Lost Heritage

‘I appreciate your confidence,’ he said with a smile.

The next morning, we asked at the hotel reception where we might hire a guide to take us inland to the Altiplano. We were informed that several guides congregated in the canteens and taverns around the busy food market.

That area was close to the imposing Castle of San Felipe de Barajas, the great defensive bastion of the city. Upon arrival we found a large plaza with numerous stalls where all kinds of implements were on sale. The agricultural products came from the nearby areas just outside the city: mangoes, papayas, cassava, coffee and cocoa. Next to them were all kinds of tropical plants and exotic animals, such as the small Titi monkey, which were in great demand by local elites.

We ate a couple of delicious corn arepas stuffed with chicken and tomatoes for breakfast. The stall keeper pointed out that two streets further on there was a canteen where many guides and scouts would meet.

After crossing the market, we came to a small square with an obelisk and a beautiful Gothic church where the canteen in question was located. A tiny door led to a dark interior where the walls seemed to be falling apart due to the humidity and flies buzzed around happily without anyone bothering them. At the bar we were attended to by an indigenous man with a huge scar across his right cheek.

At the back was a man who kept giving orders; he seemed to be the owner. From the moment we had entered, he had not taken his eyes off me. Clearly, few women entered the establishment, or at least few who looked like me.

‘Welcome, amigos,’ he said with a wide toothless grin. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘We are looking for someone to take us to Cuzco.’

‘I know two men who could help you,’ he replied, wiping glasses with a wine-stained rag. ‘But I think they were arrested by the army last month.’

‘Is there no one who’s travelling there?’

‘Esteban knows the area by heart,’ said an old man sitting at the bar while pointing to a burly individual with thick sideburns who was playing a game of cards in one corner of the tavern.

Esteban came over and sat next to us to discuss the matter at our table next to the entrance.

We were served a jug of wine and four glasses. When James went to fill mine, I told him that I wouldn't dream of partaking of anything in that filthy place for all the tea in China.

‘How many people are in the group?’ Esteban asked with a strong indigenous accent.

‘Only three,’ James replied. ‘But we’ve got a lot of luggage.’

‘Luggage is no problem, amigo. It just slows us down a bit,’ he added as he drained his glass. ‘The greatest obstacle right now is the route.’

‘The route?’ I asked.

‘The Royal Road is infested with bandits. Since the Spanish left, the army now has to fight them, but without much success.’

‘And is there no other alternative?’ asked James.

‘There is another route through the interior that crosses the Amazon jungle. It’s slower and is not without danger, but it is still much safer.’

‘How much to take us?’ asked James as he got down to business.

Estaban removed his hat and began to fan himself.

‘My compadre and I will settle for four thousand pesos. Mules and tools will have to be bought separately of course.’

‘We plan to undertake more expeditions in this area in the future. If you lower your price a little, we could have a deal.’

And with that, James refilled the man’s wine glass once more. Esteban eagerly drank it down in one gulp and accepted a lower price without further haggling. He seemed to need the money urgently.

‘Do you have a map of the route that we can take a look at before setting off?’ asked James.

The guide nodded. He got up and took out several maps stored in a saddlebag.

‘I’ll study the two options with my colleagues tonight, and we’ll let you know what we think of the route tomorrow.’

‘Vaya con Dios, amigos,’ and with that, we left.

That afternoon we began to study the maps provided to us back at the hotel. They were the same ones that the Spanish had been using for centuries. Some were familiar to us while others were more complete than those we had obtained from the Geographical Society.

The main route or “Royal Road” as it was known, was the one that the Spanish had used for centuries to transport gold and goods over land between the inland Altiplano area and the port.

‘We should take the route through the jungle,’ James said as he placed the map on a tiny wooden table. ‘The Royal Road is shorter but seems too risky. What do you think, professor?’

‘Whatever you both decide is fine by me,’ he replied, yawning. It had been two days since he had managed to get any sleep.

James took a little tobacco from his pocket and rolled a cigarette.

‘And you, Margaret. What do you think?’

‘Crossing the jungle is risky,’ I commented surprised by the speed with which he had made his decision. ‘While there are bandits on the Royal Road, there are all kinds of tribes, wild fauna and unbearable heat in the jungle.’

