Chapter XXXVI The Barricades
The fire had burned itself out and left two-thirds of Cuzco in ruins long before Cristoval was in condition to mount. In the meantime, it had required all of Pedro’s persuasion, entreaty, expostulation, and threats, to keep him on his couch. Haunted by the conflagration and visions of Rava in the perils which he had just escaped, he taxed the cook’s abundant patience to extremity. The Spaniards’ daily sorties were inflicting heavy losses upon the Inca’s devoted troops, most of whom, for the first time confronting cavalry and firearms, were led by ignorance into useless sacrifice. When Pedro brought accounts of these engagements the cavalier groaned and fumed, fumed and groaned, and at last declared vehemently that he would lie inactive no longer. The brunt of his unrest fell upon Pedro, for the old Morisco, having seen him in good hands, had stolen away with replenished quiver, to lurk among the ruins and spread death and terror among the ancient enemies of Granada.
One day, intelligence came that the Sachsahuaman had been stormed by the Spaniards and taken. Juan Pizarro had lost his life leading the assault. Mocho and his Antis had been relieved a few days before, and Mayta, the new commander of the fortress, driven with a remnant of its defenders into the citadel, and seeing that the place was lost, had wrapped himself in his cloak and plunged from the battlements to death.
Pedro brought the tidings,—a double sorrow to Cristoval, for Juan Pizarro had been steadfastly his friend. The cavalier rose abruptly. “Look thou, Pedro! To-morrow I ride. These poor devils of Indios are throwing brave lives away for want of knowledge. ’T is as if they were children dashing themselves over a precipice without warning. They know not even where a Spaniard is vulnerable in his armor. Why, man, were they mine enemies ’t would sicken me to see them fight at such hopeless odds! And now, with Juan dead, Rava will be more than ever in danger. I go to-morrow.”
Pedro scrubbed his forehead vigorously and growled: “Cristoval, thou ’rt an unringed bull-calf, and I’m of a notion to choke-pear and strait-jacket thee. What canst do in thy condition? Thou’rt sore-footed from thy burns, and wilt shed thy blisters like a lizard his skin before thou ’rt in the saddle an hour. Thou ’rt bad enough, and not over-amusing as it is; but what wilt be with legs like two peeled carrots?”
“No worse than now,” replied Cristoval, doggedly, “and at least not idle.”
“But what dost think to do?—to fight thy way to the Ñusta Rava?”
“That, if possible. At any rate, to teach these people that cavalry is not to be stopped with bodkins, nor chain-shot with wisps of straw.”
“Well,” admitted Pedro, thoughtfully, “it would be a God’s mercy.”
The next morning, with Markumi and Ocallo following, they made a long detour of the Peruvian lines to the camp of the Antis, east of the city. Although the ride was full of pain, the activity was a relief to Cristoval, and as the sun rose upon the valley full of martial sights and sounds, his spirits rose with it. Near midday they were guided to General Mocho, who was on the lines with his troops. They found him with a group of officers on a rise of ground in advance of his battalions, overlooking the ruined suburb, Toco Cachi. He hastened forward to meet them, greeting the cavalier with warmth. The latter lost no time in broaching the subject. Mocho interrupted to summon his officers. They gathered round, listening intently while the cavalier, with his usual brevity and clearness, laid the project before them.
While Cristoval and Pedro refreshed themselves, Mocho went to the pavilion of the Inca on the heights east of the city. Soon chasquis were flying to summon the generals in council.
Evening came, with notes of evening calls from trumpets, conchs, and drums, and the movement of battalions relieving those on the line around the city. Then, night with its myriad stars, myriad fires on the hills, and silence. But in Cuzco’s blackened purlieus the besiegers were toiling through the hours.
Near midnight Cristoval returned with Pedro from observing the operations which his counsel had set afoot, to have a few hours’ sleep. Toward morning he was roused by Pedro.
