Gabriel’s speech had its effect. He had effectively said out loud what others had been thinking. A long, discouraged silence followed.
‘What do you propose we do, then, Don Gabriel?’ asked Juan Pizarro eventually.
‘Take the fortress!’
‘You’ve lost your mind,’ laughed Gonzalo contemptuously. ‘That’s impossible!’
‘It’s the only thing we can do to give ourselves a chance of survival. It’s essential. You know as well as I do,’ said Gabriel, turning towards Hernando, as though Gonzalo didn’t exist, ‘that without the fortress, we would not now be under siege.’
‘Oh yes? And how do you plan to take it?’ sneered Gonzalo. ‘By jumping over its walls? Its tower and walls are nowhere less than forty-five to sixty codos high. Not to mention the barricades that block all its approaches.’
‘We can destroy it this very night.’
A murmur rose from the men. Gabriel caught sight of them glancing at one another, their heads bowed in disappointment. Even Bartholomew looked unconvinced. Gabriel raised a hand and placed it emphatically over his heart.
‘My lords, I have not lost my mind, nor do I want to lead you to certain destruction. I understand your fears. But the truth stands in front of us, more naked than ever. Either you die because of your prudence or else you die in battle. And it’s not just that prudence is shame and fighting is glory—’
‘Now he sounds like my brother Francisco,’ said Gonzalo sarcastically to no one in particular.
‘—It’s that prudence,’ continued Gabriel, still ignoring Gonzalo, ‘will spell certain death for us, whereas attacking might well bring us victory. And a fair few of us may even survive.’
In the silence that followed, all eyes once again upon him, Gabriel stared Gonzalo up and down.
‘Thanks to Don Gonzalo, I am indifferent to death. So this is what I suggest: tonight, I will set off and set fire to the barricades. I will go alone if I have to. We shall see what happens.’
‘Brother, it’s a low trick!’ roared Gonzalo. ‘He simply wants to escape and join the savages!’
‘Don Gonzalo,’ said Bartholomew with some feeling, ‘reveals how little sense he possesses. If Don Gabriel had intended to flee once he’d broken out of your prison, surely he wouldn’t have come to tell you about it!’
An unpleasant smile broke out on Hernando’s face even before Bartholomew had finished. Hernando put his hand on Gonzalo’s arm.
‘What you propose suits me perfectly, Don Gabriel! I am curious to see how you fare. Perhaps someone here will lend you a horse. And if any of the gentlemen present care to accompany you, then I will let five of them go – no more. That way it won’t be too great a disaster.’
‘I am delighted, Don Hernando, that you are at last allowing some sense to moderate your ardent desire to see me take leave of this world,’ said Gabriel affably.
‘My dear Don Gabriel – if, at last, you wish to make yourself useful to your king and to bring some glory to Our Lord, who am I to stop you?’
* * *
‘I’m coming with you,’ Sebastian assured Gabriel a moment later.
‘No,’ said Gabriel, smiling. ‘Although it amused me to play off the Pizarros’ bad characters, I’m far less sure of succeeding than I pretended.’
‘They, on the other hand, are sure of your failure, Hernando most of all. The way he looks at you, you would think that you were already a corpse.’
‘Bah. Let them dream.’
‘I’m coming with you,’ repeated Sebastian, his gaze severe. ‘Otherwise you’ll have no horse: who else is going to dare offer you one?’
Seeing that Gabriel was about to protest further, Sebastian added:
‘And you’re not the only one who wants to show those gentlemen what loyalty and courage are.’
The two friends looked at one another for a few moments before Gabriel, moved, took Sebastian’s hands in his.
‘I am most indebted to you.’
‘You’ve paid your debt in advance – well in advance, dear Gabriel. And there’s nothing I enjoy more than baiting the Devil himself in your company. Come now, I want to show you my horses.’
