CHAPTER V.

THE CHOICE OF MANCO

By law and custom alike it was his right to claim the first audience, for, saving only the Inca himself, he stood highest in rank, even as he was noblest in descent, among all the princes and nobles of Quito. Nay, he was more even than this, though in the stress of his sorrow and the whirl of emotions which the experiences of the night had given birth to he had forgotten it: his blood was purer and his true rank higher even than that of the crowned despot who now sat on the golden throne of Quito, for, by the laws of the Divine ancestor from whom he took his name, he stood next in succession after his brother Huascar to the imperial borla and the rightful lordship of the Northern and Southern kingdoms.

Had he remembered this it might have saved him from a near and deadly peril, and yet, again, it might not, for so strong were his pity and his love and his sorrow that he would have pleaded, at least, for Nahua’s life even with the threat of the flames sounding in his ears.

But he thought nothing of any peril save that of his darling and her dear ones, as he took a light spear from one of the guards, and, laying it across his shoulders in the fashion prescribed by the ancient custom, took his way to the front of the terrace and stood with his body slightly bent before Atahuallpa’s throne. The Inca’s face flushed, and his black brows came closer together, but his voice was mild and smooth when he said--

“So my brother is the first to come and ask a boon or a gift of me, though he was not among those who brought their loyal greetings to the door of my chamber.”

“It was from no lack of duty, Lord,” replied Manco, still keeping his head bent down and his eyes on the foot of the throne. “I only returned to the city at daybreak, and then the guard refused me admittance to the palace. But for that I had not only saluted the majesty of my Lord but given him also a message of moment that I had brought.”

“From whence?” said the Inca, sharply interrupting him. “If you were not in the city, where were you?”

“On the altar of the Unknown on Yavirá, Lord!” answered Manco, raising his head and looking him unflinchingly in the eyes. “And from thence I saw Pichincha put on her fire-crown, and heard the voices of the demons shouting in the halls of the under-world, and felt the earth beneath me tremble with the strength of their struggles as they sought to free themselves from their bondage. And then I saw the Llapa leap up out of the Westward, where they say the pale strangers are, and burst over the city, and Mama-Lupa the priestess was with me, and at her bidding I came to bid thee and all thy people make ready to appease the wrath of the Divine Ones who are angry with their children.”

“And since when, my brother, hast thou been a soothsayer and the messenger of old women?” said Atahuallpa, with a sneer on his lips. “How knowest thou or this doting priestess that the signs portend disaster? Has not Cotopaxi yonder flamed and slept by turns for many years of victory, and has not the Llapa ere now sped flaming through the skies before our armies as they marched to conquest? What has a lad like you to do with signs and omens? Leave them for the old and foolish, and if this is all you have to tell me think your errand done, and give place to those who have weightier matters to speak of. I will forgive your foolishness for the sake of your youth. Nay, I will even grant you a boon if you have one to ask of me.”

“The Inca’s word is passed!” cried Manco, suddenly drawing himself up straight and facing the despot with a smile on his lips, “and the Son of the Sun will perform what he has said.”

“What now?” said Atahuallpa, scowling darkly at him.

“What need for such words from you to me?”

As he spoke Manco dropped suddenly on his knees before him, and, letting the spear fall from his shoulders, spread his hands out towards him, and, with the tears that the grief and terror of the night had frozen falling from his eyes, he said in a low, pleading voice--

“Because I have a prayer to lay at the feet of my Lord, in granting which he will win more favour in the eyes of the Divine Ones, and more love and glory in the hearts of his people than by many victories. I pray for mercy, Lord, such as thy great father and mine has often shown, and which thou, his son, wilt honour him by showing--mercy for the innocent who have not sinned, and forgiveness for him who sinned only because his heart told him that he was doing the right!”

Then he looked up, and so terrible was the wrath depicted on the Inca’s face, and so fierce was the fire that glared out of his eyes, that he shrank back appalled and covered his face with his hands.

“Ay! well mayst thou shrink and cover thy shameful face in the presence of the majesty which thine impious daring has outraged--thou who wouldst plead for a traitor and his accursed brood! Dost thou think that so poor a device will avail thee? Didst thou hope to entrap thy lord and master in his own words, and make him a liar and a destroyer of his own justice, a breaker of the laws that have never been broken? Thy sin is as great as his whom thou wouldst save, and the sacred blood in thy veins shall not save thee from the penalty.

“Yet I know the cause of thy madness, for thou art sick of love, and thinkest that thy Nahua is too dainty a morsel for the flames. Aye, thou lovest one of this accursed brood. I had forgotten that, though of itself it is a sin that stains the purity of thy blood and befouls the honour of thy race.

“Now, brother, I will give thee a boon, as I said I would--nothing less than the means of purging thyself of this pollution. Thou shalt choose between lighting the fagots with thine own hand or standing with thy Nahua in the midst of them. So shalt thou live, cleansed from thy dishonour, or the flames shall purge it for thee. Now go! I want no answer yet. When the guilty stand in the place of judgment it will be time enough for thee to speak. Then I will hear thy choice.”

With a wave of his hand Atahuallpa dismissed him. All the sense that his despot brother’s pitiless words had left him told him that remonstrance would be in vain, so he rose to his feet and, with a last look of silent appeal in the face of the Inca, now calm and passionless as that of a statue, he went back to where he had been standing, meeting on the way a look from the deep, dark eyes of the queen-mother as fierce and threatening as that which he had seen in those of the Inca’s, and then being stopped by a hand laid upon his arm. He looked round and saw the kindly eyes and grim features of Quiz-Quiz, his great-uncle, a noble of the purest blood, and, next to Challcuchima, or, as some said, equal with him, the greatest warrior in the North and South.

