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  As my philosophical days waned, I tried to control my thoughts and waited patiently for them to subside. But they never truly withered. The thoughts remained attached to me and budded back when there was nothing else to do.

  Then I remembered Soto’s words: “Don’t think too much, Sardina. You’re not very good at it.”

  Deep down I knew he was right.

  So I rested, kept to myself, and let the other fools have a try.

  When I was tired of thinking, I stared. I stared at the men, young and old. The men were men, but those of high class stamped out those of lower class, and after a fortnight it was apparent who was who. Members of the Pizarro and the Almagro family came to the main tent. And at last, the whole of the families were gathered.

  Although our men gave them glares and general looks of disgust, I took to the new men quite well, and I fed off their fresh new excitement and energy. For at the time, I felt tiresome and numb. I tried to avoid any contact with them, but after a while, this proved to be impossible, for they gathered around me and asked me several questions and begged me to tell them everything.

  I guessed they liked me because I answered their questions, and it was clear that the amount of them gathered around me that I was the only one willing to talk to them, and the rest of our men avoided these new men like the plague.

  Their questions were inane and common as were my answers.

  “Where did you find the gold?”

  “In the caves.”

  “Where are the caves?!”

  “South of the stream.”

  “Where’s that?”

  After a while, I was tired of answering their questions and I retreated to a remote silent place to rest, right by the brook before the cove.

  As the days passed, new rumors began to circulate. Rumors much like children have no sense of when to stop, which often leads to false accusations, a false sense of reality, and other false things that eventually makes you feel very old. But it was clear to everyone that Cajamarca was only the appetizer of the gold that there was to find.

  For even before Cajamarca, the rumors of more gold and more lands now resurfaced and the men craved to hear them all. Many worlds they’ve come to passed, and still there were many worlds to come. Bizarre story after bizarre story left men’s mouth and swirled inside their mind. It wasn’t long after that the familiar restlessness settled in, and as it did the rumors poured in like rainfall. They fell as drips, then to a steady drizzle, then they picked up and filled and fell in heavy streams and flooded the land in a matter of minutes, and the amount was all too common and all too sickening.

  “Cusco?”

  “What is this Cusco?”

  “It’s a city.”

  “A city?”

  “A grand city?”

  “Where?”

  “I haven’t a clue.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “There’s gold everywhere.”

  “Everywhere.”

  “They say the city is only fifty miles away from here. They say the gold in Cajamarca is only a fraction of what we’ll find in Cusco.”

  “We found enough already.”

  “No, we haven’t.”

  “You wouldn’t even believe the amount of gold there is in Cusco.”

  “What have you heard?”

  “Much of the same. But the city is greater and much more rich than this land.”

  “Where is it?”

  “They said there’s more gold than we can even imagine. They say the streets are paved with it!”

  “What the hell are we waiting for?”

  “This is a little too unbelievable.”

  “Cajamarca was a rumor wasn’t it?

  “It was.”

  VI

  “Upon hearing the rumors, the Pizarros took no hesitation. And as Gonzalo held ground, all that was heard were screams.

  He summoned the Incas for questioning and one by one the Spanish gathered and whipped and lashed the Incas and questioned them of these new rumors.

  Those who fought were slain immediately. There was no forgiveness. No respite of mercy or recompense. There were only thrusts and chops.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  As the events unfolded in mindless repetition with new Incas revolting in the morning and dead Incas being buried in the late afternoon, Gonzalo grew restless. Then he remembered a thing that he forgot about, and soon again Gonzalo smiled.

  Gonzalo returned an hour later and along with him, he brought the Strappado. The Strappado was a torture device made from wood and it resembled a giant pulley. It stood some ten feet and resembled a giant crane. On the end of each pole, the tortured would be hung either by his neck or his hands, and then lifted up into the air, but before suspended, a heavy weight was attached to the tortured legs, and to make matters more cruel the entire device could be controlled by one man, providing any way he felt.

  It was a marvelous contraption. Juan built it, Gonzalo designed it, and Francisco approved it, but Almagro did not give to the grand novelty, nor did his son. They preferred the old method of sword and torture.

  Almagro looked over to the crowd, found Francisco, and shook his head.

  “You Pizarros sure know how to waste time.”

  “It’s a spectacle, Almagro.”

  “No. It’s a waste of time.”

  “You must see how it works first.”

  “I know how it works. Just be sure to ask the right questions.”

  With that, Almagro spat on the ground and left the crowd. The men gathered the Incas that were the most reticent and untrustworthy and formed them along in single file.

