Villa Oma wasn’t listening. If one listened closely, one could hear him murmuring to himself:
‘There is something ancient and impure in you…’
Anamaya’s blood had run cold when she had seen that Gabriel was in danger. She took no comfort now from Huayna Capac’s imprecise words, and she was frightened of visions in which she saw nothing, and prophecies that prophesied anything.
Most of the Indians in the valley had gathered in the straight and narrow alleyways running between the canchas. They had put down their tools and abandoned their fields and had converged on the town. Anamaya sensed them baying silently for blood and death, an urge whirling within them like the turbulent waters of the Willkamayo, and she felt as though she alone was resisting it. She looked up over the heads of the crowd at the Ancestor, and begged him for his help.
‘You do not see clearly, Villa Oma. Your eyes have grown red as Atahualpa’s did, and your heart is drowning in a lake of blood. You secretly cast curses, and you secretly make sacrifices, and you kill and kill, but you have forgotten that you are nothing without the Ancestors, nothing without the gods surrounding us…’
‘Something impure…’ repeated Villa Oma, louder now, as though he hadn’t heard a word that Manco had said. ‘I remember the woeful day when, disregarding my advice, his spirit shadowed by illness, the great Huayna Capac refused to give the Puma the body of an impure little girl, and then even placed her at his side and confided secrets to her that no one had ever before or has ever since known. I should have taken her from him and have done away with her, because now, instead of being eaten by the Puma, she has drawn it forth from the earth so that it can consume us all…’
‘For the last time, Villa Oma, silence! Anamaya has never betrayed the Incas. You forget that she has never stopped performing her duties as Coya Camaquen, the Coya Camaquen chosen by Huayna Capac himself, and that you yourself guided her along the way. Anamaya is the tradition, she is what was before and what will be…’
Villa Oma fell silent. His thin body shook inside his unku, and the red tunic billowed like a wave of blood. Instead of words, from his lips issued a froth that mixed with the green juice of the coca leaves he was always chewing. His copper skin turned gray.
Then, making a supreme effort to stiffen all his limbs and control himself, he said, with a tone of regret:
‘I must go. Farewell, my Lord.’
Walking jerkily, he made his way toward the river, alone.
Despite Villa Oma’s obvious fury and hatred, despite all that had widened the rift between them until it seemed too great to cross, Anamaya heard in the Sage’s last words the echo of that respect which he had refused to give Manco and yet now bestowed upon him by distancing himself. She heard the echo of an old, fraternal alliance that had soured into enmity.
CHAPTER 15
Ollantaytambo, November 1536
Immediately after Villa Oma disappeared, soldiers surrounded Gabriel and took him through the growling, hostile crowd to Manco’s cancha. Gabriel could no longer see the reassuring faces of Anamaya, Katari or even Manco, and he felt like a flimsy basket being carried down rapids by a raging torrent.
When he entered the cancha’s courtyard, the women moved away from him. He soon found himself alone beside the fountain of the Four Directions, his heart still beating furiously after his scrape with death, his mind revisiting the belligerent exchange of words between Manco and the Sage. A part of him was wondering whether, once again, he had been protected by some mysterious force, whether some unseen power was watching over him after all.
‘Are all the Strangers like you?’
A little boy, his eyes agleam with curiosity, was staring at Gabriel without any trace of fear, even though the child was only four or five years old.
‘Oh, there are many much nastier than me!’ replied Gabriel, grinning.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Gabriel.’
The little boy pondered upon this, a serious expression on his face.
‘That’s a strange name. It doesn’t mean anything.’
‘Some of your people have told me that it means “puma”. And you? What’s your name?’
‘I’m Titu Cusi. I am the son of Lord Manco, and one day I will be Inca.’
