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| Calle Marquez, Cusco, Peru |
Author's Introduction
This is my second historical fiction piece. I decided to write it on the conquest of Peru because I lived in Cusco, the ancient Inca capital, from 2008-2011. The country, its history and its people hold a special significance to me and my personal history.
I've split this story into three parts, partly because it helps me to focus my writing (much like publishing 3 consecutive books in a trilogy), but also so that the reader can follow the story line better. As always, please feel free to let me know your opinions of this "3-part story" approach in the comment section at the end.
The following story takes place largely between 1527 and 1541, although events before or after that time might be referenced. The Spanish colonization of the Inca Empire is a long, tragic and fascinating story. It cannot be completely condensed to the 14 years described in my story. However, it is from 1527-1541 that some of the most important events in Peruvian history took place- events that shook the Inca Empire apart, and which reset the groundwork for the remainder of the country's history. Therefore, I have chosen these 14 years to focus on.
A quick word about the title- despite the fact that the Inca Empire (known as "Tawantinsuyu", or the "Empire of the Four Sides" to the locals) ranged across much of modern-day Peru, Chile, Bolivia, Ecuador, Argentina and Colombia, I settled on putting only "Peru" in the title. This was partly to give those who are new to history some immediate geographical reference (I avoided "The Spanish Conquest Of The Inca Empire" because, for those who don't know much about the subject, I wanted to make it clear that this was the native Empire in South America, as opposed to the Aztecs in Mexico, or the Mayans in Guatemala).
Furthermore, anyone who has visited South America will testify that, of all the six modern-day countries which house Inca artifacts and history, Peru has by far the most impressive collection. The Inca Empire began in Cusco, Peru, and spread out in all four directions. To walk round parts of modern day Cusco is to walk down Inca built streets that haven't changed much in over 500 years. To the Inca, Cusco really was the epicenter of the Universe, and today we can still see evidence that everything in the Empire flowed from there. So, without discounting the Inca history of the other 5 countries, I recognized that the most important events in my story all happened in Peru, and thus the title is so.
The following story takes place largely between 1527 and 1541, although events before or after that time might be referenced. The Spanish colonization of the Inca Empire is a long, tragic and fascinating story. It cannot be completely condensed to the 14 years described in my story. However, it is from 1527-1541 that some of the most important events in Peruvian history took place- events that shook the Inca Empire apart, and which reset the groundwork for the remainder of the country's history. Therefore, I have chosen these 14 years to focus on.
A quick word about the title- despite the fact that the Inca Empire (known as "Tawantinsuyu", or the "Empire of the Four Sides" to the locals) ranged across much of modern-day Peru, Chile, Bolivia, Ecuador, Argentina and Colombia, I settled on putting only "Peru" in the title. This was partly to give those who are new to history some immediate geographical reference (I avoided "The Spanish Conquest Of The Inca Empire" because, for those who don't know much about the subject, I wanted to make it clear that this was the native Empire in South America, as opposed to the Aztecs in Mexico, or the Mayans in Guatemala).
Furthermore, anyone who has visited South America will testify that, of all the six modern-day countries which house Inca artifacts and history, Peru has by far the most impressive collection. The Inca Empire began in Cusco, Peru, and spread out in all four directions. To walk round parts of modern day Cusco is to walk down Inca built streets that haven't changed much in over 500 years. To the Inca, Cusco really was the epicenter of the Universe, and today we can still see evidence that everything in the Empire flowed from there. So, without discounting the Inca history of the other 5 countries, I recognized that the most important events in my story all happened in Peru, and thus the title is so.
Quechua, the lingua franca of the Inca Empire, is still spoken as a native language by about 10 million people today. I have tried to include several Quechua names and terms in this story for the sake of authenticity. Below I have included a list of the terms used throughout, so please feel free to refer back to them when reading.
camaquen - soul
Capac Incas - Inca nobility, the Capac Incas were inferior only to the Sapa Inca. They were believed to be direct descendants of the original Inca, Manco Capac, and held the highest positions in the government, army and priesthood.
chasqui - The messengers of the Inca Empire. Their relay system meant passing on a message to the next chasqui until it reached its final destination. Archaeologists have concluded that the delivery of a message from Quito to Cusco (a distance of 1500 km, or 932 mi.) would have taken about 375 chasquis one week.
soncoyoc - doctor/healer who often also acted as a priest or holy adviser
soncoyoc - doctor/healer who often also acted as a priest or holy adviser
Sapa Inca - The Emperor of the Inca Empire, his name literally translates as "the Sole Inca".
tambo - Relay stations for the chasquis (messengers), storehouses for food, lodging for travelers on state business and military commune centres. The multi-funcional tambo really was a vital institution for the Incas. It is estimated that over 2000 tambo buildings were built throughout the Inca Empire, each spaced about 20 km (12 mi) apart.
Tawantinsuyu - the name for the Inca Empire. It literally translates as "The Four Regions", referring to the four points on a compass.
tokoyricoq - Imperial guards
I have also used the term "Intiruna" to describe the majority of the people living within the Empire, rather than using the word "Inca". As you can see from my mini dictionary above, the term "Inca" was actually the term used for members of the ruling class, which is how I've also used it in this story. The word was then taken and used by European settlers (rather carelessly) to describe the race as a whole.
What the ordinary people of the Tawantinsuyu - the Quechua word for the Empire - called themselves remains a mystery. So, to describe those "imperial subjects" who lived under the dominion of the Incas, I came up with a solution. They believed themselves to be the children of the Sun God, Inti. Therefore, I have combined the word Inti with the word runa (meaning "person") to create the word "Intiruna" a makeshift word which roughly translated as "Sun-Person".
I have included several Quechua words to help the reader get a feeling for the native language of the Incas, which I hope will enhance your reading experience. However, I don't want them to disrupt the flow of the story. So as a solution, on commonly used words such as "Sapa Inca", I've only written the Quechua words. On less commonly used words, such as "soncoyoc", I've written the Quechua word followed immediately by the English word (both in Italics), like so- "soncoyoc doctor".
I have also kept the Spanish word "conquistador", which literally means "conqueror", but which specifically refers to the Spanish soldiers who explored the New World in the 15th and 16th centuries. They wore metal helmets and armour, carried crossbows and primitive light muskets (called "harquebus") and rode trained horses- all of which was foreign and previously unknown to the native peoples.
A final word on my literary style- the following story follows a clear lineage from 1527-1541. However, there are several "flashback" scenes, in which the trajectory of the story is interrupted in order to fill the reader in on an earlier event. The general rule is this- the continual story line is always written in the simple past, and then any events which interrupt the story line in order to describe an earlier even are written in the past perfect. For example, you might see a sentence like this: "As the early morning sun began to rise over the peak, he made his way slowly up the mountain...", which is my main story line in the simple past. In many cases, you will then see a text division like this:
---
Followed by the description of a "flashback" event, such as "He had first decided to climb the foreboding mountain two weeks prior. His family had been concerned for his safety, but before setting off he'd reassured them that there was no need to worry...", which is written in the past perfect. You will then see another text division:
---
Before the story then returns to its original path in the simple past, "...Upon reaching the summit, he gazed out over the lush valley below him...". It is my preferred writing style, mainly because it's the easiest to follow. I hope you will agree.
As always, please remember that the following story is fiction. It is closely based on real events, and a huge amount of time and effort has gone in to making it both as factually accurate and entertaining as possible. Once you have finished the story, kindly read the historical notes at the end, which will allow me to set the record straight as well as enhancing your experience.
I hope you've found these beginning introductory notes useful. Without further ado, I must take you back to the main square of a town nestled in the Andes mountains. It is an hour before sunset, and it is time for our story to begin...
tokoyricoq - Imperial guards
I have also used the term "Intiruna" to describe the majority of the people living within the Empire, rather than using the word "Inca". As you can see from my mini dictionary above, the term "Inca" was actually the term used for members of the ruling class, which is how I've also used it in this story. The word was then taken and used by European settlers (rather carelessly) to describe the race as a whole.
What the ordinary people of the Tawantinsuyu - the Quechua word for the Empire - called themselves remains a mystery. So, to describe those "imperial subjects" who lived under the dominion of the Incas, I came up with a solution. They believed themselves to be the children of the Sun God, Inti. Therefore, I have combined the word Inti with the word runa (meaning "person") to create the word "Intiruna" a makeshift word which roughly translated as "Sun-Person".
I have included several Quechua words to help the reader get a feeling for the native language of the Incas, which I hope will enhance your reading experience. However, I don't want them to disrupt the flow of the story. So as a solution, on commonly used words such as "Sapa Inca", I've only written the Quechua words. On less commonly used words, such as "soncoyoc", I've written the Quechua word followed immediately by the English word (both in Italics), like so- "soncoyoc doctor".
I have also kept the Spanish word "conquistador", which literally means "conqueror", but which specifically refers to the Spanish soldiers who explored the New World in the 15th and 16th centuries. They wore metal helmets and armour, carried crossbows and primitive light muskets (called "harquebus") and rode trained horses- all of which was foreign and previously unknown to the native peoples.
A final word on my literary style- the following story follows a clear lineage from 1527-1541. However, there are several "flashback" scenes, in which the trajectory of the story is interrupted in order to fill the reader in on an earlier event. The general rule is this- the continual story line is always written in the simple past, and then any events which interrupt the story line in order to describe an earlier even are written in the past perfect. For example, you might see a sentence like this: "As the early morning sun began to rise over the peak, he made his way slowly up the mountain...", which is my main story line in the simple past. In many cases, you will then see a text division like this:
---
Followed by the description of a "flashback" event, such as "He had first decided to climb the foreboding mountain two weeks prior. His family had been concerned for his safety, but before setting off he'd reassured them that there was no need to worry...", which is written in the past perfect. You will then see another text division:
---
Before the story then returns to its original path in the simple past, "...Upon reaching the summit, he gazed out over the lush valley below him...". It is my preferred writing style, mainly because it's the easiest to follow. I hope you will agree.
As always, please remember that the following story is fiction. It is closely based on real events, and a huge amount of time and effort has gone in to making it both as factually accurate and entertaining as possible. Once you have finished the story, kindly read the historical notes at the end, which will allow me to set the record straight as well as enhancing your experience.
I hope you've found these beginning introductory notes useful. Without further ado, I must take you back to the main square of a town nestled in the Andes mountains. It is an hour before sunset, and it is time for our story to begin...
Chapter 1
16th November 1532
"BLASPHEMY! BLASPHEMY OF THE HIGHEST ORDER!"
The young priest, red faced and trembling with indignation, turned away from the Empire's King, the "Sapa Inca", sat high upon his litter. It was being held up by 8 strong soldiers. Surrounding the Sapa Inca and his litter were 7,000 of his most experienced native veterans, all lightly armed and watching the priest as he raged.
"What is he saying?", the Sapa Inca looked down at his translator. His translator, far below him, looked up at the Sapa Inca briefly, confused, before his eyes were dragged back to the ranting priest...
"Err...", was all he could splutter out, as he tried to catch the priest's rambling words, while at the same time trying to work out how best to summarize them to the Sapa Inca.
"BROTHERS! SERVANTS OF GOD! BRING JUSTICE UPON THIS HEATHEN NATION!!!". The priest had reached the edge of the portico, under which the entire Spanish army was concealed in its shadow. Their commander, Francisco, watched the rambling and indignant priest with narrow and callous eyes. The priest turned round and pointed his long, bony finger back at the Sapa Inca, still sat on his high litter, the thousands of confused soldiers surrounding him.
"FELLOW SPANIARDS! IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, CAST YOUR FORCE UPON THE HEATHENS!"
A great cry of panic came out from the huge circle of native soldiers surrounding their Sapa Inca, who stood up in outrage on his litter. Before he had time to protest, the crack of gunfire split the air. Hundreds of the Sapa Inca's soldiers on the outside of the giant huddle fell immediately. But before they had even touched the floor, Francisco and his 62 Conquistadors also emerged from the shadows of the portico on all four sides of the plaza. With a great shout of "SANTIAGOOOOOOO!!!", they charged towards the huge group of huddled and terrified soldiers in the middle of the plaza.
The Sapa Inca looked desperately for a way for him and his troops to escape, but the plaza was completely blocked off by Spanish soldiers on all sides. The troops below and around him were suddenly a mix of his terrified veterans and iron-clad Spanish infantrymen, shooting and stabbing his men at close range. The sudden, panicked shrieks of death surrounded the Sapa Inca from all sides...
Suddenly, the Sapa Inca felt a hand, and then two, grab his robe from below. In terror, he tried to kick the hands off. "LET GO OF ME!" he shouted angrily. But the hands were joined by more Spanish hands, and within seconds, he was dragged off his litter and tumbled to the floor...
The Sapa Inca was hoisted to his feet, and saw that the hands holding him belonged to Francisco himself. The massacre raged around the two men, jostling them, but Francisco kept his firm grip of the Sapa Inca's robe. He was panting heavily and his teeth were gritted in menace. Through his terror and confusion, the Sapa Inca noticed that one of Francisco's hands, gripping his tunic so tightly, was bleeding...
Then a bag was flung over the Sapa Inca's head from behind, and after that a colossal thump just above his neckline stopped all light and all the chaotic screams, gunfire and shouting around him dead.
There were other rarities going on which also concerned Rumi. The strange light that had been observed in the sky the very night that Huayna Capac had first fallen ill a week before, for one. Rumi had himself looked up on that cold night to see the tiny bright speck in the sky, followed by a cosmic tail that whipped away from it into the black of the night. And it had been there on the next night, too... and the one after that. It had apparently baffled even the learned astronomers across the empire, and no solid explanation of the sighting had reached Rumi's ears. Only rumors and suspicions. Still, it appeared to Rumi that it was too much of a coincidence for it not to be related somehow to Sapa Inca Huayna Capac's sudden and mysterious illness. Surely, the two must be related? And if they were, then what were the implications?
And then, of course, there had been the fragments of Huayna Capac's speech that Rumi had been able to decipher over the last week. Most of the things that the Sapa Inca had said as he'd sweated and writhed in pain in his bed had been incoherent whispers. Words which were missing syllables that Rumi had heard as he'd bathed the flaking sores on the Sapa Inca's tormented and pain stricken face. Broken thoughts that were interrupted by his violent coughing fits. The fractured, unintelligible screams of a man being driven slowly mad by sickness. But there was one word that the dying Sapa Inca had uttered on at least a couple of occasions, with perfect diction and clarity...
"Viracocha..."
Viracocha was the bearded creator God. Long ago he'd created man and woman, and taught them how to live. Then, one day he'd walked to the coast, to the great ocean on their western shoreline... and then continued walking, upon the surface of the water. He'd disappeared over the horizon, never to return.
But those who lived in the Sapa Inca's Tawantinsuyu Empire had faith that Viracocha would one day come back to them, from the same ocean to the west from which he'd left. Rumi was skeptical, and suspected that the legend was just wishful thinking. Still, it had been Viracocha's name that Sapa Inca Huayna Capac had said several times during his illness. How did the creator God fit into all of these... "occurrences"...?
breathing even above his own, which was panicking and desperate. His feet struggled against the dirt but the man behind him stood firm, and he didn't move an inch.
Chapter 2
5 years earlier (1527)...
"How is he doing, Soncoyoc Rumi?"
Rumi, the old soncoyoc doctor, closed the door of the small house behind him. Sympathetically, he looked at the woman standing outside the small adobe house. Behind her, in the dusk, he could see other sparsely and unevenly placed houses, and could smell that the air was thick with wood smoke. Most of the families in the little village were preparing the evening meal. The soncoyoc doctor's face saddened as he looked down at the woman in front of him. He knew that she wouldn't be eating tonight. She might not eat for days...
"Okllo...", he said, and she closed her eyes at hearing him say her name in that way. Her pretty face was framed by her hair which was in two thick, black braids that sprouted from her scalp and lead elegantly all the way to the middle of her abdomen. With her eyes closed, she bowed her head so that the doctor couldn't see her tears.
"Okllo. He is very weak. If he survives..."
"What are the chances of that?", Okllo looked up at Rumi, suddenly hopeful. She blinked the tears from her eyes, and wiped them. Rumi looked into her eyes, the whites of which were already red and puffy, and he was devastated for what he was going to have to tell her. He prepared himself to kill the spark of hope that was in her eyes.
"Your husband will die, Okllo. I cannot help him anymore than I have". Okllo bowed her head again, and began sobbing quietly. Rumi put his hand on her shoulder. Okllo felt her tears warming the skin on her face as they began to fall in streams. She allowed Rumi to comfort her, just for a second. Eventually, she sniffed, and looked up at him.
"Can I see him?", she asked timidly, her voice quivering. She wiped her dark brown cheeks with her palms before looking pleadingly up him. Rumi smiled sadly.
"Yes", he said, omitting the fact that she should do so as quickly as possible, and hoping that her husband hadn't already passed away as they'd been talking. Okllo nodded, gave a small smile of gratitude, and walked past the old doctor into the house, shutting the door behind her.
Rumi sighed and closed his eyes. He looked back across the hilly plane. The few houses that were there looked so warm and cozy, with firelight emanating from the inside. Far away in the distance, on the other side of the village, Rumi could here the sounds of drums and panpipes. A ritual for cleansing the village of sickness, perhaps...
