B01AOKY60K

  II

  “I walked around the city with these thoughts swirling in mind. Then I found the body.

  It was Escobar’s, and when I found it I vomited my breakfast at the sight. His face was gray and his eyes were open, and blood was smeared on his forehead. I turned the corpse to his side and found his back was pierced with stab wounds all over.

  I informed Hernando of the matter and an hour later Escobar’s corpse was buried, and a vigil was held soon after. Although there was some concern, there wasn’t any outrage by our men. I was appalled. Hardly anybody asked who murdered him. Hardly anybody cared.

  I couldn’t believe this and I was beside myself the entire afternoon. I asked various men what happened. Who was the last man to see him? Who was responsible for his murder?

  I asked one man in particular and his reaction to Escobar’s death said it all.

  “He’s dead, Sardina.” Said the man. “What do you want me to do about it?”

  Then the man spat on the ground and walked away. I wasn’t angry with him, and in certain regards I understood his thinking, but there was something wrong about it. There was something missing. I wanted to ask a priest what was missing in the man’s reaction, but at the time, I couldn’t find any. So I left the matter in my mind and thought about it alone.

  Was the man right? Was there nothing he could do about it? He probably was. He said it with such conviction.

  I looked at the other men to see if it was a consensus. It was clear that they had other things on their minds, and when the day ended I fully knew the limitations of men’s empathy and solidarity. Things like that could only last so long.

  But I still was dissatisfied. I kept thinking what was lost.

  Empathy?

  Empathy died when we discovered Cusco. Solidarity? Solidarity died when we left Spain. I should have known these things at the time. It was replaced with the gold that we longed and sacrificed for. Why should anybody give a damn about a person dying? It was part and parcel.

  It just happened to be Escobar. And like the man suggested: there was nothing to be done about it.

  Though I did not know the extent of the matter until the day I found the corpse and heard the man’s words. It was a hard, cold, taxing truth. What could he do about it? What could he possibly do about it?

  From that day, I knew the extent of what our people held in regard. Funerals are important, but people grow tired of them quickly. People can only be emotional at spurts at a time. People care when they are forced to. Nobody knew Escobar. Dead bodies can only have so much respect. Everything has its limitations. At least, that was the conventional thought.

  At dusk, a mass was held. About a dozen people attended. I saw none of the Pizarros. Nor did I see any of the Almagros. I suppose they were too busy. I suppose they couldn’t fit into their schedule. Clearly, there were other things far too precious to worry about than Escobar. Clearly they had other plans.

  I tried to pray, but I forgot the words. Then the priests said a homily. Those words were even more forgetful.

  We buried Escobar among the great walls of the city that the Incas called Sacsayhuamán. There were no flowers or arrangements of any kind. There was only a hole and dirt that lay in a pile.

  As the day came to a close, and I slipped from one side of the city to another, just like I did the previous morning. My thoughts were muddled and confused and I tried to clear my mind of them all. Deep down though I knew it was merely a practice of futility.

  As the hours passed, I noticed a line form along the Almagro side of the city. I kept my distance from them and lurked about the boundary lines. I wasn’t alone. There were several others who did the same. We paced alone in our thoughts and swayed in the hell of our own indecision. I walked closer to get a better glimpse and asked the other men what was happening. I was informed that this was Almagro’s open invitation and recruitment of the new expedition to El Dorado had begun.

  “These goddamn fools.” I heard some of the men say, but then a half hour later I saw the same men who said those words join the others in line.

  There were about two-dozen men at first. Then the line grew to about five-dozen. I looked for Soto, but I couldn’t find him. All of the men paid their share to Almagro’s treasurer and signed a piece of parchment. After the last man signed, the men drank by the firelight and sang bawdy songs of yore.

  They changed the lyrics to the song and every other word was replaced by the word “El Dorado.”

  “El Dorado, you thief! El Dorado, you whore! We’re off to sing and cry. We’re off to sing and die!”

  And that they were. They shouted and hollered for what seemed like years. Everybody heard them. The Pizarros especially.

  As the night went on, I tried to look for Soto again. If there was anyone who knew what was happening, it was Soto. But I couldn’t find him. I couldn’t find him anywhere. I wondered if he was the first to sign up for the expedition, or if he still had doubts. I wondered what Cusco would be without him. I wondered.

  I thought of the men in the Almagro’s camp and cursed at them from afar. These damn fools slept like babies. These damn fools reminded me of how I felt when I left Panama. And these damn fools had the potential to be rich damn fools, even richer than they already were. I wondered if I were making a mistake by merely watching the others join. I wondered if I missed my opportunity. I wondered if I myself were the real “Damn Fool” for being too tentative and not falling in line with the others.

  The night passed. And the next day I wondered.”

