The walls on either side of me became indistinguishable blurs of grey as we all but flew through the crooked alleyways of Cuzco with Hernando's soldiers ever close behind us.
As we evaded our pursuers, every now and then we would see brigades of Spanish troops running through the streets, racing for the ramparts.
We also—-I am ashamed to say—saw stakes not unlike those outside the city walls. They were set up in every one of the city's plazas, row after row of stakes, upon which were impaled the horribly mutilated bodies of captured Incan warriors. These warriors had had their hands, heads and genitals hacked off.
In one such plaza, Renco saw an Incan longbow hanging from one of the desecrated corpses. He seized it and the quiver full of arrows on the ground beside it and then ducked back into the maze of alleyways. I just followed close behind him, not daring to let him out of my sight.
At length, however, Renco turned abruptly and entered a building of some sort. It was a squat stone structure, remarkably solid. In fact, so solid it almost looked fortified.
We passed through several outer rooms before we descended a flight of stone steps and came to a very large subterranean hall.
The hall was divided into two levels—one wide lower and an upper landing that was little more than a balcony that ran around the circumference of the hall.
But it was the lower storey that held my attention.
There were nearly one hundred holes in the dirt floor of hall—pits over which a network of thin stone bridges
With a surge of dread, I realized where we were.
We were in an Incan dungeon.
I was reminded of the fact that these Incans had not yet metallurgy, hence they had no bars to create A pit, I saw, was their answer to this dilemma.
I looked up at the balcony that overlooked the lower It was a guard-walk, for the prison guards to patrol they looked down on the prisoners.
Renco didn't miss a step. He just marched out onto one narrow stone bridges and peered down into the holes in it. Wails and shouts erupted from below, from the starving prisoners who had been left in their pits the siege had begun a week earlier.
Renco stopped above one of the pits. I followed him out the stone bridge and looked down into the dirty hole truly, this is what I saw.
The pit itself must have been at least five paces deep, arthen walls. Escape was impossible. At the got-
of the dirty well sat a man of average size, but filthy and putrid. Although he was thin, this man did not seem
nor was he shouting like the rest of the poor, forlorn creatures in the prison hall. He just sat with his back pressed up against the wall of his pit, looking, if anything, relaxed and at ease. His composure that wanton coolness of criminals around the world—made my skin crawl. I wondered what Renco could want with such a character.
'Bassario,' said Renco.
The criminal smiled. 'Why if it isn't the good prince Renco…'
'I need your help,' said Renco directly.
The prisoner seemed to find this humorous. “I cannot imagine what the good prince could possibly want with my skills,” the criminal laughed. 'What is it, Renco? Now that your kingdom is in ruins are you thinking of embarking upon a life of crime?'
Renco looked back toward the entrance to the under ground chamber, watching for Spaniards. I shared his concern. We had been in this dungeon too long already.
'I will only ask you this once, Bassario,' said Renco firmly.
'If you choose to help me, I will take you out of here. If you do not so choose, then I will leave you to die in this pit.'
'An interesting choice,' remarked the criminal.
'Well?'
The criminal Bassario stood. 'Get me out of this hole.'
Renco immediately went to fetch a wooden ladder rest ing against the far wall.
For my part, I was worried about Hernando and his men.
They could arrive at any moment and here Renco was bar gaining with a convict! I hurried over to the door through which we had entered the prison hall. When I got there I peered around the stone doorframe—
—and saw the dark demon-like figure of Hernando Pizarro striding down the stairs toward me!
My blood curdled at the sight—the wild brown eyes, the hooked black moustache, the scraggly black beard that had not been shaved for weeks.
I whirled back inside the doorway and started running.
'Renco!'
Renco had only just lowered the ladder into Bassario's pit when he turned and saw the first Spanish soldier come charging into the prison hall behind me.
Renco's hands moved quickly and in an instant he had his longbow raised with an arrow drawn back to his ear. He let fly with the missile and it streaked across the room, careering right for my head. I ducked and the arrow
