the convenience and
comfort of the traveling public.
The cavalier marveled at its perfect appointments. His interpreter
showed him the royal granaries adjoining the house--full to
overflowing, against a day of need, with bread for the people. He tried
in vain to learn the character of the crime committed by the convict in
their train being carried on the last stretch of the journey of life.
But all lips were dumb.
The only answer given was plainly a formula repeated many times before:
“Only the Lord of the Sun in his palace at Quito can explain.”
Arrived at Quito, the young ambassador was received with acclaim.
The knowledge of his coming had been proclaimed long before. Molina
understood now the meaning of the swift athletes who passed his train
from time to time. They were the royal mail carriers. He had seen them
meet on the highway, whisper a message and dart away on the smooth road
in opposite directions. A runner was required to travel at high speed
for five hundred yards and his message was taken and relayed to the
next man. They covered in this way three hundred miles in a day.
Passing over the stone-paved streets of a large city, through massed
thousands of well-dressed excited people, the litters were borne into
the spacious courtyard of the royal palace. Molina gazed with wonder on
the stone walls. Many of the bowlders used in its structure were ten
feet long and four feet high, and undoubtedly weighed many tons.
The monarch’s chamberlain, arrayed in a robe of gorgeous blue, clasped
with gold fastenings, bade Molina welcome in the name of his master and
conducted him to an apartment a single flight above ground.
The Spaniard studied the solid masonry of the walls of his apartment
with increasing interest. They had been ground smooth on their
inner surfaces. The bowlders were of unequal size and shape and yet
fitted perfectly without the use of mortar. The finest point of his
knife could not find a crevice in their seams. Narrow windows near
the ceiling admitted light by day, and huge tapers of tallow stood
sentinels for the night.
To his amazement he heard the splash of water through a doorway, and
entered to find a bathroom with a spacious pool fed by a sparkling
stream. Certainly these people were centuries advanced in the
development of life when compared to the semi-savage Indians of Darien
and Panama. A stone seat circled the room on which were laid towels
of cotton cloth. On the ledge of stone through which the stream of
water poured into the pool were placed goblets of solid gold on which
were wrought with skill the heads of jaguars. In one corner sat a huge
flagon of silver filled with a choice fermented drink and beside it
stood two cups.
The Spaniard tasted the liquor and his eyes sparkled at the fine mellow
quality of the drink. It sharpened his wits, and beyond doubt he was
going to need the talents of a diplomat of the first rank.
The chamberlain entered after an hour with a message from his master.
“Our Lord of the Sun regrets that you arrived too late to dine with
him in state this evening and begs you to accept such service in your
apartment as his handmaidens can provide.”
Molina bowed his thanks. The nobleman waved his hand and a procession
of fair serving maids entered bearing cushions, cloths, steaming dishes
of llama meat, potatoes, fruits and wines. The food was spread on a
low table of wooden sections placed in the middle of the room. A huge
cushion was placed beside the board for Molina. The interpreter, being
a native, was not supposed to sit at the ambassador’s table.
When every want of his guest had been provided for, the chamberlain
bowed and said:
“When you have refreshed yourself, our lord will receive you in the
throne room. I will return within the hour.”
In vain Molina begged to know the name of the unfortunate prisoner who
had accompanied his train. Again he heard the formal answer:
“Only the Lord of the Sun may explain.”
The Spaniard determined to ask the monarch. The incident was
disquieting. The chamberlain was careful, however, to satisfy his
natural curiosity to know the name of the monarch.
“You are now in the palace of our Lord the Inca, Atahualpa, supreme
ruler of the northern half of the Kingdom of the Four Corners of the
World. His brother Huascar rules at Cuzco, the capital of the South.
For the first time in history there are two Incas. This by the will of
their great father Huyna Capac, who so loved the beautiful mother of
our Lord of the Sun, that their second son, Atahualpa, was made equal
in power to the lawful heir Huascar.”
Molina listened carefully. _Two_ Incas! Two Incas might breed
jealousy. And jealousy might breed--The young cavalier’s heart beat
exultantly.
An hour later the chamberlain entered with a group of noblemen and
led Molina into the throne room. The magnificent hall, lighted by a
thousand candles hanging in clusters from the beams of the wide-set
roof, presented a scene of splendor. The walls were covered with plates
of gold. The great beams that supported the roof were likewise sheathed
in beaten gold.
At the end of the hall on a throne of gold, set with pearls and
emeralds, was the Inca, surrounded by his wives. His mother, the
dowager queen, stood beside him. From the wall behind the throne,
projecting into the room above the head of the ruler, was an immense
plate of gold, representing the sun, a human face from which radiated
rays in all directions. These rays were heavily studded with hundreds
of precious stones. On the forehead of the face was set a huge emerald
whose deep green light gave to it an expression of sinister power.
The Inca was a man of commanding presence in the full strength of an
athletic youth, thirty years of age. His lips were full, his features
regular, his nose long and finely shaped. The eyes possessed the slant
of the Orient and looked out fearlessly. There was no sign of beard
on his smooth face. Centuries of plucking had left the Peruvian race
without a beard. Within no one’s memory had beard on the human face
been known.
A cloak of plaited gold hung loosely on his shoulders, its collar
trimmed in jewels, rising three inches above his shoulders. His head
was covered with a cone-shaped crown of gold tipped with scarlet
feathers. Pendants of emeralds hung from his ears to his shoulders.
Beneath the cone-shaped crown, projected to the eyebrows the scarlet
_borla_ fringe, the supreme emblem of his power, symbol of both
human and divine attributes. He was both sovereign and God to his
people. In the center of the crown blazed the sign of the sun, and
on his breast he wore the same emblem which had been wrought in the
form of his own features by the royal goldsmith on the occasion of his
coronation. In his right hand he held a jeweled scepter.
He waved his scepter and the vast crowd of splendidly dressed nobles,
accompanied by their wives and daughters, fell on their faces and rose
with a low murmur of applause.
The chamberlain conducted the Spaniard to the foot of the throne, and
Atahualpa rose with simple dignity and presented his visitor to his
stately mother, a woman of rare beauty, at this time about forty-five
years of age. His queen he presented with due formality and waved an
introduction to his other wives.