Gabriel felt an icy blade cut his heart and choke off his breath. He mechanically urged Itza towards the Pizarro brothers as all the other cavalrymen gathered around to protect them. They took up Juan’s body and carried him away at a run. Gonzalo turned to face Gabriel, his handsome face twisted with grief and hatred.
‘You killed him. You killed him, Gabriel Montelucar – you killed my beloved brother!’
Gabriel said nothing. All his hatred and biting sarcasm had left him. A moment later Gonzalo, overcome with grief, turned away from his foe and began sobbing like a child.
* * *
‘I didn’t fling the stone that smashed your brother’s skull, Don Hernando, but it was I who insisted that we charge one more time. The final charge proved to be as futile as all those that had preceded it. Don Gonzalo is right to accuse me of bringing about your brother’s death.’
Hernando didn’t answer. His hard, emaciated face was barely visible by the guttering light of a candle-end. They could hear Gonzalo’s wails of grief from the neighboring room, as well as Bartholomew murmuring a prayer.
It had taken them four hours to come down from the walkway in front of the fortress to the cancha on the great square of Aucaypata, and they had carried Juan’s body the whole way, despite constant harassment by the Incas. Gabriel was so tired that he could no longer feel his arms or legs. He couldn’t even feel his hunger anymore. His fingers were numb and his hand swollen from having gripped his sword for so long. His eyes had trouble seeing.
‘But it’s not true that I hoped for – and orchestrated – our defeat,’ he continued.
Still Hernando said nothing. He seemed to be listening to the wails and the women’s funeral laments that accompanied the Christian prayers next door. But then he said in a low voice:
‘Juan was the only person in the world that Gonzalo ever loved. He always loved him, and passionately. Rather strange, don’t you think?’
Now it was Gabriel’s turn to say nothing. But he remembered the words that Juan had spoken to him that very morning.
‘Gonzalo has never respected anyone but Juan,’ continued Hernando. ‘No woman, no man. He obeys me, but only just. And now, Juan’s death is going to make him even madder than he was before.’
‘The demons will be free…’ murmured Gabriel.
Hernando looked at him for a moment, surprised. Then he repeated:
‘The demons, yes…’
Next door, the Christian last rites had finished, but the laments continued still. Hernando made a weary gesture with his hand, as though he was trying to push away the thoughts that had occupied his mind. A thin – very thin – smile spread across his lips.
‘People tend to die in battle, Don Gabriel,’ he continued in his more usual ironic tone. ‘It’s happened before. Especially when you lose the battle. I’m a good Christian, and my brother’s death grieves me. But what grieves me even more is that, despite all your promises and magic powers, we are still on the outside of that damned fortress! It seems that the stones and arrows spared you once again: but never has a miracle seemed more useless to me.’
‘We shall see soon enough if it’s magic or not,’ muttered Gabriel, wiping his hand across his face.
‘Oh yes?’
‘There’s at least one good thing to have come out of our attack, Don Hernando. While we diverted the Incas at the back of the fortress, you at last managed to reach the base of its wall on this side. I noticed earlier that our people are bivouacking there…’
‘…For the moment. But tomorrow morning, the Incas will throw everything they’ve got at us to get us out of there. And they will succeed, because we haven’t the strength to resist them for any length of time.’
‘No. At dawn, I will climb to the summit of the tower – alone – and I will open a passage for you.’
‘That would be madness, Gabriel.’
Hernando and Gabriel turned together to look at whoever had uttered these words. Bartholomew crossed the threshold of the room and said again:
‘It would be madness. You’ll never make it.’
‘There’s a window halfway up the great wall. It can be reached with a good ladder. Inside, I’m sure that there’s a stairway leading to the base of the tower. The Incas have a way of getting up there: I’ll find it!’
‘You’ve lost your mind. By all the saints, today’s action has sent you mad.’
‘Don Hernando, order the ladder to be built. I need to get some sleep. But make sure that it’s ready by the first light of day.’
