The Sun Virgin
The Inca’s mother, with a gracious smile, placed a jewel-set chair
beside the throne and the Inca seated Molina and then resumed his own
place on the throne.
Again the ruler lifted his scepter and the musicians concealed in the
foliage of artificial trees wrought in gold and silver began to render
an enchanting call to dance. The great curtains at the end of the hall
parted, and a hundred torch bearers entered and pressed the crowd back
against the walls, clearing the space before the throne for the dancers.
At the shrill call of a trumpet five hundred dancing girls swept
gracefully into the cleared space led by an exquisite creature, whom
Molina instantly recognized as she bowed before the Inca. The Sun
Virgin Yma who had spoken to him in Tumbez! A frown clouded his brow
for a moment at an ugly thought. He dismissed it as foolish. She could
have preceded his train, of course, in a swifter one.
Her arms and legs were bare; the whole body above the waistline bare
except for a delicate brassiere of meshed gold that covered her
breasts. Around her waist was wound a scarlet girdle to which was bound
a close-fitting loin cloth. From a jewel-set leather belt in which the
girdle ended hung strings of pearls that formed a skirt falling to the
upper calves of the legs.
The five hundred Virgins of the Sun whose dance she led were all
dressed in similar fashion except that the brassieres were of meshed
silver and the skirts of tiny linked chains of silver.
Through a maze of sensuous rhythmic motion, Yma led her shining
sisters, pausing at the end of each set to bow before the Inca.
Never in Europe had the Spaniard witnessed a scene of such dazzling
beauty. No monarch of Spain ever had witnessed such magnificence. And
no other court could rival that of Spain.
But Molina watched the spectacle with a sense of foreboding. This Inca
seemed a mighty monarch. And he could but hope that his commander
would not sail until the expeditionary fleet was an armada and the
expeditionary army invincible.
But Molina’s fears were forgotten in his admiration for Yma. With
every approach to the throne her lustrous eyes sought his in a strange
yearning appeal that moved him profoundly. There could be no mistaking
her deep interest. That, he had seen at a glance on their meeting at
Tumbez. Then he had attributed it only to her curiosity at seeing for
the first time a full-bearded white man. His unusually fair complexion
in startling contrast with the coal black of his servant had, perhaps,
added to the fascination. But now he saw something else.
Her gleaming teeth, her raven hair and her lithe, exquisite body held
him spellbound. There was something about her that called him. Had he
seen her eyes dimmed by tears as she swept close in the last dance? He
was sure of this, yet could find no reason for tears in such triumphant
revelry.
The dance ended with a crash of trumpets and the five hundred Virgins
of the Sun, with lingering glances at the stranger seated beside their
sovereign, slowly marched through the great curtains and disappeared in
the depths of the adjoining temple.
Yma alone remained. And Molina saw that she was terrified. She stood
before the Inca trembling, her eyes streaming with tears, her beautiful
arms outstretched in pleading. But the monarch’s face was hard. Her
tears, for him, had no meaning. With a low moan she sank to her knees
and buried her face in abject pleading for mercy.
What, Molina wondered, had she done?
The Inca waved to his guards. Two stalwarts lifted the prostrate figure
and tenderly supported her while the ruler spoke a brief sentence that
sent a shiver through the crowd of nobles.
Molina gripped the arm of his interpreter fiercely:
“Quick! what is it? what did he say?”
“That Yma, first of all the Virgins of the Sun, must die. The priests
of the temple will throw her into a vault and wall her up alive.”
“In God’s name--why?”
“She has broken her vows. She has spoken to a man without the
permission of the Inca. The Sun Virgins are the nominal brides of the
monarch.”
Molina recalled the guard who had led her away at Tumbez. He
remembered, with racing pulses, his meeting with her. _She_ was
the mystery behind the veiled litter.
“God! And they mocked her death by commanding her to lead this dance?”
he sternly asked.
“No. She begged the privilege of dancing for you. She outdid herself
to-night--”
Molina’s decision was instantaneous. He sprang from his seat, seized
the girl and led the trembling figure before the Inca.
The monarch’s brow clouded with quick anger. He lifted his scepter and
turned toward his soldiers.
But the dowager queen bent close to her son.
“Wait,” she whispered. “The girl loves the stranger. Use her. We can
learn his secrets and purposes through her.”
The scepter was lowered slowly. Atahualpa turned toward the Spaniard,
his royal visage stern.
“Why have you interfered?” he asked.
“I beg of Your Majesty the life of this unhappy girl. In the
excitement that swept the people of Tumbez at sight of our ship,
and of the strange, bearded beings who sailed it, we were called
messengers from heaven. They thought us more than men. They called us
_god_-men. Surely, she might be forgiven that she forgot her vow
in such an excited hour. Will Your Majesty ask her if she thought me
human?”
The Inca’s eyes narrowed. He spoke to the terror-stricken girl.
Her answer was an awed whisper, half addressed to Molina and half
spoken to her Lord of the Sun.
“I believed he was a god. I believe so now. I am dedicated to the
service of the gods. I had no thought of sin.”
A new advocate suddenly appeared on the scene. A slender youth wearing
the insignia of the highest rank rushed through the crowd of nobles and
dared to seize the Inca in his pleading.
“Atahualpa, glorious brother, you will not doom her to die. I love her.
