They could volunteer to fight with the emperor against the Incas’ enemies, some of Pizarro’s captains suggested, and perhaps could thus gain an advantage. They would then have to hope that eventually they might somehow wrest power from him at a later date. The Inca lord might decide to toy with them, however, as a cat does with a mouse, others said; at any time he might seize their weapons and horses and wipe them out. Trying to work with the Inca emperor seemed fraught with danger.
Another obvious possibility was to try to capture Atahualpa. Some of the Spanish captains argued that they should capture Atahualpa just as Cortés had captured the Aztec emperor, Montezuma. Besides, Pizarro and Soto had been capturing lesser chiefs with various degrees of success for decades, threatening to take their lives afterward unless the chiefs ordered their subjects to do as the Spaniards ordered. But others pointed out that that option, too, was risky, as they had no guarantee that they would ever actually be in a position to capture the Inca lord. It was also an all-or-nothing proposition: if they failed to capture the emperor on the first try, then the Incas would have no doubts about their hostile intentions and open warfare would inevitably ensue. Surely, with such large numbers arrayed against them, the Spaniards would be surrounded and overwhelmed.
On the other hand, if they were successful in capturing the Inca emperor, then they still didn’t know what the Inca troops’ reaction would be and whether Atahualpa’s power might not immediately be transferred to another Inca lord. Just because Cortés’s hostage strategy had worked well in Mexico, with Cortés controlling the Aztecs through their captured emperor, didn’t mean that same strategy would work in Peru. No matter what option they could think of, all the strategies seemed to share one thing in common: each was highly risky and in every case the odds were stacked against them. For the moment, at least, it seemed as if they were trapped in the eye of a powerful hurricane—and that no matter what direction they might choose to head in, all hell was bound to break loose. The twenty-four-year-old notary, Miguel de Estete, wrote:
[We were] very scared by what we had seen [and everyone] had many views and opinions about what should be done. Everyone was full of fear, for we were so few and were so deep in the land where we could not be reinforced…. That night, everybody gathered in the Governor’s quarters to discuss what should be done the following day…. Few of us slept and we kept watch on the square, from which the campfires of the Indian army could be seen. It was a fearsome sight as most of … [the campfires] were on a hillside and close to one another … [making it] look like a brilliant, star-studded sky.
That night, Pedro de Candia, a giant Greek who was captain of the artillery, worked on preparing four small cannons they had brought on horseback, and also readied the fewer than a dozen harquebuses, primitive muskets, they had brought along. Some Spaniards sharpened their swords, using bits of pumice along the edges until they were so sharp they could easily slice through the strange ground fruits (potatoes) found in this region, which the Incas called papa. Many of the men met with the only religious representative who had traveled on this expedition, Friar Vincente de Valverde, who now listened to their confessions and prayed along with them. Pizarro, meanwhile, made the rounds, cheering up the men, rubbing his hands together against the cold, and urging everyone to place their faith in God, for, he said, “it is certain that everything that happens below and above heaven is arranged by His will.”
Although their lives now hung in the balance, the stakes were probably highest at this particular moment for Francisco Pizarro. He’d labored thirty years to reach this position and had moved heaven and earth to assemble all the complex pieces that were currently in place—the ships, the supplies, the finances, the royal license, and his discovery of the native empire. He was also responsible for 167 conquistadors and for the entire male line of this branch of the Pizarro family. Only one massive obstacle remained: how to overcome an Inca army of perhaps eighty thousand warriors and seize an empire. As the lean commander with his thin, graying beard wandered through the Spaniards’ camp that night, stopping to chat and occasionally looking off toward the twinkling lights that were the dying fires of the native warriors, Pizarro knew that everyone’s lives—in addition to his own dream of one day ruling a native kingdom—depended upon whether he, the most seasoned of the conquistadors, would make the right decision on the morrow.