“Come, Cristoval! Up and helm. The thing’s a-ready to simmer. Stir, man! Thou hast piped, bassooned, and hautboyed until the night hath shuddered and my mule hath wept. Stew me! Cristoval, had I a sleeping-voice like thine I’d gag myself with a saddle-bag, or wear a coffin for a night-robe. Wake up, thou scorched hurdy-gurdy! ’T is the prime hour of chilly misery and the last watch of ghosts and goblins. Ah, curse it! I would I were a barber, and no cook. See what it hath led to, this culinary art! Hola! Art awake at last? Well, here is a bite I’ve spread for thee. Eat, and ballast thy treason, since thou ’rt on treason bent, whilst I look to our saddles.”
He went out into the darkness where Ocallo and Markumi waited with their steeds, while Cristoval, now alive, attacked a cold luncheon laid by his thoughtful comrade. He finished hurriedly, and left the tent.
The two Spaniards were quickly in saddle, and with Ocallo and Markumi following, crossed the camp toward the Antisuyu road. This highway, connecting the capital with the eastern provinces, becomes the street in which Cristoval and the Antis encountered the patrol on the first night of the fire. A few minutes’ ride brought them to the road, now occupied by a waiting column. Turning toward the city, they were presently in its outskirts. Here they found Mocho with his staff, and dismounting to join them, Cristoval felt his arm touched. He glanced round and beheld a tall figure, clad and armed like the Antis, but wearing a turban.
“Abul Hassan!” exclaimed the cavalier, extending his hand. “I am rejoiced to see thee, old friend. Dost take part with us? I would thou hadst a horse and thine accoutrements.”
“With the help of Allah I shall have both before the sun setteth again,” replied the Morisco, calmly. He motioned toward a group of twenty or more men with lassos standing near. “Thy herdsmen, Cristoval. I have heard of thine expedient—a most excellent one!”
“I pray it will prove so,” said the other, “and that we soon shall see thee mounted. When equipped, seek us. We’ll find thee occupation.”
The Morisco nodded grimly, and Cristoval and Pedro passed on to Mocho. In front were men at work in the darkness, and the general gave his hand, saying, “The task is well advanced, Viracocha Cristoval. Let us move forward.”
He led the way into the street, which had been made, in pursuance of Cristoval’s instructions, a confusion, of half-burned timbers, pieces of furniture which had escaped the fire, and all manner of débris. Heaped, lashed together, and interlaced, they formed an entanglement difficult for men on foot, and for cavalry barely surmountable. The adobe walls on each side had been pierced with loopholes for the archers, and the side-streets barricaded against flanking.
The party picked their way slowly, climbing over here, bending to pass under there, while Cristoval inspected, commended, or advised, until they had penetrated far into the suburb, where the workmen were still toiling. Until near dawn they directed the Antis pouring silently into the suburb and occupying the ruined buildings along the obstructed way. Cristoval saw the men with lassos properly placed, and the party returned to the outskirts.
A few minutes later, a company of warriors made its way through the entanglement into the city, going forward to draw a Spanish attack.
Cristoval and Pedro stood near the group around Mocho. The sky was light when far in the distant streets they heard the war-cry of the Antis. Immediately followed the hoarse shouts of the Spaniards, shots, and trumpets calling to arms. The sounds were faintly borne on the morning breeze, but full of portent, and echoed in many a warlike heart among the ruins of the suburbs. Mocho moved forward, giving Cristoval a wave of the hand as he passed, and a rustling and shuffling rose in the road back of where the two Spaniards stood as the waiting warriors took their places in column.
As Cristoval mounted, he heard a grunt and a sigh from Pedro, then the creaking of the saddle as the cook swung from the ground, and the two picked their way slowly down the littered street. Arquebuses were crackling, and now, the heavier and sharper report of a falconet. The firing ceased, and arose the nearing din of cavalry. The decoying party of Antis was flying before it in a dash for the fatal entanglement upon which the Spaniards were blindly rushing. The Antis reached it; were dimly seen by Cristoval as they leaped into the débris; then came the crash of breaking timbers when the pursuing troop struck the obstruction, a confusion of yells and Spanish shouts of warning, drowned by the war-cries of the tribesmen behind the walls as they delivered their terrible volley. A wild, tossing disarray of horses and riders, plunging and falling among the snapping beams, ridden over by the resistless torrent from behind. Men and animals down and struggling in the wreckage, crushed beneath those borne onward by the momentum of the charge, and assailed by the hordes of Antis rushing from the buildings. Riderless steeds, maddened by fear and wounds, careered wildly forward, or turned to the rear and added to the chaos. Troopers retaining their seats were blinded by the tempest of arrows and javelins, and could only shelter themselves behind their shields, bending low over saddle-bows to avoid the hail. Still they were forced on up the narrow, encumbered street, which roared with tumult indescribable.
