CHAPTER I.

AN INCA’S RANSOM

Nearly a week had passed since the massacre--for not even the Spanish chroniclers themselves have the hardihood to describe it as a battle--and Atahuallpa, but a few days ago the leader of a conquering host and the master of all the broad domains of the Incas, was now a close prisoner in that very House of the Serpent which he had ordered to be prepared for his reception before he came to his doom in Cajamarca.

It was early evening, and in one of the apartments of the great building which the fallen Inca had selected as his hall of entertainment he was sitting at one end of a long table of carved stone, covered with goblets and dishes of gold and silver containing the remnants of the evening meal, and round it sat the chiefs of the Adventurers, the Captain himself at the other end facing the Inca, with Filipillo at his elbow.

During the meal Atahuallpa had been strangely cheerful for one who within a few days had fallen from one of the loftiest pinnacles of human power and glory into the depths of a degradation which even he himself was not to fathom until he was about to take his last look upon the land that had so lately owned him as its Lord. But now that the feast was over he had sunk into silence and dejection, and the boisterous stream of conversation flowed by him unheeded.

The architecture of the room was similar to his own banqueting-hall in the palace at Quito, and its adornments, or such as the despoiling hands of his conquerors had left, were also somewhat similar. It may have been that, though his body was there, his spirit was far away in the City of the Great Ravine. His eyes were closed as though in sleep, but with other eyes he might have been watching that convulsion of nature which followed so swiftly upon the unnatural crime that had left him the sole heir of Huayna-Capac, and which he might now look upon as the forerunner of another catastrophe more fatal to himself, his dynasty and people even than the earthquake which had rent his capital in twain. In the darkening of the sun, too, he may well have seen the harbinger of the swift eclipse of the glories of his imperial race.

But although the thoughts of such a man in such a position may well be unfathomable to eyes which look upon them across the gulf of three centuries, it is yet within the limits of reason to suppose that one at least of his sentiments was a bitter though unavailing regret that he had not taken the advice of his war-worn and battle-taught old General, worthy brother of his own conquering father, who, even in the midst of the disaster that had overwhelmed his master, had had the skill and address, not only to withdraw the pick and flower of his regiments from the open fields where they would have fallen an easy prey to the Spanish cavalry, but also to conduct them in swift and orderly retreat into the mountains on the other side of the valley, where the dreaded war-beasts of the strangers would be of but little avail.

Had he but listened to him and accepted the wise and loyal counsel he had given these so-called guests of his, instead of being his masters, might have been his prisoners. His nobles might have learnt the mastery of these strange brutes which had trampled them down in scores on the pavement of the plaza, and the use of those terrible flame-and-thunder weapons which had wrought such fearful havoc among them, and then, if that had only come to pass, who should have set bounds to the glory and dominion that might have been his? Yet here he was a helpless prisoner, with even his life at the mercy of a few strangers from some unknown land, whose numbers were to his legions as a few pebbles might be to the sands of the sea shore!

How had the miracle come to pass? Was there no explanation of it? What was the power that had drawn these men from lands which to him were only names, and across oceans whose magnitude he could not even dimly guess at? What did they come for? How could their master, seated on some far-away throne, and, as they had told him, Lord Paramount of the world, covert so eagerly these distant dominions?

So far his train of thought had reached, and then his eyes opened, and his glance fell by chance on Carvahal, who at that moment, as it happened, half-drunk with wine and chicha, was holding up a great goblet of massive gold and crying in his thickly-laughing voice--

“Ah, comrades and soldiers of Spain! whether ye be servants of Heaven or Hell, as some of our enemies might call you, is not that a glorious thing to get in the grip of an honest man’s fist? Carrajo! It’s all very well to talk at home of the glories of conquest and the bringing of religion to the heathen, but there--_there_ is the thing we adventure for and fight for. _This_ is that for which we have crossed the world. It was the hope of this that kept us from dying of much despair and little food on the sands of Gallo. Look at the sweet yellow shine of it in the light of those fair silver lamps--that is the lustre of the day-star or night-star or will-of-the-wisp--call it what you please--that has brought us here. Gold, good gold, solid and shining and heavy--heavy--ay, Cristo y Santiago! mine is no woman’s arm, yet the weight of this pretty bauble is so preciously great that it drags it down.”

“Ay! and see thou well to it that its weight is not great enough also to drag thy soul down to Hell, blasphemer of our holy enterprise!”

