Matthew Reilly - Temple

‘Not long,’ the criminal answered. ‘It will be done by dawn.’

‘You have half that time,’ said Renco, turning away from Bassario and looking at the assembled group of survivors gathered behind him in the citadel. It did not give him much hope. Before him stood Vilcafor—old and vain and frail—and seven Inca warriors, those who had been lucky enough to be inside the citadel when the rapas had first attacked. In addition to the seven warriors, however, Renco saw only an assortment of frightened looking older men, women and children.

‘Renco,’ I whispered. ‘What are we going to do?’

My brave companion pursed his lips in thought. Then he spoke thusly: ‘We are going to put an end to all this suffering. Once and for all.’

And with that, while Bassario worked feverishly to finish his replica of the idol, Renco began to organise the surviving members of Vilcafor. ‘Now listen,’ said he as they gathered around him in a tight circle, ‘the goldeaters will be here by sunrise. By my reckoning, that gives us less than two hours to prepare for their arrival. ‘Women, children and older kin—you will enter the quenko under the direction of my sister and get as far away from the village as possible. ‘Warriors,’ he said, turning to face the seven surviving warriors of the village. ‘You will come with me, to this temple that Vilcafor speaks of. If these rapas come from within that building, then we will just have to put them back inside it. We shall lure them into the temple with the song of the wet idol and then we shall shut them back inside it. Now go, gather together whatever weapons you can muster.’ The warriors hurried off.

‘Lena,’ said Renco. ‘Yes, brother?’

His beautiful sister appeared at his side. She smiled at me as she arrived, her eyes gleaming.

‘I’ll need the largest bladder you can find,’ said Renco. ‘Filled with rainwater.’

‘It will be done,’ said Lena, hastening away.

‘What about Hernando?’ I inquired of Renco.

‘What if he arrives while we are engaged in returning the rapas to their lair?’ Said Renco, ‘If, as my sister reports, he is following us with Chanca trackers, then as soon as he arrives here, he will know in which direction we have gone. Trust me, good Alberto, I am counting on such action. For when he finds me, he shall find an idol with me… and by my word, I shall give him that idol.’

‘Hernando is a cold, callous man, Renco,’ said I, ‘vicious and remorseless. You cannot expect honour from him. Once you give him the idol, he will kill you for sure.’

‘I know.’

‘But then why—’

‘My friend, what is the greater good?’ said Renco softly. His face was kind, his voice calm. ‘That I live and Hernando gets my people’s idol? Or that I die and he gets a worthless replica of it?’ He smiled at me. ‘Personally, I would rather live, but I am afraid that there is more at stake here than just my life.’ The citadel became a hive of activity as the people of Vilcafor went about preparing themselves for what was to come. Renco himself went off to brief the town’s warriors more fully. As he did so, I took the opportunity to join Bassario for a short while and watch him fashion his replica of the idol. Truth be told—and God forgive me for this—I had an ulterior motive for speaking to him. ‘Bassario,’ I whispered hesitantly, ‘does… does Lena have a husband?’

Bassario shot me an impish grin. ‘Why, monk, you old rascal,’ said he in a full voice. I begged him in hushed tones not to speak so loudly. Bassario, as one would expect of such a rogue, was highly amused.

‘She once had a husband,’ said he eventually. ‘But their marriage ended many moons ago, before the arrival of goldeaters. Lena’s husband’s name was Huarca and he was a promising young warrior, and their marriage insofar as an arranged marriage can be was viewed as one of great promise. Little did anyone know, however, that Huarca was prone to fits of rage. After the birth of their son, Huarca began to beat Lena savagely. It was said that Lena would endure these beatings in order to protect Mani from his father’s fury. Apparently she succeeded in this aim. Huarca never beat the boy once.’

‘Why did she not leave him?’ I inquired. ‘After all, she is a princess of your people.’

‘Huarca threatened to kill the boy if Lena told anyone about the beatings.’