Always I’ve loved her. If she dies, you kill me also!”
The Inca threw the youth roughly from him. He rebuked him sternly.
“Silence, boy! How dare you press me! Back to your guard before I send
you to a dungeon.”
But Toparca remained. Once more he pleaded.
“Kill! Kill me if you like,” he begged, “but spare her--”
The Inca beckoned to a guard, who led the trembling youth through the
crowd of excited, murmuring courtiers. Yma’s eyes followed Toparca
with a look of tender pity.
The dowager queen mother frowned. The boy’s unhappy love for the Sun
Virgin so suddenly revealed had again roused the wrath of the ruler.
But she pressed her scheme.
“Use her!” she said, and her low whisper was tense. “Release her from
her vows and give her to the stranger. Allot to him a house. With four
maidens to assist, let her preside. The end is sure. We will cure the
lovesickness of Toparca and Yma will deliver this god-man into our
hands. We must know the real meaning of his presence among us.”
The Inca smiled, and nodded his assent.
He turned to Molina and spoke in tones of genuine good will.
“I accept your plea for the girl and extend to you the hospitality of
my kingdom. She is yours. She will select a retinue of servants and
minister to your comfort!”
Yma prostrated herself before the Inca, murmuring her worshipful
thanks. She rose with a joyous laugh and gazed long and tenderly at
Molina.
“My glorious god-man,” she cried through tears of joy, “I worship you.
My life is yours.”
The young cavalier started. He thought of Teresa. There was no
mistaking the look in the girl’s eyes. She had made no effort to
conceal it. The tones in which she laid her life at his feet left no
doubt of her meaning.
There was no help for it. He had saved her. Now he must play the game
and wait--and he trembled at thought of the future; trembled with a
nameless dread--and anticipation.
With a graceful bow to the ruler he turned to the smiling girl and
followed her to his new home.
CHAPTER V
Francisco Pizarro again found himself riding at anchor in the harbor of
Panama. The people had long since given him up as lost, sure that their
worst fears had been realized. They believed he had perished at sea in
the cockle-shell they called a ship, had died of starvation or had been
killed by savage natives.
But he had returned, and with the stride and airs of a conqueror. He
bore live specimens of the Peruvian sheep and beasts of burden called
llamas. He displayed pieces of finely woven woolen cloth, some of it of
rarely beautiful colors. He had gold and silver vessels of exquisite
workmanship and he told a story of the splendors of Tumbez that
thrilled his hearers. Pedro de Candia was the eyewitness who confirmed
his tale.
The alcalde mayor gave a banquet to Pizarro and his associates--Luque,
Almagro, and Candia.
The only frown at the banquet table was on Teresa’s face. She heard
their stories with suppressed excitement and increasing pain. She broke
her silence at last in bitter reproaches to Pizarro.
“And you, my brave Captain, whose praises I have sung and whose battles
I have fought in Panama, repay me by leaving my lover alone to perish
among savages. I cannot forgive you!”
A moment’s dead silence followed the tearful outbreak. Pizarro rose,
crossed to her chair, and gently laid his big hand on the mass of dark
brown hair.
“Have no fear, my Teresa. You sent me a brave knight. No braver, no
fairer, no wiser has come out of Spain. I sent him on a dangerous and
important mission because he was the only man of our company fitted for
the delicate task. He has personality. He has tact. He is handsome,
courtly, gracious, skillful. And he makes friends.”
“Always among the women!”
The whole company roared with laughter in which Pizarro joined.
“I’ll stake my life, dear lady, on his undying loyalty to you. His last
words to me were a message of love.”
In spite of his assurance, it was plain to see she had been little
comforted.
“And when do you return?” she asked in a sad small voice.
“When it shall please God to give us ships and men for our great
undertaking.”
“And we’ll get them now, never fear!” little Almagro exploded.
But Teresa listened and watched with grave misgivings. She knew that
her brother had been disturbed deeply by rumors from the governor’s
house.
Father Luque arranged the hearing at noon two days later. Rios had
refused curtly to appoint an earlier date.
Pizarro told the story of his sufferings during the eighteen months
he and his band had waited and of their triumphant landing at Tumbez,
and asked the governor for a license to build a fleet and recruit an
adequate expedition for the conquest.
“And from whom do you expect the money necessary for such an
undertaking?” Rios asked brusquely.
Espinosa, the alcalde mayor, lifted his brows.
“I will be responsible, Your Excellency, for the funds needed.”
“And whence will you draw recruits for your army of conquest?” the
governor asked in a tone so hostile, Pizarro held his answer for a
moment until his passion subsided. Almagro squirmed in a frantic desire
to shout his resentment.
“Five thousand men will answer my call in Darien, Panama, and
Nicaragua,” Pizarro answered quietly.
“So, you have the effrontery,” the governor growled, “to ask that I
place this great army of men and a fleet of ships at your command while
I remain in Panama with a few ragamuffins to sustain my authority?
I will do nothing of the sort! I will not build a rival state at
the expense of my own. To what mad heights will your ambition soar,
Francisco Pizarro? Your demands are even a greater madness than the
silly dreams you have told for the past five years on which you have
squandered hundreds of lives. I will permit the sacrifice of no more
men for your cheap display of a few gold and silver toys and Indian
sheep!”