The cancha’s inner courtyard, which had been carefully covered with canvas, had been transformed into stables. The thick smell of horse urine and dung assaulted their noses, and flies buzzed about in dense clouds. As soon as Sebastian and Gabriel entered, a few of the horses drew fearfully away, and a moment later all the animals began neighing, stamping the ground, and rolling their big, frightened eyes back in their heads, lurching violently into one another. They were all huddled together with no real space to speak of, and clearly they were still terrified by the fire and the fearful cries from the hills. Their fear was visible as their quivering, unkempt withers shuddered.
Sebastian whistled softly, and a superb mare, its coat as white as snow, approached somewhat hesitantly, its neck bent and its head forward as though looking for a comforting hand.
‘This is Itza,’ said Sebastian, stroking the animal’s muzzle. ‘You see, I’m not like you: I give my horses names.’
‘What does Itza mean?’
‘I don’t know. But back when I was a slave, when I didn’t even dare look a white man in the eyes, I met an old conquistador in Panama who spoke to me as a man rather than an animal. And he always said that word: Itza, Itza, as though it was some magic spell. I thought it suited this lady perfectly: she’s lively, as quick as a flash, yet she’s gentle. And here, we have Pongo.’
‘I’m not going to ask you about the name.’
A gray, gelding came out to stand in front of the other horses, but drew no closer to the two men. It stood back a little, watching suspiciously as Sebastian stroked the mare.
‘Pongo lost his balls, but he retained his bad character. And yet, we get along well. You shall ride Itza – I’m sure that she’ll take to you.’
Without warning and as though on cue, the mare left Sebastian’s caressing hand, turned to Gabriel, and rubbed her head on his chest. He patted and stroked her neck, returning her affections.
‘What did I tell you?’ chuckled Sebastian.
‘Do you think any other cavalrymen will come with us?’ asked Gabriel, his tone serious.
‘What’s important is not how many cavalrymen join us but how many of our Indian allies. They will prove far more useful.’
‘No, that’s not what’s most important,’ said Gabriel, grinning.
‘Oh no? Then would your lordship care to enlighten me what?’
‘It’s having an African like you as a friend.’
* * *
That night, after endless arguments, fifty Canary Indians and three Spanish cavalrymen volunteered to accompany Sebastian and Gabriel. The rest of the Spaniards formed a silent line and watched as the cancha’s door was opened. The only sounds were those of horses’ hooves on the flagstones and Bartholomew’s voice raised in prayer, while out on the hills the Incas kept up their caterwauling.
Don Hernando was closest to the door. He smirked as he bowed slightly and said:
‘Good night, Don Gabriel.’
‘Have no doubt,’ said Gabriel in an equally even tone, ‘that it will be a good night. And if you cannot find sleep, I suggest you glance over the walls. You may enjoy the spectacle.’
The men made the most of the darkness and the fact that the Incas weren’t expecting anyone to leave the cancha, and they reached the first barricade with no difficulties. It blocked the largest of the alleys leading to the Sacsayhuaman fortress. The Incas had tied spiky bundles of wood to the log barricades, the thorns sharp enough to tear out the belly of any man or horse.
The Inca warriors’ cacophony out on the hills covered the click-clack of the horses’ hooves and the clinking of their harnesses. The animals’ necks and heads had been carefully wrapped in cloth to protect them from stones, and the most vulnerable parts of their legs, as well as their chests, were armored with thick leather. But all the gear weighed the
horses down, and slowed their pace.
When the attacking party was nearly at the barricade, they suddenly heard the dirgelike tone of a pututu shell. A lookout had spotted them; he had sounded the alert. Within a second, Inca warriors swarmed out onto the tops of the walls of the surrounding burned-out canchas. Gabriel had just enough time to raise his shield to protect himself from the first volley of stones. He gave a berserk cry and, with his head down, urged on his mare at an irregular trot, staying as close as possible to the walls and holding his sword high to cut away at the Incas’ feet and legs.
Behind him, the Canaries had bounded up onto the walls with bewildering agility and were already swinging their clubs and bronze axes. As the blizzard of stones ended, a terrible mêlée began on the walls as the Canaries and Incas engaged in hand-to-hand combat, both sides crying out horrendously.
