by John McCuaig
This is what I’ve been working for, he thought, this is what that damned trek through the jungle has been for. I can almost feel the gold in my hands.
It was then that his eyes caught something that wiped the smile right off his face. Below, a huge army had been amassed directly in front of the city. There looked to be more than five thousand men stationed down there. Their proper formation showed they were warriors- real soldiers- not simple villagers like those he had faced back at the port of Puna. It was plain to see that it would be a slaughter if he and his men tried to fight their way through that.
Minco silently appeared next to him. “It’s time,” he said. “Only ten of you may enter the city walls. You will also have to leave all of your weapons outside.” Minco pointed down to the heavy gates that guarded the city walls. “Your fire sticks and your swords will have to stay out here. No one is allowed to carry weapons inside the city, apart from the Protectors and the High Priests.”
A brisk shake of his head showed Pizarro’s displeasure. “Not a chance in hell, Incan,” he spluttered. “Trust me, I don’t go anywhere unarmed, never have and never will.” His hand instinctively dropped to his side and caressed the hilt of his sword.
“If you continue to refuse my request I’ll have no other option but to order my men to disarm you,” Minco warned. The joy evident on his face told Pizarro that nothing would please him more. “It’s your choice, Spaniard. Do you wish to meet with my King or not?”
Pizarro looked right into the eyes of the Incan. He knew straight away that he was not bluffing; in fact, he suspected that Minco even wanted him to resist, that he wanted a reason to start a fight. He let out a little sigh. It was all true, and he had no other option if he wanted to get to all that gold.
Reluctantly, he passed the order on to Almargo. Ten of them would be going down into the city... and they were also going unarmed. It was now the turn of his men to show their displeasure at such an order. As the small group removed their weapons and handed them over to their comrades they would be leaving behind, Pizarro grudgingly observed Minco’s triumphant smile.
4- Meeting the King
In a strange, eerie silence, Pizarro, Almargo, Father Valverde and seven of the best and bravest soldiers they had, made their way through the ranks of the Incan army who stood in formation as they passed. The Spaniards felt exposed and vulnerable as they walked by them unarmed. After what seemed like an age, they finally arrived at the impressive iron gates of the city. They waited for a few moments as the gates slowly opened before them.
Wordlessly, they headed straight for the second largest building they saw. It appeared perfectly square and seemed to be nearly eclipsed by the immense golden pyramid that stood directly behind it.
The curious eyes of the citizens of Cuzco bore into the small Spanish contingent as they made their way through the narrow, stone-floored streets. The roadway they marched along was flanked on both sides by simple, but perfectly kept, two-storey buildings. The masses of people flanking the streets never spoke or shouted at the strangers but Pizarro heard occasional mumblings and a few whispers from behind the wooden shutters and doors. He didn’t know what they were saying but he imagined it was some sort of prayers to their false gods.
As they arrived at the beautiful central building, Pizarro surmised that this was where the King must hold his court due to its grandeur. They stopped for a moment to appreciate the myriad of ornate decorations hung high up on the external walls. Two guards swung the heavy guarded wooden doors wide as a signal it was time to enter. Once inside, the group walked along a narrow corridor laden with statues of what appeared to be previous kings, until they eventually entered the vast main chamber of the palace.
With a cold look in his eyes and a stern tone in his voice, Minco ordered the Spaniards to stay in the middle of the room while he went to inform the King of their arrival. A glance at the guards was all they needed to know, they’d been ordered to keep a close eye on these visitors.
*****
Minco bowed his head the moment he entered the throne room, approaching the throne itself with his gaze respectfully downcast. As was customary, the King was surrounded by his many wives and his most trusted advisors.
“Protector, come close,” said the King as he stood up and straightened his elegant robe. “My dear Minco, raise your eyes and look at me, please.” He sounded pleased that the leader of his armies had returned to Cuzco safe and sound. “Now tell me,” he asked. “What you have found out about these visitors?”
“My lord,” Minco began as his eyes rose to meet the King’s, “As we suspected, they are strong and have powerful weapons but they are few in number. If you give me the command, we can easily slay them all. We can rid them from our lands forever.”
The King silenced Minco with an upraised hand. “Not yet, my good soldier,” he said. “I too wish to hear what they have come to say.” He gestured for his entourage to join them and when they assembled, he returned his gaze to Minco. “Come,” he said. “Let’s go and meet these Spaniards.”
As they neared the entrance, the King turned to Minco and spoke softly, “Your time will come, dear Minco. Do not despair. I have not forgotten their misdeeds. You will have the chance to repay them for the atrocity they committed at Puna.”
Minco dipped his chin gratefully to his monarch and smiled in relief and anticipation.
*****
In the main chamber, Pizarro did not do as he was told. He’d never been any good at obeying rules as a child, and as an adult, he was accustomed to being the one giving the orders. In truth, he had always lived his life by his own rules. As he moved about the hall studying his luxurious surroundings, he grew envious.
