The Light of Machu Picchu

by [Incas 03] The Light of Machu Picchu (retail) (epub)

  ‘Speak, Titu Cuyuchi.’

  ‘He rode his white beast and fought like an immortal from the Under World! He sliced through our warriors as though nothing counted for him, not the deaths on our side, nor those on his. And then, something odd happened. We had surrounded the Strangers in front of the barricade, and our warriors on the great tower of Sacsayhuaman were bombarding them with stones and flaming arrows. But the arrows and sling stones swerved away from him. I saw it with my own eyes, Coya Camaquen! Our warriors were so unnerved that they stopped fighting and let him pass.’

  Anamaya shuddered and shut her eyes.

  ‘Are you sure that it was him?’

  ‘Yes, Coya Camaquen. I saw him as clearly as I see you now. He tried to plunge his blade into my belly! He was alive, and free.’

  The officer hesitated, but then a smile lit up his severe face. He looked Anamaya directly in the eyes and said:

  ‘But he burned our barricades in vain, Coya Camaquen. We rebuilt them the very next day. The Strangers no longer dare to come out of their hole. They will soon be defeated, and the Emperor will be able to return to Cuzco.’

  ‘Thank you, Titu Cuyuchi. I know that you did everything you could. Now go – eat and rest…’

  Night had fallen on the alleyways of Ollantaytambo by the time the officer went back down the steps. Anamaya stood as if frozen. She didn’t dare look at Katari lest he should see the tears in her eyes. He drew near her, put his hand on her shoulder, and said gently:

  ‘Your puma is free, Coya Camaquen.’

  ‘Free? Or dead? Who knows? Was what I did wrong, Katari? When I saw that the Strangers had imprisoned him, I ordered Titu Cuyuchi to free him.’

  ‘But the puma always frees itself,’ replied Katari with a grin.

  ‘Do you believe, as I do, that he’s the Puma that Emperor Huayna Capac predicted would come?’

  ‘When I treated him on the shore of Titicaca, I saw the mark on his shoulder. I put my hand on it, Coya Camaquen, and, like you, I sensed it.’

  Anamaya shuddered again. Night now veiled the mountains almost completely.

  ‘I made a mistake, Katari. I can no longer make good decisions, because my heart confuses my spirit. I suffer because I’m apart from him, and yet I’m frightened of getting too close. I accepted that I had to leave Gabriel because Villa Oma asked me to. He hates him. But my fear of losing Gabriel grows with each passing day. Oh Katari, am I frightened because he’s the Puma, or only because the man I love is a Stranger?’

  ‘I cannot tell you, Coya Camaquen.’

  ‘You agree with Villa Oma, don’t you?’

  ‘No. Villa Oma is no longer the sage who educated you. He is a war-hungry hawk now. He sees only violence ahead of him.’

  ‘Help me, Katari. How can I tell what is true and what is false?’

  ‘You must heed the Ancestors of the Other World.’

  ‘But I hear only silence.’

  The last hint of light vanished from the top of the sacred town’s highest building and from the rocky peaks overlooking it. The first stars twinkled in the night sky, and torches lit the streets of Ollantaytambo. Anamaya felt the warmth of Katari’s hand on her shoulder.

  ‘If you will trust me, I think I know a way whereby your husband the Sacred Double will allow you to travel to meet the Emperor Huayna Capac,’ he whispered.

  Anamaya could not tell, through the darkness, what it was that lay behind the twinkle in the Master of the Stone’s eyes. But his words echoed in her soul for some time after he had uttered them (and they continued to do so in her dreams later that night after she had succumbed to sleep), and for the first time in many moons she felt a glimmer of hope that wasn’t immediately destroyed by anxiety.

  ‘I will wait for you,’ she murmured to the night.

  And she felt as though her puma had heard her.

  CHAPTER 6

  Cuzco, May 1536

  Gabriel didn’t immediately recognize the man he saw approaching him on the evening of the tenth day of the siege.