‘Well, I’m sure that you’ll be a powerful emperor, and that you will also rule your people benevolently…’
But the little boy was no longer listening; he rushed over to his father, who had just entered the courtyard, surrounded by a guard of Lords and soldiers. Manco leaned down to his son and smiled, and Gabriel saw how tenderly the Emperor hugged his boy. But when he stood up Gabriel saw that his black-eyed stare was once more hostile, impenetrable.
‘Come,’ said Manco. ‘Follow me.’
Gabriel, Anamaya and Katari followed him through the doorhanging into the royal chamber.
‘Lord Manco,’ began Gabriel, ‘I know that you are indifferent to my gratitude. Nevertheless, I wish to thank you from the bottom of my heart.’
Manco looked at him without saying a thing. Gabriel didn’t dare look away to Anamaya or Katari.
‘Had Villa Oma known what I now know, you’d have been dead before I arrived,’ said Manco eventually.
‘What do you know?’
‘Your people are coming. A powerful army, including many cavalry – commanded by one of kapitu Pizarro’s brothers – and supported by thousands of traitors.’
‘Gonzalo?’
Despite himself, Gabriel’s heart pounded with rage as he pronounced the hated name.
‘Hernando.’
He shrugged.
‘You know that I’m not one of them.’
‘I don’t know what I know about you. But I have with me here the only two people for whom your life is worth anything. Count yourself lucky that they are also the two people I value most.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Let’s sit down.’
Manco took his seat on his tiana. Gabriel, Anamaya, and Katari sat at his feet, on a pile of soft vicuña and guanaco wool blankets spread over the ground. The light of the torches played on their faces, and Anamaya in particular looked as though she was covered in a fine layer of gold dust.
‘Our spies have been telling us for days that the Strangers are preparing to attack us. We are going to fight them, and defeat them so completely that what few survivors remain will go to the Governor and convince him to leave us in peace…’
‘You’re mistaken, noble Manco.’
An expression of anger flashed across the Emperor’s face.
‘You doubt our victory?’
‘Victory in battle is never a sure thing. But that’s not what I mean: they won’t leave. Even if you defeat those who are coming now, others will follow, and then others after them. Believe me, I know Pizarro better than anyone: he never gives up.’
‘He doesn’t know me!’
‘Lord Manco. No one here doubts your courage. But I beseech you, please think about it – unless you want to become like Villa Oma. You must face the reality of how strong the Spaniards really are.’
‘Silence!’
‘Let me give you one final piece of advice, although no doubt you’ll ignore it: seek an honorable peace, endure without complaint whatever humiliations the Spaniards impose, save what can be saved, and secretly send a group of young men to learn for themselves how to use the Strangers’ weapons. I’m not talking about their steel blades, their gunpowder, or their horses. I’m talking about their language, their god, and their customs.’
‘I cannot do that.’
‘I know how you feel, Manco. I accept that you’re going to do what you consider necessary.’
‘I cannot do that…’
Manco repeated himself as though he was alone in a dream. Gabriel had spoken passionately and sincerely. For a moment, the room was filled with silence, the torches flickering.
Then Manco turned to Anamaya and asked:
‘What do you say,
Coya Camaquen?’
‘Win this battle, Manco. You have no other option, and nor do we. But afterward, heed those words spoken in wisdom.’
Manco reflected for a moment. Then he looked at Katari. ‘And you, my friend, Master of the Stone?’
Katari said nothing. He stood up, approached Manco, and took him by the shoulders. Manco stood to meet him, and the two men embraced briefly. Then Manco sat back down on his tiana.
‘Leave me now. I want to be alone.’
CHAPTER 16
Ollantaytambo, November 1536
At dawn, Katari wrapped Anamaya and Gabriel in mantas, so that they were cloaked up to their necks. Without wasting any words, and walking quickly, they climbed the steps to the Great Temple, hoping to avoid prying eyes. Anamaya sighed with relief as they passed through its outer wall.
They were hidden by the hill now, and no one would dare come to the little temple with the four niches where the Sacred Double was waiting for them.
