"Not free!—a prisoner!" cried the wounded youth, weakly. He raised his hands, trembling with grief: "Oh, woe, woe! My country, what weight of sorrow hath fallen upon thee!" He buried his head in his arms and lay in silence. Cristoval was about to leave when he spoke again, his voice steady once more, and all trace of feeling banished from his countenance:— "Viracocha, you have shown me mercy. You have saved my life. Let me beg one more favor. Will you say to the Inca that Toparca sendeth his affectionate greeting and sympathy; and that if it is permitted he will share his imprisonment and minister to his wants—that he will share his fate, whatever it be?" "Willingly," replied Cristoval, and desirous of ending the interview, he spoke a few words of assurance and returned to his post. *CHAPTER VIII* _*An Arm of the Inquisition*_ The day following was one of activity. The first task was to clear the square. The hundreds of prisoners herded in one of the buildings were set at the work, noble toiling beside common without distinction or favor. Not even Indian stoicism was proof against the calamity, and old men, scarred from a hundred battles, worked with streaming eyes, dragging forth the bodies of their friends to be stripped of their ornaments by the Spaniards and borne away for indiscriminate burial. Hernando Pizarro was sent with his troop to the Peruvian camp to break up whatever force might be lingering there, and to plunder the Inca’s residence. Toward midday his return was announced by a sentinel, and Cristoval formed his guard. The troop entered the town with a flourish of trumpets. Its leading platoon was followed by a long procession of captives laden with spoils, of _hamacas_ bearing the women of the court, of disarmed warriors, and of townspeople who had been removed from Caxamalca at the approach of the Spaniards. The men, stupefied by what had befallen, marched in stolid indifference. But the women, dishevelled, wild-visaged, and dreading all things for themselves and the children in their arms or clinging to their robes, filled the air with their wailing and frantic lamentations, until securely housed in the buildings on the square. Late in the afternoon an orderly summoned Cristoval to a council of the officers at Pizarro’s headquarters. He picked up Candia on his way, and the two were the first to arrive. They found Pizarro watching the _veedor_ at work appraising the plunder brought from the Inca’s villa and taken from the bodies of the Indian nobles. The commander’s face was haggard, and he looked years older. He greeted the two officers cordially and said, pointing to the table on which were heaped the spoils:— "The first fruits, _camaradas_! We have come to the harvest season at last. Not a bad wage for one day’s work! What say you?"