‘Well, I’m a rich man, as you can see, yet I feel as threatened as I did when we first met, when I was still but a poor slave, protected only by the good de Candia…’
‘Why do you feel threatened?’
‘De Almagro was my protector, even though I was a somewhat reluctant protégé – he had his failings, but he could never forget that I had saved his life! In any case, ever since his death, I’ve felt the noose of hatred and jealousy tightening around my neck. Like I told you, there are more and more penniless blackamoors arriving every day, and when a good Spaniard sees me in my splendid garb, when he sees my three concubines, he tells himself that I am an insult to the natural and divine order of things. No doubt there’ll be one who, soon enough, will take it upon himself to set upon me down some dark alley, chop me into pieces, and feed me to his foul swine.’
‘Can’t you be more… discreet? Can’t you keep all your wealth hidden under that flagstone, in that cave where it used to be?’
Sebastian burst out laughing.
‘To hear this from you, of all people!’
‘What? It’s not the same thing.’
The African grinned at him.
‘You’re right. It’s not the same thing. I don’t know what your motives are, but I cannot forget what I told you once: there’s an ocean between us that no pilot, no matter how able, can cross. That’s how it is.’
Sebastian drank slowly, enjoying his wine. He extended his goblet to one of the young girls, smiling at her tenderly. She filled his cup.
‘I refuse to change my ways, even if I have to die. It cost me too much effort to get what I have – I had to suffer too many humiliations and play too many tricks. I’ll never forsake it for a poor and uncertain life. If I have to die tomorrow, then it will be with my Toledo steel sword in my hand, and my blood will run onto my lace ruff.’
‘I understand.’
Sebastian waved his hand through the air, as though sweeping away all his pessimism.
‘Bah, you haven’t come here to hear about my blighted destiny. You’ve come for her, haven’t you?’
Gabriel stiffened.
‘The blue-eyed princess, I mean,’ said Sebastian redundantly. ‘You’ve heard the news, then…’
Gabriel’s heart beat like the bell on the Triunfo.
‘I’ve heard nothing. Brother Bartholomew told me nothing about her. What’s happened?’
‘The expedition, by the blood of Christ! You haven’t heard about the expedition?’
Gabriel sat up on his chair and knocked over his goblet. The wine splashed over the thick wool carpet.
‘Tell me, by God!’ he said, almost shouting. ‘Tell me what’s happened.’
‘They left at least two months ago, on the Governor’s orders,’ said Sebastian somberly. ‘Three hundred men under Gonzalo’s command, plus a large number of Indians led by Paullu and other Inca captains hostile to Manco. They went into the jungle with one aim: to capture Anamaya and the great gold statue that they know is always with her because she’s married to it, in some way or other.’
Silence.
‘Why her?’
‘They believe that Manco is weak, now that he’s separated from his generals, and they think that taking her will be the final blow to his morale. They think that all they’ll have to do then is track him down and finish him. But the truth is that they’re all obsessed with that gold statue. Surely you’ve heard tell of de Candia’s misadventure…?’
‘No, but save it for another time. I’m sure it’s very amusing. Do you know if the expedition achieved its goal?’
‘I doubt they have, or we would have had news of their triumph. And Paullu wouldn’t have returned to rally reinforcements from Don Francisco. He’s here at this very moment.’
Gabriel seized Sebastian by the hands and said:
‘I must see them. Where are they?’
‘No doubt at the Governor’s place, at La Cassana. Unless they’re at Paullu’s palace at Colcampata, which he acquired at the time of his coronation.’
Gabriel headed for the door, preceded by the two young servant girls. He pushed them aside gently.
‘Sebastian, might I ask a favor of you?’
‘What?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it now. But if I did, would you do it?’
Gabriel heard his friend sigh, and quickly stopped himself:
‘Forgive me. Pretend I said nothing.’
‘I cannot pretend that you said nothing. I don’t know what mad scheme you have in mind but, unfortunately for me, yes, I will help you.’
