B01AOKY60K

  But every time, the question was asked the same answer was repeated. The tribesmen knew not of El Dorado. They hadn’t even heard of such a place.

  But the Almagros repeated the process and worked harder. Had Pizarro been there, it might have gone differently. There may have been a pause. Had Soto been there, perhaps there would have been a longer pause. There may have been time to pause and reflect, to strategically think of other alternatives.

  But neither Soto nor Pizarro was present. It was only Almagro and his son, and they could not afford time to think, for they were starved beyond reason. They had to act and take the moment for all it was worth, and as they looked at each other it was obvious they had no other choice. So they repeated and shouted and inched their swords closer to the tribesmen’s throats.

  “El Dorado! Where is it? Show us, you bastards!”

  Diego looked at his father with quiet fearful eyes. There was a strange little smile on Almagro’s face and the initial shock wore off. Around the fifth time of questioning Almagro screamed again, and when the sixth time approached, Almagro let out a sigh, and after the signal was sent, all of the tribesmen were beheaded.

  A few days passed, but the expedition hadn’t found any other tribe or anything alive for the matter. During a cold night, the men held a private vote and unanimously agreed to decline to extend the expedition, and with the agreement the men deemed their next course of action was to return to Cusco and take back all of it, including Pizarro’s section of the city. They nodded and thought of it as they slept, and in the morning, Diego informed Almagro of the news. Almagro, however, refused to say a word to his officers. Instead, he left the thought to linger.

  For a span of two whole days, there was no other mention of El Dorado. Snow turned back to rain, but still a painful decision had to be made and with great reluctance the Almagros finally had their conversation. They set up a makeshift tent and Almagro and Diego along with three petty officers talked amongst themselves. Almagro and Diego did much of the talking. They shivered and whispered.

  “I’ve been told twenty of the men were sent up north. Is it true?”

  “Yes, Diego. It’s true.”

  “But why? We know there’s no food up north.”

  “I didn’t send them for food. I sent them back to Cusco. They'll have a head start. They can fill us in on who's coming and going. That way we can arrive back without any trouble.”

  “So it’s final?”

  “It’s final. We’ll head back north immediately tomorrow morning.

  They sighed as the rain stopped, and along the cliff, they watched the vapid shore. It looked oddly familiar. The air was dry. The cold wind whipped their faces.

  “God never made a more unhappy place.” Said Almagro.

  “There’s nothing here, father. We're all out of rations. We're all out of supplies. We can’t wait any longer.” Said Diego.

  “So we’ll take what’s ours.” Said Almagro. “Cusco. We’ll return and take what’s ours. What’s left of it anyway. Let’s go.”

  And so, the expedition to El Dorado ended. And Almagro and his men rode back north. Back to civilization. Back to Cusco.

  VI

  In the jungle, Gonzalo’s men remained. They were on Manco’s trail. It was all too familiar. The heat was ungodly, but most of the men kept their armor on. In the falling rain, the Inca slaves pointed down slopes of the hill to a hidden pass. The Spanish then proceeded and passed through heavy mud and falling rocks. In all, there were three hundred men that joined Gonzalo, almost twice the amount that his brother Francisco had when they reached Cajamarca.

  More evidence of the Incas came to the surface. The Spanish found clues that the Incas were in the vicinity. They found bows and spears. Later they found clay pots and wooden baskets. All were convinced that the Incas were just waiting to ambush. They looked up into trees, expecting an ambush at any second, and the rain never stopped. It fell at a drenching pace, and the men seeped deeper into thick mud.

  Gonzalo led his men down the slope. In a week, it looked as if Gonzalo aged twenty years. With him was Cura. She neither said a word nor did she share a glance. She rode on a mule and was guarded by her servants and slaves. She was always within Gonzalo’s reach, and her face was gray and forlorn. Under Gonzalo’s breath, he repeated a familiar phrase.

  “Bastard. The bastard.”

  But Gonzalo kept his head tilted high and led his men and marched. Several times tree limbs snapped and the men reacted by shooting their hand cannons up onto the dense canopy. They fired round after round, but silence always followed.

  But still the Incas were nowhere to be found. For another week, the hell of the jungle continued, but each man knew they were getting closer. They sensed it. They knew the Incas were near. They could smell them.

  VII

  “When the rain ended Gonzalo took charge of the cavalry and set forth to meet fifty infantrymen, which included myself. He sent out scouts to search for where the Incas were hiding, and the consensus was that the Incas had gone as far west as the falling green slopes about thirty miles away.

  I forgot how terrible the jungle was. It was relentless and there seemed to be no end. The heat was a constant reminder, and it stayed with us from morning until night. All day long we prepared for an attack. All day long we lulled ourselves to sleep. Some could only stare for so long. I, myself, found my eyes fixated on the slopes and the green lush of the rolling land. It was a deep green and the air was thin, and the elevation made it difficult to breathe.

