Temple (6 page)

These Incans do not have mortar, but they more than make up for
that deficiency with their extraordinary abilities in the art of
stonemasonry. Rather than bind stones together with pastes, they
build all of their fortresses, temples and palaces by fashioning
enormous boulders into regular shapes and placing them alongside
each other so that each boulder fits perfectly with the next. So
exact are the joins between these monumental stones, so perfectly
are they cut, that one cannot slip a knife blade between
them.
It was in this setting that the intriguing siege of Cuzco took
place.
Now, it is at this point that it should be said that the siege of
Cuzco must rank as one of the strangest in the history of
nodern warfare.
The strangeness of the siege stems from the following fact: during
it the invaders—my countrymen, the Spaniards— were inside the city
walls, while the owners of the city, the
Incan people, were positioned outside the city walls.
In other words, the Incans were laying siege to their own
To be fair, this situation came about as the result of a long
complicated chain of events. In 1533, my Spanish countrymen rode
into Cuzco unopposed and, at first, they were
to the Incans. It was only when they began to per-
the full extent of the riches within the city walls that any
pretence of civility vanished.
My countrymen pillaged Cuzco with a frenzy never before
Native men were brutally enslaved. Native women ,,vere ravaged.
Gold was melted down by the wagonload—after
which time the Incans began calling my Spanish countrymen
'gold-eaters'. Apparently, they thought that my countrymen's
insatiable lust for gold stemmed from our need to eat it.
By 1535, the Sapa Inca—Renco's brother, Manco Capac—
until that time been conciliatory in nature toward my
. fled the capital for the mountains and assembled an enormous army
with .which he planned to retake Cuzco.
The Incan army—100 000 strong, but armed only with sticks and clubs
and arrows—descended upon the city of Cuzco in a fury and they took
Sacsayhuaman, the massive stone citadel overlooking the city, in a
day. The Spaniards
took refuge inside the city walls.
And so the siege began.
It would last for three months.
Nothing on this earth could have prepared me for the sight that I
beheld when I rode through the enormous stone tollgates at the
northern end of the Cuzco valley.
It was night, but it might as well have been day. Fires
burned everywhere, both within the city walls and without.
It looked like Hell itself.
The largest force of men I have ever seen filled the valley before
me, an undulating mass of humanity pouring down from the citadel on
the hill toward the city—100 000 Incans, all of them on foot,
shouting and screaming and waving torches and weapons. They had the
entire city surrounded.
Inside the city walls, fires could be seen ravaging the stone
buildings situated there.
Renco rode ahead of me, right into the seething mass of people, and
like the Red Sea for Moses, the crowd parted for him.
And as it did so, an enormous roar went up from the Incans, a cheer
of rejoice, a shout of such fervour and cele bration that it made
the hairs on my neck stand on end.
It was as if they had all recognised Renco instantly— despite the
fact that he was dressed in Spanish clothing—and stood aside for
him. It was as if every single one of them knew of his mission and
would do their utmost to allow him every possible haste in
effecting it.
Renco and I charged through the teeming mass of people, galloping
at tremendous speed as the hordes of cheering Incans opened up
before us and urged us on.
We dismounted near the base of the mighty fortress Sac- sayhuaman
and walked quickly through a crowd of Indian warriors.
As we walked through the Incan ranks, I saw that numer ous stakes
had been driven into the ground all around us.
Mounted on top of the stakes were the bloodied heads of Spanish
soldiers. On some stakes, the entire bodies of cap tured Spaniards
had been impaled. Their heads and feet had been hacked off. I
walked quickly, mindful to stay close behind my friend Renco.
Then all at once, the crowd in front of us parted and I saw,
standing before me at one of the entrances to the giant stone
fortress, an Indian dressed in a most glorious manner.
He wore a dazzling red cape and a gold-plated necklace and on his
head sat a magnificent jewel-encrusted crown. He
was surrounded by an entourage of at least twenty warriors and
attendants.
It was Manco. The Sapa Inca.
Manco embraced Renco and they exchanged words in Quechuan, the
Incans' language. Renco later translated it for me thus:
'Brother,' said the Sapa Inca. 'We were anxious as to your
whereabouts. We heard that you had been captured, or worse, killed.
