Ines of My Soul (10 page)

As soon as Diego de Almagro left with his men for Chile, Pizarro was faced with widespread insurgency. Seeing the forces of the
viracochas—
the Peruvians' name for Spaniards—divided, the Indians rose up against the invaders. Without help, and soon, the conquest of the Inca empire would be endangered, as well as the lives of the Spaniards, who were forced to contend with numbers far greater than their own. When Francisco Pizarro's call for aid reached Española, Valdivia heard it, and without a moment's hesitation decided to go to Peru.

For Pedro de Valdivia, the mere name—Peru—evoked visions of inconceivable riches, along with a picture of the refined civilization his friend Alderete had described with such eloquence. In fact, he had thought when he heard Alderete's account that it was a civilization to be admired, even though not everything about it was worthy of praise. He knew that the Incas were cruel, and that they were ferocious in controlling their people. After a battle, if the vanquished did not accept being absorbed into the empire, no captive was left alive, and at the least hint of discontent entire villages were relocated a thousand leagues away. They tortured their enemies, including women and children, in horrible ways. The Inca, who wed his sisters in order to guarantee the purity of the royal blood lines, was the divinity incarnate, the soul of the empire—past, present, and future. Of Atahualpa it was said that he had thousands of maidens in his seraglio and an uncountable number of slaves, that he enjoyed personally torturing prisoners, and that he often cut the throats of his ministers with his own hand. The faceless, voiceless people lived in subjection; their destiny was to labor from childhood to death to benefit the orejones
—
the priests, military, and members of the court—who lived in Babylonian splendor while an ordinary man and his family barely survived, living off a piece of land they occupied but did not own. The Spanish reported that many Indians practiced sodomy—a sin punished with death in Spain—even though the Inca rulers had forbidden it. There were many tales of sexual excess in the Inca society, proof of which could be found in the erotic ceramics adventurers showed in taverns for the entertainment of the customers, who had never suspected that there were so many ways to disport themselves. It was also reported that a mother broke her daughter's hymen with her finger before giving her to a man.

Valdivia found nothing wrong in aspiring to the fortune he might find in Peru. Riches, however, were not his incentive; that came from feeling it his duty to fight beside his fellows and his desire to achieve the glory that had until then been so evasive. A sense of honor distinguished Valdivia from others who had joined the expedition to go to Pizarro's aid; they were dazzled by the gleam of gold. This is what Valdivia himself told me, many times, and I believed him because his behavior would have been consistent with the other decisions of his life. Years later, driven by idealism, he sacrificed the security and wealth he had finally obtained in an attempt to conquer Chile, which Diego de Almagro had in the end failed to accomplish. Glory, always glory, that was the lodestar of his life. No one loved Pedro more than I did; no one knew him better than I, which is why I can speak of his virtues, just as later I must refer to his defects, which were not minor. It is true that he betrayed me and behaved in a cowardly fashion with me, but even the most valiant and honorable men sometimes fail their women. And I can speak with authority when I say that Pedro de Valdivia
was
one of the most valiant and honorable men among all those who have come to the New World.

Valdivia traveled to Panamá by land, and from there, in 1537, along with four hundred soldiers, sailed to Peru. The journey took a couple of months, and when he reached his destination the Indians' uprising had already been subdued by the opportune arrival of Diego de Almagro, who had returned from Chile in time to join his forces with those of Francisco Pizarro. Almagro had crossed icy peaks in his advance toward the south; he had survived incredible hardships and had returned across the hottest desert on the planet, a ruined man. His expedition to Chile had reached the Bío-Bío, the same river along which the Incas, seventy years before, had retreated when they had unsuccessfully tried to take the land of the Indians of the south, the Mapuche. The Incas, like Almagro and his men, had been stopped by these warring people.

