Temple

Renco and I charged through the teeming mass of people, galloping at tremendous speed as the hordes of cheering Incans opened up before us and urged us on.

We dismounted near the base of the mighty fortress Sac-sayhuaman and walked quickly through a crowd of Indian warriors.

As we walked through the Incan ranks, I saw that numerous stakes had been driven into the ground all around us.

Mounted on top of the stakes were the bloodied heads of Spanish soldiers. On some stakes, the entire bodies of captured Spaniards had been impaled. Their heads and feet had been hacked off. I walked quickly, mindful to stay close behind my friend Renco.

Then all at once, the crowd in front of us parted and I saw, standing before me at one of the entrances to the giant stone fortress, an Indian dressed in a most glorious manner.

He wore a dazzling red cape and a gold-plated necklace and on his head sat a magnificent jewel-encrusted crown. He was surrounded by an entourage of at least twenty warriors and attendants.

It was Manco. The Sapa Inca.

Manco embraced Renco and they exchanged words in Quechuan, the Incans' language. Renco later translated it for me thus:

'Brother,' said the Sapa Inca. 'We were anxious as to your whereabouts. We heard that you had been captured, or worse, killed. And you are the only one who is permitted to enter the vault and rescue the—'

'Yes, brother, I know,' said Renco. 'Listen, we have no time. I must enter the city now. Has the river entrance been used yet?'

'No,' said Manco, 'we have refrained from using it as you instructed, so as not to alert the gold-eaters of its existence.'

'Good,' said Renco. He hesitated before he spoke again. 'I have another question.'

'What is it?'

'Bassario,' said Renco. 'Is he inside the city walls?'

'Bassario?' Manco frowned. 'Well, I… I do not know…'

'Was he in the city when it fell?'

'Well, yes.'

'Where was he?'

'Why, he was in the peasant prison,' said Manco. 'Where he has been for the past Year. Where he belongs. Why? What need have you of a fiend like Bassario?'

'Let it not concern you now, brother,' said Renco. 'For it will matter for nothing if I do not find the idol first.'

Just then there came an almighty commotion from some where behind us and both Renco and I turned.

What I saw filled my heart with unimaginable horror: a column of Spanish soldiers—no fewer than three hundred of them, resplendent in their forged silver armour and distinctive pointed helmets—came charging into the valley from the northern tollgates, their muskets firing. Their horses were covered in heavy silver plating and, thus protected, the mounted Spanish troops cut a swathe through the ranks of the Incan warriors in front of them.

As I watched the column of conquistadors hack their way through the Incan ranks, trampling the Indians before them, I beheld two of the riders near the head of the procession, both of whom I recognised. The first was the Captain, Hernando Pizarro, the Governor's brother and a most cruel man. His distinctive black moustache and unkempt woolly beard were visible even from where I stood, four hundred paces away.

The second horseman was a figure whom I recognised with some degree of dread. Indeed, so much so that I took a second glance at him. But my worst fears were confirmed.

It was Castino.

The brutish Chanca who had been in the San Vicente with Renco. Only now he rode with his hands unmanacled— free—alongside Hernando.

And then all at once I understood.

Castino must have overheard my conversations with Renco…

He was leading Hernando to the vault inside the Coricancha.

Renco knew this, too. 'By the gods,' said he. He turned with haste to his brother. 'I must go. I must go now.”

'Speed to you, brother,' said Manco.

Renco nodded curtly to the Sapa Inca and then turned to me and said in Spanish, 'Come. We must hurry.'

We left the Sapa Inca and hastened around to the south side of the city, the side furthest from Sacsayhuaman. As we did so, I saw Hernando and his horsemen charge in through the city's northern gate.

'Where are we going?' I inquired as we strode quickly through the angry crowd.

'To the lower river,' was all my companion said in reply.

At length, we came to the river which ran alongside the southern wall of the city. I looked up at the wall on the other side of the stream and saw Spanish soldiers armed with muskets and swords walking the ramparts, silhouetted by the orange light of the fires burning behind them.

Renco strode purposefully toward the river and, to my great surprise, stepped boots-and-all straight into the water.

'Wait!' I cried. 'Where are you going?'

'Down there,' said he, indicating the body of water.

'But I… I can't. I can't go in there with you.'

Renco gripped my arm firmly. 'My friend Alberto, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you have done, what you have risked to allow me to complete my mission.