Read Ebook: The Crimson Conquest: A Romance of Pizarro and Peru by Hudson Charles B Charles Bradford Leyendecker J C Joseph Christian Illustrator

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Ebook has 1723 lines and 137146 words, and 35 pages

Chapter

This tale is to be of days when the green forest-aisles and mountain trails of America saw the glint of the steel of men in armor. It will have to do with times when the aborigine looked upon the sparkle of lance, the flutter of pennon, the gleam of corselet, helm, and morion, and felt his primeval turf tremble beneath the hoofs of steeds in full panoply. It will tell of plumed and plated cavaliers, "In brave pursuit of chivalrous emprise," who found in the wilderness of the New World adventures no less hardy, and near as strange, as any fabled one encountered by knight of old.

It is easily half forgotten that our continent has its chronicles which link us with the age of chivalry; that its soil once sustained the march of men armed cap-a-pie, as bold of heart, greedy for renown, and thirsty for blood, as ever a crusader. They came, proof-valiant against all peril; of a fire-eating, eager courage surpassed alone by their truculence and cruelty; of a courage to meet not only dangers real, but a myriad direful ones born of fancy. For they were, withal, men of imagination and fine, wide credulity. They peopled the West with Amazons, giants, dragons, and legions of beings of varied and curious monstrosity. They were prepared in mind not only to fight battles, but to encounter sorcerers, witches, and the Fiend himself; to undergo all manner of spells, charms, enchantments, and kindred grisly experiences and phenomena. They sought earnestly, conscientiously, and with diligence, for golden Manoa and its emperor, El Dorado, and for the Fountain of Perpetual Youth. If they failed to come upon these, and did no preternatural deeds, they were none the less heroes, animated by the spirit of knight-errantry, which with them took its final leave of earth.

Toward the end of a day in the year Fifteen Hundred and Thirty-one, as the air cooled slightly with the sun's decline, the plaza of the little Spanish city of Panama grew languidly animate. The square had blazed, shimmered, and baked all day, shunned in its fervor except by those compelled to cross it in order to avoid the exertion of going round, or by the few straggling natives whose half-naked bodies and sun-tanned hides were proof; but this was the hour of listless awakening, and groups formed at the corners, exchanging gossip--if by a blessing there was gossip to exchange--and awaiting the sole break in the sultry monotony of the day, the evening parade of the garrison with its stimulating bang of the culverin at sunset.

The dominant type in these groups was that of the fighting man. Some were sailors, a few were planters; but most of the swarthy faces wore the unmistakable marks of the soldier. The dress and bearing of a small number indicated rank; but all, save a sprinkling of ecclesiastics and civil officers of the Crown, were adventurers, and bore evidence, in their worn apparel, in their scars, and in their bronzed and weatherbeaten features, of severe campaigns and hardship.

This particular evening the ceremony of the parade received less than usual attention. Two ships had entered the harbor the day before, bearing news and plunder from Francisco Pizarro's expedition to the coast of South America. The inn at the side of the plaza was full of men. Its wineshop was overflowing, but the rattle of dice, the oaths, and controversy were wanting. In front lounged a crowd, thickening at the door, where swayed lazily a banner displaying a device new to heraldry,--the arms of Pizarro. At the portal stood a halberdier in corselet and morion fresh-burnished, recounting with vaunt and gasconade an alluring tale of rapine, which was heard with varying degrees of interest, credulity, or scepticism. There was no enthusiasm. Some sauntered doubtfully away. A few heeded, and finally entered the door. Within, there was more animation.

Behind a table near the rear, leaning comfortably against the wall, his legs sprawled under the board and his hands thrust into his belt, sat a sturdy cavalier. He was listening with some amusement to the excited comments of the men about him as they passed a golden bracelet of barbaric design which he had tendered for their inspection. He was between thirty-five and forty years old--perhaps nearer the latter. His sunbrowned countenance gave the impression of being stern, almost fierce. A close-shorn beard, nearly black, covered a firm, well-formed jaw, and with the trim cut of his hair, suggested a care of person conspicuous among the rough-looking campaigners in the room. The upward twist of his mustachios and strongly aquiline nose gave his face a pronounced military character, borne out presently, when he straightened up from his lounging attitude, by the erect bearing and squareness of shoulder that belong to the soldierly calling. A closer view dispelled the first notion of fierceness, for from the ruggedly marked brows looked a pair of dark eyes, clear, frank, well lined about with crow's-feet, and enlivened by good humor.