And you are the only one who is permitted to enter the vault and
rescue the—'
'Yes, brother, I know,' said Renco. 'Listen, we have no time. I
must enter the city now. Has the river entrance been used
yet?'
'No,' said Manco, 'we have refrained from using it as you
instructed, so as not to alert the gold-eaters of its
existence.'
'Good,' said Renco. He hesitated before he spoke again. 'I
have another question.'
'What is it?'
'Bassario,' said Renco. 'Is he inside the city walls?'
'Bassario?' Manco frowned. 'Well, I… I do not know…'
'Was he in the city when it fell?'
'Well, yes.'
'Where was he?'
'Why, he was in the peasant prison,' said Manco. 'Where he has been
for the past Year. Where he belongs. Why? What need have you of a
fiend like Bassario?'
'Let it not concern you now, brother,' said Renco. 'For it will
matter for nothing if I do not find the idol first.'
Just then there came an almighty commotion from some where behind
us and both Renco and I turned.
What I saw filled my heart with unimaginable horror: a column of
Spanish soldiers—no fewer than three hundred of them, resplendent
in their forged silver armour and distinc tive pointed helmets—came
charging into the valley from the northern tollgates, their muskets
firing. Their horses were covered in heavy silver plating and, thus
protected, the mounted Spanish troops cut a swathe through the
ranks of the Incan warriors in front of them.
As I watched the column of conquistadors hack their way through the
Incan ranks, trampling the Indians before them, I beheld two of the
riders near the head of the procession, both of whom I recognised.
The first was the Captain, Her- nando Pizarro, the Governor's
brother and a most cruel man. His distinctive black moustache and
unkempt woolly beard were visible even from where I stood, four
hundred paces away.
The second horseman was a figure whom I recognised with some degree
of dread. Indeed, so much so that I took a
second glance at him. But my worst fears were confirmed.
It was Castino.
The brutish Chanca who had been in the San Vicente with Renco. Only
now he rode with his hands unmanacled— free—alongside
Hernando.
And then all at once I understood.
Castino must have overheard my conversations with Renco…
He was leading Hernando to the vault inside the Coricancha.
Renco knew this, too. 'By the gods,' said he. He turned
with haste to his brother. 'I must go. I must go now.”
'Speed to you, brother,' said Manco.
Renco nodded curtly to the Sapa Inca and then turned to me and said
in Spanish, 'Come. We must hurry.'
We left the Sapa Inca and hastened around to the south side of the
city, the side furthest from Sacsayhuaman. As we did so, I saw
Hernando and his horsemen charge in through the city's northern
gate.
'Where are we going?' I inquired as we strode quickly through the
angry crowd.
'To the lower river,' was all my companion said in reply.
At length, we came to the river which ran alongside the southern
wall of the city. I looked up at the wall on the other side of the
stream and saw Spanish soldiers armed with muskets and swords
walking the ramparts, silhouetted by the orange light of the fires
burning behind them.
Renco strode purposefully toward the river and, to my
great surprise, stepped boots-and-all straight into the
water.
'Wait!' I cried. 'Where are you going?'
'Down there,' said he, indicating the body of water.
'But I… I can't. I can't go in there with you.'
Renco gripped my arm firmly. 'My friend Alberto, I thank you from
the bottom of my heart for what you have done, what you have risked
to allow me to complete my mission.
But now I must hurry if I am to succeed in my quest. Join me,
Alberto. Stay with me. Complete my mission with me. Look at these
people. While you are with me, you are a hero to them. But while
you are not, you are just another gold-eater who must be killed.
And now I must go. I cannot stay behind with you. If you stay here,
I will not be able to help you.
Come with me, Alberto. Dare to live.'
I looked at the Incan warriors behind me. Even with their primitive
sticks and clubs, they still looked fierce and dan gerous. I saw a
Spanish soldier's head on a stake nearby, its mouth open in a
grotesque yawn.
'I think I will go with you,' said I, turning and stepping
waist-deep into the water next to him.
'All right, then. Take a deep breath,' said he, 'and follow
me.'
And with that Renco held his breath and disappeared under the
water. I shook my head and, despite myself, took a deep breath and
followed him under the surface.