Rumi began to walk slowly away from the house, wrapping his poncho made from fine vicuña wool around him to protect him from the Andean wind. Huayna Capac, the man who was lying, struggling to breath in the house behind him, was the Sapa Inca- the King of the entire Tawantinsuyu- the Empire of the Four Parts. He had come down with a strong fever just a week ago. Within a day, he had been unable to get out of bed, coughing and spluttering whenever he tried to speak. Then, most shockingly of all to Rumi, his skin had begun to flake, first on his forehead, and then spreading to his eyes and nose. Rumi had been unable to stop its spread, and soon afterwards the Sapa Inca's temperature had begun to rise uncontrollably. As the skin had dried, it had cracked, leaving Huayna Capac in agony and unable to move. Rumi had immediately barked orders to his assistance to fan him, bring him fresh water and to have the Sapa Inca chew coca leaves almost constantly, despite the immense pain it caused him. But it was to no avail. Finally, the light had begun to fade from Sapa Inca Huayna Capac's eyes...
Rumi had not allowed his wife Okllo near the room for fear that she too would be contaminated. But that afternoon, not even a week after Huayna Capac had first been taken ill, Rumi had called for her. He couldn't deny her her last goodbye with her husband, no matter how high the risk.
Rumi had not allowed his wife Okllo near the room for fear that she too would be contaminated. But that afternoon, not even a week after Huayna Capac had first been taken ill, Rumi had called for her. He couldn't deny her her last goodbye with her husband, no matter how high the risk.
Most worryingly, though, Rumi thought to himself as he walked out of the light from the little house and into the darkness, was that he still didn't know what had caused it. He had never seen a disease like it, in all his 40 winters of medicine. What was this illness that could destroy the majesty and glory of a Sapa Inca in just a week?
There were other rarities going on which also concerned Rumi. The strange light that had been observed in the sky the very night that Huayna Capac had first fallen ill a week before, for one. Rumi had himself looked up on that cold night to see the tiny bright speck in the sky, followed by a cosmic tail that whipped away from it into the black of the night. And it had been there on the next night, too... and the one after that. It had apparently baffled even the learned astronomers across the empire, and no solid explanation of the sighting had reached Rumi's ears. Only rumors and suspicions. Still, it appeared to Rumi that it was too much of a coincidence for it not to be related somehow to Sapa Inca Huayna Capac's sudden and mysterious illness. Surely, the two must be related? And if they were, then what were the implications?
And then, of course, there had been the fragments of Huayna Capac's speech that Rumi had been able to decipher over the last week. Most of the things that the Sapa Inca had said as he'd sweated and writhed in pain in his bed had been incoherent whispers. Words which were missing syllables that Rumi had heard as he'd bathed the flaking sores on the Sapa Inca's tormented and pain stricken face. Broken thoughts that were interrupted by his violent coughing fits. The fractured, unintelligible screams of a man being driven slowly mad by sickness. But there was one word that the dying Sapa Inca had uttered on at least a couple of occasions, with perfect diction and clarity...
"Viracocha..."
Viracocha was the bearded creator God. Long ago he'd created man and woman, and taught them how to live. Then, one day he'd walked to the coast, to the great ocean on their western shoreline... and then continued walking, upon the surface of the water. He'd disappeared over the horizon, never to return.
But those who lived in the Sapa Inca's Tawantinsuyu Empire had faith that Viracocha would one day come back to them, from the same ocean to the west from which he'd left. Rumi was skeptical, and suspected that the legend was just wishful thinking. Still, it had been Viracocha's name that Sapa Inca Huayna Capac had said several times during his illness. How did the creator God fit into all of these... "occurrences"...?
Rumi was still pondering all of this, shaking his head in disbelief and confusion, when he heard faint but hurried footsteps approaching him from the darkness ahead of him. He looked up, suddenly alert.
"Who's there?", he said threateningly, placing his right hand instinctively on the stone knife he had tucked into his belt.
The form of a chasqui messenger gradually appeared in front of him, illuminated by the low light coming from the house behind Rumi. The empire was held together by chasquis- men who made up a complex network of messengers. Each messenger would run a certain distance, pass the message onto the next chasqui, much like a relay race, and the process would repeat until the message reached its destination. It was a system that had worked for centuries. Chasquis had been behind generals winning wars, Sapa Incas being deposed, and rival empires crumbling before the might of imperial expansion.
"This chasqui", Rumi thought, as the young man slowed down, "looks like he's been running all day..."
The chasqui approached Rumi. "Soncoyoc Rumi Quispe-Quispe?" he asked, panting and using the doctor's title and name.
"Yes" said Rumi, and waited patiently for the chasqui to catch his breath...
Within a minute, the chasqui had related the message that had originated from a nearby village. By the time he'd finished, Rumi's eyes were wide, and his expression was one of horror as he stared in disbelief at the chasqui, who had his hands on his hips and was still panting heavily. In complete shock at what he'd just heard, Rumi looked back at the house into which Okllo had entered minutes before to say her goodbyes to the dying Sapa Inca.
Within a minute, the chasqui had related the message that had originated from a nearby village. By the time he'd finished, Rumi's eyes were wide, and his expression was one of horror as he stared in disbelief at the chasqui, who had his hands on his hips and was still panting heavily. In complete shock at what he'd just heard, Rumi looked back at the house into which Okllo had entered minutes before to say her goodbyes to the dying Sapa Inca.
"By the Gods, no..." he whispered in the darkness...
Chapter 3
"Rawa Okllo, you MUST try to sleep...". Rumi sat down on the bench beside Okllo...
---
It had been a week since she had left the little house and told Rumi that her husband had passed on. Huayna Capac had passed from this world at the very same moment that Rumi had been absorbing the chasqui's message. By the time Okllo had came out of the house a few minutes later, weeping, and wailing, the chasqui had already left with Rumi's reply.
Rumi had immediately approached Okllo and comforted her before leaving her outside while he went in and confirmed the death. He'd prayed over the body, before leaving again and finding the priests in a nearby house. They had spent all day preparing a cordial made from the coca leaf to ease the suffering caused by Huayna Capac's flaking skin. Upon hearing the news of the Sapa Inca's death, they'd abandoned their work and entered the room to perform the final rituals and prepare the Sapa Inca's body for mummification.
---
It had been a week since she had left the little house and told Rumi that her husband had passed on. Huayna Capac had passed from this world at the very same moment that Rumi had been absorbing the chasqui's message. By the time Okllo had came out of the house a few minutes later, weeping, and wailing, the chasqui had already left with Rumi's reply.
Rumi had immediately approached Okllo and comforted her before leaving her outside while he went in and confirmed the death. He'd prayed over the body, before leaving again and finding the priests in a nearby house. They had spent all day preparing a cordial made from the coca leaf to ease the suffering caused by Huayna Capac's flaking skin. Upon hearing the news of the Sapa Inca's death, they'd abandoned their work and entered the room to perform the final rituals and prepare the Sapa Inca's body for mummification.
As they'd begun the work in the house that would last the rest of the night and much of the following day, Rumi had returned to Okllo who was still standing outside the house, crying desperately. He had still been trying to grapple the true significance of the chasqui's message himself, but he'd also known that he would have to eventually relay it to Okllo. Rumi had tried to comfort her again in the cold mountain air with gentle words of peace and an end of suffering for her recently deceased husband. Her face was buried into Rumi's tunic as he held her. At one point, her crying had grown less pained, quieter, and Rumi had concluded that she had either begun to calm herself down or she was simply crying herself to sleep. Either way, he knew that he would have to reveal the contents of the chasqui's message to her as soon as possible. It was unfortunate timing, but it was also too important to delay any longer.
"Okllo... I'm so sorry to have to tell you this now. But you need to know..." She'd broken the embrace upon hearing his gentle, solemn words, looking up pleadingly at him. Her eyes had been begging him not to give her anymore bad news and, having looked into them with his own eyes full of compassion for the suffering woman, Rumi had cursed the Universe for forcing this burden on him.
"Okllo- I received a message a few minutes ago". He'd taken a deep breath, and Okllo had looked up at him, unblinking.
"Ninan Cuyuchi is sick"
---
Huayna Capac's first born son, Ninan Cuyuchi, was not Okllo's son. The old late Sapa Inca had fathered hundreds of children, with several women. But as Huayna Capac's own sister, Okllo had viewed herself as more entitled than his other wives, and had therefore looked upon his eldest, and therefore his heir to the Tawantinsuyu Empire, as if he was her own. Ninan Cuyuchi was mature and helpful, always asking Okllo if he could assist with whatever she was doing. One time, she had been sat on a small stool in one of the doorways at Quispiguanca, the vast estate that belonged to Huayna Capac in the South of the Empire, close to the town of Urubamba. She had been combing wool with some of her hand-maidens, chatting as normal. They had seen Ninan Cuyuchi coming up the hill from a mile away... but were most surprised when, upon seeing what they were doing as he approached, he'd asked if he could help them! To Okllo's delight, he'd spent the rest of the afternoon, sat on a little stool with the three ladies, chatting and making them laugh with his boyish stories and crude jokes, all the while separating the wool like one of the hand-maidens. Okllo had truly loved him as her own son from that moment on, and they'd formed a special bond as close as friends.
But now, a week after holding her husband's hand on his deathbed and watching his camaquen - his soul- pass away from her into the next world, she was sat on a simple wooden bench outside of another adobe hut a few miles away, as the heir to her husband's mighty Tawantinsuyu Empire lay inside, struggling to breath, the skin on his face flaking off. And worst of all, neither Rumi nor any of the other local soncoyoc doctors in the area had any idea what this strange illness - the one that had killed Sapa Inca Huayna Capac and that had also sent his younger, healthier son to his deathbed a week later - was.
The priests had declared that the arrogance of successive Sapa Inca's expansion of the Empire had caused either the Sun God Inti, or the Earth itself Pachamama, to feel profound jealousy, for which the nobility was now being punished. As a result, an entire harvest of coca leaves had been burned in the Empire's capital, Cusco. The smoke had been allowed to rise into the air to appease Inti the Sun God and, just for good measure, the remains and ashes had then been buried deep underground in case it had been Pachamama the Earth who had been offended.
But when the news of Ninan Cuyuchi's plight with the same illness reached the elite in Cusco, they had concluded that these sacrifices hadn't worked, and that more extreme signs of appeasement were necessary. A child had been selected from a specialized group, and was at that very moment being adorned with jewels and lavished with a great feast in Cusco. Tomorrow, he would be lead up a nearby mountain and sacrificed by a priest. But Okllo knew that, even if this were to appease both Inti and Pachamama, their mercy would surely not spare Ninan Cuyuchi, the young man who she'd long loved as her own son. They were fair Gods, but they were also cruel at times.
The priests had declared that the arrogance of successive Sapa Inca's expansion of the Empire had caused either the Sun God Inti, or the Earth itself Pachamama, to feel profound jealousy, for which the nobility was now being punished. As a result, an entire harvest of coca leaves had been burned in the Empire's capital, Cusco. The smoke had been allowed to rise into the air to appease Inti the Sun God and, just for good measure, the remains and ashes had then been buried deep underground in case it had been Pachamama the Earth who had been offended.
But when the news of Ninan Cuyuchi's plight with the same illness reached the elite in Cusco, they had concluded that these sacrifices hadn't worked, and that more extreme signs of appeasement were necessary. A child had been selected from a specialized group, and was at that very moment being adorned with jewels and lavished with a great feast in Cusco. Tomorrow, he would be lead up a nearby mountain and sacrificed by a priest. But Okllo knew that, even if this were to appease both Inti and Pachamama, their mercy would surely not spare Ninan Cuyuchi, the young man who she'd long loved as her own son. They were fair Gods, but they were also cruel at times.
Okllo didn't look at the doctor beside her. She couldn't think straight. She was tired of crying, and so she made no noise as the tears flooded down her high cheeks. Behind her, inside the little house, she could hear chanting and prayers as the other soncoyoc doctors prepared Ninan Cuyuchi's camaquen soul for death.
"Please rest, Okllo", Rumi pleaded again.
"Who will inherit my husband's Tawantinsuyu Empire now, Rumi?" Okllo whispered, defeated. She had ignored his pleas, and was staring out ahead of her at the snow-capped mountains, green and brilliant white in the afternoon sun. When he didn't respond, she turned to Rumi, her eyes dead and ghost-like. "Who will be our Sapa Inca?"
Rumi took a deep breath, before saying, in what he thought was a comforting way;
"Your son, Waskar, is the next legitimate heir. He will be the next Sapa Inca".
"Your son, Waskar, is the next legitimate heir. He will be the next Sapa Inca".
To Rumi's surprise, Rawa Okllo scoffed and turned away from him, shaking her head. Rumi looked, confused at her, before she sighed deeply and turned back to look him straight in the eyes.
"Rumi. My son does not have the qualities to lead our people. He must not become Sapa Inca".
Rumi was speechless.
"I..." he managed to splutter out, and Rawa Okllo raised her eyebrows at what looked like it was going to be an objection. Finally, Rumi gathered his thoughts, and said, "I thought you would be PLEASED, Okllo?"
"I..." he managed to splutter out, and Rawa Okllo raised her eyebrows at what looked like it was going to be an objection. Finally, Rumi gathered his thoughts, and said, "I thought you would be PLEASED, Okllo?"
"How can I be pleased, Rumi?", she asked, rhetorically. He continued to look at her confused. An old man leading two llamas passed them in the cobbled street, and Okllo waited for him to pass before she continued speaking. "Waskar MUST NOT be allowed to rule, Rumi", she said intensely, looking straight into the doctor's eyes. "He cannot lead our people in the right direction. You know this, I sense it".
Although Rumi didn't even nod to show that he agreed with her on that point, the fact that he couldn't maintain eye-contact with her and had to look away told her enough. She lowered her eyes in sadness. By failing to object, Rumi had confirmed Okllo's internal fears about her son.
Rumi was watching a condor, the giant bird native to the heights of the Andes, as it soared and glided against the frigid blue of the sky. He watched it become a single speck in the distance, before it disappeared behind a high peak.
Without looking at Okllo, he took a deep breath, and said,
"There is another who can rule".
Okllo furrowed her brow and turned her head to him quizzically. Rumi took another deep breath, aware that once he had told her his plan, there would be nothing he could do to stop her if she wanted to go through with it.
The four men were all dressed in brightly coloured robes of only one or sometimes two colours, and all wore their ceremonial headdresses for this urgently called meeting. Their dark skin and heavy facial features were, for them, a source of pride, evidence that they were direct descendants from the first Sapa Inca, Manco Capac. Long ago, he had sworn to build his city "wherever his staff sunk easily into the ground". He'd found that fateful place in the a groove in the mountains where they currently stood, and the city of Cusco had been born. His supposed descendants, the Capac Incas had been guiding their Sapa Inca in the administrative side of the Tawantinsuyu Empire ever since. As the Tawantinsuyu had grown out in all directions, they had held onto power by restricting their membership to those from the purest of Inca families only.
But in the room at the royal palace in Cusco that morning, they all felt meek and helpless to the Sapa Inca's temper, looking at each other with sideways glances. Waskar could feel himself growing impatient.
"Well?" he asked again sharply.
Although Rumi didn't even nod to show that he agreed with her on that point, the fact that he couldn't maintain eye-contact with her and had to look away told her enough. She lowered her eyes in sadness. By failing to object, Rumi had confirmed Okllo's internal fears about her son.
Rumi was watching a condor, the giant bird native to the heights of the Andes, as it soared and glided against the frigid blue of the sky. He watched it become a single speck in the distance, before it disappeared behind a high peak.
Without looking at Okllo, he took a deep breath, and said,
"There is another who can rule".
Okllo furrowed her brow and turned her head to him quizzically. Rumi took another deep breath, aware that once he had told her his plan, there would be nothing he could do to stop her if she wanted to go through with it.
Chapter 4
A week after Ninan Cuyuchi's death, his half-brother Prince Waskar was sat on a stone chair, his eyes glaring at the four Capac Inca courtiers who stood in front of him. These four men were part of the nobility of the Empire, the council of prefects, directly below the Sapa Inca himself. And at that moment, they were annoying Waskar with their indirect answers.
The four men were all dressed in brightly coloured robes of only one or sometimes two colours, and all wore their ceremonial headdresses for this urgently called meeting. Their dark skin and heavy facial features were, for them, a source of pride, evidence that they were direct descendants from the first Sapa Inca, Manco Capac. Long ago, he had sworn to build his city "wherever his staff sunk easily into the ground". He'd found that fateful place in the a groove in the mountains where they currently stood, and the city of Cusco had been born. His supposed descendants, the Capac Incas had been guiding their Sapa Inca in the administrative side of the Tawantinsuyu Empire ever since. As the Tawantinsuyu had grown out in all directions, they had held onto power by restricting their membership to those from the purest of Inca families only.
But in the room at the royal palace in Cusco that morning, they all felt meek and helpless to the Sapa Inca's temper, looking at each other with sideways glances. Waskar could feel himself growing impatient.
"Well?" he asked again sharply.
"Prince Waskar", said one of them nervously, having first cleared his throat. Waskar's piercing and unforgiving eyes looked directly at him, unblinking, and the man was almost stunned into silence. The other three men were looking at him, too, but he didn't notice. He was too focused on the Sapa Inca's lethal stare.