  In the half-light that accentuated the shadows cast by the shielding canvases stretched over the courtyard, the man appeared only as a silhouette, albeit one with an unusually large head. It approached cautiously, keeping away from the Panama slaves dozing on the rubbish-strewn ground. The ubiquitous filth made the place stink, and even the breath of the starving men reeked as though they were already exhaling the foul stench of death. Gabriel, like everyone else, cursed the insistent pain in his empty gut. It was almost a burning sensation, one that never let a moment pass without reminding him that all he had eaten in five days was a shred of meat torn from a dead horse.

  When the man came closer, Gabriel made out the scarlet feather rising from the morion that he held under his arm, as well as the large bloodstains spattered across his doublet. As for the abnormal size of his head, Gabriel saw that this was because it was swathed in bandages, with only small openings left for the man’s feverish eyes, his hooked nose, and his mouth from which he now spoke haltingly:

  ‘Don Gabriel!’

  His voice was so low and his words so ill-formed that they were only just comprehensible. Gabriel did not move from the empty barrel he was using as a chair as he returned the man’s greeting with a barely civil nod and said:

  ‘Don Juan. Well then, I see that you’re on your feet again. And that Brother Bartholomew has padded your head admirably: you shouldn’t feel a thing the next time a sling stone slams into it!’

  Juan Pizarro stiffened at Gabriel’s taunt and the fever in his eyes blazed. Both men sized one another up for a moment. Gabriel didn’t bat an eyelid. Then Juan raised his right hand in an appeasing gesture.

  ‘Don Gabriel, I have come to make peace with you,’ he murmured in his unnatural, throaty voice.

  Since Gabriel merely looked at him, saying nothing, Juan continued, pausing for breath between each sentence:

  ‘I know what drove you to attack Gonzalo… I cannot say that I blame you… I am not a stranger to the love of a woman, Don Gabriel… as you know, my wife fell to my lot in an unorthodox manner… yet I love her as though God Himself had led me to her… my dear Inguill has often spoken to me about her friend… about your… about the woman whom my brother ill-treated… Gonzalo sometimes acts without thinking…’

  Gabriel waved away Juan’s embarrassment and said:

  ‘Do not be mistaken, my lord,’ he said sadly. ‘I have found no mercy in my soul for your brother. Indeed, I am afraid that, should the occasion present itself, my heart and my honor dictate that I must take the same action…’

  ‘In that case, you will find me confronting you, and for the same reasons. For honor and love are virtues I too value, Don Gabriel. Whatever his failings may be, Gonzalo is my brother, and I love him as such… and although it might surprise you, he loves me with the same absolute and burning sentiment, which I confess worries me at times: it’s as though I am all that stands between him and his demons.’

  ‘Then lucky for him that he is today guided by angels!’

  Juan was about to answer Gabriel’s gibe, but a sudden spasm of pain gripped him and it was only after a moment that he managed to respond bitterly:

  ‘So be it, then, Don Gabriel: you would kill him and I would defend him. Isn’t there anything better to do until then?’

  Gabriel gestured dismissively in reply. This time, the grimace that appeared fleetingly on Juan’s tense mouth was closer to a smile.

  ‘Let us look to the moment,’ he continued, approaching Gabriel so that his mumbled speech might be better heard. ‘I have come to make peace with you so that we may make war together… Don Hernando called us together… the decision has been made to attack the fortress. It was your idea… even though I’m wounded, Hernando has nominated me as commander of all the lieutenants… this battle is mine.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Gabriel, now serious. ‘But don’t commit the same error as our Lieutenant-Governor: do not underestimate the Incas. I know their chief. Hi
s name is Villa Oma. He is both intelligent and tenacious. But above all, he dreams only of annihilating every last one of us. He derives his strength from this dream. Do not expect any sign of weakness from him, Don Juan. He would fight you with the stumps, were you to chop off his arms.’

  Juan nodded, or at least moved his head as much as his bandages allowed him to. Gabriel noticed sweat beading on his exposed nose, despite the coolness of the evening.

  ‘I am aware of this, Don Gabriel… which is why I want you at my side. You have the energy that I lack. If I falter, you will take my place.’

  As though to give physical substance to his words, he roughly thrust his morion into Gabriel’s hands.

  ‘I want it to be on your head… I cannot wear it, because of my injuries. With you visible under this feather, each man will know what to do.’