‘The oil, the oil!’ screamed Gabriel to Sebastian.
As he turned Itza around and around on herself close to the barricade, whipping his sword through the air like a scythe, Sebastian and two of the Spaniards smashed a large jug of oil against the barricade. It took only one spark from a tinderbox to set it alight. A huge yellow flash erupted, blinding them, and someone cried out with joy:
‘Santiago! Santiago!’
In the intense glow of the burning barricade, the merciless hand-to-hand fighting on the walls resembled some fiendish dance performed by men possessed by the Devil. The Canary warriors cried out with demented joy, hacking through their opponents as though the Incas were mere scarecrows. The blackened walls grew sticky with blood and guts, and the dead piled up on top of one another.
Gabriel, horrified, looked away and howled out at the top of his lungs the order to fall back.
‘The next barricade!’ he cried. ‘We must burn another immediately, before they see what we’re up to!’
Gently, he urged Itza into a gallop, the other Spaniards and Canaries following swiftly behind him.
And so it continued throughout the night. The barricades in one alley, and then in another, went up in flames. The same slaughter repeated itself four or five times. The raiders’ task became more difficult with each new barricade they came to. But they had managed to draw close enough to the fortress to make out clearly its dark walls looming above them. Despite the men’s exhaustion, and although half the Canaries had fallen, Gabriel was determined to destroy one last barricade. By destroying this one, he hoped, the road leading directly to the fortress would be clear by morning.
But things went differently this time. The Incas were expecting them now. Their volleys of stones and arrows were thicker than ever and were now far more difficult to weather. The Canaries, reduced in number and slow with exhaustion, struggled to climb atop the walls. Salvos of stones smashed into their faces and legs, breaking their bones and slowing their forward motion.
Gabriel pushed his agile mare to the limit and, miraculously, she bounded over a ditch, hidden under branches and earth, that the Incas had dug in front of the barricade. But the two cavalrymen following him weren’t so lucky. Their horses fell into the lethal trench, breaking their legs. Gabriel heard the wounded animals’ terrified neighs, and he pivoted Itza around just in time to see a hail of stones shower down upon his companions.
‘Sebastian!’ he cried.
‘Over here!’ the African giant shouted back. He was single-handedly holding off a pack of Inca warriors.
‘There’s too many of them, Gabriel! We have to retreat!’
But it was too late. The Incas were now rushing forth by the dozen, howling like demons. Gabriel abandoned his attempt to get to the barricade and set it alight, and instead charged in to help the two wounded Spaniards, whom the Canaries could no longer protect. Blood streamed from his sword. Suddenly, Sebastian cried out again, surprising him:
‘Watch out! Gabriel, watch out for the fire above you!’
The Incas were firing burning arrows from the top of the fortress, and the arrows fell like shooting stars slamming into the ground. The Canaries, suddenly petrified, stopped in their tracks, and terrible howls of pain rose up into the sky as arrows found their marks. Men ran around madly, the clothing on their shoulders and chests on fire. Out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel noticed the Incas on the ground retreating: another salvo was coming from the fortress.
‘Damn the Devil, they’ve trapped us!’ cried Sebastian. ‘We’re stuck between the barricade and the—’
He never finished his sentence: a burning arrow slammed into his leather breastplate, and the cotton padding immediately caught alight. Sebastian tried to beat out the flames with the back of his hand, but his armor impeded his movement. His horse panicked and began to buck around and around, the motion of the air only fanning the flames as other burning arrows slammed off its protected flanks. Gabriel came galloping up and drew his dagger. He cut away the burning sections of Sebastian’s leather armor, flinging them to the ground.
Then something remarkable happened. Everyone, Spaniard, Canary, or Inca, saw it.
Another volley of burning arrows hurtled down. Yet not one of them touched Gabriel or Sebastian. They didn’t even need to raise their shields to protect themselves. Arrows fell all around them, breaking on the flagstones or against the walls. But not one of them struck the two conquistadors. It was as though the missiles were deflected by some invisible force.