Mapu-ché, “people of the earth,” they call themselves, although now they are called Araucanos, a more sonorous name given them by the poet Alonso de Ercilla y Zúñiga, who took it from who knows where—perhaps from Arauco, an area farther to the south. I intend to call them Mapuche—the word has no plural in my language—until I die, since that is how they call themselves. It does not seem just that their name was changed only to make it easier to rhyme
: araucano, castellano, hermano, cristiano
, and on and on for three hundred quartos. Alonso was a runny-nosed boy living in Madrid when we first Spaniards fought on this soil. He came to the conquest of Chile a little late, but his verses will tell the epic story through the centuries. When there is nothing left of the spirited founders of Chile, not even the dust of our bones, they will remember us through the work of that young man who, in his eagerness to make his lines rhyme, is not always faithful to the facts. Furthermore, he does not always present us in the best light. I fear that many of his admirers will have a slightly erroneous impression of what the war of the Araucanía was.

Ercilla accuses the Spaniards of cruelty and an excessive hunger for wealth, while he exalts the Mapuche, to whom he attributes qualities of bravery, nobility, chivalry, a spirit of justice, and even tenderness with their women. I believe I know them better than Alonso because I have spent forty years defending what we founded in Chile, and he was here for only a few months. I admire the Mapuche for their courage and their deep love of their land, but I can tell you that they are not models of sweetness and compassion. The romantic love that Alonso so extols is quite rare among them. Every man has several wives, whom he prizes for their labor, and for bearing his children. At least this is what we are told by the Spanish women who have been kidnapped by them. The humiliations they suffered in captivity were so great that these poor, shamed women often choose not to return to the bosom of their families. On the other hand, I must admit that Spaniards do not treat the Indian women who serve them and satisfy their lust any better. The Mapuche do surpass us in some aspects. For example, they do not know greed. Gold, land, titles, honors, none of those things interests them. They have no roof but the sky, no bed other than moss. They roam free through the forest, hair streaming in the wind, galloping the horses they have stolen from us. Another virtue I celebrate is that they keep their word. It is not they who break pacts, but we. In times of war they attack by surprise, but not in betrayal, and in times of peace they honor accords. Before we came they knew nothing of torture, and they respected their prisoners of war. Their worst punishment is exile, banishment from the family and the tribe. That is more feared than death. Serious crimes are paid for with a swift execution. The condemned man digs his own grave, into which he throws small sticks and stones as he names the beings he wants to accompany him to the next world. When he has finished, he is dealt a fatal blow to the skull.

I am amazed by the power of Alonso's verses, which invent history and defy and conquer oblivion. Words that do not rhyme, like mine, do not have the authority of poetry, but in any case I am obliged to relate my version of events in order to leave an account of the labors we women have contributed in Chile; they tend to be overlooked by the chroniclers, however informed they may be. At least you, Isabel, must know the truth, for though you are not the child of my blood, you
are
the child of my heart. I suppose that statues of me will be erected in the plazas, and there will be streets and cities that bear my name, as there will be of Pedro de Valdivia and other conquistadors, but the hundreds of brave women who founded the towns while their men fought the wars will be forgotten.

But I have wandered. Let us return to what I was telling, because I do not have very long; my heart is weary.

Diego de Almagro abandoned the conquest of Chile, forced by the invincible resistance of the Mapuche, the pressure of his soldiers—disenchanted by the scarcity of gold—and the bad news of the Indians' rebellion in Peru. He returned in order to aid Francisco Pizarro and snuff out the insurrection, and then together to achieve the definitive defeat of the enemy hordes. The proud empire of the Incas, devastated by hunger and the violence and chaos of war, was broken. However, far from being grateful for Almagro's intervention on their behalf, Francisco Pizarro and his brothers turned against him; their sights were on Cuzco, a city granted to Almagro in the territorial division set out by Emperor Charles V. Their own vast holdings, with their incalculable riches, were not enough to satisfy the ambition of the Pizarro brothers. They wanted more. They wanted everything.

Pizarro and Almagro ended by taking up arms and facing off in a brief battle at Abancay that ended in Pizarro's defeat. Almagro, always magnanimous, treated his prisoners with unusual clemency, even the brothers of Francisco Pizarro, his implacable enemies. Because they admired Almagro's conduct, many of the defeated soldiers went over to his ranks, while his loyal captains begged him to execute the Pizarros and take advantage of his victory to claim all of Peru. Almagro ignored their counsel and opted for reconciliation with the ungrateful partner who had wronged him.

