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  The Incas continued to pray. Their prayers came in all levels and bellowed from up top the walls of Sacsayhuamán and down to the main temples, and even from the chambers below. They were in the moment. They asked no questions.

  An hour passed, but to all in Cusco, it felt like half a year. Another hour passed and still it seemed as if something was missing as if the Incas were waiting for some event, for something majestic to occur. And they were. They were waiting for the high priest to enter the top of the temple and beset the sacrifice. And when the time came, the crowd erupted and the high Inca priest appeared and made his way forward through the throngs of people.

  Manco was amongst the crowd and stared deep into Waman Poma’s eyes. The two men stared at each other, nodded, and Manco handed over a piece fruit and placed into Waman Poma’s hand. Then he disappeared into the crowd.

  The drums blared on and the ritual commenced. The high priest made his way to the very top of the temple steps as the crowd’s volume decreased. Then a line of a dozen selected Inca children were ushered and they climbed up the steps. The children bowed to the Royal Court, and from the shadows, Manco appeared with a long knife in his hand. The prayers were uttered. Then the high priest shouted and a dozen children were sacrificed and beheaded in succession.

  The Spanish were appalled, but they had seen these rituals and beheadings like this before. But still they were shocked. Yet the irony never came across to them. At least, it wasn’t said outright, for they were human and reactionary. Had the Spanish been cognizant of their own cruelty they would have to admit that they were just as viscous.

  The crowd went quiet and the only thing heard was the Spanish sighs and sneers. Then it was time for Titu Cusi to approach, and up the steps, he ascended. The drums continued and the flutes played on. Their tempos accelerated. There was a slight mist in the air, and the sun was gone. The child walked forward, and there he met his father. As Manco approached, he smiled with his hands and chest smeared with blood and took Titu by the hand. They knelt in reverence to the high priest and the Royal Court. Then Manco held Titu by his shoulders and turned him towards the East with their backs against the crowd. Then they assumed their positions. Manco dangled his bloodied knife carelessly in between his fingers and put his arms around Titu’s shoulders. Then Titu knelt to his knees and laid his head flat against the stone altar. Manco frilled Titu’s hair and looked over to the crowd. He looked for Cura, and he found her a split second later. He also found Waman Poma close by, and with a nod, Manco turned away and locked eyes with the high priest.

  The clouds took over. Snow flurries filled the air. Then Manco took out his knife and held it high above his head for all of Cusco to see. Then he slowly dropped his knife, inches away from Titu’s head. The crowd gasped and the drums grew louder and beat faster. Then the drums and dances seized. And Manco dropped his knife to the ground. He picked up Titu, embraced him, and yelled out his battle cry, their signal. His eyes seethed with rage, and his shriek echoed throughout the land.

  Holding their ground on the entrance point of the city, Gonzalo and Hernando stared at each other from afar. They blinked several times. They couldn’t believe what they're seeing. They were shocked and appalled and watched the crowd grow to a frenzy.

  Manco knew it was his moment. So he took it, embraced it, and shouted out his soul to all of Cusco.

  “Away! Away! I am Manco Inca of Vilcabamba!” He repeated the cry again and again.

  Then Manco yelled out another battle cry, and the whole mass of Cusco erupted and unleashed their vengeance.

  The Spanish retaliated with cavalry charges, but each time they tried, they ran into a stream of Inca spears. The horses and their riders toppled to the ground, and the tribesmen piled on them and tried to choke the Spanish with their bare hands.

  Later the Spanish used their crossbowmen and shattered the Incas with multiple strikes, but the Incas still were too great in numbers. In desperation, the crossbowmen retreated to the edge of the city and used the gates a shield. The gates protected them from the thousands of projectiles that the Incas hurled towards them. Though it was feeble, many of the Spanish used this tactic as a last measure to hold their ground. There wasn’t an alternative.

  Arrows and spears rained down. The Spanish shielded themselves and their horses. Some of the Spanish got pelted. Others blocked the Inca blows. Some, including Gonzalo, screamed and charged up the temples.

  Hernando stayed at bay and commanded the cannons. He looked and waited for the perfect moment. Then he shrieked.

  “Fire!”

  Several blasts struck the center of the square. The cannoneers fell from the impact. They got back up. And Hernando shrieked again.

  “Fire!”

  In the smoke, the Spanish and Incas fought on. Both screamed in full-fledged rage.

  The Incas stole as many Spanish swords as they could. They sliced away. The Spanish fired back.

  Manco cut his way through the battle with a spear and sword. He saw his men fight valiantly, but it didn’t last. The Spanish kept reloading. Their guns blasted through the Incas defense, and although completely outnumbered, the Spanish gained considerable ground.

  The Incas fired more arrows and threw more rocks. The Spanish kept coming. Cannon smoke smothered the air. Blood splattered to the walls.

  Hernando squinted through the smoke and cannon fire. He saw some of the Incas retreat. He ordered more of his men to charge. Afterward, sparks of gunfire lit up the sky, and more Inca bodies stacked up.

