The sun began to sink, and we women hurried to collect firewood from the edge of the forest. We did not notice the warriors approaching. By the time we looked up they had surrounded us.
They were well made, tall and muscular men, with dark hair and deep-brown skin, beardless. They wore a sort of uniform or livery, identical tunics with lengths of cloth wrapped about their heads, much like the Muslims wear. Their commander was the tallest of the group. He had strong, handsome features, and a helmet fashioned like an animal’s head, its mouth bared in a snarl. The light of our fire flickered on their bronze skin, their shields and spears with gold tips, and the great gold discs like the sun that hung from the commander’s ears. They were a frightening sight, but they simply stared, making no move to attack or harm us. Instead they pointed at the ship and conversed among themselves, yet when the commander looked at us huddled together I sensed restraint and courtesy. His eyes were dark and deep, and his chest very broad. Sor Maria Manuela finally nudged me and snapped, “Do not stare so, Salome! Close your mouth!”
The commander and his men gathered around the terrified sailors, who with signs and pointing, attempted to explain where we had come from. The commander pointed at us, and the sailors shook their heads and gestured violently to explain that we were not their women. One of them pointed to us and then to the sky,
over and over. “Kneel and say prayers; show them,” one of the sailors called out. So we did, making a great show of folding our hands and bowing our heads. There was more pointing at the heavens.
The natives pointed up, too, directly at the setting sun. The sailors nodded and pointed at us, then at the disappearing sun. They pointed at themselves, then at the other men, and shook their heads. They made signs of small people—children we supposed—with their hands, pointed at us, and then shook their heads. The natives looked bewildered, and it would have been amusing if we had not been so frightened. Finally one of the sailors pointed to his codpiece, and made a crude rocking motion with his hips, then shook his head no and pointed at us. Then he pointed at the setting sun again. The commander gasped, stepped back and snapped an order, and to our relief, the warriors disappeared.
On the beach the sailors made a fire and sleeping place for us some distance from theirs. At first glance the sailors had seemed so much rougher than the few men, priests and pilgrims and beggars, that we saw in the convent that we had been nervous about our situation with them, but as we became better acquainted we learned most were from
converso
families and they boasted Muslims made the best sailors. They insisted that honor obliged them to regard us as their sisters.
That night we overheard them discussing what to do when the repairs were finished, whether to sail on in the hope of reaching some known place or whether to turn back and brave the Sea of Fog and Darkness again. And was it safer for the women to stay behind while they sought the best passage, to return for us later, or was it preferable if we took our chances with them? All agreed they could not leave us here alone, and decided to draw lots to select three to remain behind with us.
As they debated, we huddled together for warmth and had our own discussion. There were already too few sailors to crew the ship.
It was not right to separate the men and jeopardize their chance of a return to their families. We finally agreed they must leave us here. Sor Maria Manuela said that the natives had not harmed us; perhaps we could obtain shelter from them. The other three nuns agreed, saying we must trust God and stay. The beatas, one by one, said that they would abide by the decision of the nuns and that the novices should do the same. The other novices, however, wept and wished to go back. I was prepared to trust the commander.
We all fell quiet. I kept my book by my side at all times, with a pen and the last cake of ink wrapped in the pocket of my habit. I hugged the book to my chest and folded my hands in the sleeves of my habit, trying to meditate on something besides the memory of the commander’s handsome face, muscular arms, and broad shoulders. The sailors finally slept and we watched on, turning our backs to the fire for warmth. Hunger makes us feel the cold sharply. We had eaten so little in recent weeks that our teeth were loose in our mouths.
Then, without our hearing a sound, we looked up to see ourselves surrounded. A silent group of native women in tunics stared curiously at us. Like the men earlier, they were handsome, straight and tall and with bronze skin that glowed in the firelight, dark haired, with steady gazes and calm manners. They were not armed, but carried cloaks in their arms. They pulled us to our feet and put the cloaks around our shoulders. These cloaks were made of some wonderful material, miraculously soft and warm.