His example and the lure of the gold had their sure effect. In a moment the officer was busy with his pen, while an eager group leaned over the table to watch as he wrote their names and answers to his brisk questions. Their enthusiasm spread among the loungers outside, and before it subsided a dozen or more enlisted for the expedition. Most of the recruits were half-starved fellows who had idled about the colony for months, unable to secure employment for their swords since the rebellion in Nicaragua had been suppressed, and disdainful of work less honorable. A few were fully equipped, but many had sold, pawned, or gambled away their arms and armor, and had only their rapiers, which they retained as a necessity. During this first day of recruiting, a score had been sent to the temporary quarters, with instructions first to gather up or locate whatever of equipment they could find.

Candles had been brought, the room had nearly emptied, and the officer was arranging his papers, when he heard the sound of hoofs and the voice of the halberdier, evidently addressing a rider.

The response was not immediate, and the creaking of the saddle, with sundry grunts and adjurations to the animal, indicated that the newcomer was dismounting. The operation was made difficult by the fact that he had a wooden leg, the left having been taken off at the knee. He puffed as he finally stood, but presently answered the soldier in a voice of much volume and with uncommon blandness and fluency.

"It is I,--that is, my solid parts. Of the rest, those volatile are volatilized; those meltable, melted and bedewing the grass along my trail. Thou seest but a parboiled residuum. Wilt hold my mule?"

"Hold thy mule!" replied the halberdier, with proper soldierly scorn. "Not I, by the fiend!"

"Nay! Keep thy temper, my lusty buck soldier," said the other, with suavity. "I meant no flattery."

"Flattery!"

"And why not?" demanded Pedro.

"Why, if I can count, thou hast legs too few by half."

"Good! Then I'll enter. Who is the officer?"

"Lieutenant Cristoval de Peralta."

"I've heard of him," said Pedro, and stumped into the room. Cristoval looked up, to behold a man ten years his senior, slightly corpulent, with a full round face, now reddened by the heat and exertion of riding, which he mopped vigorously as he advanced with sombrero under his arm. Smooth-shaven, somewhat bald, and with gray hair closely cropped, there was a suggestion of the priest or monk in his countenance, further aided by the genial benignancy of his expression. A frock would, indeed, have made him the most jovial-looking of ecclesiastics, and his well-fed and comfortable appearance would have helped the disguise. A large mouth, a nose formidable but well shaped, and eyes with ever a lurking twinkle, made up a face to be warmed to at first glimpse. The precision of his salute left no doubt in Cristoval's mind that the missing leg had been lost on the battle-field, and he surveyed the man with interest.

"I have finished," replied Cristoval. "How can I serve thee?"

"Thou'rt recruiting for Pizarro?"

Cristoval nodded, thinking of the rabble already enrolled that day, and wondering whether this one-legged veteran purposed offering himself.

"Draw up a chair," said Cristoval, pleased with the cook's manner. "We will consider it. Thy name?"

"Pedro."

"So I heard thee called by the halberdier."

"Ah!--the rest of my name? H'm! Why, I'll tell thee, se?or, I have not always been a cook--and--pardon me--"

"No. What of her?" demanded Cristoval, remembering that certain of his recruits had heard her name with similar uneasiness. "I saw her only for a moment when we came ashore yesterday. Dost know her, thou?"

"Thou dost stir mine interest, Pedro," said Cristoval. "Who is the lady?"

Pedro laid a broad hand upon the table with suppressed vehemence. "Bolio!" he replied, as if nothing could be added.

Cristoval interrupted. "What! Didst serve with Gonsalvo?"

"With the Great Captain," said Pedro.

"Then, by Saint Michael, we were comrades!"

Cristoval reflectively gathered up his papers. "Well," he said, "we can pray for peace. Let us go."

"Whither?" asked Pedro.

"To the se?ora's."

"How far?" asked Cristoval.

"Three leagues or less."

"Absurd, Pedro! Thou 'rt to begin thy duties in the morning. Come."

Accompanied reluctantly by the stout cook leading his mule, and followed by the halberdier, Cristoval led down a narrow, garbage-littered street to a large house built around the usual patio. It had been the residence of some officer of government, and its size made it suitable for the recruiting officer, the poverty of whose levies made it necessary to provide for their keep before sailing to join Pizarro. They entered the suggestively quiet court, and having seen that his recruits had made proper use of the kitchen, Cristoval gave orders concerning quarters for the night, and ascended to the second floor in quest of the se?ora. He found her alone in a dim-lighted, lofty, bare-walled apartment,--the salon of the establishment in its better days.

