The next morning news came that Manco had engaged the Spanish cavalry near Yucay. Later, that the Spaniards were in full retreat toward Cuzco, and an order was received from the Inca permitting them to enter the city. On the following day they appeared on the Chinchasuyu road, uncovered for their passage. The highway passed at the foot of a spur of the hill Sachsahuaman, and from the height Cristoval and Pedro watched the entry of the cavalcade. Had it not been for a dozen empty saddles and the litters borne by Cañares in the rear, the return might have been from a victory. Pennons fluttered, plumes tossed jauntily on helmets, and as they passed the lines a trumpeter blew a quickstep. Shortly after the column had entered the city a _chasqui_ arrived at the fortress announcing the approach of the Inca, and Mocho paraded his Antis to receive him. Messengers were sent to the several generals of the divisions surrounding the city, and the afternoon was spent in council with the monarch in the citadel. *CHAPTER XXXIII* _*The Doomed City*_ About two hours after darkness had fallen Pedro appeared at Cristoval’s door and beckoned him out. The cook’s face was grave. "What is it, _amigo_?" asked Cristoval, as they stepped upon the terrace surrounding the tower. "I know not, nor can I learn; but something is afoot. Come!" He led toward the rampart nearest the city. The plain within the fortress was now covered with tents, but as they traversed the encampment its streets were deserted. From the midst rose the pile of the citadel, Moyoc Marca, dimly outlined in the starlight, and showing a single lighted window below the battlements. At the edge of the camp they passed the embers at the kitchens, and beyond these were a few silent groups of camp attendants looking toward the south, where presently Cristoval descried the motionless masses of the garrison drawn up under arms and facing the ramparts. The cavalier looked about in surprise. "What is the meaning of it, Pedro?" he demanded. Pedro shook his head and stumped on without reply. Passing between two of the battalions, they reached the margin of the plain, and skirting it, drew near the battlements. Three fires were burning brightly, and the two Spaniards caught the pungent, resinous odor of boiling pitch rising from kettles suspended over the flames. Between these and the parapet was a group of officers, and a few paces in their front stood a cloaked figure, motionless and alone. The firelight flashed on the golden eagle of the helmet, and Cristoval recognized the Inca. Halting at a short distance from the fires, the cavalier looked over the scene in mystification. Again he demanded:— "What is to do, Pedro? Canst guess? They are heating pitch! _Madre_! Is there to be torture?" "God knoweth!" said Pedro. "Wait!"