Then the women put their arms around us and drew us away. Befuddled with cold and sleep, we did not call out to the sailors until it was too late, and by then the women had taken us into the forest, where we came to a low building of stone whose entrance was lit by great torches. It seemed to be a kind of native palace. Inside many fires sent light dancing on objects of gold and silver placed around the rooms. The walls were covered with hangings
woven in many colors and patterns, and the same cloth covered some low divans in an inner room where we were seated. The sensation of warmth was almost painful to our aching limbs.
They brought us bowls of gruel with strips of what appeared to be leather, which was dried meat, like mutton—strange but delicious, though we sucked it instead of chewing on account of our poor teeth. There were brightly colored fruits, sweet and starchy, and silver bowls of some warm bitter drink that made us feel light-headed, yet revived. “Chicha,” the women murmured. We did not know if this was the name of their tribe or a kind of welcome—later we learned it was the favorite drink of the place.
We were unsure whether to be cheered or frightened by these attentions. Finally we were led to a room with couches piled with more finely woven coverings and left to sleep, which we did at once, deeply. Such splendor to find among the native people! The last thing I remember is thinking how fortunate it was that I had been clutching the book in my arms when the native women appeared. I still had it when I fell asleep.
The next day we could not tell if we were prisoners or guests. We tried to communicate in signs, but the women’s response was to point to the sky. We nodded vigorously and pointed to the sky and then to ourselves, trying to indicate that we served God who lived in heaven. The women nodded some more and spoke to each other in their language. For the next week we submitted to being cared for, sleeping much of the time.
After a week we were restored and anxious to return to the sailors. Covered litters arrived, born by men who averted their eyes in fear while we were made comfortable. The litters were lifted onto their shoulders, but we soon realized that instead of returning to the sailors we were traveling toward the mountains! We went on for days, stopping each night at houses, like
refugios
, where the women who walked behind our litters had hurried ahead to build
fires, and prepare food and bedding. We reached the foothills of the great white-capped mountains, where the slopes were terraced for orchards and gardens, just as they were in Andalusia, and strange long-necked beasts stared with human eyes as we passed. We were now worried and frightened.
Finally we saw buildings in the distance. As we approached the outskirts of what appeared to be a native city, a great procession of women in finer garments than those who had accompanied us came singing toward us. As we alighted, the singing grew louder and we were led into the building, which curiously seemed made of one solid piece of stone. However, when we examined it, we saw blocks of stone marvelously cut to fit seamlessly together. Inside, there were the same kinds of beautiful hangings we had seen in the first house, and fine gold and silver ornaments everywhere. As before, there were many women to wait on us. Then came a tall, beautiful woman with two pretty, graceful girls of about eight and ten who resembled her, all finely dressed and wearing a great many gold ornaments and feathers.
We guessed that we were being honored by a lady of standing—a queen or a princess perhaps. This elegant lady spoke for a long time, and though we could not understand the words, their graciousness was plain. She waved her hands to indicate the palace and its contents. Then she and her daughters withdrew in a dignified manner, all the native women and slaves prostrating themselves as they went. Our bows seemed inadequate in comparison.
That night, after a very large and fine meal, we said our prayers and settled on our couches to sleep. All through the night we heard each other turning restlessly and sighing—we were uneasy and very worried about the poor sailors.
Then God sent us a sign. The next morning after our prayers, we heard the familiar chirping. “
Golondrinas
!” we exclaimed joyfully. Following the sound we discovered a garden where the dear,
familiar birds hopped between glossy plants and vivid flowers, like none we had ever seen, lush and oddly glittering. A novice bent to pluck a flower and drew her hand back quickly with a shriek. The garden was made of silver and gold and precious stones!