  I staggered on foot for the remaining of the day. I wanted to be closer to the ground. What baffled the most though was the silence. The silence of those slopes was controlling and overwhelming. And from there I rested, but my mind never seized, and I thought of endless things. I wondered if I could let the matter drop. I wondered if I could forget about all of this and be like Gonzalo: monomaniacal and absolutely free of the conventional morality around him. If we were to find Manco, I knew Gonzalo would not hesitate to kill him immediately. His end game was quite clear: brute and immediate revenge. As for my end game, I still pondered, and the more the silence took over the more I thought of Soto.

  I tried to put it all into perspective. I thought of gods and worshipers. I thought of leaders and followers. I thought of those who lost their way and were guided back by a light. There were those who followed Christ. There were those who followed Mohammed. I followed Francisco. Now I was following his brother. In the back of my mind, I could feel many eyes were watching me. Perhaps they were. Perhaps I was always imagining. When I rested I just stared at the slopes and rolling green lush of the hills. I let myself dream again, thinking where I was and how I got to the present moment. I thought of the beach and Francisco’s line. And I thought of a childhood song I used to sing with my brothers when we tended the pigs to their sties.

  As the day ended, I watched over the west and saw the sunset. Then the sky darkened, and the men made fires out of wet sticks and whatever they could find. I lay beside a fire and said not a word to any of the men. From their stares, I could tell they were apprehensive to approach me. Most of them stared at the bright embers and the sliding smoke that emerged from the dry wood. Most of them tried to sleep.

  The next morning, I did more thinking. And the next day I did the same. The stifling heat of the jungle continued. I knew for certain that thinking the way I did was doing me harm, and I was right. Thinking was taking its toll on me. My head ached. It felt as if someone split my head with the blunt edge of a sword. I felt the world spin uncontrollably and I vomited many times. When I recovered, I watched the men from afar. I watched their faces as I moved passed them. There was a general look of concern, but I insisted that I wanted to be left alone until I got back to my senses.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw some of the men climb newly discovered steps that went up to a high terrace. Their eyes were wide and suffering, and the commotion increased to a fevered pitch as they continued climbing. Word was passed
and more men took to the narrow steps.

  Then I heard the men shout. They gathered and discovered golden statues that were heavy and formidable. Some of the men started to giggle like buffoons as more statues appeared, and they swarmed up the steps, knocking each other over.

  But then I heard a horrendous scream. It echoed and split my ears. At first, I thought I was still dreaming, and I blinked several times. Then I heard the scream again. I turned to look where it was coming from, and then I blinked and watched in horror.

  I looked up and saw an Inca mount on top of a horse. He screamed to his men and the Incas rushed down the hill, and spears ran down from the sky. There were thousands of them. They rushed down the hill, and they took us completely by surprise.”

  VIII

  From one side of the pass to the other, the Spanish found themselves surrounded, and the Inca’s ambushed them from all angles.

  Manco led a charge and rode his horse straight into the heart of the Spanish line. But he wasn’t alone. About a hundred Incas followed his lead.

  The Incas screamed and rushed. Before the Spanish could draw their swords, the Incas tackled them to the ground. Some Incas flew and jump down from high elevations. Others stayed in hiding in the hills and launched javelins, heavy boulders from on high, pelting the Spanish and making them fall down the steps. For a half an hour, the Spanish tried to hold ground. They fired back with their hand cannons, but the Incas out simply powered them.

  The Incas ran in full force and blitzed the Spanish, stabbing them with spears and knives. The Spanish fired back, but the Incas out-maneuvered them. In the fog of smoke, the Spanish hardly saw what they were shooting, and the Incas took full advantage. They used sharp splinters of wood and stabbed the cannoneers with jabs to the chest and throat.

  The Incas were far from finished and they continued their attack for another hour. They clearly wanted more. When they lost their spears and fans, the Incas picked up severed limbs from the ground and used them as weapons. They stole more Spanish swords, helmets, and horses, and continued their charge. They struck the Spanish again with sharp, penetrating arrows that split and sliced through armor. A few of the Inca men chased down the Spanish, climbing on their backs and then smashing their skulls open with the blunt side of their helmets. One Inca warrior ignited himself on fire and ran into the mass of the fighting. Afterward, a cloud of black smoke filled the air. Several other Incas went after the Spanish horses, slashing their legs with lances and watching the riders fall and die.

  Gonzalo, himself, fell off his horse, and three Incas piled on top of him. But Gonzalo’s guardsmen immediately shot the Incas a second later, and the blood spewed and stayed on their faces.

  The noonday sun disappeared in smoke and fog. Burning flesh seared the air and blood dripped then splattered on the grass. About fifty Spanish soldiers lay wounded on the steps, and the Incas beheaded them with great pleasure. They then proceeded to roll the Spanish heads down the steps, and the Incas laughed and wailed in pure delight.

  A thousand yards out, the Incas taunted the Spanish with swears and threats. They yelled a collective, piercing scream that exploded and echoed. And to the Spanish, it sounded like the cliffs would explode and fall upon them.