The two friends embraced briefly. Then Gabriel darted away, leaving behind the servants in their livery and the servant girls who looked suspiciously like concubines.
Bartholomew was waiting for him outside. Gabriel jumped onto his horse, saying nothing.
‘Where are we going in such a hurry?’ asked Bartholomew.
To Colcampata. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I don’t—’
‘Don’t lie to me, Brother Bartholomew, and don’t lie to yourself! Don’t tell me that you didn’t know about Gonzalo’s expedition!’
‘You know very well that you can’t do anything on your own, Gabriel.’
‘I’ll be the judge of what I can and cannot do.’
They headed off, their horses’ hooves clacking on the stones. Gabriel did his best to quieten his anger, and to curb the fathomless dread that had taken hold of him.
CHAPTER 24
Cuzco, Colcampata, June 1539
A crowd had gathered on the square at Colcampata. Although Gabriel mostly kept his gaze focused on Don Francisco Pizarro, he glanced around from time to time at the thick vegetation in which the City of the Puma was set, here in the heart of the mountains. He now understood the eternal force of the place better than ever, and how it stayed and would continue to stay far from the stench of swine and the other abominations brought by its conquerors. He could feel its powerful life-force, dormant for now but ready to leap forward and roar at any moment.
Mummies had been installed in the niches carved in the palace’s perfectly built walls. Gabriel was moved when he recognized the mummy of Inca Huayna Capac.
‘Paullu asked for them,’ whispered Bartholomew in his ear. ‘He felt that the “legitimate” Inca should not be separated from his Ancestors.’
Gabriel nodded, but kept his gaze fixed on Don Francisco Pizarro, his old protector.
The Governor looked older and bonier than ever; but although he seemed to have shriveled with age, he still radiated the energy that had always been his. His clothes were entirely black except for his white hat and leggings. The only sign of his immense wealth was the very fine lace ruff that he wore around his neck. Through his black eyes, he was focusing all his attention on the person facing him, who was sitting on a tiana, as befitted an Inca. Gabriel recognized Paullu.
Cuzco’s latest Inca was of the same size and age as his half-brother Manco. But the similarities ended there. Whereas the rebel in the jungle had features that seemed to have been chiseled in stone by a sculptor, Paullu was round. And although it wasn’t actually fat, his face still gave the impression of a flabbiness of the kind that comes from surrendering to life’s easier pleasures. Only his eyes revealed his strong will and his quick mind.
The two men conversed without the aid of interpreters: Paullu spoke perfect Spanish.
As Gabriel and Bartholomew joined the circle of Indian Lords and Spanish hidalgos, Pizarro turned his head toward them.
Gabriel met the old captain’s gaze and felt a wave of old, old emotions come over him. He looked into those black eyes deeply embedded in their sockets, stiffened, forced a smile, and bowed very slightly.
‘What I need to know before I help you, Lord Paullu,’ continued Pizarro, ‘is the likelihood of the expedition being a success.’
‘It is very likely, Governor, it is almost a sure thing…’
Paullu’s voice retained the raucous intonations of Q
uechua. Gabriel heard a hidalgo behind him spit and mutter: ‘This mongrel would have us all killed in that damned jungle…’
‘I hastened back here, at your brother Gonzalo’s insistence, to rally reinforcements. Manco’s troops are powerful and well organized.’
Pizarro’s eyes flashed at the mention of Manco’s name.
‘Are you sure that you can destroy that dog?’
‘I cannot call my own brother a “dog”,’ said Paullu politely, ‘even though I think that he’s made a terrible mistake by leading his rebellion beyond what is reasonable. But to answer your question: yes, we can defeat his army. But on one condition…’
Paullu, sure of himself, paused for effect.
‘What condition?’ asked Don Francisco impatiently.
‘Your Honor knows how dependent your men are on mine to guide them through the forest.’ Paullu looked defiantly at all the Spaniards present. ‘You know that your brothers Hernando and Gonzalo, were they here, could testify that my loyalty to you has been the decisive factor in a great many battles…’
‘I have no doubt of it, Lord Paullu. We know what we owe you. And you know what you owe us…’
Pizarro let his gaze linger on the Royal Fringe hanging over Paullu’s forehead.
