The Sun Virgin
“Surely,” was the prompt response.
But in spite of all assurances, Francisco Pizarro left the scene with a
sense of foreboding. He knew his sullen brother well enough to realize
that the seeds of a death feud had been sown between the two men.
The arrival of Almagro’s men produced vast excitement in the ranks of
the Spanish soldiers. A demand for an immediate division of the gold
was made on the commander.
“But the ransom agreed on is not yet paid in full,” Pizarro answered.
“Why wait?” the leader of the delegation asked. “But a few inches
remain to be filled. It is enough if we only make sure against its
loss. The new men will demand a share if we wait. They have no rights
if divided now.”
“The gold is pouring in daily in thousands.”
“What of it?” the spokesman continued. “We are masters of the country.
It’s all ours now. We’re not going to run. Let’s divide and let every
man care for his own. The new men are eager to march on Cuzco and so
are we all.”
“I’ll march on Cuzco, never fear.”
“But let’s march now before they have time to hide their treasures.
Every hour we stay here will make them more difficult to find.”
The last argument of the man won Pizarro. He agreed to order the
division.
The Inca was notified by the commander that he had fulfilled the
conditions of his ransom, and great was the joy in his household.
“And I am free to go?” Atahualpa eagerly asked.
“The moment the formalities have been completed,” Pizarro assured him.
“Formalities?”
“Yes. Your smiths must melt down the treasure and its division and
conveyance to the coast must be assured before the transaction is
complete.”
The monarch frowned at the unexpected delay but agreed to summon his
smiths at once. They were instructed to reduce each article to ingots
of uniform size. As the articles were of many degrees of purity, the
removal of the alloy was a long and difficult process. They labored
day and night for five weeks at their tragic task. Most of them were
artisans of skill and some of them had wrought these works of art with
infinite pains. To melt them down at the command of strangers wrenched
their hearts. Their suffering at the sacrilege added to the delay.
The articles consisted of all sorts and sizes of goblets, plates,
cups, ewers, salvers, vases, bowls, pitchers, medallions, statues;
tiles and cornices from temples, and curious images of plants and
animals.
The most notable reproduction of plant life was a stalk and ear of
Indian corn, the staple food. The golden ear was wrapped in a silver
sheath from which hung tassels of silver thread.
Before melting down these wonderful specimens of ancient art Pizarro
decided to set aside as part of the fifth belonging to the Crown a
number of the most beautiful specimens for the palaces of Charles V.
Selections were made to the value of a hundred thousand ducats and
placed in the hands of Hernando Pizarro for delivery to the Emperor.
At the end of a month the work of molding the gold into uniform ingots
was finished. Under the eye of the king’s inspector from Spain they
were weighed carefully and their value reckoned. The total amount, we
are told by the ancient chronicler, was one million three hundred and
twenty-six thousand five hundred and thirty-nine _pesos de oro_,
equivalent to sixteen million dollars. To this was added a half million
in silver.
The report of its amazing value swept the camp, and quickly started a
storm of discussion, between the soldiers of Almagro and Pizarro. An
excited group stood around the fire in the center of the plaza arguing
with rising passion until long past midnight.
The commander thought best to allow them this liberty. The longer they
talked, the less likely a fight. He took pains, however, to have his
secretary send a faithful report of their debate.
“It’s all well enough,” muttered a veteran of the new army, “for our
leaders to shake hands and hug one another, but what good does that do
us? We enlisted under Almagro, who claimed to be Pizarro’s partner.
They signed their contract on the holy missal at the altar of the
church in Panama. We have the right to his share, one-third of the
whole.”
“Get your own gold, damn you,” was the short answer from a stalwart in
Pizarro’s crew. “We climbed the mountains, took our chances, fought for
our fortune and won it. We’d like to see you touch it!”
“We’ll have our share ...” said one of Almagro’s men.
“Sure as God lives!” cried another.
“You’ll take it over our dead bodies ...” answered Pizarro’s followers.
“All right--still we’ll take it--”
For hours they snarled.
By noon the following day they were gripping their weapons, ready for
battle. Almagro and Pizarro quickly took council.
“God’s Light! This will never do,” the little man growled. “We must
stop it.”
“And without delay,” Pizarro agreed. “Calm your men and you and I will
come to an understanding. A fight now would be an insanity that would
cost us everything.”
Almagro called his division of troops together and placed the
ringleader of the threatened mutiny directly in front. He bored him
through with his one eye in a look of keen appraisal that was little
to the fellow’s liking. It was impossible to withdraw into the crowd.
He would be marked at once as a coward if he did. He was compelled to
stand the gaze of his captain.
“The first thing I want you to understand, comrades, is that I am your
commander--are we agreed on that?”
The leader of the trouble saw his drift and growled a half-hearted
assent. The little captain fixed him again with his gleaming eye and
shouted:
“I don’t like your tone. I want to hear from every man before me--am I
your commander?”
From every throat came lusty approval.
“That’s better,” Almagro nodded. “Now listen! Back to your quarters and
leave the question of the division of this treasure in my hands. I will
reach an agreement with Francisco Pizarro. If I am satisfied, it is
enough for you.”