  ‘It is a great honor that you do me, Don Juan. I am most unaccustomed to it. Are your brothers of the same opinion as you?’

  Juan lifted his aching head, and met Gabriel’s sardonic stare. His voice was barely audible when he said:

  ‘I told you, I came to make peace… and I am to pick the lieutenants…’

  He let a moment pass, then continued:

  ‘Our companions want you with us, Don Gabriel. Certain of them believe that you are protected by the hand of God, and that the Virgin Mary is with you… others believe that it’s nothing to do with God, that you have acquired magic powers from the Indians, from your relations with them… your exploits the other night have made a deep impression on the men…’

  ‘God’s blood, how can you lend credence to these fancies?’

  ‘Because I saw the same thing with my own eyes… and I didn’t arrive yesterday, like many of the men here… no, it started on the beach at Tumbez, when we arrived… you should have died on that day.’

  Gabriel sniggered:

  ‘I am far too indifferent toward God for Him to even blink in my direction. As for the woman that you’re thinking of, she taught me no magic. Indeed, I learned nothing of particular note from her, except that the Incas are human beings like you and me, that they are big or small, thin or fat, and that they suffer in both their bodies and souls because of us.’

  ‘Oh, what does it matter to us whether God or pagan demons grant you your power?’ interrupted Juan, irritated and breathing shallowly, ‘What matters is that our comrades-in-arms now both fear you and see you as some sort of talisman, or lucky charm… they believe that, without you, we have no chance of succeeding.’

  ‘Oh yes? Only yesterday, they believed that all was lost because of me.’

  ‘Do you accept my proposal, Don Gabriel?’

  ‘If I refuse, it’s back to jail for me, right?’

  ‘I have come to make peace with you, not to threaten you.’ Gabriel carefully set down the morion on the barrel. He absent-mindedly stroked its scarlet feather as he asked:

  ‘How do you plan to enter the fortress?’

  Juan gave an odd-sounding grunt and narrowed his eyes. Gabriel realized a moment later that this was the closest to a laugh that he could manage.

  ‘By any way you think is best!’

  Gabriel smiled, almost with Juan now, and traced an indistinct shape in the dust with the point of his boot.

  ‘We must trick them. We must make Villa Oma and his lieutenants believe that we’re trying to flee…’

  He described a circle around the shape in the dirt representing the fortress.

  ‘Here, the Carmenga pass. It leads out of the city to the north-west, and avoids the fortress. It will be a formidable task to reach it, and a greater one to climb it: it’s a real steep-sided ravine. The Incas will rain death down on our heads. But if we succeed, then we will be out of their range of vision – they will no longer be able to watch our every move. We can then make a long detour and approach the fortress from behind. There are a number of entrances there, which may well prove vulnerable.’

  ‘Then we shall do it…’

  ‘Don Juan, no illusions! I can perform no miracle. Our chances of success are as slender as our stomachs.’

  ‘Well, since there’s no banquet planned for tonight, I think each man will have plenty of time to pray.’

  Gabriel felt deeply troubled as he watched Juan Pizarro walk away, his step heavy and irregular. He had just agreed to serve his mortal enemies without a word of real argument (and, in the depths of his soul, he was as frightened of his mysterious invulnerability in battle as were his comrades-in-arms).

  But he didn’t regret his decision.

  He even felt strangely joyful.

  * * *

  Dawn came and found fifty horsemen on their knees, with a hundred or so Canary and Chachapoya warriors looking on, impressed. The Incas, of course, hadn’t ceased their terrifying cacophony once throughout the night. Now Bartholomew made his way through the close ranks of the Spaniards, giving the benediction to each forehead with his fused fingers.

  Juan, his head wrapped in fresh bandages, and wearing real armor on his chest and thighs, received the benediction fervently. Don Gonzalo was kneeling beside him, his long, fine hair cascading down onto his steel armor that was decorated with fine gold chasing across the shoulders. He wore a scowl on his face. His lips hardly moved when he uttered the prayer of the benediction.

  Hernando stood watching the ceremony from a little further back, standing in front of the foot soldiers who would soon be left to face the siege on their own. He was murmuring inaudibly to himself. He was the first to notice Gabriel arrive at the entrance to the courtyard, leading his white mare. Gabriel already had a round shield attached to his left arm, and he held the scarlet-feathered helmet against his leather-padded coat of mail with the other.