‘A good alliance – a good friendship – is based on a good equilibrium,’ said Paullu, more softly now. ‘What I want to say to you, Governor, is that it is absolutely imperative that I return to the forest with my troops and with reinforcements. I must return to your brother Gonzalo and make sure that the expedition achieves its aims.’
‘When do you want to leave?’
‘Tomorrow or the following night. Time is running short. But think for a moment, Governor: as soon as victory has been won, you can go back to building Lima, your beautiful City of Kings…’
‘And you can return to ruling over your beloved Cuzco.’
‘Certainly, I’m not indifferent to the city of my Ancestors,’ replied Paullu, gesturing discreetly at the mummies watching them from their niches.
‘So be it, Lord Paullu. You may proclaim that, by order of the Governor, you are free to recruit as many men as you deem necessary.’
‘I need Yungas, Governor, more than mountain men. Yungas from the coast, used to a humid climate…’
Pizarro made another impatient gesture.
‘Do as you see fit, my dear Sapa Inca. You know your Indians better than I do. Just make sure you win.’
Pizarro was the first to rise from his seat. He gave the merest flicker of a bow to the Inca, who remained utterly impassive. Gabriel reflected that the slightness of the Governor’s gesture captured all the ambiguities of the relationship between the two men.
The Inca dignitaries moved away.
Murmurs immediately rose from the Spanish ranks: ‘…can’t trust that traitor… he was a friend of de Almagro…’ But Pizarro restored silence by simply raising his hand. His authority was more absolute than ever. No one openly contested it.
‘Enough,’ he said. ‘We need him, but he also needs us. He’s too cunning to betray us at this stage. He wants us to get rid of his beloved brother first…’
He spoke these last words with an amused irony.
‘Now leave, the lot of you. I want to be alone with—’
He turned to Gabriel. Fresh murmurs rose from the assembly. Not everyone present had previously met the Spaniard dressed as an Indian, but everyone had heard the legend of the proud knight protected by Santiago who had taken the fortress single-handed.
The old conquistador and the man who had been like a son to him were left alone on the square.
‘Well then,’ began Pizarro. ‘What kind of thing is that to be wearing?’
* * *
Gabriel couldn’t say how many hours Pizarro and he spent together.
Noon came and went, the sun slipped down the warm blue vault of sky, the mountains turned gold, evening’s shadows grew longer – and still they talked.
The Governor showed real pleasure in renewing his friendship with Gabriel. He asked him all about life on Lake Titicaca’s shores, and teased him about the native women; Gabriel had Pizarro tell about his beloved Lima, the founding of which had so absorbed him. They talked of the past, of Seville and Toledo, of the audience with the King and the terrible crossing to the New World. The initial reserve between them dropped away as they talked, and the Governor relaxed and waved his white hat about like a rag or flag or sail, emphasizing whatever point he was making.
‘I’ve been asking myself a question, Don Francisco.’
‘What is it, my boy?’
‘I’ve heard tell that, during your first expedition, your men were on the point of abandoning you, and that you drew a line in the sand to show where poverty ended and fortune began, where the past was buried and where the glorious future could be found…’
‘Yes, on Gallo Island,’ murmured Pizarro dreamily.
‘They say that twelve men crossed that line and came over to you.’
‘Yes. What is it that you want to know?’
‘I want to know if it’s true. If that’s the way it really happened.’
Pizarro said nothing for a moment. Then a smile replaced the severity of his expression.
‘Aren’t you friends with some of them?’ he asked. ‘Haven’t you asked de Candia?’
‘Yes, but he only laughs. I want to hear it from your mouth.’
But Pizarro gave nothing away, or else he was enjoying the conversation too much to end it by giving an answer.