Good Lord, I thought. ‘So what happened then?’ I inquired.

‘It was all uncovered by accident, really,’ said Bassario. ‘One day Renco called on Lena unexpectedly—only to find her cowering in a corner of her home, cradling her son in her arms. She had tears in her eyes and her face was bloody and bruised. ‘Huarca was captured immediately and sentenced to death. I believe he was ultimately dropped into a pit with a pair of hungry jungle cats. They tore him limb from limb.’

Bassario shook his head. ‘Monk, the man who beats his wife is the lowest form of coward—the lowest form. I should think Huarca met a fitting end.’

I left Bassario to his work and repaired to a corner of the citadel to ready myself for the coming mission. After a short time, Renco joined me to do the same. He was still wearing the Spanish attire that he had stolen from the prison hulk many weeks ago—the brown leather vest, the white pantaloons, the knee-high leather boots. The extra clothing, he once told me, had been of immense value to him during our arduous trek through the rainforest. He slipped a quiver over his shoulder, began putting his sword belt on around his waist.

‘Renco?’ said I.

‘Yes?’

‘Why was Bassario in prison?’

‘Ah, Bassario…’ he sighed sadly. I waited for him to elaborate. ‘Believe it or not, but Bassario was once a prince,’ Renco said. ‘A most esteemed young prince. Indeed, his father was no less than the Royal Stonemason, a brilliant builder and fashioner of stone, the most venerated engineer in the empire. Bassario was his son and protégé, and soon he too became a brilliant stonemason. Why, by the age of sixteen, he had surpassed his father in knowledge and skill, despite the fact that his father was the Royal Stonemason, the man who built citadels for the Sapa Inca! ‘But Bassario was reckless. He was a brilliant sports man—indeed as an archer he had no peer—but like many of his ilk, he was prone to drinking and gambling and disporting with the pretty young maidens of Cuzco’s more raucous quarters. Unfortunately for him, however, his success with women was not mirrored at the gambling houses. He accumulated a monstrous debt with some less than reputable fellows. Then, when the debt became too great for him to repay, those rogues decided that Bassario would repay it another way—with his considerable talents.’

‘How?’

‘Bassario repaid them by using his brilliant stonemasonry skills to carve forgeries of famous statues and priceless treasures. Emerald or gold, silver or jade, whatever the substance, Bassario could replicate even the most complex object. ‘Once he had copied a famous statue, his nefarious colleagues would break into the home of the real idol’s owner and substitute Bassario’s fake for the real one. ‘Their scheme worked for almost a year and the criminals profited immensely from it until one day, Bassario’s “friends” were discovered in the home of the Sapa Inca’s cousin, caught in the act of switching a fake idol for the real one. ‘Bassario’s role in the scheme was soon uncovered. He was sent to prison and his entire family disgraced. His father was removed as Royal Stonemason and stripped of his titles. My brother, the Sapa Inca, decreed that Bassario’s family were to be relocated from their home in the royal quarter to one of Cuzco’s roughest slums.’

I took this all in silently. Renco went on, ‘I thought that the penalty was too harsh and told my brother so, but he wanted to make an example of Bassario and he ignored my pleas.’ Renco gazed over at Bassario, working away in the corner of the citadel. ‘Bassario was once a very noble young man. Flawed certainly, but essentially noble. That was why when it became my duty to rescue the idol from the Coricancha, I decided that I would use his talents to aid my quest. I reasoned that if the criminal elements of Cuzco could employ his skills to suit their own ends, then I most certainly could too, in my mission to rescue my people’s Spirit.’ At length Bassario finished his replica of the idol. When he was done, he brought the fake idol—together with the real one—over to Renco. Renco held both idols out in front of him. I looked at them over his shoulder and truly such was Bassario’s skill that I could not tell which was the real one and which was the fraud. Bassario retired to his corner of the citadel and began gathering his things together—his sword, his quiver, his longbow.