will begin to move.  Judge, then, if you have the strength to withstand them, and choose whether you will live on in glory and honour, or bring yourself to death and your people to slavery.  Now, King Huaracha, speaking on behalf of Urco, who within some few moons will be Inca, I ask you—­will you suffer the lady Quilla to journey with us to Cuzco and thereby proclaim peace between our peoples or will you keep her here against your oath and hers, and thereby declare war?”

Huaracha sat silent, lost in thought, and the old Inca Upanqui began to babble again, saying: 

“Very well put, I could not have said it better myself; indeed, I did say it, for this coxcomb of a Larico, who thinks himself so clever just because I made him high-priest of the Sun under me and he is of my blood, is after all nothing but the tongue in my mouth.  You don’t really want to die, Huaracha, do you, after seeing most of your people killed and your country wasted?  For you know that is what must happen.  If you do not send your daughter as you promised, within a few hours a hundred thousand men will be marching on you and another hundred thousand gathering behind them.  Anyhow, please make up your mind one way or another, as I wish to leave this place.”

Huaracha thought on awhile.  Then he descended from his throne and beckoned to Quilla.  She came and he led her towards the back part of the pavilion behind and a little to the left of the chair on which I sat where none could hear their talk save me, of whom he seemed to take no note, perhaps because he had forgotten me, or perhaps because he desired that I should know all.

“Daughter,” he said in a low voice, “what word?  Before you answer remember that if I refuse to send you, now for the first time I break my oath.”

“Of such oaths I think little,” answered Quilla.  “Yet of another thing I think much.  Tell me, my father, if the Inca declares war and attacks us, can we withstand his armies?”

“No, Daughter, not until the Yuncas join us for we lack sufficient men.  Moreover, we are not ready, nor shall be for another two moons, or more.”

“Then it stands thus, Father.  If I do not go the war will begin, and if I do go it seems that it will be staved off until you are ready, or perhaps for always, because I shall be the peace-offering and it will be thought that I, your heiress, take your kingdom as my marriage portion to be joined to that of the Incas at your death.  Is it thus?”

“It is, Quilla.  Only then you will work to bring it about that the Land of the Incas shall be joined to the Land of the Chancas, and not that of the Chancas to that of the Incas, so that in a day to come as Queen of the Chancas you shall reign over both of them and your children after you.”

Now I, Hubert, watching Quilla out of the corners of my eyes, saw her turn pale and tremble.

“Speak not to me of children,” she said, “for I think that there will be none, and talk not of future glories, since for these I care nothing.  It is for our people that I care.  You swear to me that if I do not go your armies will be defeated and that those who escape the spear will be enslaved?”