‘Don Gabriel, you’ll be lying dead beneath an avalanche of stones before you get even halfway up the ladder,’ remarked Hernando with cold circumspection.
‘Well, I’m sure that my death will cause you little grief. On the other hand, I’m sure that you won’t mind if I succeed, either. I’ve known worse deals, Don Hernando.’
At first, Hernando looked a little surprised. Then an odd little laugh came out of his dry lips.
‘You are a strange fellow, Don Gabriel. Always this obsession with dying, then coming back from the dead! Always wanting to show yourself to be better than everyone else. Why, I may well end up sharing my brother the Governor’s opinion of you, and admit that you have certain qualities!’
Gabriel ignored his comment and the sardonic look in his eyes. He took Bartholomew’s deformed hand and squeezed it strongly.
‘It is time to know, my friend Bartholomew. I must know! And this time, no one will have to follow me.’
Gabriel hardly shut his eyes that night. Whenever he did snatch a few moments of sleep, it was despite himself, and as for the rest of the time he spent it in a waking dream.
The visions that had thrust themselves before his mind’s eye pursued him relentlessly, and never let his soul have a moment’s rest. In them, he saw a rope tied to the crenellated ramparts of the round tower, the most forbidding of the towers, and the rope’s end floating gently in the breeze. And when his injured hands closed around the rope, he sensed that nothing could prevent him from reaching the top.
* * *
It was a cold dawn. The ground was almost frozen over, and the sky was as white as a linen canopy. Gabriel was holding a dirty blanket around his naked torso.
He had been woken by a soft hand caressing his forehead and shoulders. He felt the hand’s smooth skin and delicate fingers: a woman’s hand, a forgotten gentleness.
When he opened his eyes and emerged from his deep sleep, his body still ached, and he looked into the young woman’s face without recognizing her. He saw tears swelling in her eyes and dust daubed on her cheeks.
‘You don’t remember me,’ she whispered, with the slightest of smiles. ‘My name is Inguill. We met a long time ago, before Emperor Atahualpa’s death. I was then a young girl serving the Coya Camaquen. She often spoke of you.’
Gabriel sat up and rested on his elbows, now completely awake.
‘Did she send you?’ he asked. ‘Did Anamaya send you?’
She shook her head, her smile broadening slightly.
‘No. I am Lord Don Juan’s wife.’
Her voice cracked as she continued:
‘Or was, until yesterday.’
‘I know. I regret it tremendously. He told me about you.’
Gabriel saw a blend of grief and pride in Inguill’s eyes.
‘He chose me as a slave, and yet he loved me as a wife. And I loved him. He was gentle with me. His Ancestors of the Other World didn’t want him to suffer too much. It is well thus.’
She nimbly reached into her unku and drew out a little jar, which she handed to Gabriel.
‘We drew a little milk from your goats for our children. I’ve brought you some. You must drink it before climbing up the tower. It will give you strength.’
Gabriel grabbed her by the wrist.
‘Why are you doing this?’
Inguill looked at him for a moment. She caressed Gabriel’s shoulder with her free hand. Her fingers slipped over his shoulder blade and brushed ov
er his birthmark.
‘The Coya Camaquen is protecting you, and the Powerful Ancestors too,’ she whispered. ‘We all know that you are going to save us.’
Gabriel tightened his grip around Inguill’s arm.
‘How do you know? Why defend me from your own people? It makes no sense!’
Inguill broke away and stood up brusquely.
‘Drink the milk. It will do you good,’ she said simply before disappearing.
Only then did Gabriel notice Sebastian standing in the background and giving him a stony look.
‘That woman talks rubbish,’ he growled. ‘Climbing that damned ladder up their damned tower is the worst idea you’ve ever had, Gabriel.’
Gabriel grinned as he rose to his feet.
‘So, you no longer think that you saw Saint James reincarnate with your own eyes?’