The voice, harsh and cold, was that of Valverde, who had risen from his seat on the opposite side and was pointing across the table with his lean forefinger at Carvahal’s drink-flushed face.

“Remember you, Carvahal, and every man here, gentle or simple, who thinks with thee that gold is the highest object of his adventuring and the best reward of his labours, remember how it was said of old: ‘No man can serve two masters!’ Gold is the lawful reward of those who venture life and limb and dare great things in a good cause, but woe to him who would set the lust of gold before his duty to God. It is God’s work that ye have come here to do; I pray you, for your souls’ sake, beware of that which befalls him who would seek to serve God and Mammon with the same heart and hands!”

The shrill, harshly vehement tones of the priest, his attitude as he stood pointing over the table at Carvahal, and the great contrast between the garb and figure of the lean, ascetic priest and those of the burly swashbuckler, roused the dreaming Inca in an instant out of his reverie. He did not understand the words, but the gestures were more eloquent than speech, and his keen mind quickly made its way to a new revelation. He caught Filipillo’s eye and beckoned to him, and the interpreter, after a word of permission from Pizarro, went to him and stood by his chair waiting, with bowed head, for him to speak.

“If thou wouldst have thy heart’s desire, whatever it is, answer me this question truly, keeping nothing back either in thy mind or on thy lips: What is it that these strangers who have made thee their slave desire above all other things on earth?”

And Filipillo, for once at least in his life, spoke honestly, telling the truth as he had found it, and said--

“It is gold, Lord. Saving the lean man yonder in the strange garb, who bade the thunders slay thy people, I know not one of them who does not live for gold, and would not stake his life on the chance of getting it. From their talk I have learnt that in the lands they come from the vilest of men can buy all things he desires if he has but gold enough to give for them. They say much about their God and the great king who sent them hither, yet they speak ever of gold as the first reward of their labours.”

“So I have heard from others, and I believe that thou speakest truth. Now I am going to speak to all of them here, but more especially to their leader yonder, who hath falsely been called the son of Viracocha, and see thou that my words pass faithfully to their ears from thy lips.”

As he said this the Inca rose from his seat and went to the wall on his right hand. A line of white, which was part of the decorations of the room, ran along it level from end to end of the great chamber, at a height about half as high again as a man’s stature. He reached his hand up to this and laid his fingers on it and said--

“Tell them that if they have come here for gold and not to steal my life or the land of my fathers away from me they shall have gold. What is it to me? Have I not plenty? Is not the land full of it? Tell them that I will fill this room with gold, from the floor to this line, if when it is full they will give me back my freedom and depart from my dominions in peace. The wrongs that they have done shall be forgiven them, and my own servants shall carry it for them across the mountains to the sea. Tell them that, neither more nor less. Now speak.”

Filipillo bowed his head with his accustomed mock reverence; but before he could answer Pizarro beckoned to him and said somewhat sharply--

“What is it that he hath been saying to thee, boy? Out with it, and speak straightly if thou hast any love for thy back.”

The interpreter was but an unarmed lad amongst armed men; but he knew his power too well to be frightened at the threat, so he smiled and answered in his best Spanish--

“The Inca has just asked me, most mighty Captain, if it could become agreeable to your pleasure to release him on payment of a ransom, and if that be so he pledges his royal word that he will fill this room which you now honour by your presence with gold up to the level of the line he has just touched. In this land gold is of no value, and he promises, further, that, if after he is restored to his throne, you will lend the aid of your valour and your strange and terrible weapons to his service in the conquest of the peoples of the South, he will give to every man as much more as he can carry away with him.”

“Cuerpo de Cristo!” howled Carvahal before Pizarro could reply. “Mira! Mira! Caballeros! a room like this three-parts full of gold. A king’s ransom! By the sword of Santiago it would be more than the price of an empire! Surely the heathen hound must be lying, for never was such a thing as that seen in the world before!”

“Hold thy peace, fool--hold thy peace!” said Pedro de Candia, who sat beside him, dragging him down by the belt. “Canst thou not see the Captain is about to speak?”

He spoke in a voice that had a touch of awe in it, and indeed something of the same spell seemed to have fallen upon all present. Even the steadfast soul of Pizarro himself seemed shaken by the tremendous tidings which had so suddenly come to them. For some moments they sat round the table in silence, staring at each other and at the man who had spoken of giving away a treasure vast beyond even their wildest dreams as lightly as they would have spoken of throwing dice for a few pesos.