Now Cristoval heard a Spanish voice rising above the clamor: “Forward! Forward! Forward!” and the notes of a trumpet, broken and faltering before it could blow the command. The column must fight through, or be crushed by those in the rear. The leading riders pressed on, sabring at the multitude crowding from all sides. Cristoval advanced with Pedro to meet them. A lasso serpentined through the haze of flying arrows, settled over the foremost trooper, and jerked him from his saddle, to be lost among the Antis as if swallowed by the sea. Other sinuous lines shot out, fastening upon the Spaniards and dragging them to quick obliteration. Those in advance paused, fear-struck by a weapon against which their blades were powerless. They saw comrades totter and go down; turned in panic, and Cristoval was among them.
Fell and relentless purpose in this cavalier; his arm nerved and strength doubled by thought of Rava. The nearest troopers, dismayed and disordered, opposed feeble resistance to the furious onslaught of Cristoval and his comrade; while those behind, aware of a new check to the advance, the cause of which they could not see, raised the cry, “To the rear!” It was caught up at once; and now, panic and disorder tenfold.
As Cristoval fought he heard a cry rising shrill, “Allah il Allah! Allah il Allah!” and Abul Hassan was beside him, mounted on the steed of some fallen Spaniard. Into the fray the Morisco, reckless of want of armor, fighting with the ferocity of a demon.
The retreat was more disastrous than the advance; but slowly the troop fought back to the open street, shook itself free, and fled. The jaunty sorties were to be made no more.
At Hernando’s council that night, once more glum taciturnity. From dawn there has been, on every hand, sharp repulse unexampled since the siege began: many saddles empty for result, and a general call for surgery. Every street by which many a brisk sally has been made in previous weeks, now impassable for cavalry; and barricades pushed within bowshot of the square. The abrupt change in the tactics of the besiegers is ominous. The presence of Peralta—for the identity of the cavalier seen, and felt, fighting among the Antis, is not doubted—is significant, and the price on his head is doubled.
Toward evening Cristoval was joined by Pedro at the edge of the barricade. The cavalier had laid off his helmet and was begrimed to the roots of his hair with ashes and black dust from the charred timbers, his face streaked with perspiration, his reddened eyes gleaming strangely through their surrounding sootiness. He turned to his comrade and said with a grim smile:—
“Aha! Pedro, we seem to have put them on the defensive, yonder in the square. What sayst thou?”
“Why, I say first,” returned Pedro, eying him sharply, “that if I caught myself with a grin as weird as that of thine, I’d wear a wooden face as well as a wooden leg. Untwist thy features, man! Thou hast the look of a devil. Ah! Now, I’ll reply to thine observation by saying that I’m hungry; and as for those knaves in the square, we have them where they will stay for a spell, or longer, without being told. So let us go and eat.”
Cristoval, about to reply, noted a sudden silence among the Antis. Every one of them was on his knees and bending toward the three or four nobles who had just drawn near.
“Madre! The Inca!” exclaimed Pedro, then he growled beneath his breath, “Now look at these pagans! Every man doubled up like a razor, and everything dropped without a word of warning! Suppose the Inca had come about this morning, Cristoval! We had been undone.”
Cristoval made no answer, for an officer recognized as Quehuar was beckoning.
The two Spaniards halted a few paces from the monarch and saluted, awaiting his pleasure to speak. His countenance, more bronzed and sterner in its lines, wore a trace of friendliness not there before. The Inca studied the grim, murky visage of the cavalier before he spoke.
