Chapter XXVIII Two Comrades Reunited
Never a knight rode forth with more of chivalry than dwelt beneath sturdy Pedro’s breastplate when he set out in quest of Cristoval. He went with little hope of doing more than saying a few prayers at the grave of the cavalier and marking it with a cross; but for these offices he would have traversed a continent.
Cristoval lay beneath an awning at the villa of the Curaca Huallampo, well bolstered and pillowed, and bandaged to a condition of almost total rigidity. He was looking moodily over the sparkling lake when his reverie was disturbed by the approach of his host, accompanied, unmistakably accompanied, by the familiar sound of a peg. The cavalier was startled half erect, but sank back weakly as Pedro appeared with Huallampo. The cook was breathless from a climb of the hill at his utmost speed. At sight of his friend he increased his pace across the terrace, grasped the extended hand, but instead of speaking, compressed his lips as a spasm crossed his face. Roaring his words to conceal his unsteadiness of voice, he exclaimed:—
“Hola, Cristoval! Do I see thee in the flesh? Blessed Virgin, it is so! Why, man, I came to weep over thy grave! But ’t is thou, in very truth!”
“God bless thee, Pedro,” said Cristoval, with moistened eyes, pressing the cook’s hand.
“So He hath done, old friend, in letting me see thee again. But, Santa Maria! thou ’lt wrapped, and swathed, and beragged, and swaddled, like a sore finger! Canst wiggle thy toes? Ah! ’T is a comfort. Any broken bones? No? Bueno! Just full of holes—pricked, punctured, pinked, and perforated! Hum! It might be worse. The curaca saith thou ’rt mending fast.”
Cristoval nodded. “Pedro,” he began anxiously, then stopped.
“Well, say on, amigo,” said the cook, seating himself.
“Dost know—aught of Rava?”
“That I do! She is safe in the care of Father Tendilla.”
Cristoval closed his eyes and turned away, his lips moving. Pedro eyed him curiously, and shook his head. Both were silent. “Tell me about it, Pedro,” at last.
“Nay,” said Pedro. “It is too long a story for the present. The curaca warneth me against much talking. Thou must be content to know that she is unharmed. Shortly I’ll tell thee, and much history besides. But the Ñusta Rava is in good hands.” Permitting no further conversation, he sat long, surveying the cavalier with great satisfaction while Huallampo gave him an inventory of the various hurts.
Cristoval’s recovery had been much impeded by his condition of mind. Fever ensued after he had been carried from Maytalca’s ruined villa, and for days he lay between life and death. His depression told seriously against him, and later, as he gained strength, his progress was further hindered by restless longing to be in search of Rava. Huallampo’s admonitions availed little against his fuming, but he was somewhat reassured by knowing that a party had already gone to gain intelligence of the Ñusta. Pedro’s coming with the knowledge that Rava was safe made his convalescence rapid. Still, it was weeks before he could rise, weeks more before he could stir abroad, and the summer was gone before Pedro would discuss their future plans. The party brought back word that Rava had left Xauxa for Cuzco. Cristoval was with Pedro when he received the information.
“Then she is with the Inca, and her troubles are past,” he sighed. “Pedro, how long, thinkst thou, before I can mount?”
The cook looked at him sharply before replying. “That would depend,” he said, presently, “upon thy purpose. Thou couldst amble about the valley to-morrow; but thou’lt not be fit to couch a lance for weeks to come, old friend, so make no plans for campaigning. What dost think of doing?”
“I must seek the Ñusta Rava,” said Cristoval.
Pedro was not surprised, but said: “There will be danger for thee too near Cuzco, Cristoval, and not a man in the pack whom thou mayst trust. De Soto hath gone to the coast with the general, sick of the conquest and on his way to Spain. But when thou hast seen the Ñusta—what then?”
Cristoval looked at him earnestly. “After that—’t is a question. Help me with thy good head, Pedro. If she would flee with me to Xauxa we would go to Father Tendilla—” Cristoval paused.
“She would flee with thee to Xauxa, my head upon it!” replied Pedro, with assurance. “Or to the moon, or to the farthest star—couldst thou furnish transportation. But after Xauxa and Father Tendilla—what next?”