Then they stared round the great chamber and tried to picture it filled with gold up to the white line, and to attain to some calculation, however vague, of its value. All the treasury of Spain did not hold so much, and yet to them it would be but the price of a few hours’ slaughter of victims who were as helpless as sheep or little children under their weapons.

Soon too came the thought: Could it be believed? Was such a glorious golden dream possible of fulfilment on earth? Well, at least the Inca had said it, and they knew that they held him fast enough to make him pay with his body should he fail to pay with his gold. Then the thread of their thoughts was broken by the voice of the Captain. His emotion had already passed, or at least been overcome, and he spoke with all his wonted calmness.

“Tell the Inca,” he said to Filipillo, “that, greatly as his words have astonished us, we are well pleased to hear them. Let the ransom be paid, and we pledge our master’s honour and our own faith as good Christians and soldiers of Spain that he shall be restored to full freedom and all his dignities as the brother and ally of our lord the Emperor. Moreover, for a fair price that shall be agreed upon between us, not only myself and those with me here but others of our fellow-soldiers, who are even now coming across the mountains, shall teach his armies our own way of warfare, and fight beside his regiments until all the land is his from north to south and sea to sea. Have I spoken well, Caballeros?”

“Ay, well, well as ever, Señor!” rolled in a murmur round the table, and again the drink in Carvahal cried out--

“Cuerpo de Cristo! Tell him that if this side of the world is not big enough for him we will make shift to carve him out a piece of the other. Carrajo! how much gold, I wonder, has the heathen got? If he could fill one room, why not two, or twenty, or even one for each of us?”

It was the very thought that had been rising in the minds of most of them, so quickly does the greed of man grow when fed on dreams of countless wealth, but none of them spoke, for Pizarro was already holding up his hand for silence, and Filipillo, with grave deference outwardly, but laughing in his evil little heart, addressed the Inca and said--

“Son of the Sun, thy words are pleasing to the leader of the Christians and all his people. The truth is as I told thee, it is gold they come for, and for gold they will do anything and venture all things. The Captain bids me tell thee that when the room is filled to the mark thou shalt again sit on the throne of the Four Regions, provided always that it shall be found on inquiry to be made in the meanwhile that it is lawfully thine and not thy brother Huascar’s.”

The blood rushed into the Inca’s face, turning it to a ruddy bronze, and his eyes, always somewhat bloodshot, gleamed redly under his black, lowering brows. His broad chest heaved quickly with something like a sob, for now indeed was the dread and dismal truth fully brought home to him. These strangers were not only his captors and masters, they would make themselves his judges too, and if Huascar, whom his armies had already conquered and made captive, would but bid against him and throw the countless treasures of the City of the Sun into the balance, what hope had he of being able to buy even his life?

Thus did the thought so subtly put into his mind by a lad who was but little better than the slave of the strangers first stain the soul of Atahuallpa with the dark purpose whose carrying out became the excuse for his own doom. Low indeed had the Son of the Sun fallen! Better a thousandfold that he should have died a warrior and a king, or even as a martyr in the midst of his murdered people!

It was some little time before he could speak or subdue the emotions that were choking him, but at length the old kingly habit of self-command came to his aid, and he said with a strange, forced calmness--

“Tell thy masters that in the matter of the ransom I will do as I have said, but that concerning my brother Huascar there can be no question between us. My armies have carried out the will of my Lord and father, and Huascar no longer reigns in Cuzco, nor ever can again. Tell the strangers this, and for thyself, slave, learn that if I ever know thee to have spoken falsely between us thou shalt be flayed alive, and thy body shall be eaten by ants under the full noon-day sun.”

Filipillo bowed low and laughed again in his heart. Then he translated the first part of the Inca’s speech to Pizarro, and added instead of the latter part--

“My Lord the Inca trusts in the justice of his cause by right of birth and of arms, and fears no inquiry, but he would have your worships know that Huascar is already conquered and a captive, and by this time it may be dead, slain by hands which the Inca can no longer restrain.”

“By Santiago that must not be if we can prevent it!” cried Pizarro, bringing his hand down heavily on the table. “With the first light of dawn a force must be dispatched to his place of captivity to bring him hither in safety. Tell the Inca that we must know where Huascar is, and that we must have his orders for his instant surrender to us. We cannot have one who may be so precious to us murdered like a rat in a hole. Tell him that his own life shall answer for Huascar’s if need be.”