  III

  But what Sardina did not know was that Soto was also one of those damn fools. Though he wasn’t in line waiting with the others, rather he was declined from the very start. It was an instant shock to Soto that he was not asked directly to join the expedition to El Dorado. Neither Almagro nor Diego came to inform him. He learned about the expedition from other men, but it was even more of a shock to Soto, that when he finally approached Almagro about joining, he was repeatedly declined. Almagro made damn sure he did so in private, with only his son as a witness.

  Almagro declined Soto in the kindest way possible, which made Soto even embittered. Soto knew Almagro was lying from the first words he uttered, and Soto deflected the lies with his own reasoning, but no matter how much truth Soto tried to relay, Almagro refused to listen. Midway in the conversation, Almagro paused, as did Soto. The two stared at each other and both sneered. Almagro smiled through his gritted teeth and the conversation continued. The shock had faded, and it was replaced with more lies.

  “I know what you’re going to ask, Soto.” Almagro began. “Don’t bother repeating.”

  “You didn’t even ask me, sir. Why?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re saying, Soto.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me your intentions?”

  “My intentions?”

  “I have eyes, you know. Ears too. It’s El Dorado. Isn’t it?”

  “El Dorado? Dear boy, you draw hasty conclusions.”

  “I draw what I see. And I’ve seen you’ve paid quite a number of men. It’s either El Dorado or you just like paying people. Which is it, Almagro?”

  “It’s neither. It’s orders from the Crown. We’re heading back to Lima to retrieve supplies.”

  “Then why aren’t you going with Francisco?”

  “We’re two different men, Soto.”

  “And why haven’t you asked me to join?”

  “Why should I, Soto? Why should I offend you? Just to beg for company? On such an ordinary mission?”

  “But I went with you before. I’d be honored to join you again, sir.”

  “Son, you don’t realize what you have here. You don’t realize the threat either. Cusco needs you more than it needs me. It needs to be protected. The Crown can’t afford to lose such a man as yourself. That’s why I’ve asked beggars and boys. They’re expendable. Not, you, Soto. You’re too important.”

  “What of El Dorado then?”

  “El
Dorado is only a rumor.”

  “Cusco was too, sir.”

  “Your logic is impeccable, Soto. When we come back and we’ve assembled enough men and these rumors are deemed to be true, you can make sure you’ll be the first man I ask. But for now, Cusco is the only thing you should think about.”

  And with that Almagro departed, and Soto returned alone to his fire.

  IV

  “By the next morning, the whole of Almagro’s men assembled and made their way out of the city. A crowd cheered and hollered. And Almagro’s men took out their flags and mounted on their horses. Trumpets blared. Drums rolled. It was official.

  The Pizarros looked puzzled and marveled at the sheer number of men who had joined Almagro’s bidding. Momentary glances turned to glares. They gave no bows. They shook no hands. They merely watched.

  The Almagros and magistrates recited their decrees, and the Pizarro scribes documented all they deemed worthy and notable. Then Francisco approached Almagro for the final time. Francisco was the only Pizarro to speak, and the choice of words Francisco had for Almagro were brief, but the words were direct and amiable. Deep down both Almagro and Francisco knew that this would be the last time they would see each other as friends. In the public eye, they acted with a general sense of gratitude on both of their faces. The congeniality of the moment censured all pure thoughts and replaced them with fake smiles. But deep down Francisco wished for Almagro’s immediate death. And the same was true for Almagro. Deep down, the two patriarchs wanted nothing better than to plunge their swords into each other’s throats and watch the blood drip down. But deep down they knew could never do it in that instance. That time would have to wait.

  “I wish you good luck, my friend.” Francisco finally said. “I wish you find all the gold in the world.”

  As we watched Almagro’s men depart the city, a sudden fright arrived, and for the first time in a long time, we were forced to think. We had to think of what would happen to Cusco. But we also had to decide whose allegiance we would pay. It was probably there that Francisco thought, and it wasn’t long until he put his thoughts into action. But that too would have to wait.

  Then Almagro’s men sent forth and with fifty horses and several hundred men they paraded out of Cusco and the ensuing crowd cheered them on and blessed and wished for their good fortune. It was their promise to keep.

  Almagro mounted on his horse and Francisco looked up at Almagro from the ground. They shouted again, but their sounds faded. The moment had passed, and they were already gone.

  But for some odd reason, Soto gave out a great laugh. It was a laugh I was not accustomed to. A booming laugh. So much so my heart dropped when I heard it. It was utterly baffling to me. Soto knew what was going to happen. But at the time, the epiphany was only communicable to him and him alone.

  Soto tried to explain it to me. He was too cryptic.

  “You’re watching a disaster, Sardina. You should be laughing.”

  Then Soto patted me on the shoulder and he walked away.”

  V

  “It was not long after that Francisco gathered his men and hoisted a charter of his own. It might have been a week. It might have been more. I’m not sure.