‘Oh yes, I do! At least, I saw enough to know that one of the two of you is an imposter. And I would happily put my money on it being Saint James!’
‘Blasphemer!’
Laughing openly now. Gabriel embraced his friend.
‘Look after Itza. She’s a fine mare, and I’d like you to give her to me later, when this battle’s over.’
‘I’ll give you your mare and much more, Your Grace. But first you must promise me one thing, by Saint James and the Sacred Virgin, by the Sun and the Moon, by my teeth and your beard and my own—’
‘What?’
‘Stay alive, you damned fool.’
* * *
The ladder was at least eight codos long, but still it only just reached the narrow window set high in the great wall. It took twenty men to raise it and hold it in the right position. It was made of roof beams and logs from the barricades, fitted together as best they could. They had run out of rope for the rungs, some of which were made from the shafts of broken spears and set so far apart that Gabriel had to pull himself up by his arms to reach them.
As soon as he was about four codos up, the ladder began to sway, and Gabriel made sure that he made no sudden movements. He climbed a couple more rungs, then heard people calling to him. He looked down and saw Sebastian, Bartholomew, Hernando, and the others on the ground dashing away from the base of the ladder. He immediately understood without having to look up. He bunched his head and shoulders tightly, hooked his feet solidly onto the rungs, and raised his shield.
As the stones slammed into his leather shield, he realized that he was almost enjoying the thudding sound that they made. Some of the heavier ones struck the ladder, causing it to shake violently. He had to hurry.
Grunting like a woodcutter, Gabriel ignored the missiles and began scaling the uppermost rungs. The ladder squeaked horribly, sagging like a belly whose owner was breathing too strongly. Gabriel kept his eyes fixed on the wall. He put the notions of up and down out of his mind, and ignored the stones whistling past him and sometimes smashing into his hip, or onto the ladder, almost crushing his fingers. He climbed with his feet and his knees. He didn’t hear the shouts and cries ringing out all around him.
His companions had taken his fatigue into account: they had fixed the last rungs closer together, so that they were easier to climb. He felt as though he could practically run up them, and soon enough he found himself on the broad lintel outside the little window.
The pale morning light barely lit the inside of the room, but still he could make out a staircase and a number of dumbfounded Inca faces, normally so impassive.
The mere sound of Gabriel drawing his sword from its scabbard sent the dozen or so Inca warriors scurrying back, even though they were all armed with slings and bludgeons. They looked at one another stupidly, doing nothing, their curiosity making them immobile as much as their surprise. Gabriel cried out in Quechua:
‘Stand back! Stand back! I wish you no harm!’
Waving his sword about as though it were made of balsa wood, he took three steps forward. But the warriors took the corresponding number of steps up the staircase. Each time he advanced, they moved back, maintaining the distance between themselves and Gabriel. Then one of the Incas said:
‘It’s the Stranger with the white beast!’
They stared at each other once again, utterly amazed, and Gabriel didn’t know what to do next any more than they did. Then, wordlessly, the soldiers turned away from him and bolted up the steep staircase with astonishing agility.
Gabriel followed cautiously on their heels, breathing hard and holding his sword out in front of him. When he at last reached the light of day, he discovered that the rampart at the base of the tower was deserted. The warriors had run off to roust out their officers.
He could be seen from the neighboring towers. He heard shouting from them, and stones were slung. Yet none were thrown at him, only at the Spaniards still at the foot of the great wall.
Gabriel, encouraged by the ease of his adventure so far, walked around the base of the tower.
He looked up and felt a shiver run down his spine: he knew now that Inguill had been right – that everyone had been right.
There was no door or window that opened into the interior of the tower or led to its top. But there was a rope, made of agave and ichu, of the sort that the Incas used to build their suspension bridges, that was as thick as a man’s arm. It hung down the entire height of the building, as though inviting him to climb it.
He could now see with extraordinary clarity what he had already seen in his dream.