“Nephew,” he said, “I have heard what has passed yonder before the throne of our Lord. Come with me into the palace, for you need counsel, and an old head may advise better than a young heart in such a strait as this.”

“I have already chosen, my uncle!” Manco answered shortly but respectfully.

“Ay, that I could have guessed,” said the old warrior. “Nevertheless, it may be that I can change your resolve without hurting either your love or your honour. So come and let me tell you my thoughts. They will not harm you even if they do not please you.”

So saying, he took him by the arm and led him into one of the rooms which were set apart for his use in the palace, and there he talked long and earnestly with him, and when they came out together on to the terrace again Manco’s resolve was changed, as Quiz-Quiz had said. There was also a flush on his cheeks and a brighter light in his eyes, and his carriage was that of one who has taken a high and solemn resolve.

Hour after hour passed for him in suspense, that was all the more agonising because it was also utterly inactive. He could do nothing but wait until the moment of his fate came--nothing but watch the long line of petitioners coming and going at the foot of the throne, but the end came at last.

The last of the petitioners had been dismissed, and the Inca clapped his hands thrice. Challcuchima, laying his spear across his shoulders, strode forward to obey the summons. The Inca spoke a few words to him in a low tone, and then Manco, his heart fluttering in the clutch of a deadly horror, saw the general make a signal to an officer at the head of a file of soldiers drawn up on the square facing the throne. Like machines they fell into a new formation and marched four abreast, with spears sloped over their shoulders, towards a long, low, heavily built building which formed nearly half of one side of the square.

Manco watched them with fixed, aching eyes till they disappeared through the low, wide, central portal, down the spear-lined lane that opened to receive them. For a few minutes there was utter silence in the great crowded square, for the multitude was waiting for the promised tragedy of the day to begin. Then there came out of the doorway a train of bearers carrying loads of clothing, furniture, and utensils of the household, which they carried across the square and up on to the scaffold, where they laid them down; for the tremendous penalty that Ullomaya had incurred extended even to the smallest possessions belonging either to himself or any member of his family.

When this had been done and the bearers had retired, the Inca clapped his hands again. The sharp sound was heard clearly all over the square and the crowded terraces. The treble files of guards which kept the open space about the scaffold brought their spear-butts to the ground with a simultaneous crash, and then, guarded on either hand by a file of spear-men, those who were doomed to die came forth to look their last on earth and sky and sun.

There were nearly threescore of them, all clothed alike in a single garment of coarse grey cotton, and the sight of them would have melted any heart not frozen to insensibility by the pitiless chill of superstition.

Yet not a murmur of pity or sorrow came from a single breast in all the vast, silent throng, though there were old men and stalwart youths, grey-haired women stooping under the weight of years, young mothers with their last-born babies in their arms, bright-faced boys and girls who had never known an hour of real sorrow in their lives, and little toddling children who looked about them and laughed, wondering what all the splendid show was for.

But in all the piteous little throng Manco saw but one slight figure and one sweet, pale, childish face in its framing of long brown shining hair, for this was his Nahua, walking wondering to her death with her hand clasped in her mother’s.

The procession passed across the square, keeping pace with the slow, measured stride of the guards, till it stopped opposite an incline of planks which led to the floor of the scaffold. Then the doomed ones were driven up this like sheep being driven into a pen, and half the guard broke their ranks and followed them with thongs in their hands, and began silently and swiftly to bind the hands and feet of all save the very youngest. When this was done they piled a wall of fagots round the platform, and then came back down the incline, pulling the planks away and heaping fagots in their place.

Then the Inca clapped his hands once more and called Manco before him. When he had taken his place, standing in the same attitude of homage as before, he said to him in a quiet, almost kindly tone--

“Well, my brother, have you chosen? Will you carry the torch or stand amidst the fagots?”

“I will carry the torch, Lord,” Manco replied in a low, steady voice.

Atahuallpa started, and for an instant he looked at him as though he could have slain him with his own hand. Then his scowl changed swiftly to a smile and he said--

“That is well, my brother. It is better to live purged of dishonour than to die a death of shame. Let the torch be brought.”

Then a soldier brought a blazing torch of aromatic, resinous wood with the upper half wrapped thickly about with strips of cotton soaked in oil. Manco took it from his hand and, saluting the Inca, walked backwards from the throne down the steps of the terrace without a word, and then turned and walked towards the scaffold through a gap made for him by the guards, with one hand gripping the shaft of the torch and the other in his breast closed upon the hilt of a long, keen knife of tempered copper.

Until now the little throng of victims on the scaffold had uttered no sound. Those who knew what the ghastly preparations meant had steeled themselves to meet their fate with the heroic stoicism of their race. Those who did not know were still wondering what it all meant, and some of the little children were even playing with each other among the fagots, of whose terrible purpose they were still in happy ignorance.

But now, as the elders saw their executioner--to them the strangest of all who could have been found for the task--approaching they knew that the end was near, and for the first time they opened their lips, and the shrill, wailing cadencies of the Death-Song floated to the ears of the listening multitude, whose every eye was now turned on Manco.

With slow, steady steps he advanced to within ten paces of the scaffold. There he stopped, and, turning his face upward to the sun, he closed his eyes and with his lips made the silent Invocation to the Unnameable One. Then with a swift motion he dashed the torch to the ground, sprang forward at a run with the yellow shining dagger in his hand, and bounded with swift leaps up over the wall of fagots on to the scaffold and into the midst of the throng of victims crying--

“Nahua, where are you? I cannot save you, but I will die with you, and my dagger will be kinder than the flames!”