  Strategically, Francisco had thought about this for quite some time, but as the days passed the decision must have made more and more sense to him. There was a definite hesitancy on Francisco’s face following the days after Almagro’s departure, but I’m sure in his mind he was sure that he made the right decision.

  He assembled his chosen men and spoke to them individually. He spoke to Soto first, but Soto declined. Then Francisco spoke to his other men, and within days, he assembled his own private army. His mission was to leave Cusco and settle a new city in Lima. It wasn’t a new idea. He probably came with it the second he found Cajamarca. The reasoning behind leaving for Lima was well known. Cusco was grand, but it was far too inland, and as a result much more vulnerable to foreign invaders. Lima, however, was on the coast and served as an ideal place for correspondence and protection.

  However for myself, there was more to the ploy. There had to have been. I racked my brain and tried to think. The more I thought, the more I saw the logical sequence. It truly was an end game for Francisco. Out of all the men I knew, Francisco was the probably the most aware of his own mortality.

  Francisco was old, probably the oldest man I remember I ever met. He was too wise to make the same mistakes of his past. What was in Lima was a port, and also the sea. Strategically it was best for someone other than an Inca to rule it. But there had to be a deeper meaning to his departure. I kept thinking it was a ploy of some kind, that he was just saying he going to Lima while his real intention was to search and conquer El Dorado. Then I fell into the reasoning of the common conspiracy that indeed it was a ploy, a ploy so he could conquer El Dorado first, and leave Almagro behind in the dusk.

  It was a dedicated ploy, and it was distinct, but the more I thought about it, the more I just thought it was the thought of others. The others who weren’t hand selected by Almagro. The others who felt cheated and denigrated and left in the cold.

  The more I thought about the ploy, the more it just didn’t seem right. It seemed that the ploy was merely concocted by people who couldn’t understand Francisco’s withdraw from power. They couldn’t understand an old man’s contentment of enjoying what he’s conquered.

  After all, bitter people have great imaginations. They didn’t know Francisco. They merely shaped Francisco’s character and motivation to the fit their own story.

  And the more I thought about Francisco and how content he looked, even in Cajamarca, the more I realized his initial drive was gone. He simply wanted to rule in his own terms, and he knew he couldn’t do so in Cusco. Though I suspected the main reason that Francisco left for Lima was because he had foreseen what Cusco was becoming. He saw that it was a death trap, and he knew his power could only last in a city so large. He knew the limitations of his reign and power, and his agreement with Almagro was a drunken one and one that was easily breakable. It was a chronic problem that Cusco presented. And Lima seemed to be the panacea. Lima was always his city, and although it was small it was all that he wanted. Francisco had scouted Lima for as long as I could remember, but at that time, he hadn’t the gold to be the godly king he wanted to be.

  But now he did.

  An evening prayer was held, and the next morning Francisco paraded his men on horseback. He embraced his brothers for the final time. He probably thought all night what he’d say. He spoke with Hernando the longest.

  Then Francisco made a speech. But what I remembered most was the sight of him, which proved to be the last time. The sight of them that afternoon was a memorable one, and indeed, that was the last time I saw Francisco. Then the scribes uttered the decree, and after it was official they were off and departed through the city’s gates, and we watched them disappear into the sun.

  The next morning I awoke and saw Soto sitting calmly tree stump. It took me a while to realize that it was indeed Soto. He breathed in and out. It was if something was lodged in his throat. Maybe it was his pride.

  And of course, I had my questions. But I didn’t ask him any.

  Soto was as angry as I ever saw a man be. His face was red. He refused to say a word. Why he was here and not with Almagro was one question. Although I should have known, I really couldn’t put two and two together. I didn’t realize it at the time.

  Soto stared into the ashes of the fire for a straight hour. Although there was much commotion from the men and the horses, he was not deterred from his concentration.

  He seldom blinked.

  I watched him from afar for two days. The more enraged he got, the more he paced. He always dictated orders in curt fashion, but this time, he barked his orders at his men, much like a dog barking at strangers. All of his sentences were commands. All of his words cut off and rough. And all of the threats were all too real and unruly.

  The first day his mood was can
tankerous. The second day his mood was even more amplified. He threatened his men with his sword and said more swears than sentences. And he gave order after order.

  I set up the board, but Soto kept his distance. It was if he were in his own world. I could see his thought patterns spill, and he was beginning to think more of more of his early arrival back to Spain. He was caught in the perilous state of making a decision. The difference now was that Soto had his fortune and with it more respect and more things to think about.

  And like that, the two giants were gone. Almagro off to find El Dorado and Francisco off to Lima.

  And so Hernando took control of Cusco. He performed all that was asked of him and treated Manco much as Francisco did, but he had given Manco more space and respect. The Incas performed their rituals and prayed to their gods, and Manco served his people by attending every ceremony. One thing about the Inca people that I adored was their singing. They sang in the morning in the noontime and all throughout the evening. That incredible music could never truly be conquered. And it was beautiful.