"You ARE the rightful heir to the throne, sire. Now that your father's heir Ninan Cuyuchi has also died, that is irrefutable" he said, and Waskar appeared to relax, although his stare was still cruel if not quite so angry anymore. "Your late father, Huayna Capac, and your mother, Rawa Okllo, are siblings. Through your veins runs the purest of Sapa Inca blood, of that there can be no doubt". When the other three men looked, open mouthed towards the Sapa Inca, he was stroking his shaved chin and nodding to himself in agreement, smirking slyly.
"Yes, I am, aren't I?", he mused to himself, barely audibly. The four other men nodded but said nothing. "And so...", Waskar continued his thoughts, "There will be no challenge to my reign? I shall reign supreme, as my father did before me, from the northern most mountains to the desert plains in the south?"
"You shall, sire", said the same Capac Inca calmly. His name was Sinchi, and he was by far the most sycophantic of the four Capac Inca in the room. He was also the eldest, at just over 50 years old, and he'd learned from his many years of experience in the office that to tell the Sapa Inca whatever he wanted to hear was by far the best way to get through these crisis meetings, which more often than not involved either massaging the Sapa Inca's ego, or condensing long and complicated policy to a mere few sentences. Keeping these meetings as short as possible left the Capac Incas with more time to continue with their political machinations unabated. Therefore, in Capac Inca Sinchi's opinion, by telling the Sapa Inca something that would ease the responsibility of his office, everything was done quicker, and therefore better.
Waskar looked at Sinchi suspiciously. The man had a reputation for not being completely honest. Everyone in the palace and, perhaps in the entire Tawantinsuyu Empire, knew that Sinchi was a slippery character, and that it was wise to take whatever he said lightly. Thus, after a second or two to chew it over, Waskar decided more analysis of Sinchi's conclusion was necessary.
Still looking directly at Sinchi, Waskar began. "There are those, Capac Inca Sinchi, who believe that one of my half-brothers would make a more suitable Sapa Inca than me". He stopped there, and watched to see if Sinchi would react, but the man just stood there, waiting for Waskar to continue. "Why would they think that, Capac Inca Sinchi, if it has been ordained upon me from on high, from the Sun God Inti himself, to carry the burden of this crown? Do the people... not TRUST that Inti has chosen me, from the beginning of time, to rule at the correct moment?"
Sinchi knew what Waskar was referring to, but he kept calm. The truth was that, despite being from the purest of Inca bloodlines, Waskar was not popular among many circles. There were even rumors that his own mother, Rawa Okllo, didn't want him to become Sapa Inca after Huayna Capac died. She'd certainly never shown any enthusiasm for the idea, nor made substantial plans for it. Furthermore, and from a political standpoint more significantly, Waskar had made several enemies among the nobility. The Empire was by this time vast. Where Huayna Capac had done a relatively good job of spreading his attention evenly across the jungles, mountains and coastlines, from the grand cities to the tiny villages, his son Waskar was a self-proclaimed "child of the city". And of all the cities, he loved his capital, Cusco, the most by far.
His unwillingness to leave Cusco as a prince had shown communities in the more remote parts of the Empire what kind of Sapa Inca they could expect out of him. Worse still, Waskar insisted that the splendor of Cusco, his home and pride and joy, was of utmost importance. Gold and building materials had been brought from all over the Empire, at the prince's request, to improve his capital. Meanwhile, the people in villages deep in the jungle or far to the north who'd never even visited Cusco and probably never would, had starved. Building resentment at Waskar's neglect had caused the nobility in the North, particularly in the area around the Empire's second city Quito, to prepare for both Huayna Capac's and Ninan Cuyuchi's untimely demise. They did this by showing support for Waskar's half-brother, Prince Atahualpa. A simple but honest man, he was popular among the northern territories, and certainly a preferable figure to the power-hungry and uncompromising Waskar.
Capac Inca Sinchi maintained the Sapa Inca's gaze, as he confidently stated, "Your majesty. Those in the nobility who want to see your half-brother ascend to the throne are thwarted by the mere fact that Prince Atahualpa has no interest whatsoever in challenging you for your crown. And even if he did..." Sinchi almost scoffed, "... he simply does not have your natural majesty..." He began counting on his fingers at each point he made, "...your overwhelming popularity among the nobility, your popularity among the ordinary people OR...!". Sinchi raised his finger to point upwards, and Waskar smirked in expectation. "MOST IMPORTANTLY, your undefiled Inca bloodline, which states undeniably that you are the rightful heir to the throne, not him". The three other Capac Incas nodded in agreement, and Sinchi dramatically lowered his finger from eye-level to rest by his side while nodding confidently, despite the obvious errors in what he'd just said. Still, the Sapa Inca appeared to be lapping it up, popping some corn beads into his mouth and chewing them loudly as he looked into the distance, his smirk still visible on his face.
After a few seconds of contemplation at what he'd just heard, Waskar leant forwards on his chair, his elbows on his knees. "You're right, Capac Inca Sinchi. Forgive my doubting spirit and my questions". Waskar felt a surge of confidence after Sinchi's speech. Both his father and his father's first choice for heir were gone. The next in line was Waskar. Destiny had intervened in the world to put him on the throne, and Atahualpa's popularity wouldn't be able to change that.
Capac Inca Sinchi bowed low, watched by the other three Capac Inca's. As he came up, he said,
"The easing of the Sapa Inca's concerns is but one of my duties, your majesty", smiling because he knew he'd just manipulated yet another Sapa Inca...
Waskar looked at Sinchi suspiciously. The man had a reputation for not being completely honest. Everyone in the palace and, perhaps in the entire Tawantinsuyu Empire, knew that Sinchi was a slippery character, and that it was wise to take whatever he said lightly. Thus, after a second or two to chew it over, Waskar decided more analysis of Sinchi's conclusion was necessary.
Still looking directly at Sinchi, Waskar began. "There are those, Capac Inca Sinchi, who believe that one of my half-brothers would make a more suitable Sapa Inca than me". He stopped there, and watched to see if Sinchi would react, but the man just stood there, waiting for Waskar to continue. "Why would they think that, Capac Inca Sinchi, if it has been ordained upon me from on high, from the Sun God Inti himself, to carry the burden of this crown? Do the people... not TRUST that Inti has chosen me, from the beginning of time, to rule at the correct moment?"
Sinchi knew what Waskar was referring to, but he kept calm. The truth was that, despite being from the purest of Inca bloodlines, Waskar was not popular among many circles. There were even rumors that his own mother, Rawa Okllo, didn't want him to become Sapa Inca after Huayna Capac died. She'd certainly never shown any enthusiasm for the idea, nor made substantial plans for it. Furthermore, and from a political standpoint more significantly, Waskar had made several enemies among the nobility. The Empire was by this time vast. Where Huayna Capac had done a relatively good job of spreading his attention evenly across the jungles, mountains and coastlines, from the grand cities to the tiny villages, his son Waskar was a self-proclaimed "child of the city". And of all the cities, he loved his capital, Cusco, the most by far.
His unwillingness to leave Cusco as a prince had shown communities in the more remote parts of the Empire what kind of Sapa Inca they could expect out of him. Worse still, Waskar insisted that the splendor of Cusco, his home and pride and joy, was of utmost importance. Gold and building materials had been brought from all over the Empire, at the prince's request, to improve his capital. Meanwhile, the people in villages deep in the jungle or far to the north who'd never even visited Cusco and probably never would, had starved. Building resentment at Waskar's neglect had caused the nobility in the North, particularly in the area around the Empire's second city Quito, to prepare for both Huayna Capac's and Ninan Cuyuchi's untimely demise. They did this by showing support for Waskar's half-brother, Prince Atahualpa. A simple but honest man, he was popular among the northern territories, and certainly a preferable figure to the power-hungry and uncompromising Waskar.
Capac Inca Sinchi maintained the Sapa Inca's gaze, as he confidently stated, "Your majesty. Those in the nobility who want to see your half-brother ascend to the throne are thwarted by the mere fact that Prince Atahualpa has no interest whatsoever in challenging you for your crown. And even if he did..." Sinchi almost scoffed, "... he simply does not have your natural majesty..." He began counting on his fingers at each point he made, "...your overwhelming popularity among the nobility, your popularity among the ordinary people OR...!". Sinchi raised his finger to point upwards, and Waskar smirked in expectation. "MOST IMPORTANTLY, your undefiled Inca bloodline, which states undeniably that you are the rightful heir to the throne, not him". The three other Capac Incas nodded in agreement, and Sinchi dramatically lowered his finger from eye-level to rest by his side while nodding confidently, despite the obvious errors in what he'd just said. Still, the Sapa Inca appeared to be lapping it up, popping some corn beads into his mouth and chewing them loudly as he looked into the distance, his smirk still visible on his face.
After a few seconds of contemplation at what he'd just heard, Waskar leant forwards on his chair, his elbows on his knees. "You're right, Capac Inca Sinchi. Forgive my doubting spirit and my questions". Waskar felt a surge of confidence after Sinchi's speech. Both his father and his father's first choice for heir were gone. The next in line was Waskar. Destiny had intervened in the world to put him on the throne, and Atahualpa's popularity wouldn't be able to change that.
Capac Inca Sinchi bowed low, watched by the other three Capac Inca's. As he came up, he said,
"The easing of the Sapa Inca's concerns is but one of my duties, your majesty", smiling because he knew he'd just manipulated yet another Sapa Inca...
Unfortunately for the five men in the meeting room in Cusco, at that same moment at the complete other end of the Empire, Rumi had just reached the top of a hill. Below him, in a small village that he could see in a distant valley, he knew he would find Atahualpa; The Empire's next Sapa Inca.
Chapter 5
Rumi couldn't understand it. The village was empty.
It clearly hadn't been raided. First of all, they were miles away from their borders, and the tribes around them that hadn't already submitted to the Sapa Inca's Tawuntinsuyu Empire wouldn't dare come in this far, even if they'd had the military power to do so. No, something wasn't right...
The old doctor walked through the deserted and quiet street. A pen full of guinea pigs, known as "cuy" to the locals, stood unattended. The tens of little animals walked around clumsily in the short grass, chirping, unable to know or say what had happened to the village's inhabitants. Smoke billowed from a nearby chimney, suggesting that a cooking fire had been left to burn alone from occupants who'd presumably left in a rush. Rumi stopped walking, and listened. He could hear nothing but the wind in the valley, the chirping of the guinea pigs, and the faint crackle of the fire in the house. No people. He couldn't understand it.
"We kill trespassers on sight..."
A voice behind Rumi nearly made him jump out of his skin, but before he could turn around, a strong arm had grabbed him round his neck, preventing him from moving. He struggled in panic, but he was over 60 years old, and he could feel that the muscly arm which had him pinned against a gigantic bolder-like chest couldn't be more than 30. Worst of all, he felt the distinct point of a blade being pointed into the flesh at the base of his spine.
"Let me GO!!", Rumi yelled, but he heard nothing but the man's steady and calm
"Only true Intiruna Imperial subjects are allowed in this village, didn't you know that? Anyone else is a SPY..." the voice said gruffly.
"I AM a true Intiruna!", protested Rumi, his hands on the muscular arm trying to pull it down to release the tight grip on his neck. Just then, he remembered the stone knife he had tucked into his belt, and his hands quickly went to grab it...
But it was too late. At that very moment, the attacker's other arm grabbed Rumi's shoulder firmly, and he was spun round...
"Well, you'll be alright then, won't you?" said Atahualpa, smiling broadly down at the old man. He exploded into laughter at Rumi's confused and panting face. Rumi suddenly gave a tremendous sigh of relief, and all around him he heard hysterical laughs emerging from the village...
With Atahualpa's arm resting across his shoulder, he was turned around slowly to witness the villagers emerging from all directions from their hiding places in the village, red-faced with laughter and some even mocking Rumi's expression. He started to laugh along, a little embarrassed himself, as he realized he'd fallen for one of Atahualpa's famous pranks. It had to have been Atahualpa's idea to have the entire village hide just before his arrival. Nobody else had the childishness, charm and charisma to convince the entire village to participate.
With Atahualpa's arm resting across his shoulder, he was turned around slowly to witness the villagers emerging from all directions from their hiding places in the village, red-faced with laughter and some even mocking Rumi's expression. He started to laugh along, a little embarrassed himself, as he realized he'd fallen for one of Atahualpa's famous pranks. It had to have been Atahualpa's idea to have the entire village hide just before his arrival. Nobody else had the childishness, charm and charisma to convince the entire village to participate.
Atahualpa had a toothy grin on his handsome face. His massive chest was still jumping as his booming laugh came up from deep within him. He smiled down at Rumi, who couldn't help but laugh along too, although mostly out of relief.
Atahualpa reached down and gave Rumi a bear hug with his tree-trunk sized arms. As he lifted the doctor off the floor, he said delightedly, "It's good to SEE you, Rumi old friend!". He meant it. Rumi had to tap on his shoulder to politely ask to be set down, which Atahualpa did immediately and apologetically. His old friend, the man who had delivered him with his own hands from his mothers womb, was not the robust and statuesque man Atahualpa had remembered...
Atahualpa put his arm over Rumi's shoulder again, and led him away. "Come in for some chicha, my friend", he said warmly, and for which Rumi was immensely grateful after his long journey. They walked into Atahualpa's house, both still laughing, while many of the villagers were still wiping their tears and laughing hysterically.
---
Rumi drank the cool and sweet drink made of purple corn. He reached for a slice of lime and squeezed it into the drink. Cuxirimay, Atahualpa's 15 year-old-wife, smiled kindly at the old man as he drank from the clay cup.
"You must forgive my husband for his foolish pranks, Rumi. He can be the most tactless and childish brute at times", she said, looking playfully scornfully at her husband sat on the same long chair beside her. Atahualpa held up his hands in admission, but Rumi stopped him before he could speak.
"Please, Cuxirimay, don't scold him. It's his youthful spirit that makes him so popular". Atahualpa laughed a booming laugh and took his own up of chicha from the centre table. Sitting back on the llama-wool throw which covered the double chair that he was sharing with Cuxirimay, he looked at Rumi suddenly warily. Playfully, he asked, "If I'm so popular, then why haven't you visited us for so many years", before drinking from his cup in just a couple of giant gulps, his eyes still watching Rumi.
Rumi sighed. "These have been... difficult times, Atahualpa. As you know". Atahualpa, with his mouth full of chicha, conceded the point immediately by nodding in agreement. He leant forwards and put the clay cup back on the table.
"You're right there, Rumi. Our harvest has been poor for the last two seasons. Our potato crops were half what we needed to feed the village, and in the end we had to borrow from the tambo storehouses just to survive. And our coca harvest has suffered, too. I fear sometimes that we have angered Pachamama mother Earth, but I cannot think how...". His eyes stared into a distance out of the open door, at the village outside.
Cuxirimay placed her hand on her husband's knee, and when he turned his head to look at her, she smiled sweetly at him.
Rumi smiled and nodded. He understood Atahualpa. He was a man who took pleasure in simple things. A small village. A kind wife. A loyal group of friends. It was a good life that Atahualpa lead, and Rumi resented being the one who would bring him the news.
"Your father, Sapa Inca Huayna Capa, is dead", Rumi said suddenly, and his smile faded. Atahualpa didn't move. His eyes simply flicked to focus on Rumi. Cuxirimay covered her mouth with both hands in shock.
"And his heir, Ninan Cuyuchi, has also passed with him. The Tawantinsuyu needs a Sapa Inca, Atahualpa", Rumi said softly, before adding;
"And his heir, Ninan Cuyuchi, has also passed with him. The Tawantinsuyu needs a Sapa Inca, Atahualpa", Rumi said softly, before adding;
"And it must be YOU".
"How much further south?", Francisco asked, without looking up from the document he was writing on.
At the same moment that Rumi began trying to explain to Atahualpa the importance of his challenging Waskar's claim to the throne, Francisco Pizarro was sitting in a small tent, as the torrential and relentless rain beat down upon the canvas. Far to the north of the Inca Tawantinsuyu, in a plain at the foot of the great Andes mountains, the Spanish exploratory group consisting of 13 men had made a temporary camp to rest for the night. The scouts had spread out to find food from nearby villages. By the time the sun was getting low in the sky that afternoon, they had raided the storehouses of three villages, but the chief of the fourth had requested a meeting with Francisco Pizarro himself, claiming to possess something more valuable to the Spanish than food and water. They would impart the valuable information to the Spanish in exchange for the Conquistadors sparing them the supplies from their storehouses. Intrigued by the proposal, the chief and his wife of that fourth village were brought by two horsemen to Francisco's tent.
The noise of the rain was deafening, and Francisco's long-term companion Diego del Amagro stood with his arms folded in the corner of the tent, watching the interaction. He was clean-shaven, in his early 50's with clean, graying hair swept back to reveal his receding hairline. Francisco, sat behind the desk in front of him, sported a thick and slightly wavy black beard, curly brown hair the colour of wet dirt, a prominent nose and deep brown eyes. Despite being about the same age as Diego, he had somehow managed to hold onto his youthful appearance for far longer. In fact, it often seemed to Diego that he would never grow old. And that, he hated to admit to himself, angered him.