“No food for you here,” said Sor Maria Manuela briskly to the swallows. “We must scatter crumbs for you. And here I think God teaches us a lesson, sisters—if these birds cannot subsist on gold and jewels, we cannot do God’s work if we give way to luxury and comfort. God must have led us here instead of Gran Canaria to establish our mission. We must return to a lifestyle proper for nuns, learn the natives’ language, and make ourselves useful in this place.”
Her bracing words recalled us to our duty. Our first attempts to assist with the tasks of the household were rebuffed by our scandalized serving women and slaves. Plainly anxious to fulfill our wishes, they nevertheless tried to prevent our putting a hand to any task, however light. To their dismay we persisted, and in the days that followed, working side by side, we asked the names of things—women, water, food and animals, cloth, washing, sleeping, sunlight, rain, and so on—in the language we came to understand was Quechua. After our evening prayers we shared what we had learned and little by little were able to converse with the women. The most important word in the language seemed to be “Inca,” meaning the country, the people, and their king, all of which are one.
We had left our belongings airing on the beach and despaired of seeing them again but one day, to our joy, our serving women carried in our trunks. To our surprise our spare habits and shifts and shoes and missals and rosaries, together with our medicine chest, pens and ink, the book on herbs and the medical treatise, were all there. We hung Sor Maria Manuela’s crucifix on the wall of our central room at once, and felt that we had established ourselves
a little. We thanked the women and tried to express our relief that our things had not been stolen. The native women were unable to understand what “stolen” meant. When we managed to explain, they were shocked, insisting that in the Kingdom of the Four Quarters of the Earth, as they called the country, no one would take what did not belong to him.
Our ignorance was a source of wonder to the serving women. Little by little we learned that the Inca people worshipped many gods, of whom the sun was the supreme ruler, and the natives’ king was called the Sapa Inca. They believed he was the all-powerful son of the sun god, and revered him beyond expression. The novices scoffed at this as heathen superstition but one of the beatas remarked, “Think how quickly the cold descends as soon as the sun sets, even on a hot day. It is not surprising that their religion looks to the sun, and that they believe without it all the world would remain as cold and dark as the nights we spent on the beach.”
But it was some time before our conversations with the women allowed us to understand our extraordinary reception by the people here, and how best we might serve God in this place.
We learned there are native nuns, the Virgins of the Sun, dedicated to the sun god from childhood. Those of noble birth lived a life of strict seclusion in their great house between the royal palace and a great temple, just as convents are often located near a church. Each year there was a great ceremony honoring the sun, with religious processions led by the Sapa Inca himself, followed by feasting and dancing and sacrifices. Virgins of the Sun devoted their lives to weaving the exquisite cloth for the royal garments and making the mead drink on ceremonial occasions, living only among other women, served by virgin servants, and never allowed to see a man or leave their house. They belonged all their lives to the Sapa Inca, their emperor and the sun on earth in human form.
Of all men, only the Sapa Inca may see these virgins face-to-face, though by custom he did not exercise this privilege.
For any other man, setting eyes on a virgin offended the sun and carried dreadful penalties. The maiden was buried alive and the offending man hanged, his family and neighbors killed, all animals destroyed, the village razed, and their fields and crops plowed up.
These rules were relaxed in the regions into which the land is divided, where there are lesser houses of virgins who also live secluded from men and work for the Inca royal family, but from time to time the Sapa Inca chooses concubines from among them or gives them as wives and concubines to his allies. Usually these lesser virgins serve for a period and return to their homes, with much honor, and often marry.
Our party seemed to fit into a category of virgins somewhere between the two. In our first encounter with the warriors on the beach, the sailors’ rude gestures not only conveyed the information that we were virgins of the sun god, but also that it was he who had sent us across the water to the Kingdom of the Four Quarters of the Earth on great wings, with superhuman guardians in the form of ordinary men. The commander had ordered the women to welcome us as befitted the sun’s handmaidens, and the warriors not to kill the sailors. Instead the commander sent food and slaves to repair the ship, after which the sailors had departed. We prayed they might find themselves safely home.