His exhaustion and caution left him; his tense muscles relaxed. Unable to contain himself, Gabriel approached the top of the great wall, waved his sword and shield around, and cried:
‘Santiago! Santiago!’
His companions down below, who were holding their shields close together, looked like tiny animals with dirty shells. Gabriel laughed like a madman and cried once again:
‘Santiago!’
Then he flung away his shield, sheathed his sword, and took off his heavy chain-mail coat. He took a firm grip of the rope, a rope as miraculous as Jacob’s ladder, and began his ascent. The thought that the Incas up above could cut it at any moment didn’t even cross his mind.
But the exertion of hauling himself up four codos, with his legs and torso at right angles to the wall, the soles of his boots slipping on the stone, and all his weight on his arms, was enough to bring him out of his exhilaration.
His legs felt desperately heavy, and his feet slipped twice after he had set them poorly against the wall. Both times, Gabriel slammed into it with all his weight. He banged his knees and chest painfully hard and almost let go of the rope. He found himself short of breath once again, and his muscles tightened. Both times, he set himself right and continued his ascent. One codo, then another. He had six to go, perhaps more. He remembered Sebastian’s words: ‘Not long from now, you will fly down to earth like a true angel, except that you’ll be ballasted with stones!’ He chortled to himself and paused to rest, but his body weighed so heavily on his arms that he preferred to carry on climbing.
Gabriel was almost halfway up the tower when he felt a jolt through the stone. He looked up. A rock the size of a footstool was hurtling down at him, bouncing off the wall. He didn’t have enough time to protect himself by hugging the wall. He closed his eyes.
Nothing, except a movement of air as the rock brushed past his shoulder.
He opened his eyes just as the rock smashed into the flagstones of the ramparts below, exploding into dust.
‘I am protected,’ he said to himself, his chest burning. ‘Anamaya is protecting me! She loves me, and is protecting me!’
Gabriel was transported back into his elation. He no longer saw the stone wall of the tower in front of him – he saw Anamaya’s blue eyes. He no longer felt the burning sensation in his lungs, or his exhausted arms, or his legs that would no longer bend. He climbed like a demon, like a monkey. The Spaniards down below watched him scale the last codo, and when he reached the edge of the little wall that ran around the top of the tower they cried:
; ‘Santiago! He made it! Santiago!’
Gabriel collapsed and stretched his body along the top of the tower, struggling to regain his breath. He didn’t have the strength to lift himself up. He listened for the sound of Inca soldiers coming to capture him.
But the only sound he heard came from far off.
Finally, he sat up. He was alone. The top of the tower was deserted. There was a turret in its centre that housed the top of a stairwell. He looked down, and saw that there were many flights, and that the steps were so narrow that one had to descend them edgewise. Gabriel saw no one. But he could hear voices rising up from the bottom.
Gabriel went back to the little wall at the edge of the tower. He cried out once again, he screamed at the top of his lungs, he shouted out his victory, yelling that he had taken the tower, and that they could all come and join him!
* * *
By midday, they were still fighting, and the Spaniards had taken a second tower. Gabriel had never left the first one, and no one had come to join him. He had grown horrified, but never weary, of watching the great spectacle of war. The ramparts of the Sacsayhuaman fortress were now strewn with corpses: at least a thousand, perhaps two.
Gabriel placed his aching hands on the little stone wall and saw that they were trembling. He couldn’t feel anything anymore. He asked himself what madness had possessed him, how he had come to be like a drunkard emerging from his haze.
He didn’t even dare think about Anamaya, nor did he believe the obscene notion that she had protected him to permit this horrendous carnage.
The pestilent stench of death assaulted his nostrils.
Sebastian’s affectionate words now seemed to have been addressed to someone other than Gabriel.
Once more, he hoped that death would simply fall upon him, and that he wouldn’t have to jump from the tower to forget the pleasure he had derived from being the catalyst of the present massacre.
The Light of Machu Picchu Page 10