The palace guards were spread evenly around against the perimeter of the chamber. Even their heavyset figures could not hide the size and sheer beauty of the array of gold plaques that were adorning every one of the walls. It was breath taking. He had never seen so much precious metal in all of his life, even in Madrid at the court of the Spanish royal family. Pizarro dreamed of ripping them all down with his bare hands and carrying them home. He could wait though, it may be difficult, but he knew it was only a matter of time before it was all his.
A long chorus of trumpets blared, snapping him back to reality. He watched closely as a pair of vast golden doors slowly opened at the far end of the hall to reveal the King and his entourage as they entered the main chamber. Vibrantly pluming coloured feather headdresses adorned them all, but the most impressive adornment belonged to the man in the lead. He was also accompanied on either side by a bevy of beautiful young women.
At last, the King had arrived. They made their way leisurely along the stone floor, not stopping until they were a mere ten feet away from the Spaniards.
Separating themselves from the King’s entourage, Minco, a man and a woman came forward.
“This is our god on earth, our supreme leader, our King, Atahualpa,” Minco said, indicating the dignified man in the twilight of his years that stayed in the front of the entourage; he bowed his head slightly towards him as he spoke. “And this,” he indicated to the man on his right, “is Taipi, our Mayta- the High Priest of our sun God Inti. This,” Minco continued as he motioned towards the woman on his left, “is Inguill, our Mamaconas- the High Priestess.” The priest and priestess were elegantly dressed in nearly identical gold robes that showed their obvious high standing within the Incan hierarchy.
Pizarro and his party then took their turn to bow and curtsy. Pizarro had to force a smile through gritted teeth, for he hated bowing to such savages. It made him sick at the pit of his stomach; in his mind, they were the ones who should have been bowing before him, before his glory.
Interrupting those thoughts, Minco continued, “We three shall interpret for you, we can all speak in your tongue,” he said with something of a sneer in his voice. “Now say what you’ve come for and we’ll tell the King.”
Pizarro took a step forward to meet them, showing them
his well-practiced smile. He looked at each of them one by one and noticed while he did, the way Minco’s eyes seemed drawn to the beautiful face of the High Priestess. Pizarro filed this information away in his mind and went ahead with his well-rehearsed speech.
“My friends,” he began in a strong booming voice, “we have come from far away, across the sea to your lands to meet with you in peace. We are explorers and traders and it is our wish that you too will see us as friends so that we might trade our goods, share our knowledge and learn all we can about one another.”
Taipi, the High Priest, was the first to answer. His tone was grim enough for all to understand what his pre-conceived views were. “You have nothing of interest to us, Spaniard. Our empire stretches farther than the eye can see; we are far more powerful than you.” His eyes flashed angrily. “So tell me, what can you give us that we don’t already have?”
Pizarro knew immediately that this holy man would be an obstacle to him and he knew he had to impress him. “We have new weapons that we can supply in great numbers to help you to keep your borders safe. We also have sailing ships so you can travel to distant lands to trade your goods to others or even increase the size of your empire. You see, what we can offer you is power, high priest, and surely you can agree that power is the ultimate defence.”
Taipi looked impassive. “And what do you want from us in return for these gifts?” he asked, his distain still evident in his features. “Tell me, if you have such great power already, what do you expect to gain from us?”
Pizarro felt he had no choice but to tell them why he was here. “In our society gold and silver are highly prized,” he said, pointing all around, towards the impressively decorated walls. “You seem to have lands rich with gold. Let us have some of this treasure- fill up one of my ships with this gold; that is all that I ask for in return.”
Taipi laughed out loud, a hearty laugh full of mocking disbelief. Then it stopped as quickly as it began. He too made a sweeping gesture to all the precious metal surrounding them. “This has all been given to us for the glory and adulation of our King and of our Gods,” he said, and as he spoke, his face grew as harsh as his voice with deep rage. “It cannot be used for any other purpose! The Gods themselves place it deep in the ground, we have to go into the mountains, and we dig it up with our hands. We mould it; shape it, to show them our love and loyalty.”
His expression grew sly and the sneer in his voice spread across his face. “If we give you some gold, will you bow before our Gods and thank them for this gift from the heavens?”
The friar, Father Vincente de Valverde took umbrage at this request. “There is only one true God,” he erupted. “And he is Our Lord, the Almighty God.” With his old and worn Bible held out before him, he walked towards the High Priest. “You are nothing but savages. If you do not embrace Him and His word, then you shall all burn in hell!” He all but shoved the holy book into the priest’s face. “You should be on your knees, bowing in penitence before God!”
“Father...stop!” Pizarro shouted at the foolish man to get back, but it was too late.
Taipi grabbed the Bible from the friar’s hand and threw it to the floor. His long fingers pointed down to the tome as his raised voice filled the room. “The missionary spoke these lies to us before. We took him in and cured his wounds and in return, he tried to turn our people against our Gods.” The High Priest thrust his face forward until it was within an inch of the friar’s. “Once we discovered this act of treachery, we had no choice but to end his life. His purpose in this world was to become a sacrifice to our Gods, in one final act of contrition for his transgressions.”