“Viracocha Cristoval,” he said, at length, “General Mocho hath told me of thy gallantry to-day—and thine, Viracocha Pedro—and I see evidence here of thy zeal and soldierly skill. My warriors owe thee a measure of success and hope thus far wanting. What thou hast accomplished hath mine appreciation and gratitude, as hath all thou hast done hitherto. There is more that I would say to you, Viracochas, but at a fitter time. To-night you will sup with me, both.”
The Inca gave a hand to each, and turned to continue his tour of the suburbs.
The two Spaniards supped with the Inca at dark, in the open, at a table lighted by a circle of fires. Of the score present several were officers met at Ollantaytambo; among the strangers the Villac Vmu, now in warrior’s garb. A number besides Mocho bore marks of recent fighting. The formality imposed by the presence of the monarch was lacking, and he met his guests with a revelation of his personality unexpectedly agreeable to Cristoval. As guest of honor the cavalier had opportunity to correct the impression gained at their first interview, that the young potentate was a mere barbarous tyrant. By the end of the meal, when Manco pledged first him, then Pedro, clinking their cups of chicha with his own, a friendliness was established which neither Cristoval nor his host could have foreseen.
In quiet moods the resemblance of Manco to his sister Rava was pronounced, and there were moments acutely painful to Cristoval, when some inflection of the Inca’s voice, some gesture, or an evanescent expression of his eyes, brought a quick vision of the loved one. But the Ñusta Rava was not mentioned. Indeed, the captives within the city were not referred to, nor any of the losses sustained since the beginning of the siege. This was demanded by Peruvian stoicism; and for all said that night the misfortunes of Tavantinsuyu might have been unfelt. As they scorned manifestation of physical pain, so they hid mental suffering beneath an exterior of grave impassibility.
At Mocho’s tent, some hours later, when Cristoval was taking leave for the night, the general said abruptly: “Viracocha Cristoval, thou hast done for us to-day that for which words cannot thank thee. I will not try. But the Antis, their officers, and their general, are thine. Command them. Lead them whither thou wilt, and thou’lt find the last living man of them behind thee.”
The cavalier replied with a grip of the hand. He had few words. But when he went to his quarters he felt a sudden hope. With those fierce battalions might he not search every nook of Cuzco? Mocho knew the object of his quest when he entered the burning city, and his tender was significant. That night there was little sleep for Cristoval.
At dawn he sought the prisoners, found one whom he knew, and questioned him concerning the Ñusta Rava. Was she alive? Alive, and safe in the Acllahuasi with the rest of the royal household, Father Valverde guarding like a hawk. All had been removed from the Amarucancha before it burned, and the Acllahuasi was one of the few buildings to escape the conflagration.
Cristoval waited to ask few more questions. With Mocho and Pedro he held council for an hour. At the end of it the two Spaniards mounted, and making a detour of the suburbs, entered the Rimac Pampa, crossed the Tullamayu, and reached the square called Coricancha, in front of the Temple of the Sun. This quarter was held by the Piros and Conibos, and once more Cristoval greeted Matopo, whom he had not seen since leaving the Urubamba. From the Coricancha a street led north to the square occupied by the Spaniards, and from the barricade thrown up by Matopo could be seen the Acllahuasi at the head of the thoroughfare, with the Amarucancha on its left, across the way. Plainly visible, also, was a Spanish breastwork defending the square, with a falconet scowling from its single embrasure.
That night Cristoval and Mocho consulted with the Inca regarding the captives within the city.
Day came with a heavy sky and threat of rain. During the morning sorties were attempted by the Spaniards, evidently for reconnaissance, for after brief skirmishing in the littered streets, the attacking parties withdrew. The afternoon was spent by Cristoval in making a tour of the suburbs with the Inca, inspecting the barricades, suggesting improvements, and perfecting or advancing the investment.
With darkness came rain and a rising wind. The night would favor. Toward midnight Cristoval rode with Pedro to the Coricancha. The square was massed with Antis, and in advance, near the barricade across the street to the Acllahuasi, was a picked body, among them their general, equipped with captured arms and armor—a resolute band, which Cristoval surveyed with satisfaction.