The next morning, Saturday, November 16, 1532, the sun began to rise in a nearly cloudless sky and slowly the night frost began to retreat. Water gurgled down the channels in the Inca streets while no roosters crowed, as the Spaniards had brought none with them; instead guinea pigs squeaked underfoot while scampering about on the floors of the houses—one of the few animals native South Americans had domesticated for food. On the far hillside, innumerable tendrils of smoke rose from the Incas’ campfires while in the wide, walled plaza, the Spaniards were already awake and preparing themselves for war.
Pizarro had decided that since it was impossible to know if the Inca lord was going to arrive and, if so, how he was going to arrive and with how many warriors and where, that he would have to act spontaneously. When the time came, he told his men, he would make a last-minute decision on the precise strategy—whether to try to negotiate, be friendly, escape, or attack. The rest of them would have to follow his lead.
The town’s plaza stretched some six hundred feet in length by six hundred feet in width. Three stone buildings, long and low, lined corresponding sides of the square and each was punctured by approximately twenty trapezoidally shaped doorways. Inside two of these buildings Pizarro had stationed the cavalry, in three groups of roughly twenty men, and commanded by Captains Hernando de Soto, Hernando Pizarro, and Sebastián de Benalcázar. Because of the numerous doorways, the Spaniards could charge out of the buildings simultaneously en masse, if and when needed. Pizarro and some twenty foot soldiers, meanwhile, were to wait in the third building, along with a few horsemen. It was their job—if the capture of the emperor became a possibility—to seize Atahualpa at all costs and to make sure that no harm came to him. A dead emperor would be useless to them and would probably unleash the immediate outbreak of war.
On the far side of the square squatted a fourth building, in which Pizarro stationed the Greek artilleryman, Pedro de Candia, with his four cannons and eight or nine harquebusiers plus the remainder of the infantry. Since most of the Spaniards would be hiding within the buildings and thus would be unable to observe what was happening, the firing of the artillery was the prearranged signal to attack. Candia would have to watch Pizarro at all times, he was told. If Pizarro gave the signal, then Candia would immediately order his men to fire. Every able-bodied person—save for the Dominican friar, the morisca women, and the merchants who had tagged along with the expedition—would then rush out through the doors onto the plaza and attack. The signal would be given, Pizarro told everyone, only if it appeared likely that they could capture Atahualpa, or if the Incas themselves decided to attack.
With so many variables at play, Pizarro was determined to hold out the option of parleying with the emperor and of coming to some kind of friendly agreement. That might buy his small force more time—time with which they might maneuver themselves into a more advantageous situation. If the emperor could be lured inside the walled plaza, however, and if Pizarro did make the decision to attack, at least his Spaniards would have the advantage of surprise and could launch their assault from all four directions. Only by sowing shock, surprise, and confusion, Pizarro knew, did they stand any chance of success.
While the Spaniards waited nervously in their positions, in the Inca camp the warriors were also ready, having woken at dawn and having been told by their captains to prepare themselves for travel. Atahualpa, however, hadn’t even stirred yet and indeed did not wake until around ten o’clock. Only the day before, Atahualpa had been informed that his brother Huascar had been captured by his armies in the south, which meant that after the bitter and divisive five-year struggle, Atahualpa would
finally inherit his father’s empire. In an excellent mood, Atahualpa ordered food to be brought to him as well as a golden vessel of chicha in order to celebrate. Once he had taken care of this small band of renegade foreigners, Atahualpa no doubt believed, then he and his army could begin their victorious march toward Cuzco, some six hundred miles to the south. Determined to savor the victory, Atahualpa lifted the golden goblet and took a drink of the sour-flavored, alcoholic beer. He could now begin the task of reuniting the empire, of establishing his rule, and of never allowing any of his relatives to challenge his authority again.