  And so the spectacle began. As did more questioning.

  They took one Inca in particular and lashed him a dozen times. They forced him to talk, but the Inca refused and remained silent. Then they pushed the Inca across the square and led him to the Strappado.

  “Tie him up!” Gonzalo shouted.

  So they did.

  They took the Inca and tied his hands behind his back. Then they took the rope and tied the Inca up on the Strappado and up he went five feet in the air.

  The Inca dangled and screamed. The Spanish watched and waited for their orders.

  Gonzalo questioned.

  “What is this Cusco?”

  The Inca yelled out and the translators said he didn’t know. Gonzalo took out his sword and yelled incoherently. Then he erupted towards the Inca and held the point of the sword an inch before the Inca’s nose.

  “What is this Cusco?”

  Gonzalo inched even closer. Then he grabbed his whip and lashed away.

  “What is it?!”

  The whip was soon covered with blood.

  Then the Inca coughed and spat and repeated a phrase over and over, and all turned to the translators.

  “Translate! Translate, you dogs.” Gonzalo screamed.

  “He says it’s a city.”

  “Then where is it?”

  The Inca gave no reply.

  Then Gonzalo ordered to the men and they tied a cannon ball to the Incas feet.

  Gonzalo held the cannon ball and said his words.

  “Tell us more, dying Inca. Where? Are these rumors true? Where is it?”

  The translators repeated the question. But still the Inca gave no reply.

  “Where?! Where is this Cusco?! What are they hiding?!”

  The Inca closed his eyes and turned his face. Then Gonzalo gave the Inca a final glare and dropped the cannon ball, and the Inca’s body split in two and his blood spilled and splashed all over the square.

  After the spectacle was over, the Incas talked and told us what we wanted to hear.

  And the very next day, they took us to the trail that led to Cusco.”

  VII

  “So we made our way to Cusco and so a new adventure began. And all were ready.

  And again the Pizarros and Almagro went back and forth and fiercely bickered at each other like old friends. Beguiled and smiling, the
y looked up to the sky and then to the jungle. They were sure and shaven, and they were ready to wander again.

  “Why are we listening to these goddamn rumors?” Said Almagro.

  “Then what do you suggest we do then? That we stay in Cajamarca? That’s ridiculous.” Said Francisco

  “This jungle all looks the same.”

  “But there’s more. Of course, there’s more.” Said Hernando.

  “There’s more.” Said Juan. “There’s more.”

  “There’s more! There’s more!” Almagro repeated and mocked. “Haven’t you Pizarros had enough?”

  For weeks at a time we continued to follow the guides, for the trail to Cusco was longer than we expected to be. The sun intensified and the heat was stifling. The air was dense and moist. Rainstorms pummeled the land, and when it stopped it felt like the entire earth caved in and descended into hell.

  Then one day, Juan Pizarro patted me on the shoulder. He took my arm and placed about two pounds of gold in my hand. Then he gave me a smirk. He told me to join the other men at the far end of camp, and I followed him there.

  Ten other men were there and at the helm stood Gonzalo Pizarro. We looked at each other with confused expressions. Then Gonzalo pointed east with his sword and shouted out our orders.

  My eyes were focused on Juan. He seemed divided amongst his thoughts and his body, and that smirk he gave me reminded me of the smirk his brother Francisco gave me on the beach that fateful day. Naturally, I didn’t expect much for Juan. He never said more than two words to any man, and for many, including his brothers I thought of him as a wise old man trapped inside a twenty-year old’s body. It was a fortunate problem to have.

  I stared at the lump of gold in my hands. Then Gonzalo raised his voice.

  “All you men are gathered here to do one thing,” Gonzalo said. “Find where the Incas are hiding. Find them, capture them, and hold them for questioning. Go in pairs. Go alone. Just find them. And report back within two days. Understood?”

  The men nodded and each ventured into the vast jungle on their own accord.

  I went alone. I found the jungle eerily peaceful when I traveled alone. Stretches of miles with not a soul in sight might sound like madness to others, but I found it welcoming. I always found it much more productive and satisfying. The mission was vague I must admit, but I could follow its logic. I knew the essence was to find the Incas who retreated away from Cajamarca, because if we were to find his then we would be closer to finding this Cusco. Guides were our only refuge. But guides in chains were much more appreciated.

  On the first day, I didn’t find much. I went about five miles, but they were hard miles. I slashed my way through vines and brushes, and my armor weighed me down. I sweated from my head down to my toes. I hacked and dug and forced myself on. Most of the time, I wished I was back in the mountains, at least, the mountains had a breeze from time to time.