Between the two of them, in the centre of the small tent, stood the indigenous chief Katari, who must have been about 35, and his wife Chaska, whom Diego guessed to be about 20. Their colourful robes were still dripping from the rain, and the wife's single long braid had tiny drops of rain falling from the tip every few seconds. They were facing Francisco and appeared to pay no attention whatsoever to Diego standing behind them, despite the fact that he made himself known with comments throughout the conversation several times. Beside Francisco stood his translator Sumaq, a native girl of 18 who had been captured and taught Spanish.
"Two weeks on foot... maybe less if you ride your beasts...", the chief said, obviously referring to the Spanish horses. Sumaq translated it into Spanish and Francisco nodded to show understanding, but he didn't look up from his writing...
---
In the silence that followed the chief's answer, Francisco began to collect his thoughts. The Spanish horses had always been a source of curiosity and often terror for the natives. Francisco had noticed this whenever they entered a village. The slightest movement of a horses head, perhaps to shake off a bothersome fly or a reaction to its rider stroking its mane, had caused the natives who had gathered too close to jump back in alarm, often to the great amusement of the Spaniards.
There were other differences between the groups too, which Francisco had been careful to take mental note of. None of the natives, even those whom Sumaq explained were warriors, appeared to wear any armour. In the hotter parts, as the air grew humid and the jungle thick and lush and green, the people, civilian and warrior alike, walked around completely naked and barefoot, their dark skin soaking up the sunlight. In the colder regions, such as close to the mountains, the native people were clothed, but the warriors also wore a soft padding under their robes to protect them from spears. Nothing more for protection, not even on the head. No wonder, Francisco thought to himself, they had looked at his soldiers shining breastplates and conical helmets with awe.
He remembered the chief of one of the first tribe's they'd come across on that second expedition. He'd spoken to Francisco from a mouth full of yellow teeth which was under a few wispy black hairs on his upper lip. He had pointed to Francisco's head. Sumaq had translated that he would like to observe Francisco's helmet. Unthreatened by the request, Francisco had removed it, and lay the heavy object in the man's hands. The chief's eyes had been fixed on it as he'd manipulated it, tapped it... even tried it on, laughing. Even Francisco and his men had smiled at that.
"It looks good on you!", Francisco had said, chuckling, and when Sumaq had translated the chief had taken it off and allowed the other members of the tribe to try it on, too. They had been so engrossed by the helmet and trying it on for themselves that they'd formed a huddle, all grabbing inwards to try and at least touch it, completely forgetting about the Spaniards behind them.
After a few minutes of this game, the chief had looked back at Francisco, and pointed to his musket. Sumaq translated what he said.
"He would like also to hold your musket", she 'd said.
The Spaniards had looked at Francisco at that point, and he'd smiled, albeit a little nervously.
"Ahhh....", he'd said, "This?". He'd held the musket up to the chief, and for a second several of the Spaniards were afraid that he was going to comply and hand it over to him. "You can look, but you can't touch...", Francisco had said, smiling politely. Sumaq translated, and the chief upon hearing it had howled with laughter. At this sound, the other men in the circle had temporarily lost interest in the helmet, suddenly all interested at what had sent their leader into hysterics. Through his laughs, he'd repeated what Francisco had said, to which they'd all began laughing and whooping hysterically.
Still smiling, Francisco had observed them closely. While the natives laughed unabated, Francisco had been watching and taking careful notes of what they said, what they wore, how they interacted with their chief. He was always watching, and learning...
---
Back in the little tent where Francisco was interviewing chief Katari and his wife Chaska, Francisco put his quill down and looked up at the couple in front of him. The rain outside continued to beat down, and chief Katari visibly gulped at the thought of having to answer another one of Francisco's questions. Narrowing his eyes, Francisco asked,
"And this... Tawantinsuyu, as you call it... it's an Empire? Is it large?"
Sumaq translated, and Katari began to speak quickly, with his wife Chaska adding in comments to help him. They spoke in total for about a minute, before Francisco looked inquisitively up at Sumaq.
"The chief says that Tawantinsuyu stretches from a barren and lifeless desert in the south, which he has heard of but never visited. It follows the mountains in a line, encompassing the coast and the jungles and the forests in between, right up to the other side of these mountains...".
Sumaz pointed out of the doorway of the tent, and Diego turned to look over his shoulder in the direction she was pointing. Behind him, in the fading light and through the mist that so often accompanies rain in that part of the world, he could see twin peaks, almost invisible against the darkening sky. He turned back, only to see Francisco, still sat behind his desk, looking straight at him, his eyes pensive. Francisco was only looking at him for a second before his eyes shot back to the couple stood in front of him. Still, it unnerved Diego.
Francisco sat back in his chair, thoughtful. His eyes now fixed firmly on chief Katari, he asked "Can I find gold there?" while stoking his beard, and waited for Sumaq to ask and then translate the answer.
"The chief says that all the gold from the region, even that which does not lie within the limits of the Tawantinsuyu, has, for as long as he can remember, been paid to the Sapa Inca in exchange for peace". Francisco's eyes widened, and Diego unfolded his arms, suddenly more interested.
Francisco nodded, a little excitedly. His eyes flicked back to Diego, who had moved forwards behind the pair, before looking back to Katari and his wife. Francisco asked, coldly,
"Are they... powerful?"
Sumaq translated their answer. "The warriors of the Tawantinsuyu Empire are fearsome and powerful... They number in their thousands. They remove the heads of their enemies..."
Francisco stroked his beard, nodding. Staring into space, his eyes were suddenly devoid of the excitement that he'd had a few seconds earlier. The tent was silent. Diego looked nervously at Francisco, and knew what he was thinking. He was thinking the same. This expedition had been their chance for fame, glory, and most importantly riches. They had left Panama for the south months ago, with a not unsubstantial group of well-equipped conquistadors. But now, months later, there were only 13 conquistadors left, along with their leaders Francisco and Diego. Together they had arrived, apparently, to the very border of what they'd been searching for all this time. The heart of power, supposedly laden with riches beyond the dreams of any Spaniard.
But from chief Katari's description, even if he could return to Panama to resupply and gather reinforcements for a third expedition, how to defeat them? How to defeat an entire Empire, far from home, in a land that they'd never even seen, let alone had planned how to conquer? Francisco sighed loudly, rubbing his eyes, as he and Diego recognized at the same moment that the task of plundering this vast empire of it's accumulated wealth would most likely be left to greater Spaniards than they, possibly by some intrepid and lucky general from the next generation. Francisco and Diego would receive a cursory mention in the history books as the two men who had skirted the Empire, but who had neither the guts nor the manpower to enter it. Diego sighed too, and looked at his feet, dismayed. The awkward silence in the little tent was broken only by the patter of the rain outside. Sumaq waited patiently for someone to speak, but nobody did for a while.
All of a sudden, the chief's wife Chaska began to speak in her native tongue. Katari looked at her sideways for a second, before appearing to remember some forgotten information. He immediately began to nod and corroborate what his wife was saying...
Trying to keep up, Sumaq began to translate; "The Sapa Inca... The new one... um..."... As Sumaq began to translate the information coming at high speed from the couple, a cruel smile crept onto Francisco's face, as he realised that his luck might just have changed...
Chapter 6
"How much further south?", Francisco asked, without looking up from the document he was writing on.
At the same moment that Rumi began trying to explain to Atahualpa the importance of his challenging Waskar's claim to the throne, Francisco Pizarro was sitting in a small tent, as the torrential and relentless rain beat down upon the canvas. Far to the north of the Inca Tawantinsuyu, in a plain at the foot of the great Andes mountains, the Spanish exploratory group consisting of 13 men had made a temporary camp to rest for the night. The scouts had spread out to find food from nearby villages. By the time the sun was getting low in the sky that afternoon, they had raided the storehouses of three villages, but the chief of the fourth had requested a meeting with Francisco Pizarro himself, claiming to possess something more valuable to the Spanish than food and water. They would impart the valuable information to the Spanish in exchange for the Conquistadors sparing them the supplies from their storehouses. Intrigued by the proposal, the chief and his wife of that fourth village were brought by two horsemen to Francisco's tent.
The noise of the rain was deafening, and Francisco's long-term companion Diego del Amagro stood with his arms folded in the corner of the tent, watching the interaction. He was clean-shaven, in his early 50's with clean, graying hair swept back to reveal his receding hairline. Francisco, sat behind the desk in front of him, sported a thick and slightly wavy black beard, curly brown hair the colour of wet dirt, a prominent nose and deep brown eyes. Despite being about the same age as Diego, he had somehow managed to hold onto his youthful appearance for far longer. In fact, it often seemed to Diego that he would never grow old. And that, he hated to admit to himself, angered him.
Between the two of them, in the centre of the small tent, stood the indigenous chief Katari, who must have been about 35, and his wife Chaska, whom Diego guessed to be about 20. Their colourful robes were still dripping from the rain, and the wife's single long braid had tiny drops of rain falling from the tip every few seconds. They were facing Francisco and appeared to pay no attention whatsoever to Diego standing behind them, despite the fact that he made himself known with comments throughout the conversation several times. Beside Francisco stood his translator Sumaq, a native girl of 18 who had been captured and taught Spanish.
"Two weeks on foot... maybe less if you ride your beasts...", the chief said, obviously referring to the Spanish horses. Sumaq translated it into Spanish and Francisco nodded to show understanding, but he didn't look up from his writing...
---
In the silence that followed the chief's answer, Francisco began to collect his thoughts. The Spanish horses had always been a source of curiosity and often terror for the natives. Francisco had noticed this whenever they entered a village. The slightest movement of a horses head, perhaps to shake off a bothersome fly or a reaction to its rider stroking its mane, had caused the natives who had gathered too close to jump back in alarm, often to the great amusement of the Spaniards.
There were other differences between the groups too, which Francisco had been careful to take mental note of. None of the natives, even those whom Sumaq explained were warriors, appeared to wear any armour. In the hotter parts, as the air grew humid and the jungle thick and lush and green, the people, civilian and warrior alike, walked around completely naked and barefoot, their dark skin soaking up the sunlight. In the colder regions, such as close to the mountains, the native people were clothed, but the warriors also wore a soft padding under their robes to protect them from spears. Nothing more for protection, not even on the head. No wonder, Francisco thought to himself, they had looked at his soldiers shining breastplates and conical helmets with awe.
He remembered the chief of one of the first tribe's they'd come across on that second expedition. He'd spoken to Francisco from a mouth full of yellow teeth which was under a few wispy black hairs on his upper lip. He had pointed to Francisco's head. Sumaq had translated that he would like to observe Francisco's helmet. Unthreatened by the request, Francisco had removed it, and lay the heavy object in the man's hands. The chief's eyes had been fixed on it as he'd manipulated it, tapped it... even tried it on, laughing. Even Francisco and his men had smiled at that.
"It looks good on you!", Francisco had said, chuckling, and when Sumaq had translated the chief had taken it off and allowed the other members of the tribe to try it on, too. They had been so engrossed by the helmet and trying it on for themselves that they'd formed a huddle, all grabbing inwards to try and at least touch it, completely forgetting about the Spaniards behind them.
After a few minutes of this game, the chief had looked back at Francisco, and pointed to his musket. Sumaq translated what he said.
"He would like also to hold your musket", she 'd said.
The Spaniards had looked at Francisco at that point, and he'd smiled, albeit a little nervously.
"Ahhh....", he'd said, "This?". He'd held the musket up to the chief, and for a second several of the Spaniards were afraid that he was going to comply and hand it over to him. "You can look, but you can't touch...", Francisco had said, smiling politely. Sumaq translated, and the chief upon hearing it had howled with laughter. At this sound, the other men in the circle had temporarily lost interest in the helmet, suddenly all interested at what had sent their leader into hysterics. Through his laughs, he'd repeated what Francisco had said, to which they'd all began laughing and whooping hysterically.
Still smiling, Francisco had observed them closely. While the natives laughed unabated, Francisco had been watching and taking careful notes of what they said, what they wore, how they interacted with their chief. He was always watching, and learning...
---
Back in the little tent where Francisco was interviewing chief Katari and his wife Chaska, Francisco put his quill down and looked up at the couple in front of him. The rain outside continued to beat down, and chief Katari visibly gulped at the thought of having to answer another one of Francisco's questions. Narrowing his eyes, Francisco asked,
"And this... Tawantinsuyu, as you call it... it's an Empire? Is it large?"
Sumaq translated, and Katari began to speak quickly, with his wife Chaska adding in comments to help him. They spoke in total for about a minute, before Francisco looked inquisitively up at Sumaq.
"The chief says that Tawantinsuyu stretches from a barren and lifeless desert in the south, which he has heard of but never visited. It follows the mountains in a line, encompassing the coast and the jungles and the forests in between, right up to the other side of these mountains...".
Sumaz pointed out of the doorway of the tent, and Diego turned to look over his shoulder in the direction she was pointing. Behind him, in the fading light and through the mist that so often accompanies rain in that part of the world, he could see twin peaks, almost invisible against the darkening sky. He turned back, only to see Francisco, still sat behind his desk, looking straight at him, his eyes pensive. Francisco was only looking at him for a second before his eyes shot back to the couple stood in front of him. Still, it unnerved Diego.
Francisco sat back in his chair, thoughtful. His eyes now fixed firmly on chief Katari, he asked "Can I find gold there?" while stoking his beard, and waited for Sumaq to ask and then translate the answer.
"The chief says that all the gold from the region, even that which does not lie within the limits of the Tawantinsuyu, has, for as long as he can remember, been paid to the Sapa Inca in exchange for peace". Francisco's eyes widened, and Diego unfolded his arms, suddenly more interested.
Francisco nodded, a little excitedly. His eyes flicked back to Diego, who had moved forwards behind the pair, before looking back to Katari and his wife. Francisco asked, coldly,
"Are they... powerful?"
Sumaq translated their answer. "The warriors of the Tawantinsuyu Empire are fearsome and powerful... They number in their thousands. They remove the heads of their enemies..."
Francisco stroked his beard, nodding. Staring into space, his eyes were suddenly devoid of the excitement that he'd had a few seconds earlier. The tent was silent. Diego looked nervously at Francisco, and knew what he was thinking. He was thinking the same. This expedition had been their chance for fame, glory, and most importantly riches. They had left Panama for the south months ago, with a not unsubstantial group of well-equipped conquistadors. But now, months later, there were only 13 conquistadors left, along with their leaders Francisco and Diego. Together they had arrived, apparently, to the very border of what they'd been searching for all this time. The heart of power, supposedly laden with riches beyond the dreams of any Spaniard.
But from chief Katari's description, even if he could return to Panama to resupply and gather reinforcements for a third expedition, how to defeat them? How to defeat an entire Empire, far from home, in a land that they'd never even seen, let alone had planned how to conquer? Francisco sighed loudly, rubbing his eyes, as he and Diego recognized at the same moment that the task of plundering this vast empire of it's accumulated wealth would most likely be left to greater Spaniards than they, possibly by some intrepid and lucky general from the next generation. Francisco and Diego would receive a cursory mention in the history books as the two men who had skirted the Empire, but who had neither the guts nor the manpower to enter it. Diego sighed too, and looked at his feet, dismayed. The awkward silence in the little tent was broken only by the patter of the rain outside. Sumaq waited patiently for someone to speak, but nobody did for a while.
All of a sudden, the chief's wife Chaska began to speak in her native tongue. Katari looked at her sideways for a second, before appearing to remember some forgotten information. He immediately began to nod and corroborate what his wife was saying...
Trying to keep up, Sumaq began to translate; "The Sapa Inca... The new one... um..."... As Sumaq began to translate the information coming at high speed from the couple, a cruel smile crept onto Francisco's face, as he realised that his luck might just have changed...
Chapter 7
"What did he say, Rumi? Will he challenge Waskar for the throne?"
Upon his return from Atahualpa's village, Rumi hadn't even sat down on the bench outside the tambo before Okllo had rushed up to him, her eyes pleading. Tired from the walk back, Rumi forced himself to look at her...
---
Three days earlier, Rumi had been sleeping in a small house that Atahualpa had insisted he stay in. Having delivered the message from Rawa Okllo, Rumi was of course invited by Atahualpa to stay a few days while he and his wife discussed their response.
He'd been fast asleep by the time Atahualpa sat down on the Alpaca wool blanket in front of the fire. His wife, Cuxirimay, along with a small group of other local women, was attending to a giant pot of boiling corn and potatoes. Upon seeing him arrive, she lifted two ears of corn and two potatoes from the spitting and bubbling water and cut two slices of goats cheese. Standing up, she walked round the fire and handed them to her husband, before sitting down on the blanket beside him.
They ate in silence, determined to stave off hunger before they discussed the news that Rumi had brought. The other local women made sure that they didn't even look at the pair, as Cuxirimay had told them that she had urgent business to discuss with her husband.
"What do you think, Atahualpa, of what Rumi told you today?". After minutes of complete silence, Cuxirimay, in her youthful and precocious way, asked directly. Atahualpa continued to chew his corn without answering and, just as Cuxirimay had given up and had turned her face away from him, he said,
"My father was a great man. He had left a hole in this life that cannot be filled, only covered. And even then, I'm not sure for how long...". Without looking at his wife, he bit off half of the goat's cheese and looked mournfully at the fire. Huayna Capac had not only been his father, but also his general, his mentor and his friend. He had chosen Atahualpa, above all of his sons, with the responsibility to lead his army. He had believed in his son, seeing in him leadership qualities that were obscured to everyone else...