As the sun reached its zenith and then began to arc beyond it, the nervous Spaniards finally saw the Inca camp begin to stir in the distance. They watched as masses of warriors, like phalanxes of Roman legions, began to assemble in their different formations. Then, in great order and ceremony, the legions slowly began to wheel about and make their way across the plain toward them. Remembered Pedro Pizarro, Francisco’s eighteen-year-old cousin and page:
When his [Atahualpa’s] squadrons were formed so that they covered the fields, and when he had seated himself on a litter, he began to proceed. Two thousand Indians marched before him, sweeping the [stone paved] road on which he traveled. Half of his troops marched on one side of the road and half on the other, with neither using the road itself…. So great was the amount of table service of gold and silver which they bore, that it was a marvel to observe how it all glittered beneath the sun…. In front of Atahualpa came many Indians singing and dancing.
As the sound of the approaching warriors grew louder, Pizarro moved from one building to the next, ordering everyone to prepare themselves and ordering the cavalrymen to mount their horses with their reins and metal-tipped lances ready in their hands. Then, inexplicably, on the plains just outside town, as many of the Spaniards literally sweated in fear and anticipation, the native procession suddenly ground to a halt. An hour went by, agonizingly, yet the Spaniards couldn’t tell what the Incas were doing. Were they preparing for an attack? Were they receiving last-minute battle instructions? Was Atahualpa going to refuse to enter the square? Finally, however, with only a few hours left before the sun would once more sink behind the hills, it gradually appeared that Atahualpa and his giant entourage were simply going to make camp. At least for today, the Inca lord was going no further.
An exasperated Pizarro quickly sent a Spaniard by the name of Hernando de Aldana, who spoke a few words of runasimi, to ride out to Atahualpa’s camp. Aldana was instructed to urge the emperor to continue on into the Spaniards’ carefully prepared trap, which, with any more delay, might soon be discovered. Aldana dutifully galloped off, crossing the short distance to the camp, dismounting his horse in a cloud of dust, and then, via hand signs and his minute vocabulary, indicated to Atahualpa that he should proceed into town before the setting of the sun. Apparently the message was understood, for as Aldana raced back the Spaniards saw the Inca formations once again began to move. Soon, Atahualpa’s bearers lifted the emperor, already seated in his litter, onto their shoulders, the litter itself consisting of an elegantly constructed wooden box mounted on two long poles with a seat and cushions and with a canopy to offer protection from the sun. The procession then slowly began to make its final approach toward the great square of Cajamarca, across which the sun’s rays were already drawing long dark shadows.
With no more doubts that masses of native troops were about to arrive and with some of his men scarcely able to conceal their fear, Pizarro and his brother Hernando began visiting the different buildings in order to give their final encouragements to the men. Wrote the notary Francisco de Xerez:
The Governor [Pizarro] and Captain-General [Hernando Pizarro] visited the quarters of the Spaniards, making sure that they were ready to rush forth when it was necessary and telling all of them that they must make fortresses of their hearts, for they had no others and no hope other than God, who would help those in greatest need who worked in His service. And he told them that although for every Christian there were five hundred Indians, that they must make the same effort that all good men are accustomed to make at such times, and that they must trust that God would fight on their side. He told them that when the time came to attack that they must rush out with desperate fury … and break through [the enemy ranks], taking care that the horses did not get in the way of each other. The Governor and the Captain-General spoke these and similar words to the Christians in order to encourage them, and they wanted to go out [and fight] rather than to remain in their quarters.
Outside, as the sound of the approaching legions grew louder, the first warriors began to spill through one of the gateways onto the broad plaza. For those Spaniards who dared to steal a furtive look, they saw, in Xerez’s account, that
First came a squadron of Indians dressed in a colorful uniform that looked like a chess board. These marched [while] removing straws from the ground and sweeping the path. Behind these came three squadrons dressed in a different manner, all of them singing and dancing. Then came many men wearing armor, thin metal plates, and crowns of gold and silver. Among them traveled Atahualpa in a litter lined with multi-colored macaw feathers and adorned with plates of gold and silver.
Described Estete:
Eighty lords carried … [the Inca lord] … on their shoulders, all wearing very rich blue uniforms. He himself was very richly dressed, with his crown on his head and a necklace of large emeralds around his neck. He was seated in the litter on a very small stool that bore a sumptuous cushion.