“Either refuge in some remote province of Tavantinsuyu, or Panama. We could harbor in some village near San Miguel until a ship came in; then get aboard in secret. Only one thought goeth against my conscience, and that is of the peril and hardship to which Rava would be again exposed. Ah, Madre! I know not, Pedro—I hesitate. This flight would be not only from Pizarro’s men, but perhaps from the Inca as well. I doubt not that she could find faithful supporters in the venture—but it would be a struggle; to say naught of taking her from home, friends, and country, into another world. It is much to ask. But, what thinkst thou, old friend?”
“I think,” replied Pedro, gravely, “that she could easier bear such suffering than her present sorrow. But you may not need to leave the country. The Inca may prove friendly.”
“I fear his friendship would help little with Pizarro dominating.”
“True!” said Pedro, shaking his head. “Thou must go to Panama—and thence to Spain, for thou’lt be safe no nearer. Now, weigh this for a plan: Thou’lt go to Cuzco. Doubtless Huallampo will furnish thee an escort. I will go with thee as far as Xauxa, wait for thy return with the Ñusta, then we will go to the coast together. I will watch at San Miguel for a ship, and will arrange thy passage with—the Señora de Peralta. I have some moderate savings, Cristoval,—enough to purchase the aid of a shipmaster. I can pay him double what he would get for thy head, and have some left to silence others. What sayst thou to’t, amigo?”
Cristoval seized his hand, overcome with gratitude. “Pedro, thou’rt—”
“A cook!” interrupted Pedro, returning his grasp with sudden animation. “A cook shorn of a leg by the iniquity of Fate. A cook with but half his share of footprints. A pruned cook. A remnant. Naught more, Cristoval. But what thinkst thou of it?”
“By Saint Michael! Pedro, thou’rt—”
“A cook!” said Pedro again. “Let it go. Come! Discuss, comment, bandy a word or two about the plan. Thou ’rt staring like a choked calf.”
Cristoval’s face clouded. “It will not do, my good comrade,” he said. “Thou must have no part in it, save with thy counsel. Thou hast already ventured too much for friendship’s sake. The affair at Caxamalca might have cost thee dearly.” Pedro had not told him of the thumbscrews. “And furthermore, I cannot use thy gold. I am penniless, and could never repay thee. Advise, and no more.”
“Why, stew me to rags, Cristoval!” retorted Pedro, with irritation, “thou dost talk as if we were not friends.”
“Nay! That is as far from my thoughts as from thine. But friendship—”
“Is friendship!” blurted the cook, and would hear no further objection. They considered it long and in detail; foresaw difficulties, and overcame them; wrought their plans into as great perfection as plans are often wrought—and in the event, as shall be seen, carried them as near to execution as human plans are often carried.
The project gave a fresh impulse to Cristoval’s recovery. They disclosed their purpose to nobody, though to Huallampo and Maytalca the cavalier confided his wish to see the Ñusta Rava before leaving the country, and the curaca proffered his aid. Markumi should go, and as many other men as needed, with supplies for the journey to Cuzco.
At last Pedro admitted grudgingly that his companion was fit to take the road; and against the curaca’s earnest advice they pushed their preparations.
When the time for departure was at hand Cristoval found many an unlooked-for pang. He was known to every man, woman, and child of the valley; was looked upon by them with reverence, endeared to them as the protector of their Ñusta, by his unfailing courtesy, simplicity, and helpful interest; and finally, by their sympathy when he was lying cut to pieces by the Cañares. All had received a kind word from the Viracocha Cristoval, and not one of them but must bid him farewell with a heart-felt wish that the Sun would brighten his way. When he took leave of Maytalca the lady wept frankly, murmuring a prayer for his welfare and a message of love to Rava when he should see her again. The curaca’s daughters, who had sat many an hour at his bedside, were not less affected.
Clad in armor which Markumi’s zeal had brought to the splendor of silver, Cristoval at last rode with Pedro through the crowded streets at the head of their few retainers. They were attended to the edge of the village by the people, and for a mile beyond by the old curaca, who bade them farewell with warm assurance that while a roof remained in Xilcala they should find there a welcome and refuge.
At the head of the canyon through which flowed Xilcala stream Cristoval halted for a final look at the valley, here to find the sharpest pang of all. He turned with a sigh from its tranquillity, its beauty, and the thousand recollections, and rode into the defile with a presentiment that in leaving its peace to enter the gloomy gorge was a foreshadowing of what lay before him.