Gabriel and Anamaya kissed for what seemed a time without end, their hands on one another’s faces. They embraced with the eagerness of their first cleaving together and with the sadness of the last. Caressing each other’s skin was a voyage of discovery as momentous as crossing oceans or climbing mountains. They joined themselves together like the links of a single, indestructible chain.
When they separated finally, their eyes were brimming with tears.
‘I’m leaving,’ said Gabriel.
‘There’s no other way,’ replied Anamaya.
The first rays of the sun struck the Sacred Double’s gold surface at the same moment that they illuminated the mountain crests.
‘I don’t want to be sad,’ said Gabriel.
‘Nor do I. Everything is happening as Huayna Capac told me it. The mysteries are being unraveled, and you are still here. You will be here at the end…’
‘I know that you’re telling me what little you can. I know that I must make my own way, and learn on my own. That is the lesson that I forget sometimes. But sometimes I remember it. When I spoke to Manco, I was no longer frightened. I knew that everything within me was as it was meant to be. Do you think I’m becoming a good puma?’
He spoke these last words with a gentle irony, and Anamaya leaned against him. He continued:
‘Your love has revealed everything to me. Your love has made all this possible and bearable, even the anguish of having to leave you once more without knowing when I’ll see you again.’
‘He said to me: “He will only come to you when he leaves you. Although separated, you will be united as one.”’
‘Your venerable old Inca was a cruel man!’
They both laughed softly, like children. They looked at the Ancestor from the same dizzying perspective as the Sacred Double in the southern niche.
A shuffling sound startled them. Katari appeared in front of them.
‘It is time,’ he said.
* * *
They climbed up the Ancestor Mountain by a narrow, poorly paved path. Both Katari and Gabriel bore a heavy stone, wrapped in a manta, on their backs.
They had passed through the hustling canchas, where every man was preparing for battle, without seeing a sign of Villa Oma; then they had walked past the well-stocked collcas before leaving the town behind. At the base of the slope, Katari had selected a stone for Gabriel, and it was this burden that was now digging into the young Spaniard’s back and shoulders, making every step he took agony.
And yet, Gabriel made no complaint, nor did he feel any need to ask why he had to carry the stone. He followed in Katari’s steps, noting how the Master of the Stone moved with the ease and grace of an alpaca. Katari’s load didn’t seem to weigh him down any more than his long hair that floated freely behind him in the breeze.
From time to time, they turned around to watch the Inca troops deploy. Hundreds of fearsome Antisuyu archers had emerged from the forest and joined the Inca ranks. A barrage had been built downstream on the Willkamayo and the water level had risen, making the river harder to ford. And Gabriel, the man who had sworn that he would no longer bear arms, now felt a painful ache in his body. It was as though he was sharing the Spaniards’ efforts as they approached – and as though he was only now facing the stark and strange reality of not being among them, riding on his white horse, holding his sword, sweating beneath his morion and chain mail. And another, unexpected thought rent his soul in two: he knew that Sebastian would be among them, and that he wouldn’t be there to help defend his friend and even perhaps save his life.
Gabriel gritted his teeth to prevent himself from crying out in fury at his impotence. He hooked his hands into the folds of the manta, distracting himself by bending forward and concentrating on the back-breaking weight of the stone.
Gradually, pain and exhaustion produced the desired numbness, and he felt paradoxically aided by his burden.
They reached a flat, rocky platform the size of an esplanade. Gabriel set down his stone and almost collapsed, so great was the pain that shot through his back. Anamaya’s warm gaze offered him some support, and he slowly straightened his body, feeling crushed by the physical effort as much as by the sudden doubt that had overcome him.
‘We’re here,’ said Katari.
Gabriel was completely lost. He looked to Anamaya for some explanation.
‘We are above the Ancestor’s face,’ she said.
Katari squatted and took a bronze chisel from his chuspa. He began working the stone he had borne up the slope, his movements precise and meticulous. Then he did the same with Gabriel’s.