---
Once Atahualpa had successfully lead the royal army to crush the rebellion and restore peace to the region, he had escorted the army back to Quito, where his father had been waiting for him. He remembered the smile on Huayna Capac's face as he embraced his son, and Atahualpa had held on longer than he felt maybe he should have. But his father hadn't broken the embrace either, and Atahualpa had almost cried at his father's overwhelming affection. Finally they had pulled away, and his father had held his shoulders, looking lovingly into his son's eyes, the first signs of tears welling up.
"My son", he'd almost whispered. "You bring me great honor to be your father. You shall bring me greater honor still". Atahualpa had put his hand on his father's shoulder and smiled so gratefully. He'd been unable to express his thanks to his father for his encouragement, and so they merely looked at each other, beaming...
Atahualpa had left Quito a few days later, to take some rest and to help with the harvest in the little village nestled in the highlands. From Rumi's description, Huayna Capac must have fallen ill almost immediately after he'd left...
Atahualpa had always loved the nights in the mountains. He and Cuxirimay had been sitting on a small peak shortly after they'd arrived together in the village from Quito. The village below them, in the dark and shadows, nestled amongst the mountains, had been asleep. Cuxirimay had been laying on her husbands lap, and Atahualpa had been listening affectionately to her shallow breathing that came with the onset of sleep. They had been happy together, safe and secure in their closeness, warmed by each other's body and a vicuña wool blanket, sharing whispers with each other on the isolated peak.
His father was in Quito, probably already planning the next great project for the Empire. Meanwhile, Atahualpa and Cuxirimay had a few months of rural living to look forwards to. Atahualpa enjoyed helping with the harvest every year. It was hard work, but it was far less soul-destroying than war. Atahualpa was a general, and was not squeamish to bloodshed. Still, the crushing of the rebellion in the north had worn away at him. He hated to see the lives of passionate young men snuffed out because of their arrogance and stubbornness. He far preferred for rebels to surrender and agree to return to their farms. It allowed him to practice clemency which, he maintained, was a far more attractive and agreeable quality than ruthlessness. Sat there on the little peak with his young wife, he'd smiled a sleepy smile, glad that he wouldn't have to think about war again for a few months...
Atahualpa had stroked his wife's hair and looked up dreamily at the night sky. Suddenly, he'd seen a bright light with a cosmic tail, brighter than any of the stars around it.
"Cuxi! Do you see that...?", Atahualpa had whispered down to his wife, gently.
"See what?" had come back her murmured, sleepy answer.
Atahualpa had paused. He hadn't been sure what this light and its significance meant, and so he'd decided to err on the side of caution. After all, no point in worrying Cuxi about it.
"Nothing", he'd whispered, and the gentle mountain wind had blown through his long hair. Cuxi hadn't stirred at all, but in the darkness Atahualpa had felt a chill that he couldn't account for... and it had worried him...
According to Rumi, who had also seen the strange nocturnal light in the sky, it had been that same night that Huayna Capac had first complained of feeling ill, and had retired early to bed. Rumi's description of the subsequent illness had been graphic. His father had suffered an increase in temperature, followed by meaningless babbling and hysteria. Then, like mold on old cheese, patches of dry and flaking skin had appeared around his eyes and nose. Rumi, unable to diagnose it and horrified at realizing that his treatments were not working, had had to watch as his Sapa Inca's health slowly deteriorated...
---
Sat at the fire in the village, Atahualpa screwed his eyes tight, but was unable to banish the image that he was imagining of his father, lying down on his back, his eyes full of fear and his breathing heavy, as he touched the callous scabs that were appearing on his face...
Seeing the anguish that Atahualpa was feeling but not expressing, Cuxiramay gently put her hand on his. He closed his eyes and breathed out deeply, finally giving in.
"He was a good father, Cuxi", he said, wiping a tear away with the palm of his free hand. He was frustrated with the injustice, and Cuxirimay could see that he was still resisting the urge to cry. "A good man. He didn't deserve to go like that. And nor did poor Ninan Cuyuchi, my sweet brother..."
"I know...", said Cuxirimary, unable to think of what else to say.
---
A few minutes before Rumi had given them the news of Huayna Capac's death, they had all been laughing about the prank that Atahualpa had played on Rumi, where he'd convinced the entire village to hide from him to make it appear deserted. But once Rumi had told Atahualpa the news, her husband had banished all joviality, and his first question was why he hadn't been told sooner.
As Rumi had explained, Huayna Capac's illness was sudden, and caused a lot of confusion. The chasqui messengers had been sent from Quito to every major city, including Cajamarca, Pachacamac and, of course, Cusco. But nobody had thought to send one to every village in the Tawantinsuyu empire, no matter how close to Quito they were.
And then, when Ninan Cuyuchi had fallen ill a week later, Rumi, Rawa Okllo and the Sapa Incas in Quito had decided to lock down. It had been one thing to tell the empire that the Sapa Inca Huayna Capac had died, because Ninan Cuyuchi had been ready to replace him. But to then have to tell them a week later that he too had died ... well, that was too much. It would mean having Waskar as Sapa Inca. And Waskar was not popular, especially in the north. Therefore, the nobility needed time to figure out who would be the best candidate for the next Sapa Inca...
Ninan Cuyuchi's death was kept an absolute secret. Nobody outside of that small group of authorities in Quito was to know that there was currently no Sapa Inca, at least not until an alternative to Waskar could be found...
Of course, Waskar had his spies following his father wherever he went. Within a week, he had been made aware not only of Huayna Capac's death, but also his half-brother's. Motivated by his fortune, he had quickly had the word spread around the Empire that, according to the law of succession, he was the rightful next in line...
In the meantime, Rawa Okllo and Rumi had decided that Atahualpa, as an experienced general and favoured son of Huayna Capac, was the obvious choice for the next Sapa Inca.
"The line of succession", Rumi had explained to him, having finished drinking his second cup of chicha, "is a guideline, to make sure that the royal blood remains pure. But there are far more important qualities in a Sapa Inca than just who his parents were. You are the wisest, strongest, most talented and most beloved of Huayna Capac's sons, Atahualpa. You have proved yourself in battle. You have shown loyalty and valour and wisdom. It is these qualities, combined with your royal heritage, that make you ready to rule". Cuxirimay had looked at her husband sat next to her. He was sat, his forearms resting on his thighs, his long black hair trailing down... and he was nodding gently. Rumi had leant forwards. Almost whispering, he'd continued. "The people love you. Your troops are loyal to you, Atahualpa. They will follow you, they will obey you, they will give their lives for you. And you can be more than just their general. You can be their Sapa Inca. You can mould the Tawantinsuyu into the greatest Empire this world has ever known. IF....". He'd looked pleadingly into Atahualpa's eyes. "...you just give the word".
---
Back at the fireside, Cuxirimay lay down and placed her face on the back of her husband's hand, and he smiled though his sparse tears at how soft she always managed to keep her cheeks. The blazing fire warmed both their faces in the cool night air.
"You were his favourite, Atahualpa. Of all of his sons, he was most proud of you, you know that...". Atahualpa heard his wife say, her head resting on his hand, her face still towards the fire. He knew what she was implying, and decided that despite everything he was feeling right then, he needed to address the issue immediately.
He moved his hand and guided Cuxirimay to sit up next to him. Looking into her dark, brown eyes, he said kindly but firmly.
"Waskar is the rightful heir to the throne. He will rule, and we must accept that".
"Does it not bother you that even his own mother doesn't trust him to rule?", Cuxirimay retorted, and Atahualpa closed his eyes sadly.
"It is a terrible thing when even the person who is supposed to love you more than anyone cannot vouch for your character...", Atahualpa mused in a scornful whisper, running his hand through his long hair.
"Well, I think..." Cuxirimay whispered, discarding the empty corn cob before stroking her husband's hair, "...that you would make a wonderful Sapa Inca". As she smiled sweetly at him, he continued looking into the fire. Suddenly, he grinned at her words, and her smile brightened even more. Finally, Atahualpa turned to her.
"That may be so, my love. But the Gods have chosen Waskar. Not only is he my half-brother, but he has been appointed from up high, by Inti, and from down low, by Pachamama". Cuxirimay broke his eye contact and nodded, as he concluded. "I will not disrupt Waskar's cosmic destiny... or mine". He kissed Cuxirimay on the forehead. Secretly, Cuxirimay was glad that Atahualpa had decided to support Waskar as Sapa Inca instead of challenging him. It meant that they could continue their simple existence together, happy in their village with their close friends around them, and free from the strain and pressure of being the sole leader of a vast and demanding Empire.
Smiling, she put her head in Atahualpa's lap, feeling his calm breathing, and Atahualpa looked up at the stars. His father, whose fragile but still noble body was soon to be immortalized forever, would agree with him. He was sure of it. He had a destiny- he knew it. But it was not for him to be Sapa Inca. And he was content with that.
---
Rumi looked into Okllo's eyes sadly, and gave her a shake of his head. With that simple motion, Okllo knew that her step-son Prince Atahualpa had not agree to challenge her son Waskar's ambitions for the throne. She closed her eyes in disappointment, and bowed her head.
Rumi put his hand on her shoulder solemnly. "I'm sorry", he said, knowing that the news had dashed all her hopes for the future. Her son Waskar would rule, and whatever that meant for the future was unavoidable. His shoulders slumped in defeat and resignation, Rumi walked past her into the village, and Okllo followed him with her eyes...
Despite Atahualpa's popularity among the Capac Inca nobles in the North, Rumi had failed to convince him that he had enough support to challenge Waskar. Or maybe he had failed to convince him that he SHOULD. Either way, the old man had been unable to save Okllo's husband, her adopted son... and now, he had failed her again. Okllo, the wife and sister of the late Sapa Inca, would have to decide just how useful Rumi really was to her...
"But later", she thought to herself as she turned and trudged up the hill away from the village, in the opposite direction to Rumi. The old soncoyoc doctor would have to wait. Atahualpa needed to have his mind changed, fast, and by any means necessary.
And, it seemed that, as usual, she would have to convince him herself...
Chapter 8
Cusco, in the days of the the last few Sapa Incas, was a marvel to behold. Kantu remembered this as she passed a final mountain peak, on a freezing morning, wrapping her alpaca tunic round her as she lead her tired llama round the bend of the trail. Lifting her eyes, she finally saw the city. It was low, nestled in the spaces between several peaks. She passed her eyes over it's grey stone buildings, made from hand-crafted stone blocks, each with many angles. Even from that height and distance, Kantu was be able to distinguish streets and even alleyways. Wood smoke drifted into the high atmosphere, and Kantu breathed it in along with the freezing mountain air. She thought of her family's friend, Killa, down there in the city, working hard on keeping the stove within her little grey-stone house burning...
---
Rather impulsively one morning a few days before, Kantu had told her family that she desired to make a pilgrimage to the great Quoricanhca, the marvelous central temple that stood in the heart of Cusco. Covered in gold leaf, it shone impressively in the sunlight, and it was common for ordinary people to make the pilgrimage at some point in their lives, especially for those who lived close by in the Sacred Valley.
Her parents had been so proud of her in that moment that they hadn't even questioned it when she stated that she'd be leaving for Cusco the following day. Kantu's family knew that their friend Killa's house was always open to friends visiting Cusco. So, they'd immediately had a chasqui deliver the message to Killa, telling her that Kantu was arriving and to expect her any day.
"I will organize for a guard to accompany, of course, my love...", her father had insisted once the chasqui had left. "It's not safe for a woman to walk alone in the hills".
"You're TOO kind, father!", Kantu had beamed, sweetly, before continuing, "But there's really no need. I've already organized one. They're meeting me at the Ollantaytambo tomorrow morning", she'd said. Her father had looked at her and nodded, clearly impressed.
"Well! Look at my daughter, being proactive!". She'd giggled as he'd lent down to kiss her forehead, before smiling down proudly at her, and leaving the kitchen.
Kantu's lie had worked. The Ollantaytambo was just an hours walk into the valley towards Cusco, but there had been no guards waiting there to escort Kantu early the next morning. She and her llama had walked straight past it without looking back. Her parents would never know that she had never organized an escort. They would also never know that, of all the women in the Tawantinsuyu, Kantu was the one who least needed protection from danger...
And of course, Kantu hadn't told her parents the real reason behind her impromptu journey to Cusco. No, they didn't need to know anything about her true motivation, or in fact anything about her completely secret life. In fact, she would die before she allowed them or her friend Killa to come close to discovering the truth about her, or why she was in Cusco...
---
Kantu took a rest as she looked over the city, bathed in early morning sun. Killa would be preparing a succulent cuy, along with ears of choclo maize, maize cakes, boiled or maybe roasted potatoes. Kantu thought of the hot cup of coca tea she would enjoy after she'd laid her possessions down and finally sat down, while Killa and her little family ran around fussing over her...
Smiling in anticipation of the meal she'd soon be enjoying, Kantu started down the hillside road. Soon, she was passing the great fortress of Sachsayhuaman, which looked out protectively over the city. Some twenty thousand men had once worked thirty years to construct the fortress, and its grandeur was unparalleled in the entire Tawantinsuyu. Furthermore, the sense of absolute security it gave the residence of the city below meant that all the years of backbreaking labor and generations of skill it had taken to construct it had been worth it. Kantu had never seen anything like it before.
There, the barracks and military schools were sat on top of three jagged and ascending walls, making the whole structure four layers in total. The stones that made up the walls were often several times larger than even the largest of the stones used down in the city. Kantu felt truly minuscule and fragile compared to those mighty unmovable boulders, all carefully handcrafted and slotted together, often so tightly that not even the thinnest reed could be placed in the space between them.
As she passed, Kantu noticed smoke rising from one of the buildings on top of the fortress, and the delicious smell of boiling potatoes and spices filled her nostrils. Though she couldn't see them from down below the walls, she soon heard the distant shouts of military leaders barking orders at their troops from high up on the walls to her right. The troops responded in chorus as one half of the troops struck with their clubs, and the other half defended with theirs. The distinct sound of wood striking wood cut through the air every few seconds, always followed by one-word orders from the military superiors. The fortress was alive, and always alert.
Heading down into the city, Kantu begin to notice that her feet were no longer treading on crunchy dirt, but on rounded cobblestones. From that point on, she decided it was best to cover her face as best she could. If something somehow went wrong, she risked her life and, worse still, Killa's life. It was best to be as discreet and anonymous as possible during her visit to Cusco, she decided. She pulled a wool shawl from her left shoulder and slung it over her right, positioning it so that it covered her entire face apart from her eyes.
She was glad she had brought her favourite llama, Samin. He added to her disguise. A woman entering the city from the hills with a llama in tow, even one with her face almost completely covered, was an all too common sight to see. Nobody would bat an eyelid. Besides, Samin was a loyal and warm companion on the trek. She stroked his neck as she maneuvered him through the busying street...
The homesteads on the edge of the city got closer with every step, and Kantu and Samin were suddenly in the middle of a busy, narrow street of Cusco. The city felt incredibly low, because all the buildings were only one story high. Flat cobblestones were now under their feet, and trapezoid doorways and windows lined the walls of the buildings either side of them. Like most of the buildings in the city, the houses and shops in the street where Kantu and Samin walked, tired from days of trekking, were single room structures, with a single entrance and a window each. A thick roof made of ichu grass, sloping at an angle of over 60 degrees and often overwhelming the building itself, covered each structure. Larger buildings, with more entrances but with the same trapezoid windows, could be seen as they walked together towards the center of the city.
In a number of the doorways, Kantu could see ceramics being made, as well as weavers at work. On one street, she had to cross the narrow road because a group of shirtless, sweating men were carefully organizing giant stone blocks. The 15 men in the group were piling the smooth square stones on top of each other, presumably for one of the soon-to-be-crowned Sapa Inca Waskar's many new construction projects, and were far too busy and tired to even look at Kantu and her llama.
As they passed through an archway and into another narrow street, Kantu heard the sound of friends greeting each other in their strong Cusco accent. They all had dark brown skin, often slightly sunburned from the high altitude, and thick black hair. Many women in the street were carrying babies on their backs, using colorful blankets made of alpaca wool and cotton to hold them securely in place. Men were leading llamas- sometimes two or three at a time, often causing congestion in the narrow alleyways. Kantu had to diverge at the last minute to avoid walking into an old woman, sat on the street corner. She had built a small fire, and was boiling choclo maize in a giant metal pot. A hungry crowd stood around her, jostling each other for position to be first in line for a healthy early morning snack.
Kantu smelt the delicious scent of roasted guinea pig as she rounded the corner onto the street where Killa lived. "Here we are, Samin. Almost there", she looked back at her llama as she smiled from under her shawl, and he looked back at her with big tired black eyes under giant eyelashes. The early afternoon rains of Cusco were still a few hours away, and Kantu was glad that she'd planned the timing of her journey well.
She tied Samin up in the stall next to Killa's little home, stroking his face and allowing him to graze on the small patch of grass below his feet. As he began eating, she caressed his soft white fur affectionately, before heading round to the front of the house and knocking on the front door.
"I'm coming!", she heard a voice calling from inside just after she'd knocked. Suddenly, Kantu realised that her face was still covered, and she hurried to pull the shawl down. It wouldn't be the best idea to terrify the old woman half to death on their first meeting in years by showing up to her house as a masked stranger...