It was during this period that Pedro de Valdivia arrived in Ciudad de los Reyes and placed himself at the disposal of the person who had summoned him: Francisco Pizarro. Always respectful of the law, he did not question the authority or the intentions of the governor; he was the representative of Charles V, and that was enough. Nevertheless, the last thing Valdivia wanted was to be embroiled in a civil war. He had come to combat insurgent Indians, and it had never crossed his mind that he would have to fight other Spaniards. He tried to act as intermediary between Pizarro and Almagro and reach a peaceful solution, and at one moment believed he was about to achieve it. But he did not know Pizarro, who said one thing but in the shadows was planning another. While the governor was stalling, making declarations of friendship, he was preparing his plan to rid himself of Almagro, always with the single thought of governing alone and gaining Cuzco. He envied Almagro's virtues: his eternal optimism and especially the loyalty he inspired in his soldiers. He knew that he himself was detested.

After more than a year of skirmishes, broken agreements, and betrayals, the forces of the two rivals met again at Las Salinas, near Cuzco. Francisco Pizarro was not leading his army; he had placed it under the command of Pedro de Valdivia, whose military merits were widely respected. Pizarro had named Valdivia his field marshal because he had fought under the marqués de Pescara in Italy, and was experienced in European tactics. After all, facing badly armed, anarchical Indians was a far different matter from encountering disciplined Spanish soldiers. Also representing Pizarro was his brother Hernando, hated for his cruelty and arrogance. I want to make this part very clear, so that no one can blame Pedro de Valdivia for atrocities committed during those days. Of those I had conclusive proof, for it fell to me to tend the poor wretches whose wounds, months after the battle, still had not healed. Pizarro's troops had cannons and two hundred more men than Almagro. They were well outfitted with new harquebuses and deadly cannon shot; those iron balls, when fired, burst open and sprayed knife-sharp projectiles. Their morale was good, and they were well rested, while their opponents had just undergone great hardships in Chile as well as the task of putting down the Peruvian Indians' uprising. Diego de Almagro himself was very ill, and he, like Pizarro, did not personally take part in the battle.

The two armies met one rosy dawn in the valley of Las Salinas, as from the hillsides thousands of Quechua Indians observed the entertaining spectacle of
viracochas
killing one another like rabid beasts. They did not understand the ceremonies, or the reasons why those bearded warriors were fighting. First they lined up in orderly rows, displaying their polished armor and sleek horses, then they knelt on one knee while other
viracochas
in black robes performed some magic with crosses and silver vessels. They put a little piece of bread in their mouths, touched their fingers to their foreheads and chests, received blessings, bowed to their fellows across the field of battle, and finally, after about two hours of this dance, prepared to kill one another. And that they did with methodical and terrible cruelty. For hours and hours, they fought hand to hand, yelling the same words: “Long live the king and Spain!” and “Forward in the name of Santiago!” In the confusion and dust raised by the horses' hooves and the men's boots, it was impossible to tell one side from another; all their uniforms had turned the same clay color. In the meantime, the Indians whooped, laid bets, enjoyed their roasted corn and salted meat, chewed coca, drank chicha, got too hot, and finally rested because the battle was lasting too long.

At the end of the day, Pizarro's army emerged victorious, thanks to the military acumen of the field marshal, Pedro de Valdivia, hero of the day, but it was Hernando Pizarro who gave the last order: “Slit their throats!” His soldiers, animated by an enmity that they themselves could not later explain or the chroniclers set right, unleashed a bloodbath against hundreds of their compatriots, many of whom had been their brothers in the adventure of discovering and conquering Peru. They finished off the wounded in Almagro's forces and blasted their way into Cuzco, where they raped the women—Spanish as well as Indian and black—and robbed and pillaged until they had had enough. They were as savage in their treatment of the vanquished as the Incas were, which was saying a lot because the native Peruvians were not known to be merciful. It is enough to recall that among their habitual tortures were hanging a condemned man by his feet, with his guts wrapped around his neck, or flaying him, and then while he was still alive, using his skin to make a drum.