There was a faint murmur of dissent but the grumbler caught an ugly
gleam in the little captain’s eye and turned away in silence.
Almagro and Pizarro quickly agreed that a small sum should be paid to
the new force and they should reserve an amount equal to the Inca’s
ransom out of the first spoils taken in Cuzco. As an additional balm to
the dissatisfied a new _repartimiento_ was ordered of the natives
and five thousand slaves were assigned to Almagro’s men.
The settlement with Almagro made, Pizarro proceeded to the division of
the spoils. He summoned his own troops into the Square and addressed
them as was his custom on all important occasions.
“Comrades, you are now to receive the reward of your suffering and
trial. I ask the aid of Heaven that I may deal justly with all.”
The King’s fifth was delivered to the officers of the Crown, valued at
$3,300,000 in gold, a sum sufficient in its day to equip and maintain a
vast army of conquest for the Emperor Charles V.
To each common soldier was delivered a sum equal to $25,000. Men
who had lived the bitterest of lives of abject poverty, waifs, and
foundlings, as were both Pizarro and Almagro, suddenly found themselves
with money enough to maintain themselves in comfort for life, to say
nothing of twenty slaves each to do their bidding. In the history of
the world no such fortune had ever before fallen into the hands of a
common soldier. That they lost their heads for the moment was not to be
wondered at.
To Francisco Pizarro was allotted fifty-seven thousand two hundred and
twenty-two _pesos_ of gold and two thousand three hundred marks of
silver, making him a millionaire in the coin of our day. In addition,
as leader of the expedition, he was given the throne of the Inca, a
chair of solid gold valued at twenty-five thousand _pesos_.
Hernando Pizarro received thirty-two thousand _pesos de oro_ and
two thousand three hundred marks of silver.
De Soto was given eighteen thousand _pesos de oro_ and seven
hundred and twenty-four marks of silver.
The new church was named San Francisco in honor of Francisco Pizarro,
and endowed with two thousand two hundred and twenty _pesos_ of
gold. Almagro accepted twenty thousand _pesos_ for himself and as
much for distribution among his men.
An orgy of the wildest debauchery immediately followed. Pizarro was too
wise a leader of men to attempt to stem the turmoil until its force was
spent.
Within two weeks the institutions of the Christian civilization of
the sixteenth century were firmly established and in full swing. The
church, monastery, court room, and torture chamber had been built some
time before and chattel slavery had been imbedded in the social order.
Five hundred soldiers owned more than ten thousand slaves.
Two gambling halls were now opened and did an immense business. More
than one soldier parted with his entire fortune in a night. It was the
custom to stake his slaves one at a time. It was not considered good
form at this high tide of wealth for a man to wager less than a slave
on a single throw of dice. Within two weeks a new distribution of
wealth had been made. Almagro’s men had better luck than the veterans
of Pizarro. They had little to lose and by shrewd partnerships they
managed to relieve the drunken revelers of a large part of their golden
burdens. There was no longer serious cause for complaint. Both factions
were shouting now:
“On to Cuzco!”
A red light district was established near the Plaza and the owners
filled the houses with slave girls lost in the gambling hells. The
diseases of this institution were early established and widely spread,
to the amazement and terror of the natives. Begging, vagrancy and theft
made their appearance and the complete machinery of civilization was in
full blast.
Felipillo, the renegade, in a desperate effort to keep pace with his
fellow Christians, attempted to abduct the unfaithful wife of the Inca
whom he had seduced. Like a noble Spaniard he boldly entered the royal
apartments, took the girl and was leading her to the door when he was
seized by attendants and dragged before the Inca.
In strict accordance with the native law he was immediately sentenced
to death.
He faced Atahualpa with fury.
“I am no longer your subject. I demand to be taken before Francisco
Pizarro--your master and mine. Dare to lay your hand on me and your own
life will pay the forfeit.”
The Inca feared to proceed without consulting the commander. When
Pizarro appeared he was puzzled for the moment. The last thing he could
afford in this crisis was to provoke an uprising, the one terror he
must ever fear. How far the natives would resent this crime against the
person of their sovereign he could only guess. As they had suffered
his capture, his chains and his long imprisonment he decided to take a
chance. The interpreter was too valuable a man to be executed at this
junction. He asked for clemency.
“Release the man, Your Highness, and I will vouch for his good behavior
hereafter.”
Atahualpa, seeing no other course possible, reluctantly consented.
Felipillo threw him a look of hate, drew himself erect and marched to
the door. He stopped, gazed at the Inca a moment and said in low tones:
“Remember, O Lord of a cloudy Sun, and some day regret.”
CHAPTER XXVI
Pizarro yet had made no motion to carry out his agreement to release
the Inca. And Atahualpa waited with ill-concealed impatience the
strange delay.
The two captains on whose shoulders now rested all decisions were in
daily conference on the problem. Felipillo had again set in motion
rumors of an approaching army.
The question over which Pizarro and Almagro hourly brooded was what to
do with their captive. That he had been promised freedom on payment of