"Kantu! Look how much you've grown!", Killa said, giving her a warm hug in the doorway. Kantu smiled, and as they broke their embrace, she barely had time to say "And my parents send their regards and their thanks...", before Killa was bustling her into the house.
"Yes yes yes, of course, of course, and they're always welcome. But tell me about you, my sweet! Come in, have some coca tea! I'm just finishing off some food for us, and while I do, you can tell me all about how you've been!" she said while closing the door to the street behind them both...
Kantu had made it to Cusco. Stage one of her assignment was complete...
---
Kantu was lying on a mat on the floor, covered in a wool blanket, pretending to be asleep but really watching Killa and her husband.
The two women had eaten superbly and drunk chicha for most of the day. Then, as evening had approached, Killa had decided to lie down for a bit, and a minute later had begun snoring loudly. Within an hour after that, her husband, who'd been farming the terraces all day, had entered the house. It had been after sundown by then, and he had given Kantu a simple nod and a smile in greeting before lying down next to his wife.
Within a minute, he was snoring too, and now Kantu was watching them both, waiting for any signs that they would suddenly wake up...
After about half an hour, she decided that they were out for the night. Slowly, she crept up, still fully dressed, and left the house, being sure to open the door, exit as quickly as possible, and close it quickly but softly so that any noise from the street wouldn't wake the couple. She needn't have worried. The whole city was quiet by that time, and it would have taken a devastating earthquake to have woken Killa and her husband.
Silently, Kantu made her way through the dimly lit streets of Cusco. The moon was full that night and the air was freezing. Fortunately, she knew where she was going, but she still wanted to avoid being seen. A young woman walking alone through the streets of a large city at night wasn't safe, and she'd hate to have to rearrange the geography of some poor drunk man's face simply because he made the mistake of trying to grope her as she walked past him in the narrow streets. That would be a chore she'd always rather avoid, but especially tonight. Besides, hiding in shadows and being unseen was one of the main parts of her job. She took the nocturnal journey across Cusco as an opportunity to practice.
She came to the edge of a street, flanked on both sides all the way down by giant unevenly sized stones, all rounded smooth by skillful hands. Across the square, she could see the alleyway that lead directly to the royal palace. Behind it on the hill, she could even see the faint glow of fire lit lamps illuminating the great stones making up the walls of Prince Waskar's impressive residence.
"He's home...", Kantu thought to herself, and smiled. Everything was going to plan...
Keeping close to the wall, she pulled her head back as a pair of guards passed the entrance to the alleyway, the shadows completely absorbing her figure. Once they were gone, she slowly peered out, the light of the moon illuminating part of her face. Checking both directions, a couple of minutes later she darted out of the alley and across the small square. Disappearing into the narrow alleyway on the other side of the square, she made her way stealthily up to the royal palace...
Chapter 9
"How will you do it?", Waskar asked the woman in front of him nervously.
He was sat on one of his thrones, and behind him, out of the open window, the twinkling lights of homesteads at night could be seen dotted all over the black mountains. The whole city was completely peaceful that night. Almost silent. Everyone seemed at rest... except for Waskar.
Their meeting was so secret that he had ordered his guards to wait outside the room while he interviewed the woman himself. Now that he was alone with her, though, even he was beginning to feel nervous...
Kantu, the woman who was stood in front of the Sapa Inca, had been called from a secret organization known only by the Sapa Inca and Capac Incas. The ordinary Intiruna couldn't know that people like her even existed, and if they had, many would surely have been horrified. The idea of assassins in the Empire, especially when they were sent to kill fellow citizens, was not something that most people in Cusco wanted to think about...
Kantu smiled. She was, Waskar admitted, almost painfully beautiful. She had made herself up in the way that she planned to carry out the job, and Waskar concluded that Atahualpa wasn't disciplined enough to resist her. She wore a colorful headband made of vicuña wool, which gave her a more youthful and charming look. She looked like an innocent little doll, her face smooth and sweet, devoid of any scars or even sunburn, which glowed whenever she smiled.
She arched her finely plucked eyebrow, and smiled cruelly. "Sapa Inca", she called Waskar by his title to show respect, although Waskar didn't appreciate the fact that it seemed like she was about to talk down to him. Still, he let her continue. "The North, where your brother..." she corrected herself as Waskar looked like he was about to interject "...HALF brother... lives... is full of hidden dangers, the likes of which the Intiruna of Cusco cannot even imagine". Waskar chuckled and she smiled. "Allow me to infiltrate his household, and I will find a way to end his life and make it look like he died in his sleep". She shrugged callously. "Won't be suspicious. It happens all the time in the less... "developed"... parts of the Tawantinsayu".
"I understand" Waskar nodded. He stood up and faced the window, his hands folded behind his back. He looked out over Cusco. It really was beautiful, hidden away in a valley high up in the freezing air of the mountains. Almost completely secluded- an oasis in a sea of unforgiving mountain peaks. Untouchable. The whole thing his own, private estate, which he shared with his favourite people in the empire- the durable and tough highland people of Cusco. Kantu waited patiently behind him.
"Don't hurt him. Make sure he dies quickly and quietly. Cause as little damage as possible. Your assignment is confirmed", Waskar said bluntly, without turning round.
With that, Kantu turned and headed over the stone floor towards the door. Walking casually, she called out over her shoulder,
"It'll be done in three months at the most"
As she turned the iron handle of the door, Waskar called out. "WAIT!"
Kantu paused, by now half-way through the doorway, to look at Waskar, who had half-turned the upper half of his body to face her a little more.
"You have TWO months" he said flatly. She closed the door slowly, watching Waskar from behind as she left, a malicious little smile just visible on her lips. She liked the new soon-to-be Sapa Inca. He appeared to be a man of decision, a quality she respected in the men she worked for...
Once the door was shut, and he was left alone again, Waskar turned and looked back over the mountains of his capital city. He smiled to himself as he thought about how all his troubles would soon be dead and buried.
Chapter 10
6 weeks later...
"Who are you?" Atahualpa asked gruffly.
One of his tokoyricoq guards had spotted a figure wrapped up in a llama-wool shawl walking quickly towards the open door of the tambo storehouse, and had followed her in. Upon cornering her in the small stone storage room, he'd grabbed her wrist and pulled her from the building, while she was still trying to stuff a pair of purple potatoes into her pockets. She had screamed and hurled abuse at the guard, violently twisting her arm in desperation to be released. But the man was young and strong and hated thieves almost as much as he hated murderers. It would have taken a lightning bolt thrown down from the heavens to have gotten him to release his grip.
Before he'd even had time to call for assistance, Atahualpa himself had left the central building in the village, followed by two more armed tokoyricoq guards, to investigate what all the commotion was about. He had been working with his the village elders to work out how to better equip their village for the production of goat's cheese when they'd been interrupted by the woman's screaming outside, as well as by the excited villagers who were now watching the spectacle.
The tokoyricoq guard saw Atahualpa and immediately marched the woman across the dry mud to present her to him. As they approached, the woman appeared intimidated by Atahualpa's giant frame and piercing eyes.
"Prince Atahualpa", the guard said, gruffly. "I found this woman stealing from the tambo storehouse". The woman once again tried to pull her arm free, but the guard held onto it firmly. Atahualpa's eyes narrowed. The colours of the woman's clothes were faded, and they looked old and worn. He immediately concluded that's she'd traveled a great distance without washing or changing them.
"Who are you?", he asked.
The woman, clearly terrified, was only just managing to hold back her tears, a mix of both fear and frustration at being caught. She could barely bring herself to look at Atahualpa in the eyes, and so was forced instead to look at his formidable chest when she addressed him.
"My name is Urpi. I have traveled north from the south". Atahualpa instantly picked up on her accent, but didn't react, waiting for her to continue. "My family died in the earthquake that shook the world not long ago. Since then, I've been travelling and surviving on my own..."
"Surviving by stealing?", Atahualpa said curtly, raising a single eyebrow. The woman looked at him in the eyes at that point, her own eyes pleading with him.
"Please, great prince" she said, begging. "I have nowhere to go, and without your sanctuary I will surely die on my own. Allow me to join your community, and I promise you, I shall repay you the debt I owe you..."
"You are from the south?", Atahualpa spat at her. She nodded nervously, shocked by his sudden anger. "Have they forgotten down there that we, the Intiruna imperial subjects, as the blessed children of the Sun, have three sacred rules?"
"No", the young woman shook her head insistently. "I have not forgotten. I am a moral woman, and I know the laws of our land. Ama sua. Ama llulla. Ama quella. Do not steal. Do not lie. Do not be lazy"
Atahualpa nodded, and his short-lived anger evaporated as mercy overtook. Times were hard for many people, he knew that. He had been lucky enough to have been born into nobility, and had enjoyed comforts that others would never know because of that. He felt a pang of guilt. Shaking it off, he was then resolved to forgive the woman... once he'd finished making his point.
"Urpi". She looked at him, tears welling up in her eyes again. The tokoyricoq guard looked at him too, and Atahualpa signaled with his head for him to release her arm, which he did.
"You will stay here. We shall feed you, you will marry a good man, and you will work hard and bear children so that our community may grow. Perhaps then you will be able to pay off the debt you owe".
Urpi, speechless, nodded in comprehension, and began crying in appreciation.
"Thank you, great prince! Thank you!", she said, wiping the tears of joy from under her eyes. She began sobbing, and placed her face in her hands to avoid further embarrassment.
Atahualpa turned around without a word, and reentered the building, followed by his companions, leaving "Urpi" alone outside...
Slowly raising her face from her hands, Kantu peeked up from under her long hair and colorful headband to make sure Atahualpa and the others had left her alone. She sneered at him as we walked away from her. Atahualpa, his back to her, was completely unaware that he had fallen for her trap...
At that, the thousands of people who had gathered in the main square in Cusco to witness the crowing of the new Sapa Inca exploded with cheers for their new ruler. Waskar was shaking with excitement. He thought he might struggle even to stand up, but despite the adrenaline rushing through every inch of him, he managed to rise to his feet and face his people.
Standing at the edge of the stone platform that had been erected for his coronation, he held both the scepter and the battle axe out to the massive crowd. The bright colours of the giant feather necklace around his neck were visible even to those at the back of the vast congregation of enthusiastic spectators, and his new royal tunic, made from the finest vicuña wool and exotic dyes made him stand out even more. Almost as one, the people cheered his name jubilantly, and Waskar closed his eyes to savour the moment as the great roar of support surrounded him. This was it. His reign had finally begun. He would remember that first feeling of ultimate power for the rest of his life.
And in less than a week, Atahualpa, his only concern, would be dead. Kantu would be in his midst by now. She would carry the job out any day, if she hadn't already. He thanked Inti that he was just days away from unbridled freedom...
Diego pulled back the flap that was the door of the tent. Poking his head in, he saw Francisco sitting alone behind his desk. "You wanted to talk?", he said, apparently snapping Francisco out of his daydream.
"Ah, Diego. Yes, come in, hombre", he said waving his hand to show that he wished Diego to enter. Diego came in and sat down. The wooden chair squeaked in protest under his weight, made heavier by the armour he was wearing. His elbows on the desk in front of him, Francisco was using a thin knife to pick his nails, observing his handwork closely. He looked up briefly to look at Diego as he sat down, smiling, his eyes wrinkling as he did. Then, he diverted his attention back to his fingernails again.
"Why do you think...", Francisco began almost philosophically after a few seconds. As he spoke, he kept his eyes on the knife that was picking away at a hangnail. "...that some men achieve a disproportional amount of greatness in their lifetimes, while others are forgotten in the mud and murk of history?"
Diego sighed. Francisco often had these reflective moments, and Diego was always called to hear about them. They were normally rants about the restrictions placed upon them by the Spanish Crown, and it appeared to Diego that this one would be no different. So, he decided to cut to the chase.
"What did the letter from Rios say?", Diego asked bluntly. He had seen the open scroll of Francisco's desk, and Francisco chuckled at his observance.
Pedro de los Rios was the governor of Panama at the time. As the highest ranking servant of the Spanish Crown in the region, he was the direct superior of all conquistadores in the area and all requests for expeditions into unclaimed territory had to be signed off by him personally. A cowardly man, in Francisco's eyes, he appeared to enjoy ordering Francisco and Diego into danger and certain death, only to retract his orders once they had overcome overwhelming odds and were actually beginning to make real ground.
"He's told us to return. In six months, he's sending a ship to collect us" Francisco answered, sourly. He could feel his anger and frustration building up within him, and Diego saw it clearly on his already twisted expression. The knife picking at Francisco's fingernails took a more aggressive and frustrated rhythm, as his face bitterly tried to concentrate on his work. Outside the tent it was warm and humid in the middle of the day, and Diego could hear the loud chatter and calls of their 13 soldiers who were sat down to eat their rations together.
Diego raised his eyebrows, and smiled. "That's good, though... right? We've got plenty of time to find more evidence, more gold, more information about the Empire".
Francisco finally looked up at his friend and partner, the knife still picking at his finger. He'd always known that of the two of then, Diego was more likely to blindly trust the orders of his superiors. And Diego had just bitterly disappointed him by confirming it once again.
"But after 6 months, Rios wants us back in Panama" Francisco reminded him, and waited for his reaction. Diego shrugged.
"So then that's where we go. We follow our orders, and we wait for our time to come..."
Francisco's eyes widened at him, astounded, and the knife suddenly stood still. Putting it down on the desk, he scoffed and almost began to laugh at Diego's naivety. Then, standing to his feet, he placed his palms flat on the desk, and leant forwards to loom over Diego who, had already shrunk down a fraction into his chair...
"What, so we just go back? Like little puppy dogs running at their master's call?". Francisco spat the words out at him. Diego was sat still, Francisco's eyes daring him to challenge him.
Eventually, Diego sighed. "Maybe it's for the best, Francisco. We can regroup, replenish our numbers, raise more funds, and get ready for another expedition in a year or so. Once Rios hears what we've found, he's bound to grant us another opportunity, and..."
"You realize that if we go back to Panama", Francisco interrupted him abruptly, his voice raised, "there will be no third expedition? Rios barely let us have THIS one, remember? The man does not WANT us to succeed! If he did, he'd have sent us reinforcements, instead of letting us fend for ourselves out here all these months!"
"But, he's given us six months to explore", Diego protested. Francisco scoffed loudly, but Diego ignored it and continued. "If he'd wanted to, he could have just called us back straight away, like that". Diego snapped his fingers to emphasize his point, and Francisco stood, his hands on his hips, shaking his head in pity for Diego's naivety.
"He's given us six months, Diego, hoping that we'll all get malaria, or that the natives will cut off our heads and boil us into a stew! Then, we'll finally be out of his hair for good, and nobody can ever say that he stomped on our ambitions to explore...". Francisco was breathing heavily, and Diego rubbed his forehead with his hand. He couldn't look at Francisco in that moment, mostly because he knew that what he said made sense.
Francisco saw that Diego was struggling to argue against his theory, and so he continued forcefully. "Even if we do return to Panama alive... even if we return with so much gold that the ship begins to sink under its weight, he will STILL deny us permission for another expedition. He can't stand the thought of my success... of OUR success... overshadowing him. He will use any men who would have be willing to join us for his own USELESS plans to the North of Panama. We'll be left, forgotten about, rotting away in the slums in some vague administrative job, probably organizing corn rations or overseeing roadworks..."
Francisco was pacing furiously by now behind his desk, and Diego followed him with his eyes.
"And in the meantime some other Spaniard who's not afraid to disobey the rules will swoop in and take every bit of gold belonging to the Empire that WE discovered. He'll take our reward, which we've spent YEARS working on, from right under our noses. THAT is what will happen. We will get NOTHING, Diego". Diego was rubbing his clean-shaved chin in contemplation. Encouraged by his consideration, Francisco began again.
"And we can DO this, old friend!", he almost pleaded. He pointed in an unknown direction towards the Empire. "We can conquer this Empire, you and I, if we just had a little more help. You heard what the chief and his wife told us. Their king is dead, and his heir soon followed suit. This man they're putting on the throne has no support at this end of the Empire. They're talking about rebelling, about fighting his rule... and in that confusion, in that division, we shall have our advantage. It's the perfect time to strike- a chance that we cannot afford to miss. It's as if..." Francisco, smiling pensively, placed his hands on his hips. "It's as if God put us here for a reason. To conquer this land, right as the Empire is feeling the strain and aftermath of division. We must take this opportunity, Diego my friend. It may never come up again..."
"But we can't go in now, surely!" Diego protested, a touch of fear and outrage at Francisco's audacity in his voice. "We've only got 13 men with us, and barely enough supplies to feed even them. Besides, Rios has ordered us back"
His hands still on his hips, Francisco's smile turned sour. He placed the flats of his hands back on his desk, and looked scornfully through his eyebrows down at Diego.
"Rios just wants me back there, in that malaria-infested hell-hole, so that he can turn me into someone like him. Spineless. Cowardly. A NOBODY!" Francisco slammed his fist on the desk, and Diego winced.
Francisco bowed his head and let out a heavy breath, trying to calm himself down. He was aware that there was no point in letting Diego feel the force of his anger. After all, it wasn't his fault. They were in this together, Diego and him, and Francisco would need his friend's help if he was going to pull off his master plan...