The se?ora was a black-haired, black-eyed woman of generous proportions. She wore, now and generally, an air of stern repression of what Cristoval, after Pedro's account, knew to be the hostility mentioned. Notwithstanding the marring effects of a stormy career on her rather florid face, she was not uncomely. Her eyes were those of her race, which seem always smouldering with the fire of passion, gentle or the reverse as the case may be. She received the cavalier with dignity; heard his explanation of Pedro's status; directed, coldly, that her servants be called upon for assistance, and Cristoval bowed himself away with relief.

The next day the whole city crowded to look upon the booty from Peru, on display at the office of the governor, and many an adventurer, after feasting his eyes on the gleaming treasure, went straight to the door beneath the banner of the "Army of the Conquest." Thereafter the recruiting went on rapidly, and the Bolio establishment soon wore the appearance of a barrack. When sufficiently advertised the office was transferred from the square, and now the banner floated over the Bolio gate.

The arrival of Hernando de Soto with a small company lent new impetus. The participation of a leader of his reputation gave confidence to many who had hesitated to enlist in an enterprise which had already met serious reverses and was led by one commonly regarded as visionary. Neither Pizarro nor his partner, Diego de Almagro, had been known as other than needy soldiers of fortune, and not even the countenance given by the Crown of Spain had raised them above the derisive scepticism of Panama. It had long been incredulous regarding a rich and civilized empire to the southward, and had been niggardly in its support. The two preceding expeditions had met disaster complete; but the leaders persisted with unconquered resolution, and the matter began to assume moment. There were scoffers still, but many who had held aloof hastened to offer service. Most of the levies were drawn by mere hope of plunder, or driven by sheer necessity. Some were impelled by ambition for the sort of glory won by the conquerors of Mexico. A few were attracted by the audacity and perseverance of the commander, but these qualities were not uncommon enough to give Pizarro pre?minence among men of a race then unsurpassed in its soldiery, and of all considerations they weighed the least.

Whatever the motives that led recruits to Pizarro's banner, they comprised all sorts and conditions of men, from the noble and hidalgo to the fugitive from the law--younger sons of ancient families bearing historic names; veterans of European wars, free-lances from every country on the northern shores of the Mediterranean. It was a band as mixed as the swarms of pirates infesting the Indies in later years, and hardly less ferocious in hunger for blood and plunder.

The days flew quickly, and few remained before the command should embark. Considering the character of the men, the preparations had gone on smoothly. But there had been, it must be said, certain flurries, even small tempests, from another source. These episodes were due to the temperament and powers of Se?ora Bolio. This worthy lady proved to be a slumbering volcano--yet not always slumbering--with potentialities that justified the impressive words of Pedro. She erupted unexpectedly, for causes unforeseen, and spread sudden confusion throughout the establishment. There would be heard from time to time in the patio a quick disturbance, a scurrying of soldiery, and then a tirade in the deep tones of the se?ora, matchless for rapid invective. Perhaps a soldier, a newcomer to Panama, would venture to oppose her eloquence with his own, like in kind, but feeble in comparison. It was only to court defeat and humiliation.

To Cristoval, at first amusing, it soon grew monotonous, and as his time became precious, an annoyance and irritation. He appealed, to Pedro, in whom there might lie hope.

"In the name of the fiend, Pedro," said he, "canst suppress that woman? If so, do it--in a gentle way if possible; for she is a woman. Those varlets below deserve their flaying, but it groweth wearisome."

Pedro shook his head. "I doubt if she could be estopped by anything short of strangulation. However, I'll cast about." But he muttered as he moved away: "Now the saints lend me their protection! This is what cometh of being a cook."

Thereafter, when the lady broke out, Pedro, with marvellous patience, would go to the patio, approach her with all deference, and oppose her torrent with an equal flood of apologies, assurances, entreaties, compliments, and cajoleries, with splendid versatility. And however great her rage, the moment would come when Madame would stop to listen--and be undone. The cook would thereupon lead her ceremoniously to her door, bow her across the threshold, and return to his kitchen leaving the lady appeased. But having regained his privacy, Pedro would swear roundly.

Pedro went his placid way, unconscious of the growing tenderness, until a glance awoke him to his peril. There was no doubt, no need of words to interpret. It was only a glance in passing, but Pedro looked after the lady in consternation. As she passed he crossed himself, stood a moment, then deserted his task and stumped with precipitation to the first refuge--to Cristoval. The cavalier looked up as the cook entered. Pedro sank into a chair.

"Ho! Pedro, what is to do?" demanded the cavalier, surveying his agitation with concern. "What hath happened?"

Again Cristoval demanded, more than half alarmed: "What is it, Pedro? Name of a saint! Why dost stare in that ghastly way? Come! Speak, man! Hast lost thy tongue?"

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