‘Look,’ he said.
On one stone, the Kolla had carved the shape of a puma, and on the other that of a snake.
‘Strength,’ said Gabriel, ‘and Amaru’s wisdom.’
‘Well done,’ said Katari, smiling. ‘You know our gods. Soon, a temple will be erected here to crown Huayna Capac’s head. Those searching for the Inca’s power will come to it to pray and make oblations.’
Then the fog scattered, and bright morning light illuminated the mountain slopes; a young sun brought out the colors in the terraces and put a sparkle in the water.
It was a beautiful day to die.
When the crowd down below surged forward suddenly, Gabriel became aware of the imminent danger. His body stiffened so abruptly that it was painful. Anamaya turned to him and said, tenderly:
‘You’re pale.’
And indeed, the blood had drained from his face, even though his heart was beating furiously.
‘I can’t,’ he said.
‘I can’t let them die without me…’
Anamaya put her hand on his.
‘Do you want to fight?’
‘No!’
The cry had burst forth from his mouth, uncontrolled.
‘Do you want to die with them?’
‘I thought that I was… protected…’
‘You are – from everything except yourself.’
Anamaya gazed down at the slopes and terraces that were covered in warriors.
‘Let him go,’ said Katari calmly.
At that moment, the first battle cry erupted.
* * *
It was as though Anamaya’s blood had suddenly turned to ice, freezing her entire body. She was unable to move a limb.
Gabriel’s first few steps had been slow, painfully so. At the first bend in the road, he stopped, as though to turn back. But he didn’t. Quite the opposite: he was almost hurtling down the slope when Anamaya saw him last, a man moving like a sling stone.
She saw the Antisuyu archers on the terraces below, and, on the left bank of the Willkamayo and the slopes rising from it, innumerable warriors armed with slings.
Anamaya focused her mind on the stone where Huayna Capac had spoken to her, but he didn’t say anything more. She had no way of knowing whether the Puma was dashing toward his death like some untamed beast, or whether he was going to cross the Ocean again – in the other direction, back to his own people.
&
nbsp; Katari remained at her side. He finished chiseling the two stones with which the temple would be founded.
‘You had forgotten that the Puma is also a man,’ was all he said.
Anamaya nodded, but without believing him.
* * *
Gabriel raced down the slope, the blood throbbing in his temples. It was as though the decision had been made for him, without any conscious thought of his own. As he ran, breathless, he began to have doubts. As he came closer, it seemed to him that the mountain and the whole valley were growling, as though thousands of drums were being beaten within the depths of the earth, causing it to pulsate.
The ominous sound was the voices of frightened men, shouting to give themselves courage, combined with the stamping of thousands of feet, the clashing of thousands of weapons.
Halfway down the slope, Gabriel suddenly found himself above the terraces where the archers who had come from the forest had taken up their positions.
He stopped in his tracks, daunted by the sheer number of warriors; even after so many weeks in Ollantaytambo, he was amazed by how many fighters had been hidden in the mountains. Behind the archers was another mass of Indians armed with spears, clubs and spikes. He immediately noticed that some of them had donned Spanish armor that had been lost in battle. He saw Indians wearing morions, leather breastplates, even coats of mail. Some Inca officers, amazingly, were carrying swords.
Far away, on the other side of the river, Gabriel saw the Spanish forces approaching. They were still too far off for him to make out their individual faces, but he recognized Hernando Pizarro by the plume in his helmet. He was riding at the head of the column. There were about a hundred cavalrymen, followed by at least thirty thousand Indian warriors, made up mainly of the Spaniards’ usual allies, the Canaries and the Huancas. But their ranks had been swollen still further with Incas hostile to Manco.
Gabriel felt his blood surge upon seeing them, and he elbowed his way through the mass of tightly packed Inca warriors, swearing the whole while, until he had managed to push through a few ranks.
The Light of Machu Picchu Page 18