Slowly, he raised his head again, and smiled sympathetically at Diego.
"You're right, Diego. We can't go in and conquer it yet. Which is why, for now, we shall follow our orders. We shall make the most of the time we've been given, and continue our explorations".
Diego nodded enthusiastically, grinning to himself at his success in convincing Francisco to be content with Rios' orders. "Great!", he said smiling, and went to stand up.
"But...", Francisco said, causing Diego to pause, half-way between sitting down and standing up. Looking directly into Francisco's eyes, he slowly sat back down and waited anxiously for him to finish.
Francisco smirked cruelly. "We are going to use our six months wisely, old friend. We're going to explore, to learn, to find out every piece of information we can about this place and the Empire we have found. But that's for US, Diego. Our research will be our investment plan. It will serve us well... in time. And once we've finished our expedition, we will NOT be reporting back to Rios. In fact, we won't even be going back to Panama..."
Diego furrowed his brow, and looked suspiciously up at Francisco.
"But then... If we're not going back to Panama once we're done here, then... where are we heading?" he asked, but Francisco didn't answer.
Still standing, he just continued smiling callously as he prepared to reveal his plan, savoring the moment of keeping Diego in suspense...
"Who are you?", he asked.
The woman, clearly terrified, was only just managing to hold back her tears, a mix of both fear and frustration at being caught. She could barely bring herself to look at Atahualpa in the eyes, and so was forced instead to look at his formidable chest when she addressed him.
"My name is Urpi. I have traveled north from the south". Atahualpa instantly picked up on her accent, but didn't react, waiting for her to continue. "My family died in the earthquake that shook the world not long ago. Since then, I've been travelling and surviving on my own..."
"Surviving by stealing?", Atahualpa said curtly, raising a single eyebrow. The woman looked at him in the eyes at that point, her own eyes pleading with him.
"Please, great prince" she said, begging. "I have nowhere to go, and without your sanctuary I will surely die on my own. Allow me to join your community, and I promise you, I shall repay you the debt I owe you..."
"You are from the south?", Atahualpa spat at her. She nodded nervously, shocked by his sudden anger. "Have they forgotten down there that we, the Intiruna imperial subjects, as the blessed children of the Sun, have three sacred rules?"
"No", the young woman shook her head insistently. "I have not forgotten. I am a moral woman, and I know the laws of our land. Ama sua. Ama llulla. Ama quella. Do not steal. Do not lie. Do not be lazy"
Atahualpa nodded, and his short-lived anger evaporated as mercy overtook. Times were hard for many people, he knew that. He had been lucky enough to have been born into nobility, and had enjoyed comforts that others would never know because of that. He felt a pang of guilt. Shaking it off, he was then resolved to forgive the woman... once he'd finished making his point.
"Urpi". She looked at him, tears welling up in her eyes again. The tokoyricoq guard looked at him too, and Atahualpa signaled with his head for him to release her arm, which he did.
"You will stay here. We shall feed you, you will marry a good man, and you will work hard and bear children so that our community may grow. Perhaps then you will be able to pay off the debt you owe".
Urpi, speechless, nodded in comprehension, and began crying in appreciation.
"Thank you, great prince! Thank you!", she said, wiping the tears of joy from under her eyes. She began sobbing, and placed her face in her hands to avoid further embarrassment.
Atahualpa turned around without a word, and reentered the building, followed by his companions, leaving "Urpi" alone outside...
Slowly raising her face from her hands, Kantu peeked up from under her long hair and colorful headband to make sure Atahualpa and the others had left her alone. She sneered at him as we walked away from her. Atahualpa, his back to her, was completely unaware that he had fallen for her trap...
Chapter 11
"And so, Inti bestows upon you, great Sapa Inca Waskar...". The royal soncoyoc high priest gently lowered the royal crown so that its red fringe hung over Waskar's forehead. Knelt in front of him, with his giant scepter in his left hand and a battle axe in his right, Waskar smiled as the soncoyoc allowed the crown to stay on his head. The old man then stepped back, his eyes closed, holding his hands up to the clouds that were passing across the skies above Cusco. "... THE RESPONSIBILITY AND HONOUR TO LEAD OUR PEOPLE WISELY, WHILE MAINTAINING THE BALANCE BETWEEN HEAVEN AND EARTH!".At that, the thousands of people who had gathered in the main square in Cusco to witness the crowing of the new Sapa Inca exploded with cheers for their new ruler. Waskar was shaking with excitement. He thought he might struggle even to stand up, but despite the adrenaline rushing through every inch of him, he managed to rise to his feet and face his people.
Standing at the edge of the stone platform that had been erected for his coronation, he held both the scepter and the battle axe out to the massive crowd. The bright colours of the giant feather necklace around his neck were visible even to those at the back of the vast congregation of enthusiastic spectators, and his new royal tunic, made from the finest vicuña wool and exotic dyes made him stand out even more. Almost as one, the people cheered his name jubilantly, and Waskar closed his eyes to savour the moment as the great roar of support surrounded him. This was it. His reign had finally begun. He would remember that first feeling of ultimate power for the rest of his life.
And in less than a week, Atahualpa, his only concern, would be dead. Kantu would be in his midst by now. She would carry the job out any day, if she hadn't already. He thanked Inti that he was just days away from unbridled freedom...
Chapter 12
Diego pulled back the flap that was the door of the tent. Poking his head in, he saw Francisco sitting alone behind his desk. "You wanted to talk?", he said, apparently snapping Francisco out of his daydream.
"Ah, Diego. Yes, come in, hombre", he said waving his hand to show that he wished Diego to enter. Diego came in and sat down. The wooden chair squeaked in protest under his weight, made heavier by the armour he was wearing. His elbows on the desk in front of him, Francisco was using a thin knife to pick his nails, observing his handwork closely. He looked up briefly to look at Diego as he sat down, smiling, his eyes wrinkling as he did. Then, he diverted his attention back to his fingernails again.
"Why do you think...", Francisco began almost philosophically after a few seconds. As he spoke, he kept his eyes on the knife that was picking away at a hangnail. "...that some men achieve a disproportional amount of greatness in their lifetimes, while others are forgotten in the mud and murk of history?"
Diego sighed. Francisco often had these reflective moments, and Diego was always called to hear about them. They were normally rants about the restrictions placed upon them by the Spanish Crown, and it appeared to Diego that this one would be no different. So, he decided to cut to the chase.
"What did the letter from Rios say?", Diego asked bluntly. He had seen the open scroll of Francisco's desk, and Francisco chuckled at his observance.
Pedro de los Rios was the governor of Panama at the time. As the highest ranking servant of the Spanish Crown in the region, he was the direct superior of all conquistadores in the area and all requests for expeditions into unclaimed territory had to be signed off by him personally. A cowardly man, in Francisco's eyes, he appeared to enjoy ordering Francisco and Diego into danger and certain death, only to retract his orders once they had overcome overwhelming odds and were actually beginning to make real ground.
"He's told us to return. In six months, he's sending a ship to collect us" Francisco answered, sourly. He could feel his anger and frustration building up within him, and Diego saw it clearly on his already twisted expression. The knife picking at Francisco's fingernails took a more aggressive and frustrated rhythm, as his face bitterly tried to concentrate on his work. Outside the tent it was warm and humid in the middle of the day, and Diego could hear the loud chatter and calls of their 13 soldiers who were sat down to eat their rations together.
Diego raised his eyebrows, and smiled. "That's good, though... right? We've got plenty of time to find more evidence, more gold, more information about the Empire".
Francisco finally looked up at his friend and partner, the knife still picking at his finger. He'd always known that of the two of then, Diego was more likely to blindly trust the orders of his superiors. And Diego had just bitterly disappointed him by confirming it once again.
"But after 6 months, Rios wants us back in Panama" Francisco reminded him, and waited for his reaction. Diego shrugged.
"So then that's where we go. We follow our orders, and we wait for our time to come..."
Francisco's eyes widened at him, astounded, and the knife suddenly stood still. Putting it down on the desk, he scoffed and almost began to laugh at Diego's naivety. Then, standing to his feet, he placed his palms flat on the desk, and leant forwards to loom over Diego who, had already shrunk down a fraction into his chair...
"What, so we just go back? Like little puppy dogs running at their master's call?". Francisco spat the words out at him. Diego was sat still, Francisco's eyes daring him to challenge him.
Eventually, Diego sighed. "Maybe it's for the best, Francisco. We can regroup, replenish our numbers, raise more funds, and get ready for another expedition in a year or so. Once Rios hears what we've found, he's bound to grant us another opportunity, and..."
"You realize that if we go back to Panama", Francisco interrupted him abruptly, his voice raised, "there will be no third expedition? Rios barely let us have THIS one, remember? The man does not WANT us to succeed! If he did, he'd have sent us reinforcements, instead of letting us fend for ourselves out here all these months!"
"But, he's given us six months to explore", Diego protested. Francisco scoffed loudly, but Diego ignored it and continued. "If he'd wanted to, he could have just called us back straight away, like that". Diego snapped his fingers to emphasize his point, and Francisco stood, his hands on his hips, shaking his head in pity for Diego's naivety.
"He's given us six months, Diego, hoping that we'll all get malaria, or that the natives will cut off our heads and boil us into a stew! Then, we'll finally be out of his hair for good, and nobody can ever say that he stomped on our ambitions to explore...". Francisco was breathing heavily, and Diego rubbed his forehead with his hand. He couldn't look at Francisco in that moment, mostly because he knew that what he said made sense.
Francisco saw that Diego was struggling to argue against his theory, and so he continued forcefully. "Even if we do return to Panama alive... even if we return with so much gold that the ship begins to sink under its weight, he will STILL deny us permission for another expedition. He can't stand the thought of my success... of OUR success... overshadowing him. He will use any men who would have be willing to join us for his own USELESS plans to the North of Panama. We'll be left, forgotten about, rotting away in the slums in some vague administrative job, probably organizing corn rations or overseeing roadworks..."
Francisco was pacing furiously by now behind his desk, and Diego followed him with his eyes.
"And in the meantime some other Spaniard who's not afraid to disobey the rules will swoop in and take every bit of gold belonging to the Empire that WE discovered. He'll take our reward, which we've spent YEARS working on, from right under our noses. THAT is what will happen. We will get NOTHING, Diego". Diego was rubbing his clean-shaved chin in contemplation. Encouraged by his consideration, Francisco began again.
"And we can DO this, old friend!", he almost pleaded. He pointed in an unknown direction towards the Empire. "We can conquer this Empire, you and I, if we just had a little more help. You heard what the chief and his wife told us. Their king is dead, and his heir soon followed suit. This man they're putting on the throne has no support at this end of the Empire. They're talking about rebelling, about fighting his rule... and in that confusion, in that division, we shall have our advantage. It's the perfect time to strike- a chance that we cannot afford to miss. It's as if..." Francisco, smiling pensively, placed his hands on his hips. "It's as if God put us here for a reason. To conquer this land, right as the Empire is feeling the strain and aftermath of division. We must take this opportunity, Diego my friend. It may never come up again..."
"But we can't go in now, surely!" Diego protested, a touch of fear and outrage at Francisco's audacity in his voice. "We've only got 13 men with us, and barely enough supplies to feed even them. Besides, Rios has ordered us back"
His hands still on his hips, Francisco's smile turned sour. He placed the flats of his hands back on his desk, and looked scornfully through his eyebrows down at Diego.
"Rios just wants me back there, in that malaria-infested hell-hole, so that he can turn me into someone like him. Spineless. Cowardly. A NOBODY!" Francisco slammed his fist on the desk, and Diego winced.
Francisco bowed his head and let out a heavy breath, trying to calm himself down. He was aware that there was no point in letting Diego feel the force of his anger. After all, it wasn't his fault. They were in this together, Diego and him, and Francisco would need his friend's help if he was going to pull off his master plan...
Slowly, he raised his head again, and smiled sympathetically at Diego.
"You're right, Diego. We can't go in and conquer it yet. Which is why, for now, we shall follow our orders. We shall make the most of the time we've been given, and continue our explorations".
Diego nodded enthusiastically, grinning to himself at his success in convincing Francisco to be content with Rios' orders. "Great!", he said smiling, and went to stand up.
"But...", Francisco said, causing Diego to pause, half-way between sitting down and standing up. Looking directly into Francisco's eyes, he slowly sat back down and waited anxiously for him to finish.
Francisco smirked cruelly. "We are going to use our six months wisely, old friend. We're going to explore, to learn, to find out every piece of information we can about this place and the Empire we have found. But that's for US, Diego. Our research will be our investment plan. It will serve us well... in time. And once we've finished our expedition, we will NOT be reporting back to Rios. In fact, we won't even be going back to Panama..."
Diego furrowed his brow, and looked suspiciously up at Francisco.
"But then... If we're not going back to Panama once we're done here, then... where are we heading?" he asked, but Francisco didn't answer.
Still standing, he just continued smiling callously as he prepared to reveal his plan, savoring the moment of keeping Diego in suspense...
Historical notes
That's the end of part 1 of our story, but don't worry; I'm already working on parts 2 and 3 (follow me on Twitter @philraymondsfh or keep checking my blog for updates on publication dates). In the meantime, let me separate fact from fiction...
First of all, in order to avoid spoilers for the rest of the story, I will only be mentioning the dates of death once people have died in the story, or in the case that the story doesn't cover their death, then in the Historical Notes section at the end of the last part (part 3). Until then, you'll only see their dates of birth. Sorry to start off by talking about death, but I don't want to the dates to spoil the narrative of parts 2 and 3 for you! Now, on with the history...
First of all, in order to avoid spoilers for the rest of the story, I will only be mentioning the dates of death once people have died in the story, or in the case that the story doesn't cover their death, then in the Historical Notes section at the end of the last part (part 3). Until then, you'll only see their dates of birth. Sorry to start off by talking about death, but I don't want to the dates to spoil the narrative of parts 2 and 3 for you! Now, on with the history...
Huayna Capac (1468-1527) died of smallpox. At the time of his death, the Inca Empire covered 380,000 square miles. Called the "Tawantinsuyu" by the locals, the name translated as "The Empire of the four sides". Standing in Cusco, the very centre of the Empire, this was an apt name, as the Inca Empire stretched almost equally far both north and south, from modern day Quito (Ecuador) to Santiago (Chile). To the east it reached what is now Cochabamba (in central Bolivia), and to the west it stopped at the Pacific ocean. At its height, over 16 million people lived within the realm of the Incas. Despite inventing neither the wheel nor writing, the Incas were arguably one of the great civilizations of their time. They built thousands of earthquake resistant structures using manpower alone. They connected their vast empire together with a relay messaging system that could not be rivaled for efficiency, not even by the horse-back driven postal system which replaced it after Spanish colonization.
Smallpox had been brought over by the Spanish settlers who had been arriving in increasing numbers ever since the end of the 15th Century (1492 onwards). It was a disease that the Incas had never encountered and so had neither natural immunity to nor treatment for. The story about a comet being seen around the time of Huayna Capac's death is true. It was interpreted as an omen, as you shall see in later parts of the story. Shortly afterwards (possibly even within days), Huayna Capac's son and the heir to the throne Ninan Cuyuchi (1490-1527) also died of the disease.
Smallpox had been brought over by the Spanish settlers who had been arriving in increasing numbers ever since the end of the 15th Century (1492 onwards). It was a disease that the Incas had never encountered and so had neither natural immunity to nor treatment for. The story about a comet being seen around the time of Huayna Capac's death is true. It was interpreted as an omen, as you shall see in later parts of the story. Shortly afterwards (possibly even within days), Huayna Capac's son and the heir to the throne Ninan Cuyuchi (1490-1527) also died of the disease.
This sudden and unexpected turn of events threw the Inca Empire into a state of turmoil. Waskar (born in 1491) was the rightful heir to the throne. His parents, Huayna Capac and Rawa Okllo, had been siblings. Because they came from the same royal bloodline, their offspring Waskar was considered to be of the purest Inca bloodline. His right to rule appeared to be watertight.
However, there were those who saw the drama as a window of opportunity to install a more agreeable leader. Waskar was to many, including supposedly his own mother Rawa Okllo, unfit to rule. Why? Well, the Incas never developed a system of writing, preferring to impart history, knowledge and stories via oral tradition. The result of this is that there are very few written chronicles of the Incas from an Inca perspective from the time before Spanish colonization. This means that we cannot know for sure, for one thing, what the reasons behind Waskar's unpopularity really were. I have found no books that have offered a solid answer- only supposition, rumour (which is often biased), and conjecture. However, there are likely to be several reasons, and three very solid theories have emerged about why he was so unpopular...
Firstly, it's important to note that the Sapa Inca was seen as divine, even immortal, and therefore "could not be considered dead". Mummification was the normal ritual performed on a deceased Sapa Inca. The body was preserved with spices, and then taken high into the mountains where the cold air naturally helped the mummification process. The Sapa Inca's body was then taken back down to his palace, where it was surrounded by riches and attended by servants and family members. The mummified body was treated exactly as if it were alive. The organizers of this ceremony were called the Pananca, and they were an extremely powerful religious and political group. Before he'd ascended to the throne, Waskar had complained that the best land was being hoarded by the Pananca, and threatened to confiscate it from them if he ever became Sapa Inca. Considering that, should he be crowned one day, Waskar himself would supposedly benefit from the postmortem services provided by the Pananca, this attitude suggests that Waskar did not believe in the effects of this religious practice. In fact, he was possibly trying to distance himself from the state religion altogether. Feeling their power and influence slip away and their privileges were under threat, the Pananca banded together to oppose Waskar, and began to look for an alternative heir that they could support...