  If Hernando’s face betrayed nothing, then that of Gonzalo, who stopped short in mid-prayer, turned distinctly pale when he saw Gabriel. His eyes grew wide, and his mouth closed as he choked on the words of the Pater Noster. Gabriel thought that he was going to rise to his feet and challenge him. But Hernando’s imperious gaze bore down upon his younger brother. The prayers ended, and the horses were brought forth. The cavalrymen glanced at Gabriel. Some bowed their heads, saluting him, others crossed themselves one more time. But none dared approach him, and instead they mounted their animals.

  Gonzalo was lost in the general movement, while Hernando helped Juan clamber up onto his gelding.

  Gabriel in turn donned his morion, pulling the strap tight beneath his chin. Brother Bartholomew came up to him.

  ‘You were in my prayers, my friend. What’s more, I saw you praying yourself earlier, when you thought no one was watching.’

  ‘I hope you’re not going to denounce me. It would damage my reputation. Yet still, Brother Bartholomew, you should be happy for me. Didn’t you once explain to me that one doesn’t have to believe in order to pray?’

  ‘You believe more than you admit to yourself.’

  Bartholomew placed his wooden cross against Gabriel’s chest. His eyes had sunk deep in their sockets and exhaustion made his face look ten years older.

  ‘Be careful. Watch out both ahead of you and behind your back,’ he said in a lower voice. ‘Gonzalo is furious that Juan insisted that you go with them. Try not to provoke him.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Everyone knows that I am protected by all the powers, including God Himself.’

  ‘Don’t blaspheme! It’s pointless.’

  ‘Brother Bartholomew, if God does in fact exist,’ said Gabriel, looking directly and with the utmost seriousness at the monk, ‘then today is that day for Him to convince me of it. Not by preserving me from death, from which I do not shirk, and you know why, but—’

  ‘—But by purging the earth of evil at one stroke, preferably beginning with Gonzalo Pizarro?’

  ‘By the faith, brother, sometimes I wonder whether you are not inspired by God Himself.’

  ‘My God,’ answered Bartholomew in a serious tone, ‘is not a god of vengeance, who punishes by the sword, but a god of
love and charity. And if you heed my words, you would do well to heed His. As well as handling your sword properly when it’s called for!’ Gabriel opened his mouth to make a sarcastic reply but then he saw that Juan Pizarro was approaching. Gabriel could make out more from reading his dry lips than from listening to his halting words:

  ‘It’s time, Don Gabriel… I have divided our cavalry into two groups. My brother Gonzalo is leading the second.’

  His eyes sought approval, which Gabriel gave him with a nod.

  Let us go, then, with the Grace of God!’

  They approached the cancha’s door, barricaded with beams, in silence, as though they wanted to better hear the bedlam from the hills and the trumpets wailing from the fortress. Even the Canaries, normally so loquacious, said nothing.

  Gabriel noticed Sebastian among the men removing the beams from the door, his arm and shoulder still wrapped in bandages. He grinned at him. For once, the African didn’t return his smile. His serious expression bore all the sadness of a real farewell. He approached Gabriel and stroked his mare’s mane. She responded by nuzzling her head against his chest.

  ‘Take care of her – and of yourself, my friend.’

  ‘I shall bring you back some salve, so that you can come with us the next time,’ joked Gabriel.

  Now Sebastian smiled a thin smile.

  ‘Good idea.’

  At that moment Gabriel stood tall in his stirrups and shouted at the top of his voice:

  ‘By Saint James, tonight we dine at the fortress!’

  Behind him, fifty voices answered with a thundering:

  ‘Santiago! Santiago!’

  They were still shouting when the horses broke out into the great square, raising a cloud of dust through which the Canaries swarmed, also screaming like a pack of wild animals.

  * * *

  Only moments after the Spaniards and their Indian allies had passed the last walls of the canchas and reached the lowest of the terraces at the foot of the pass, a salvo of arrows whistled over their heads. They had been fired from too far away to be truly effective, and they thudded off the Spaniards’ shields and the horses’ armored flanks without piercing them.