‘Is there anything you don’t have a problem with?’ He asked, twisting his face.

‘Are you implying that I always see the downside in everything?’

‘Well, it's been quite a few days since you’ve managed to contribute anything positive.’

‘I see you've already made your mind up. As you have already stated, you’re the one in charge here,’ I replied wryly, trying not to let my indignation show.

We got up early the next morning and returned to the tavern to meet Esteban. We informed him of the route we had chosen, and he accompanied us to the market where we stocked up on supplies and tools. Then he went to some stables located on the city’s outskirts and bought the mules necessary for the journey ahead. There wasn’t a lot left for us to do, and so, we decided to spend the afternoon getting to know that bustling city.

At dusk we returned to the hotel where we saw a group of men checking in their luggage at the reception. On seeing the suitcases and clothing, we soon realized that it was the French group from the Sorbonne. They had landed that very afternoon.

‘I was planning to leave in a couple of days,’ James said, covering his mouth with the palm of his hand so that no one could hear him. ‘But this changes everything. The sooner we leave the better.’

‘Do we have time to prepare everything?’ I asked incredulously.

‘We’ve no choice. The expedition has now become a race.’

I huffed feeling extremely disconcerted. The expedition was complicated enough under normal conditions, but from that moment on every minute would count.

We went up to the room thinking that the Frenchmen had not recognized us. There wasn’t much to give us away, and as long as they didn’t hear our accents, they would not be able to tell that we were British.

After a while, we went down to the dining room having already planned to go to bed early and then leave early the next morning. But as we entered, we found the French were already there having dinner. Immediately, we went to sit at the other end of the dining room so we would go relatively unnoticed. However, there weren’t too many people dining that evening and even fewer foreigners present than normal.

The French group consisted of five men. The eldest, who appeared to be in charge, was in his fifties with long grey hair whereas the rest were younger, more or less our age and, as in my case, at least one of them would probably be part of an expedition for the first time.

We were served our first course in silence.

‘I have an idea,’ James whispered in my ear. ‘I'm not going to leave here without finding out what they know about the expedition.’

‘And what do you plan on doing? Go to their table and ask them?’ I said concerned.

James smiled.

‘While we were coming downstairs I noticed where their rooms were. We won’t have a better time to take a look at what they have brought.’

‘Have you gone mad, James Henson ?!’

‘Shhhh! Don't raise your voice,’ he replied, trying to calm me down.

‘If they discover us, we could have a serious problem.’

‘How are they going to discover us?’ He asked as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

‘I thought you were much more sensible. I do not like this at all! What’s more, you won't be able to transcribe any documents or inscriptions without me,’ I added.

We got up and left the professor dining at the table without saying a single word. Events were happening so quickly that he seemed somewhat overwhelmed.

As we climbed the stairs my legs started shaking and I felt beads of perspiration on my forehead. Adrenaline coursed through my body, making me feel alive like never before.

On reaching the first floor we headed towards the rooms at the back of the hotel while trying to make as little noise as possible.

‘How do you plan on opening the door?’

‘I’ve learned a few tricks over the years. One of them is how to pick a lock.’

He pulled out a multipurpose pocketknife and inserted it into the lock. After a couple of seconds there was a click and the door opened.

Upon entering we saw the large amount of luggage and equipment brought by the French from Paris. While this could mean that they knew more than we did, transporting it would cause them a huge inconvenience, since they would have to hire more porters and pack animals. Their journey would be even slower than ours.

We began to search through everything. In one of the backpacks we found a folder with maps of the area around the Andes and the maps and plans of two excavation sites in pre-Columbian cities that their University had carried out in recent years. It would prove useful if we could compare and contrast those maps and plans with our own.

Meanwhile back in the dining room, the professor was watching with alarm as one of the Frenchmen got up from his chair, went to the reception and began to chat with the concierge. He was there for several minutes before proceeding to go upstairs. The professor witnessed the scene in horror, not knowing what to do.