‘Well, I’ve heard something too,’ he retorted. ‘I’ve heard that a cavalryman with features exactly like yours, although not dressed in the odd manner that you are now, galloped on a white horse through a storm of Indian arrows, passed through blazing fires and with the protection of the Sacred Virgin – who appeared at his side – took the three towers of the fortress on his own. Is it true?’
Now it was Gabriel’s turn to smile.
‘Why, you have so many friends, Don Francisco. Haven’t you asked them?’
‘Yes, and they all swear to me that it happened just like that, by Christ. With the notable exception of my brother Gonzalo, of course.’
Gabriel burst out laughing, and the old conquistador joined him.
‘These legends,’ murmured Pizarro, ‘which of us can say if they’re true or not? So many memories come to me as though from out of the fog. Sometimes I wake up in the morning convinced that I’m in my village in my beloved Extramadura, making a bell, absolutely sure that that’s what I’ve done all my life. Then I remember where I am, and what I’ve seen, and I become old again.’
‘And yet, here you are.’
Gabriel waved at the country surrounding them. Night was falling, and torches were being lit here and there. The two men shared a moment of silence together, each lost in his own thoughts, each privately dwelling on the shared past that had brought them together.
Then Gabriel heard the Governor almost whisper to him:
‘I need you, son.’
Gabriel’s body stiffened as though he had been slapped in the face. Despite the affection that bound him to Don Francisco, despite the respect that he had for him, he sensed a dark, unbearable menace in those words.
‘I’m alone once again, as you know very well. Hernando murdered the one-eyed de Almagro and has gone to Spain to justify himself to the King. God knows what his fate will be. I don’t pretend not to know that you hated him, but he’s the only one who has more brains than cojones – forgive me the expression – but you know my opinion of the others.’
‘Then why did you leave Cuzco in Gonzalo’s hands?’
Gabriel tried to say this as calmly as possible, but he couldn’t hide the reproach in his words.
‘Because, despite all his failings, he’s one of my own people, and the only one I can trust. All these captains arriving from Spain with their ten horses and fifty infantrymen, they think that they can do whatever they want, and they expect the treasures o
f Peru to be just handed to them.’
Pizarro set down his hat on a low wall overlooking the town. He took Gabriel by the arm and leaned toward his ear, as though about to share a secret.
‘You know that I’m living in concubinage with an Indian princess… we’ve baptised her Doña Angelina… well, you can’t imagine the lengths to which I have to go to hide my love for her! And as for my darling little Francesca, my daughter by Doña Inés Quispe Sisa, why, not a day passes when I don’t want to run to her and take her up in my arms. I haven’t seen her for weeks now, and I miss her, Gabriel, I miss her so much.’
Don Francisco’s eyes glistened with tears.
‘I only want one thing,’ he continued. ‘I want to live with them, eat simple meals with them, wash the food down with a goblet of wine diluted with water, keep my old body going by playing children’s games in the country, teach my daughter the games I used to play as a child – skittles and royal tennis. Do you think that I enjoy riding from dawn to dusk down impossible roads, leading these armies, winning over caciques, racking my brain whether I should trust Paullu or not…’
‘Then make peace!’
Silence. Pizarro picked up his hat and rolled it like a clod of earth between his hands.
‘Peace! You use grand words these days, I find.’
‘Don’t you see, Don Francisco?’
‘I see some kind of demon, my boy – a Spaniard disguised as an Indian who throws around words that are above his station…’
The old man’s face grew taut with cold fury, and it was hard to believe that this was the same man who just a moment before had been the sincere, doting father. But Gabriel felt overcome by a force that he had never felt before. All his limbs relaxed and his body was filled with a soft euphoria. He said confidently:
‘Have you ever listened to the words of those who don’t tremble at the mere sight of you? Do you know that your soldiers respect none of your laws? That they persist in pillaging this country, killing its inhabitants, and reducing them to slavery? Do you think that this brutality will bring peace with the Indians?’
‘First I have to win the war against this damned Manco. We’ll establish peace and harmony afterwards…’
The Light of Machu Picchu Page 26