Gabriel launched into a gallop, his white mare as tireless as he. He charged the Inca line. Many retreated, but the braver among them still twirled their slings. Yet, like the arrows, their stones disappeared into the night without touching Gabriel or Itza. From the defensive circle into which they had retreated, the Spaniards and Canaries watched as Gabriel charged the Inca lines at full gallop, his blade pointed out in front of him, without touching a single warrior. Looking like some guardian angel atop his perfectly white steed, Gabriel forced through a passage for himself without shedding a single drop of blood. The Incas, petrified with either fear or amazement, offered him no resistance, and soon there was a clear passage through the alley.
‘Follow me!’ Gabriel shouted to his companions. ‘Follow me – there’s no danger!’
His men shook off their amazement and ran after him, crying, ‘Santiago! Santiago!’ Not a single Inca tried to stop them, and not one arrow, not one stone fell upon them.
For the rest of the night, it wasn’t fear, hatred, or the urge to violence that churned in Gabriel’s guts: it was a strange, intense, and irresistible impulse to laugh.
* * *
The exhilaration of the heroism of that desperate night was quickly dispelled by the events of the following day.
Around midday, not long after Gabriel, exhausted, had dozed off despite the relentless noise from the Inca drums and the discomfort of his own great hunger, he was woken by shouts and a great commotion. He grumbled sleepily, and was about to leave the shady corner near the horses where he had found refuge when Sebastian, his arm and shoulder now in bandages, appeared in front of him, along with Bartholomew. Both men looked grave.
‘How are you feeling?’ asked Gabriel the moment he saw Sebastian.
‘Like a bride does the morning after her wedding night!’ growled the big African.
‘Are his burns serious?’ Gabriel asked Bartholomew.
‘Serious enough to cause him pain for some time to come,’ sighed Bartholomew resignedly. ‘But what I fear most is that his wounds may become infected. I need to treat him with an olive-oil salve, but finding that here…’
I’m not some delicate maiden. My wounds will wait patiently with the rest of me for better times,’ protested Sebastian, somewhat irritably. He pushed Gabriel back into his shady corner and continued:
‘As for you, my friend, it’s best that you remain inconspicuous for a time…’
‘Why? What’s going on?’
‘We’re out of water,’ announced Bartholomew, ‘except for a very few casks. This morning, the Incas destroyed the stone conduits that supply the fountains on the grea
t square.’
‘And why should that stop me showing myself?’ asked Gabriel, astonished.
Sebastian looked at Bartholomew. Hunger and fear had hollowed their faces just as much as it had the rest of the Spanish contingent. Fever had dulled Sebastian’s usually lively disposition. He was suffering a nervous tic in his wounded arm. As for Bartholomew, the skin on his face was as gray as his faded cowl. His skin was stretched so tight on his temples and hands that one could see the details of the bones beneath. Both men looked embarrassed when Gabriel repeated:
‘Well, why should it?’
‘Certain people feel that our barricade-burning expedition last night vexed the Incas,’ murmured Sebastian, ‘and that, without it, they wouldn’t have thought to cut the conduits.’
‘Who can believe such a thing?’ said Gabriel, furious.
‘Anyone Gonzalo can persuade to listen. What’s worse is that the Canaries carried out a reconnaissance mission just now. The Incas have already rebuilt the barricades. All of last night’s efforts were in vain. We can no more reach the fortress today than we could yesterday—’
‘What of it? Of course they’re going to rebuild the barricades,’ Gabriel cut in. ‘And we’ll just burn them again and again! Are they not laying siege to us? What can we do but fight? Or else negotiate peace with the Incas. I certainly wouldn’t mind that.’
‘It’s not just the barricades.’
‘Oh?’
‘No. It’s also what else happened.’
‘Oh yes? And what else happened?’
His question met with silence. Gabriel at last became aware of his friends’ deep embarrassment.
The Light of Machu Picchu Page 6