  And the Spanish kept coming.

  On the other side of the city, Manco ordered his men to hold their ground. They threw anything they could find. They threw rocks, jars, and fruit. Hernando's men shield themselves and their horses, but still they slowly gained ground. The defiant Incas warriors remained by the walls, armed with swords as they egged the Spanish on.

  Manco held his staff and stared at the green slopes, and down the valley, and eventually up again to the sacred Machu Picchu. Deep down he knew he would have to call a retreat, but still he wanted his people to fight as they could.

  The Incas rushed their forces from the shrines once again as the Spanish marched up to meet them.

  The Inca warriors continued to attack from all sides. But the Spanish kept pace. They trudged on. Their armor clanged. They lead on with their swords, staggering and climbing up the steps.

  And the battle continued.

  VIII

  “The city was filled with smoke. At more than one instance the Incas completely took control of the city and they screamed and cursed at us in the endless fog. We were afraid. We were all afraid. I saw our men’s faces. Their faces were smeared with sweat and blood, and their hands were shaking. I retreated to the gates and ran for my life. Somehow I found myself alive and near the end of gates. I found a corpse of one of my dead comrades. I felt my heart pound out of my chest. I was so frightened that I vomited on my armor, and it came out from my nose. I tried to breathe, but I only vomited more. I was completely soaked in sweat and fear.

  Still when I looked at the Pizarros, their expressions said it all. Hernando, Gonzalo, and Juan shared the same blank look. They saw the Incas take complete control of certain parts of the city. They saw horse after horse plummet to the ground. But most of all, even before the battle, they saw Manco do what they never dreamed he could do. He led his people to absolute revolt in absolute confidence, and succeeded in driving us out of their city like a real king, and the Pizarros were forced to come to terms with their incredible folly. Their puppet had a pulse.

  The afternoon passed and we were caught in a standstill. We fled to the valley and made ourselves makeshift tents that we never thought we would have to make again. The fog lifted a bit, but from our view, we saw the firelights of Cusco and heard the Incas chants.

  We were on guard the entire night, and every man was on edge. I knew the next day would be the same. The next day too, if I managed to survive. The city would be besieged until we took cont
rol of it again.

  The next day arrived and it rained like hell. I was ordered by Gonzalo to lead a charge to gain control of the outside gates. Our charge was short lived, for the Incas kept pelting us with stones and spears. We waited for the crossbowmen to arrive for what seemed like hours. But then the cannons fired back, and afterward, we watched the Incas scramble back to the main plaza.

  As the bombing progressed, we finally took control of the gates, but not much else. The Incas managed to block off the initial strike. Then Hernando ordered us to move further down the valley and establish a gathering point in order take full control of Sacsayhuamán, which was a stone, complex fortress, and when we reached there we used it as our main makeshift garrison. Its terrace walls were thick and immense, and the two towers overlooked the entire city. It was rough hilly terrain, but our main objective was to drive all of our forces to gain control of it. It took us an entire afternoon, but we forced ourselves onwards, took control of the walls, and managed to fend off all the Inca invaders. We managed to assemble the cannons and other artillery over, and by nightfall all was secure.

  We now had our ground, and a firm, death grip of a footing. The Incas though did not fight when the moon peaked out. It was a new moon, and their gods forbade them to engage in anything but prayer while it hovered over them. But of course, when the next morning arrived, the Incas returned and charged like they always had.

  The Incas proved to be just as vicious as they were the previous days, but with all of our forces concentrating on capturing Sacsayhuamán, we had solid ground to work with. If we hadn’t, we might have lost the entire city.

  During midday, a segment of the men, including myself, were sent to raid the east-most temple of the city and help a cavalry charge that was arranged to meet us on the opposite side. Hernando had arranged it the previous night, and we led our forces onward for yet another battle. We brought with us several crossbowmen and arquebuses, but most of the dirty work came from us infantrymen. We slashed and stabbed our way forward, but the majority of the time we waited, for there seemed to be not much of a resistance. For hours at a time, we waited. Then when we least suspected, the Incas ambushed us from all sides. And again the vicious hand to hand combat continued.

  The cannons immediately fired upon the Incas, and with it came the fog and smoke. Suddenly the air was filled with ash and soot and we swung our swords blindly through it. The cannons continued to blast rounds above our heads. We surged onwards, but in truth, we could hardly see a thing. Three of our men were immediately injured and as I sifted my way through the smoke and cannon fire, I could hear many men choking from the ash.

  Then in the distance, I saw an Inca crawl to the ground, screaming, sobbing and choking. I took out my sword and blinked to see if I was dreaming.

  But I wasn’t.

  I looked to see who it was.

  It was Manco.

  He turned to his side, still choking and desperately unable to breathe. Then he made it to his knees and I saw that his face was covered in soot and blood, but I knew it was Manco when I looked at his face. As he turned to me, he glared. I looked and turned around to see if any of my comrades were present, but to my dismay, I couldn’t find a soul. For that moment, it seemed that Manco and I were the only two souls living on earth.