  As it approached noon, I rested on a moss-covered rock. I searched around the top of the trees and wondered if the Incas were hiding there, waiting to ambush me with their spears. But like most things in life, I left it to chance. Then I stared at my sword and saw how dull it had gotten. If there was ever a time for an ambush it would have been then.

  There was a hum in the air and the symphony of insects and bats rushed in sporadic bursts, then fell to silence. While I rested, I itched and scratched at my skin till I bled and I took off my armor, because there were times where I just couldn’t go on. The insects fell into my pupils and stayed inside my eye even when I rubbed them out.

  I headed off north to try my luck, but for another three miles, I still didn’t see a soul. As night approached I heard the rumbles of approaching storms, and when the rain fell, I took shelter beneath a giant cedar. I drifted into dreams and heard the sounds of dying things, and the next day when I awoke I felt the sweat pour through my entire body, so much so that it felt as if I were swimming.

  On the second day, I felt much more aware, and everything seemed much more immediate.

  Then I found something on the ground. It was a small smooth gemstone that was bright blue.

  I kept it to myself and never showed it to anybody, not even Soto. But on nights where there was nothing to do and, believe me, there were many, I studied every centimeter of that gemstone and tried to piece together its story. But in the jungle, I hadn’t any time. It would have to wait for another day.

  An hour passed and suddenly I heard footsteps come from out the brush. I waited for it to disappear.

  Then I yelled, “Who’s there? Who’s there?”

  It was one of our men, I hadn’t seen his face before, but he put his fingers to his lips, pointed to the trees, and showed me a sharp Inca spear.

  “They’re hiding up there. Keep your head up.” He said.

  My hands were drenched in sweat, and as we approached a nearby tree, I knew the man was right. The Incas were up there, just waiting to fire their bows.

  I saw a dozen of them.”

  VIII

  Manco saw two Spanish soldiers approach the stream, but they were too far away. Then the soldiers disappeared.

  Manco’s men saw the same thing, and as Manco nodded, they primed their bows and waited for the Spanish to draw closer.

  They waited for an hour. There was no sign of anything. Manco sharpened the point of his arrow with a blade of steel he stole from Cajamarca. Then he fumbled the blade and it dropped a hundred feet to the canopy below. His men though were getting restless. They wanted to scream, but Manco looked at them with disdain and ordered them to keep still and silent.

  Suddenly Manco heard the Spanish horses. Later he heard the sounds of hooves approaching. He signaled to his men and they primed their bows and waited for the Spanish to approach.

  But to Manco’s horror his men fired too soon, and the Spanish retaliated with bowmen of their own, and soon the loud fiery booms of the Spanish hand cannons exploded in the air. Manco’s men dropped from their positions and fled as fast as they could. Manco too dropped from his tree, but the fall was too high, and he landed square on his wrist.

  He stumbled to his feet and sprinted for his life. The Spanish were only fifty yards away. But before he could make ten paces, the dogs caught up and tackled Manco down to the ground.

  A minute later, the Spanish broke the dogs off Manco’s body. He was bloodied and screamed with an ungodly shrill. The Spanish gathered and piled in to see their catch of the day. The Pizarros came to the head of the commotion. The Almagros joined soon after.

  And they smiled with delight.

  IX

  “Another group of Incas wailed and we gave them a chase. They raced off in many directions, and we shot our hand cannons to the sky. They hurried down the stone steps and we cut them off at the end of the stream, and the dogs leaped forward and we followed their barks.

  We found two Incas dead on the ground, and one Inca struggling to stand up. We surrounded him and captured a dozen Incas in all, all of them men, and the Pizarros smiled.

  Then we found him. We found Manco Inca, the brother of Atahualpa. I thought he was dead at first to be perfectly honest. His eyes were wide and white and in perpetual fright, and they flickered uncontrollably.

  I put chains on his wrist and when I turned him over to uncover his face, I knew I had seen him before.

  Then as I called the men forward, the Pizarros all appeared and one by one, they patted me on the shoulder and carried off and surrounded Manco. They ordered off the dogs and stared at Manco’s battered eyes. They managed to get Manco to his feet and they kept their distance and looked all about for the translators. When the translators arrived they said to Manco that he would be treated very kindly if and only if he safely showed them to Cusco.

  Manco sputtered and stumbled and mumbled his words. I didn’t know what he said. The translators were equally confused.”

  X

  As night fell, the Spanish rested along the river stream and Manco slept chained to a tree.