  The Incas smiled, laughed, and cried as they saw Manco finally stand triumphant. He stared at Spaniard who laid on the ground and stabbed him the eye with a spear. Afterward, Manco dipped his finger in the fresh pool of blood, tasting it as if it were an appetizer. Then Manco raised his spear and cried out a yell in Quechua. His shriek burst and echoed. It was praised and honored and repeated.

  “I AM MANCO INCA OF VILCABAMBA!”

  The Incas cheered and danced in jubilation. Their excitement roared. Their eyes shone.

  For the Spanish, a call of retreat was sounded, and the Incas continued to pelt them with piles of excrement.

  And for the first time, the Incas won and defeated the Spanish in a pitched battle.

  The Spanish retreated down the backstretch of the mountain. They retreated as far as they could. All of them were bloodied and bewildered. They stayed in a state of collective shock for the entirety of the night. They looked at Gonzalo, but Gonzalo refrained from saying anything. His face was red and his eyes were filled with rage. He paced around the fire camp and wanted nothing less to take out all the Incas out one by one and kill every single one. But as the Spanish looked on to their defeat, they could still hear the Incas shouting. They still heard the Incas laugh and celebrate. They heard them sing song after song, and all the Spanish could do was listen and mend their wounds.

  For the Incas, the celebration continued well into the night. They took their captured Spanish prisoners and cut their throats against the stone slabs. There was a gleam in the Incas eyes when they did this, for the favor was returned.

  One subject, in particular, was a malicious friar who was known to be very cruel to the Incas back in Cusco, and it was time for the Incas reparation.

  The monk screamed in horror as two Incas grabbed his wrists while two other Incas grabbed hold of his legs. The monk continued to scream and the Incas covered his mouth with their hands. The monk bit down as hard as he could, but his resistance didn’t amount to much. They held him there for a long half hour, and all the Incas did was smile; smile, because they knew exactly, was in store for the monk.

  It was Waman Poma who was brought forward, and in his hand was a large wooden spoon. He too smiled and he approached the monk with a maddening gleam. The monk drooled and saliva ran down his mouth. He tried to spit and when he did it landed on Waman Poma’s shoulder. The Incas responded by slamming the monk on the ground and then punching him in the head. Then Waman Poma took out the spoon and drew himself to a nearby fire. He dipped the spoon into a kettle and retrieved a heap of melting gold. The spoon sizzled and the gold glowed bright in the darkness. When he deemed it enough, Waman Poma drew forward, balanced the spoon, and staggered his way to the monk.

  Then Waman Poma singled to his men and they clawed their hands and opened the monk’s mouth as wide as they could and held the monk by his limbs. When the monk saw the heap of boiling gold move toward him, he bled from his eyes. Then Waman Poma inserted the smoldering gold inside the monk’s mouth. The smoke climbed up to the dead black of the night’s sky, and the Incas gathered and smiled at the sight. The monk screamed his last and the melting gold found its way down his throat and burst out from his chest, and the Incas mocked his scream with screams of their own. After it was over the Incas burned the monk’s corpse and the last slabs of the monk’s robes smoldered in a growing flame, and the Incas danced until morning.

  IX

  “After the retreat, Gonzalo didn’t say a word. We were miles away from the battle and lay beaten and exhausted. Each messenger that approached Gonzalo was treated in the same dismissive manner. He stayed by the fire with his Inca wife, who we all knew was Manco’s wife, and he asked not to be bothered. Throughout the night, we wondered if the Incas would ambush us, and for the first time in a long time, I saw our men cringe with fear.

  The next day I found myself walking a sort of a daze. Many men tried to talk to me, but, I, like Gonzalo, remained silent, numbed and still in a state of shock. The Incas didn’t ambush, but we were still on edge. We were still unhinged with fear.

  It was later that I found out the unavoidable news. Several more scouts were sent to him via Hernando. All of the messages were the same. Almagro had return to Cusco.

  During the night, I faded in and out of sleep. I heard only words and murmurs. None of them any sense. I didn’t know who said these words. I merely guessed and tried to make as little sense as I could from them.

  “Almagro’s already there?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How could he? Where’s Hernando?”

  “He couldn’t possibly return to Cusco. It’s too soon.”

  “He did. He’s there already.”

  “More news? Is it good or bad.”

  “It’s
terrible.”

  “Damn it. Damn it to hell! Damn it all to hell!”

  I walked out into the night from fire to fire in search of food. I didn’t find any, but I did find Gonzalo. He was alone. His Inca wife was nowhere to be found. Gonzalo glared at me for a full minute, and I thought I was dreaming. I saw Gonzalo’s face as he stared up to the moon. Then I watched him scream at the sky.

  In the following days, we trekked the jungle in small groups of five men. If his advisers hadn’t convinced him otherwise Gonzalo would have issued another assault on the Incas, but we were clearly outnumbered and there was no sense in pursuing further until more troops arrived. So we did what we could, we stayed close as a unit and bided our time and waited for the reinforcements to arrive. We found no traces of the Incas, and indiscriminately Gonzalo executed several guides that he thought had lied to him. Our grimaces returned as we marched through swamps and streams. Day by day we grew bitter and vengeful, and day-by-day we wanted nothing other than blood.