  It was a second, but it lasted an eternity, and that moment will be with me until I die.

  In that moment, I saw Manco’s acceptance of his own death, and that alone made me pause. I saw in his face that he was ready to die. He was ready to die or keep living. One or the other. But there wasn’t any fear in Manco’s eyes.

  There was only the anticipation of the moment.

  But for whatever reason I could not kill him. For whatever reason I just didn’t have it in me. It was the longest second of my life. It was the longest broken second I had ever felt.

  Maybe it was my guilt.

  Maybe I was too tired.

  But I just couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t plunge my sword.

  Then the moment passed.

  That moment was an eternity. But in a flash, it was over and Manco took no hesitation. He made it to his feet and I watched him disappear through the fog.

  The cannons returned and roared with another set of rounds, and I was left with my sword in my hand. There still wasn’t a soul in sight for a long time. I stood in the ash and watch it swirl amongst me. I choked and fell to the ground, and for as long as I could remember I lay there unable to move.

  The siege lasted more than anybody could foresee. Every day seemed as if it were repeated. I fell into a trance and all I could do was stab and pierce and swing to try to keep alive.

  It was the third day or maybe the fourth, I can’t remember, but it felt like our planned raids were working. Then in the afternoon, when I made it towards the Brother’s camp, I knew something terrible had happened. Something horrible. Hernando, Gonzalo, and the entire Pizarro family gathered together near a flame. Their faces were cold and grave. Some were crying. Some merely stood, staring and brooding with anger. I asked what happened, but I got no response. Then I noticed that of all the Pizarros there in the scene, Juan was absent. Then I remembered what happened an hour before, and like the idiot that I was, I put two and two together, but still disbelieved the obvious truth.

  I replayed the hour in my mind. I was ordered to be on point and defend our position at Sacsayhuamán. We were the line of first defense. Although there weren't any counter raids, we waited in angst to back up a cavalry charge that was set up to be timed at high noon. Soto was with me at the time and I remember the pain in his face as he winced and waited. Then the orders were finally called and we rushed forward, but the Incas were waiting for us. They threw their spears and fought us for a very long time. Then the cavalry swooped in, but they were late doing so. The Incas managed to climb up the walls and from there they threw their projectiles down on the cavalry. I heard an ungodly scream to this day I cannot fully get out of my head. As, Soto and I trampled over the dead corpses on the ground, we stabbed at the charging Incas continually. From there I saw the cavalry surround and charge again. They storm liked they always did, but many riders dropped from their horses, and Juan was one of them. But at the time, I didn’t know. At the time, Juan’s body was just another corpse. I probably stepped over it. I had no time to pause.

  My thoughts evaded me. I found myself back at the Pizarro’s tent. I watched the Brothers move from their quarters over to the hospital tent, and I joined them soon after. Then I saw Juan’s body on the ground. His entire face was bloodied and scarred. I knew Juan was dying when I looked at his face. He gasped for air and coughed up blood. But in another hour, his body went cold, and he lay dead on the ground. Later, I found out that he had been struck upside the head with a stone, and then speared in the stomach with a lance. He had led the charge, and he was the voice that I heard scream that ungodly howl.

  Hernando returned from the post with Juan’s corpse. He carried a lit torch and moved from the tents to the far end of the walls. He put a cap on the torch and let the smoke rise. Then he dropped the torch to the ground and cried.

  A day later, a small mass was held and Juan’s body was laid to rest soon after. Then in the afternoon, the priests returned with a wooden white cross. They planted it to the ground and left the sight, and went about to pray elsewhere. Gonzalo kept extremely quiet and stayed by the wall, not talking to anyone. He overlooked the bodies and dead horses and squinted through the smoke. He whipped his head back and forth while his mouth quivered. Then he looked at the priests who marched with crosses and lanterns of incense in their hands. But most of all what Gonzalo did in that painful hour was whisper to himself in disbelief.

  As Gonzalo returned to Juan’s body, he whispered a prayer and simply walked away. The fighting continued in the foreground through the vicinity of Sacsayhuamán, and our general holding ground. More bodies were stacked to in a giant pile. They were then later lit on fire, and a plume of black smoke crowded the
air. Then Gonzalo climbed up the walls, looked down at the Incas, spat, sneered, and yelled a primal yell that pierced the air and echoed throughout the Andes.”

  CHAPTER 6

  News of Manco’s revolt and Juan’s death broke to both Francisco and Almagro. In Lima, Francisco wrote a letter to his correspondence in Mexico where he pleaded to send more men to aid Cusco. While Almagro, on his expedition, to search for El Dorado, immediately spared fifty of his men to help the situation. Both patriarchs pretended to be in absolute shock when they first received word, but both also knew internally that it was almost an inevitability. The revolt seemed too much like an abstraction, for both Almagro and Francisco had other things on their minds.