Secondly, from the viewpoint of those in north of the Empire, around the second city of Quito, as a prince Waskar had paid a disproportionate amount attention to the affairs of his capital, Cusco. It's not unreasonable to think that this was enough to cause many in the nobility to champion a Sapa Inca who was more in-touch with their own personal local interests. Furthermore, it's even been suggested that Huayna Capac, before his death, had expressed wishes that Atahualpa (NOT Waskar) should rule if the first heir to the throne, Ninan Cuyuchi, should die. Again, these could be rumours, but many supporters of Atahualpa hearing them at the time would have grabbed them and held onto them, convincing themselves that they were absolutely true.
To add to this evidence; Huayna Capac married several times, as was common for the Sapa Inca to do. In keeping with Inca tradition, he married his sister, Rawa Okllo, who bore him Waskar. However, Huayna Capac later also married the daughter of a conquered chief from Quito. She famously became his favourite wife, and she bore him a son whom they named Atahualpa. When she died, Huayna Capac even moved to her hometown of Quito, where he eventually died (either in the city or close-by) in 1527. To many supporters of Atahualpa, it would seem obvious that Huayna Capac's favour had been towards Atahualpa, and not his older "more legitimate" son Waskar...
Finally, Atahualpa had been chosen by Huayna Capac to accompany his father to the North of the Empire to maintain order. He had lead Huayna Capac's formidable army. They were battle-tested, experienced veterans... and, upon Huayna Capac's death, became completely loyal to Atahualpa. He now had his own private army at his disposal, whose loyalty for their general surpassed any loyalty they had to Waskar. At the point in which we meet Atahualpa, I wanted to portray him as living a life of voluntary simplicity, a "down-to-earth" man, rich but very in-touch with ordinary people. But it must be remembered that Atahualpa was much more of a warrior king than Waskar. For anyone who wanted to see the Inca Empire expand further, Atahualpa, the war-hardened general who commanded the loyalty of the army, was an appealing alternative to the comparatively meek and possibly unambitious Waskar. To these expansionists, a coup d'eta lead by Atahualpa would be the only way to see their imperial ambitions achieved.
Whatever the reasons behind it, the salient facts are that an opportunity arose to replace a Sapa Inca whom many disliked and resented. The Empire was divided between support for the two leaders, with Cusco and the South generally siding with Waskar, and Quito and the North rallying behind Atahualpa. We can assume that Waskar was extremely insecure and threatened by Atahualpa, but it's impossible to know what Atahualpa felt about the whole situation... at first.
Cuxirimay Ocllo Yupanqui (born c. 1520) was Atahualpa's cousin and wife. They married in 1532, when she was about 11 years old, and Atahualpa was 32. As you'll already have noticed, in part 1 of my story, I wrote them as already being married in 1527. This was to avoid complications in the story later on. I've also made Cuxirimary a bit older (15 years old in 1527, as opposed to the historically accurate 7 years old), because I wanted her to have a more mature and substantial role in the story, which I think would be easier to convey if she were closer to being an adult.
Kantu, the female assassin sent to kill Atahualpa, is completely fictional, but certainly plausible. This was politics after all, and the Incas were not impervious to a "desperate times call for desperate measures" attitude. In fact, there had supposedly been a failed assassination attempt on the life of Sapa Inca Pachacuti Inca Yupanqui (1418-1471), known affectionately as "The Earth Shaker" due to his ambitious campaign of rapidly expanding the Inca Empire. Early on in Pachacuti's reign, an extremist from the Cuyo ethnic group, who were allies of the Inca, allegedly threw a large pot at his head in an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to kill him. Pro-Pachacuti supporters viewed this as an assassination attempt, fueled by jealousy of the increasingly popular and powerful Sapa Inca. However, critics claim that Pachacuti's entourage exaggerated the story and used it as an excuse to bring the Cuyo under the direct rule of the Inca. The accuracy of this incident aside, just like in any civilization, there are always those who are willing to go to extreme lengths in order to control the power balance.
Unfortunately for the Incas, the tension caused between the Waskar and Atahualpa factions weakened the Empire tremendously, and it could not have come at a worse time...
Firstly, it's important to note that the Sapa Inca was seen as divine, even immortal, and therefore "could not be considered dead". Mummification was the normal ritual performed on a deceased Sapa Inca. The body was preserved with spices, and then taken high into the mountains where the cold air naturally helped the mummification process. The Sapa Inca's body was then taken back down to his palace, where it was surrounded by riches and attended by servants and family members. The mummified body was treated exactly as if it were alive. The organizers of this ceremony were called the Pananca, and they were an extremely powerful religious and political group. Before he'd ascended to the throne, Waskar had complained that the best land was being hoarded by the Pananca, and threatened to confiscate it from them if he ever became Sapa Inca. Considering that, should he be crowned one day, Waskar himself would supposedly benefit from the postmortem services provided by the Pananca, this attitude suggests that Waskar did not believe in the effects of this religious practice. In fact, he was possibly trying to distance himself from the state religion altogether. Feeling their power and influence slip away and their privileges were under threat, the Pananca banded together to oppose Waskar, and began to look for an alternative heir that they could support...
Secondly, from the viewpoint of those in north of the Empire, around the second city of Quito, as a prince Waskar had paid a disproportionate amount attention to the affairs of his capital, Cusco. It's not unreasonable to think that this was enough to cause many in the nobility to champion a Sapa Inca who was more in-touch with their own personal local interests. Furthermore, it's even been suggested that Huayna Capac, before his death, had expressed wishes that Atahualpa (NOT Waskar) should rule if the first heir to the throne, Ninan Cuyuchi, should die. Again, these could be rumours, but many supporters of Atahualpa hearing them at the time would have grabbed them and held onto them, convincing themselves that they were absolutely true.
To add to this evidence; Huayna Capac married several times, as was common for the Sapa Inca to do. In keeping with Inca tradition, he married his sister, Rawa Okllo, who bore him Waskar. However, Huayna Capac later also married the daughter of a conquered chief from Quito. She famously became his favourite wife, and she bore him a son whom they named Atahualpa. When she died, Huayna Capac even moved to her hometown of Quito, where he eventually died (either in the city or close-by) in 1527. To many supporters of Atahualpa, it would seem obvious that Huayna Capac's favour had been towards Atahualpa, and not his older "more legitimate" son Waskar...
Finally, Atahualpa had been chosen by Huayna Capac to accompany his father to the North of the Empire to maintain order. He had lead Huayna Capac's formidable army. They were battle-tested, experienced veterans... and, upon Huayna Capac's death, became completely loyal to Atahualpa. He now had his own private army at his disposal, whose loyalty for their general surpassed any loyalty they had to Waskar. At the point in which we meet Atahualpa, I wanted to portray him as living a life of voluntary simplicity, a "down-to-earth" man, rich but very in-touch with ordinary people. But it must be remembered that Atahualpa was much more of a warrior king than Waskar. For anyone who wanted to see the Inca Empire expand further, Atahualpa, the war-hardened general who commanded the loyalty of the army, was an appealing alternative to the comparatively meek and possibly unambitious Waskar. To these expansionists, a coup d'eta lead by Atahualpa would be the only way to see their imperial ambitions achieved.
Whatever the reasons behind it, the salient facts are that an opportunity arose to replace a Sapa Inca whom many disliked and resented. The Empire was divided between support for the two leaders, with Cusco and the South generally siding with Waskar, and Quito and the North rallying behind Atahualpa. We can assume that Waskar was extremely insecure and threatened by Atahualpa, but it's impossible to know what Atahualpa felt about the whole situation... at first.
Cuxirimay Ocllo Yupanqui (born c. 1520) was Atahualpa's cousin and wife. They married in 1532, when she was about 11 years old, and Atahualpa was 32. As you'll already have noticed, in part 1 of my story, I wrote them as already being married in 1527. This was to avoid complications in the story later on. I've also made Cuxirimary a bit older (15 years old in 1527, as opposed to the historically accurate 7 years old), because I wanted her to have a more mature and substantial role in the story, which I think would be easier to convey if she were closer to being an adult.
Kantu, the female assassin sent to kill Atahualpa, is completely fictional, but certainly plausible. This was politics after all, and the Incas were not impervious to a "desperate times call for desperate measures" attitude. In fact, there had supposedly been a failed assassination attempt on the life of Sapa Inca Pachacuti Inca Yupanqui (1418-1471), known affectionately as "The Earth Shaker" due to his ambitious campaign of rapidly expanding the Inca Empire. Early on in Pachacuti's reign, an extremist from the Cuyo ethnic group, who were allies of the Inca, allegedly threw a large pot at his head in an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to kill him. Pro-Pachacuti supporters viewed this as an assassination attempt, fueled by jealousy of the increasingly popular and powerful Sapa Inca. However, critics claim that Pachacuti's entourage exaggerated the story and used it as an excuse to bring the Cuyo under the direct rule of the Inca. The accuracy of this incident aside, just like in any civilization, there are always those who are willing to go to extreme lengths in order to control the power balance.
Unfortunately for the Incas, the tension caused between the Waskar and Atahualpa factions weakened the Empire tremendously, and it could not have come at a worse time...
Francisco Pizarro (born c. 1471) and Diego de Almagro (born c. 1475) took three expeditions to South America in total. Their first was in 1524, and was an unmitigated disaster. Finding only swamps, venomous snakes and only a few small villages to plunder, they reluctantly returned to Panama...
Their second attempt two years later (the expedition covered in part 1 of my story) took place from 1526-1527. In fact, the Governor of Panama at the time Pedro de los Rios lost faith in Pizarro almost immediately after they'd set out, and in 1526, just a few months after they'd arrived in present-day Colombia, sent a ship to collect the explorers and bring them back to Panama. Outraged, Francisco Pizarro dramatically drew a line in the sand on the beach with his sword, and gave the following famous speech:
“Friends and comrades, on that side are toil, hunger, nakedness, the drenching storm, desertion, and death. On this side, ease and pleasure. Choose, each man, what best becomes a brave [Spaniard]. For my part, I go to the south.”
He then stepped across the line, and waited to see how many of his men would follow him, and how many would return to Panama as ordered...
Having collected most of Pizarro's tired, hungry and dispirited men, the ship left for Panama, leaving Francisco and just thirteen conquistadors who had stepped across the line in the sand to stay with their intrepid leader. This small group of conquistadors became known as "the famous thirteen". (It's unclear whether they actually kept any horses with them, but to help me retell my story I decided that they had). Stood on the beach, "the famous thirteen" watched the ship sail out of view. They were officially alone- few supplies, little knowledge of the area, and almost no chance of escape if things went wrong...
Rather incredibly, they survived for months before another ship was sent from Panama. This time, Pizarro was told that he had six months to explore before he must return to Panama. Distraught at not having been sent reinforcements, yet relieved to have been officially given more time to continue his exploration, Francisco complied. He intended to make the most of the time he had...
This second half of the expedition was far more successful. Francisco insisted that the small group of Spaniards adopt an attitude of peace and friendship towards the locals, and because of this he found substantially more evidence of a wealthy Empire to the South. Finally satisfied that he'd found the Empire that he hoped to conquer, he returned to Panama, where Diego del Amagro was still rallying support for future expeditions to the south.
However, by that time, Pedro de los Rios had had enough. Francisco and Diego's expedition had already failed once before, and Rios was far from impressed by Pizarro's "cheap display of gold and silver toys and a few Indian sheep" that he had brought back from this second expedition. As far as he was concerned, there wouldn't be a third...
As you will have noticed, I have changed the details to fit into the events of my narrative. In the final chapter (which takes place in 1527), I have Francisco and Diego still together, whereas in truth Diego left for Panama in 1526 in order to gather supplies and reinforcements, and to sooth Pedro de los Rios concerns about the expedition. Also, part 1 ends with Francisco telling Diego that they will not be returning to Panama, even though in truth he did return very briefly, only to be told much to Francisco's frustration that Pedro de los Rios would not be authorizing a third expedition.
However, the essence is still the same. Pedro de los Rios was never keen on Pizarro's explorations, believing that the men and resources would be better used elsewhere. This was a source of constant anguish for Francisco, and as we shall see in part 2, it was partly because of this necessity to report to Rios that Francisco finally decides to take matters into his own hands...
Still wondering about chapter 1 in the story? Well, let's just say, all will be revealed, in its time... :)
I would like to give a special thank you to Nick from @incapodcast, who helped me tremendously with these historical notes. His knowledge of the Incas is vast, and his input invaluable. I truly appreciate all the questions he answered and extra local history facts he's passed on to me.
Phil Raymond
@philraymondsfh
Bibliography
Betanzos, Juan de. Narrative of the Incas. Translated and edited by Roland Hamilton and Dana Buchanan. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1996.
Cohen Suarez, Ananda. Handbook to life in the Inca world. Facts on File inc., June 2011.
George, Charles and Linda. Life during the great civilizations, The Inca. Blackbirch press, 2005.
Mountjoy, Shane. Francisco Pizarro and the Conquest of the Incas. Chelsea House Publishers, 2006.
Prescott, William H. History of the Conquest of Peru. Dover Publications Inc., 2005
#HistoricalFiction
#WritingCommunity
Their second attempt two years later (the expedition covered in part 1 of my story) took place from 1526-1527. In fact, the Governor of Panama at the time Pedro de los Rios lost faith in Pizarro almost immediately after they'd set out, and in 1526, just a few months after they'd arrived in present-day Colombia, sent a ship to collect the explorers and bring them back to Panama. Outraged, Francisco Pizarro dramatically drew a line in the sand on the beach with his sword, and gave the following famous speech:
“Friends and comrades, on that side are toil, hunger, nakedness, the drenching storm, desertion, and death. On this side, ease and pleasure. Choose, each man, what best becomes a brave [Spaniard]. For my part, I go to the south.”
He then stepped across the line, and waited to see how many of his men would follow him, and how many would return to Panama as ordered...
Having collected most of Pizarro's tired, hungry and dispirited men, the ship left for Panama, leaving Francisco and just thirteen conquistadors who had stepped across the line in the sand to stay with their intrepid leader. This small group of conquistadors became known as "the famous thirteen". (It's unclear whether they actually kept any horses with them, but to help me retell my story I decided that they had). Stood on the beach, "the famous thirteen" watched the ship sail out of view. They were officially alone- few supplies, little knowledge of the area, and almost no chance of escape if things went wrong...
Rather incredibly, they survived for months before another ship was sent from Panama. This time, Pizarro was told that he had six months to explore before he must return to Panama. Distraught at not having been sent reinforcements, yet relieved to have been officially given more time to continue his exploration, Francisco complied. He intended to make the most of the time he had...
This second half of the expedition was far more successful. Francisco insisted that the small group of Spaniards adopt an attitude of peace and friendship towards the locals, and because of this he found substantially more evidence of a wealthy Empire to the South. Finally satisfied that he'd found the Empire that he hoped to conquer, he returned to Panama, where Diego del Amagro was still rallying support for future expeditions to the south.
However, by that time, Pedro de los Rios had had enough. Francisco and Diego's expedition had already failed once before, and Rios was far from impressed by Pizarro's "cheap display of gold and silver toys and a few Indian sheep" that he had brought back from this second expedition. As far as he was concerned, there wouldn't be a third...
As you will have noticed, I have changed the details to fit into the events of my narrative. In the final chapter (which takes place in 1527), I have Francisco and Diego still together, whereas in truth Diego left for Panama in 1526 in order to gather supplies and reinforcements, and to sooth Pedro de los Rios concerns about the expedition. Also, part 1 ends with Francisco telling Diego that they will not be returning to Panama, even though in truth he did return very briefly, only to be told much to Francisco's frustration that Pedro de los Rios would not be authorizing a third expedition.
However, the essence is still the same. Pedro de los Rios was never keen on Pizarro's explorations, believing that the men and resources would be better used elsewhere. This was a source of constant anguish for Francisco, and as we shall see in part 2, it was partly because of this necessity to report to Rios that Francisco finally decides to take matters into his own hands...
Still wondering about chapter 1 in the story? Well, let's just say, all will be revealed, in its time... :)
I would like to give a special thank you to Nick from @incapodcast, who helped me tremendously with these historical notes. His knowledge of the Incas is vast, and his input invaluable. I truly appreciate all the questions he answered and extra local history facts he's passed on to me.
Phil Raymond
@philraymondsfh
Part 2 is on the way...!
Bibliography
Betanzos, Juan de. Narrative of the Incas. Translated and edited by Roland Hamilton and Dana Buchanan. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1996.
Cohen Suarez, Ananda. Handbook to life in the Inca world. Facts on File inc., June 2011.
George, Charles and Linda. Life during the great civilizations, The Inca. Blackbirch press, 2005.
Mountjoy, Shane. Francisco Pizarro and the Conquest of the Incas. Chelsea House Publishers, 2006.
Prescott, William H. History of the Conquest of Peru. Dover Publications Inc., 2005
#HistoricalFiction
#WritingCommunity
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