Silence.
The chants and shouts of the Incan hordes were gone
now.
In the darkness of the murky river I followed Renco's kicking feet
into a circular stone pipe that was set into the underwater wall of
the city.
It was difficult to pull myself through the submerged cylindrical
tunnel, its confines were so narrow. And it seemed to go on for an
eternity. But then, just when it seemed as if my lungs would burst,
I saw the end of the pipe and the rippling waves of the surface
beyond it and I pulled myself harder through the water toward
them.
I arose inside an underground sewer of some kind, lit by • flaming
torches mounted on the walls. I was standing waist-deep in water.
Damp stone walls surrounded me.
Square-shaped stone tunnels stretched away into the dark ness. The
foul stench of human faeces filled the air.
Renco was already wading through the water away from me, toward a
junction in the tunnel system. I hurried after him.
Through the tunnels we went. Left then right, left then right—thus
we made our way hastily through the under ground labyrinth. Never
once did Renco seem lost or doubtful—he just turned into each
tunnel with confidence and purpose.
And then all at once he stopped and stared up at the stone ceiling
above us.
I just stood behind him, perplexed. I could see no differ ence
between this tunnel and any of the other half-dozen that we had
just come through.
And then for some reason unknown to myself, Renco ducked underneath
the foul-smelling water. Moments later, he came up with a rock the
size of a man's fist. Then he climbed up out of the water and stood
astride the narrow ledge that lined the tunnel and with his
newfound rock began to hit the underside of one of the stone slabs
that
formed the ceiling of the tunnel.
Bang-bang. Bang.
Renco waited for a moment. Then he repeated the same
sequence.
Bang-bang. Bang.
It was a code of some sort. Renco stepped back down into the water
and we both stared up at the wet stone ceiling in
silence, waiting for something to happen.
Nothing happened.
We kept waiting. As we did so, I noticed a small symbol carved into
the corner of the stone slab that Renco had been assailing. It was
a carving of a circle, with a double 'V'
inscribed within it.
And then all of a sudden—boom-boom, boom—a series of muffled whumps
could be heard from the other side of the ceiling. Someone
repeating Renco's code.
Renco sighed with relief. Then he stood up on the ledge again and
pounded out a new sequence of thumps.
Moments later, the whole square-shaped section of the ceiling slid
away, grinding loudly against its neighbours, revealing a dark,
cavern-like space above us.
Renco immediately climbed up out of the water and disappeared into
the hole in the ceiling. I followed.
I came up inside a most splendid room, an enormous vault- like
chamber, lined on all four sides with magnificent golden images.
All four walls of the chamber were made of solid stone blocks, each
one ten feet wide and probably as thick.
There was no obvious door, except for a smaller stone this one only
six feet in height—set within one of the sturdy walls.
I was in the vault of the Coricancha.
A single flaming torch illuminated the cavernous space.
It was held by a burly Incan warrior. Three other equally large
warriors stood behind the torchbearer, glaring at me.
There was another person in the vault, however. An elderly woman,
and she had eyes only for Renco.
She was a handsome woman, with grey hair and wrinkled skin, and I
imagined that in her prime she must have been a strikingly
beautiful woman. She was dressed simply, in a white cotton robe and
a gold-and-emerald headdress.
And I must say that in her simple white attire, she looked
angelic, almost heavenly, like a priestess of some
Boom[
I spun at the sudden noise. Renco did, too.
Boom[
It seemed to come from the other side of the walls. Someone
pounding on the outside of the stone door.
I froze in horror.
The Spaniards.
Hernando.
They were trying to get in.
The old priestess said something to Renco in Quechuano Renco
replied quickly and then he gestured toward me.
Boom[ Boom[
The old priestess then turned hurriedly to a stone pedestal behind
her. I saw on the pedestal an object covered with a purple
silk-like cloth.
The priestess picked up the object-cloth and all—and despite the
insistent pounding on the walls, handed it solemnly to Renco. I
still could not see what lay beneath the cloth. Whatever it was, it
was about the size and shape of a human head.
Renco took the object respectfully.
Boom[ Boom!
Why was he moving so slowly, I wondered incredulously, as my eyes
darted to the shuddering stone walls around us.