Valverde lost what little self-control he had left and slapped the priest with all his might, then wrapped his hands around the priest’s throat. That was Valverde’s last mistake on this earth. Within seconds, the Incan guards descended upon the friar, their long knives digging deep into the man’s ample body. Over and over again, they plunged in their sharp blades until he was nothing but a lifeless heap of blood and dark cloth.
In the midst of all the shock and commotion, Pizarro took his chance. From his sleeve, his faithful, secret dagger sprung down into his hand as he made his way over to the King. The royal guards and even Minco were being distracted by the mad slaughter of the friar. This lasted just long enough for Pizarro to get a firm grip on the Incan monarch. The King yelled out in distress, but it also was too late.
“Keep back,” Pizarro shouted. “Get any closer and I’ll cut his throat from ear to ear.” The small, thin blade was pressing tight against the King’s jugular; it wouldn’t take much effort to slice it open. “If I let him go, I know we’ll be dead men in seconds, so please believe me when I say I’ll take him with me if it comes to it.” Pizarro saw the thick pool of blood that was spreading out from under the friar’s body in his periphery.
Minco raised his arm to halt the palace guard’s advance, then moved forward a pace himself. “Don’t be a fool, Spaniard,” he said quietly. “You’ll never get out of here alive unless you release our King right now and beg for his forgiveness.”
Pizarro was not listening to Minco; he had plans afoot. “Almargo,” he said in a low and urgent voice, “get over here now,” he shouted out. He need not have bothered. His right hand man was already moving to stand by his side. Pizarro felt both grateful and more than a little foolish. He should have known him better. “Go and find us somewhere secure, old friend. You need to find us a safe place where we can catch our breath, where we can work out what the hell we’re going to do next.”
Almargo did as he was told; carefully inching his way past the fiercely scowling guards to search the maze of rooms adjoining the main hall. All save one led off to other sections of the castle and to potential trouble. The room Almargo found last was near the rear of the chamber. It was a small, private chamber with only a single, thin window and no other way in or out. It was perfect for what Pizarro needed to do.
He signalled Pizarro, who ordered his men to join Almargo at the doorway. Pizarro remained until everyone else was safely out of the way and no one was left to impede his line of sight. The last thing he needed as he and his precious cargo moved through the looming Incans, was one of his remaining eight soldiers trying to be a hero. Any deviation from this slim chance would mean certain death.
“Minco,” Pizarro called out as he reached the doorway with the king still tightly under his control. “Please come and join me inside. We have much to discuss.”
Without hesitation, the Protector followed his King into the room, cutting himself off from his own men and allowing his enemies to surround him. He did not care for his own safety; he would do whatever was necessary to preserve the Kings life. As the heavy door closed behind him, two of Pizarro’s men took hold of his arms and held them firmly behind his back.
“This can end badly for all of us, or we can work together to make it end well,” Pizarro spoke softly to Minco, as he placed his hand menacingly on the King’s shoulder. “No one else has to die here today. If we work together, your King will be returned to you unharmed and my men and I will sail away from your lands, never to return. But if I cannot trust you, if you betray my trust, I promise you this Minco, the first one to die will be your King. And I’m sure you’ll agree that would not make you much of a protector in the eyes of your people, my friend.”
“Stop your speech,” Minco spat back, his arms straining against his captors. “I know exactly what is at stake, Spaniard. Make your demands. If I can work with you, I will for do it for the life of my King.”
“Good man,” Pizarro said. “I don’t care much for small talk either; let’s get down to business.” He gave Almargo his charge. “If he moves, kill him,” he ordered. Almargo’s curt nod left no doubt in Minco’s mind that he would carry out his orders without hesitation.
Pizarro moved over to the small window and looked outside. “We want safe passage back to our ships and then I want two of their hulls filled with your finest gold.
The one is no longer enough to compensate me for all this damned hassle. When we weigh anchor and set sail from the bay, your King will be sent back to shore in a boat.”
“That will not be easy,” Minco said. “Our people will not take kindly to seeing our King marched through the jungle with your knife at his throat.” His eyes were on his monarch. “I doubt even I’ll be able to stop them from making one or more attempts at rescue. I’ll need to think about how this can be accomplished.”
“Don’t think about it for too long my friend,” Pizarro said softly. “We need to move soon. Go, now. Get out and get me my freedom and my gold.”
“I’ll see to it, Spaniard,” Minco said as he was led to the door, “and you are no friend of mine. You have always been and always will be my enemy.”
Pizarro laughed at the savage. “That may be. But for the time being, we need each other.”
“My King,” Minco shouted as the door slammed in his face. “You will be safe, my Lord. I give you my word!”
The King called out a reply to his Protector in his own tongue, and then turned burning eyes to his captors. He growled something at them before falling into a stoic silence.
Pizarro hadn’t understood a word of it, but he felt fairly sure the Incan King wasn’t offering him his thanks.
5- The Spaniards have their hostage
Minco stormed back through the main chamber, shouldered past his own men and strode to a group of holy men, who were huddled in a tight circle above the dead body of the Spanish friar. They were murmuring prayers in low, singsong tones that would have been hypnotic and relaxing if it wasn’t for the dire circumstances that had led to it.