Concluded Xerez:
Behind him came two other litters and two hammocks in which rode other important leaders, and lastly came squadrons of men with crowns of gold and silver. After the first [group] had entered the square, they parted to make room for the others. [Then] as Atahualpa reached the center of the square, he made the rest of them halt, [while] the litter in which he was traveling and the others were held up high. People continued to pour into the square without ceasing.
Soon, Atahualpa and some five to six thousand warriors crowded into the square, filling it up. The wide plaza was now like a packed theater, with only two small exits, and with Atahualpa borne aloft on a cumbersome litter, carried by some of the highest-ranking chiefs in the land. Because of the great number of troops and the relative lack of space, Atahualpa had ordered the rest of his legions to wait in the fields outside town.
As the Inca procession came to a stop not a single Spaniard was visible. Pedro Pizarro later reported that Atahualpa had sent spies earlier in the day to observe the Spaniards and that the spies had reported that the Spaniards were huddled in the stone houses out of fear. “And indeed the Indians told the truth,” Pedro said, “for I heard that many Spaniards urinated on themselves without noticing it from sheer terror.”
The crowd of nobles and warriors on the square had now become quiet and a light breeze blew. Visible in the building at the far end, four nondescript lumps of bronze with holes protruded from the doorways, looking like some kind of crude ornaments. They were actually four small cannons, primed, charged, and ready to be fired but here, too, no Spaniard was in sight. An Inca nobleman with distinctive golden plugs in his earlobes now walked toward the building as Pedro de Candia and the other artillerymen held their breath. Instead of going inside, however, the orejón suddenly stopped and thrust a lance he was carrying into the ground, then returned. From the lance flapped a cloth banner; this was Atahualpa’s royal standard, a personal coat of arms that was always displayed wherever the emperor happened to be present.
As Atahualpa waited, wearing a soft vicuña-wool tunic and mantle and seated upon a small stool on his litter, the Spaniards pressed against the cold stone walls of the buildings, fingering their weapons and staying out of sight. Others sat on their horses, leaning forward and trying to keep their animals from whinnying or making other noise. At last, Atahualpa called out to them, ordering the Spaniards to emerge from their hiding places and show themselves. The square, however, remained completely
silent, with only the sound of the royal standard flapping in the breeze. Finally, from one of the buildings, two figures emerged. One was a man dressed unlike any of the other foreigners Atahualpa had seen, wearing a long robe tied at the waist with a rope and carrying what appeared to be some gifts in his hand: a shiny ornament of silver that looked like a broken stick (a crucifix) and a black square-shaped object, perhaps a ceremonial cloth (a breviary, or prayer book). The other individual was Felipillo.
Vincente de Valverde, the Dominican friar, was now in his mid-thirties and had traveled from Spain with Pizarro after receiving a royal appointment to accompany the present expedition. The only member of the group known to have attended a university, Valverde had studied for five years at the University of Valladolid and thus had been trained in both theology and philosophy. Valverde’s mission was not to participate in conquest or plunder but rather to help fulfill that portion of Pizarro’s contract that stipulated the conversion to Christianity of any and all peoples who were conquered.
Because reports had filtered back soon after the discovery of the New World of Spanish brutality toward the natives, in 1513 a document had been drawn up that the Spanish king demanded be read from then on to all potential subjects before a conquest was carried out. The document, known as the Requerimiento, or “Requirement,” was both a justification and an ultimatum. In abbreviated form it explained to newly discovered peoples that since (the Christian) God had created the world and had granted the divine right to rule this world to his emissary on earth, the pope, and since the pope in 1493 had granted to the Spanish monarchs jurisdiction over all lands west of the 46th meridian, which included the western part of South America, then it was the duty of all newly discovered peoples in these regions to submit to their rightful rulers, the Spanish monarchs.*
The Last Days of the Incas Page 9