Having looked through everything in the first room, and checking that there was nobody in the corridor, we decided to enter the next room. We rummaged through the luggage and equipment and found that most of it was comprised of clothing and tools. But inside the wardrobe under a jacket, we found a most interesting backpack containing two manuscripts: the first was a transcription of pre-Columbian inscriptions into Spanish, a kind of pre-Columbian Rosetta stone. A wide smile spread across my face as I tucked the document into my blouse. I had never heard of such a document before. It seemed as though the Sorbonne in Paris hadn’t the slightest intention of releasing it into the wider academic community.

The second manuscript, however, did not differ much from the research we had already carried out in England: it detailed an exact place of a possible location for the city to which we were heading.

Suddenly we began to hear murmuring coming from the hallway.

The professor had decided to climb the stairs as fast as he could so he could catch up with the Frenchman just before this individual had reached his room.

‘Excuse me, my good man,’ he called out. ‘I heard you chatting earlier with your companions. Are you French?’

The man nodded.

‘Yes. How can I help you?’ He asked.

‘I spent several years teaching in Paris. When I heard your accent, I couldn't help but remember those wonderful years.’

‘Paris is a big city. What brings you to Colombia?’

‘I came on a commercial venture with my business partner and his wife. There are great opportunities for expansion in this area.’

‘That’s true. Well, if you'll excuse me, I have to collect some documents before going back down to dinner.’

‘Of course. So sorry to interrupt you.’

The Frenchman continued on to his room while the professor calmly turned around and headed back down the stairs to his table so as not to arouse further suspicions.

We heard the click of the door just as James was climbing out of the bedroom window. Thanks to the professor we were able to listen to part of the conversation in the hallway while having enough time to escape. The room was on the first floor, so it wasn’t much of a problem for us to descend from the window to the street.

The evening had started badly but ended up being most fruitful. We had been able to counteract the Frenchmen by discovering that they were much more advanced in their planning than we were in terms of the detailed study of the area in question. Furthermore, we could now leave the city at least one day ahead of them in a more knowledgeable state than we had arrived.

Before the first rays of the sun emerged at dawn, we had already set off towards the high mountains of the Colombian interior.

Despite the rugged terrain, we managed to advance down narrow trails. The temperature began to drop sharply as we climbed the leafy mountain range. One windy morning we finally reached the summit and began the descent that would lead us to the flat plain of the savanna.

As we entered Amazonian territory, the vegetation became much denser, impeding our way. At the head of the group was our guide, who was accompanied by James at all times. The porters and the mules laden with luggage came next, and finally the professor and myself brought up the rear. We were constantly lagging behind.

‘This heat is stifling,’ said the professor as we descended down a wide valley.

He paused for a moment, wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, and took a drink of water from his canteen.

‘I told you several times in Cartagena,’ I said angrily. ‘We should have taken the Royal Road. You always do whatever Henson tells you.’

‘Be careful my dear, he could hear you.’

‘At this distance he won’t be able to hear anything.’

The porters were clearing the way with machetes the whole time. In some areas the treetops were so dense that their branches blocked out the sunlight. Some days we could barely see the sky above us as we were surrounded by an endless array of fauna and flora.

‘Look at those colours, professor,’ I said, pointing at the canopies.

‘They’re toucans,’ he replied with a big smile. ‘Right now, we would be the envy of any ornithologist.’

‘They’re beautiful. But their noise is unbearable. It's like having a hammer incessantly banging on your head. There’s no silence, not even at night.’

The professor nodded ruefully.

‘Have you seen those primates leaping through the branches? They’ve been following us since we entered the valley.’

‘They're just curious. Keep your eyes peeled, or they’ll steal our luggage the first chance they get.’

We stopped at the edge of a narrow stream. When the porters tried to ford it, the water came up to their necks. Consequently, we had to unload the luggage and equipment from the mules and carry it over our heads to prevent it from getting wet.

‘Keep an eye out! There are alligators in this area,’ said the guide.

On hearing that, we quickened our pace considerably. Luckily, the current was not too strong.

‘Have you seen that?’ James commented to Estaban while pointing to the other shore. ‘I've never seen plants of this size.’

‘They’re aquatic plants,’ Esteban added. ‘They can measure more than three feet wide.’

When we reached the other bank, we had to cross a marshy area, slowing our pace even further. This journey was turning into a real nightmare.

James left the guide for a moment and came to our side to whisper in my ear so as not to let the group know what we were saying.

‘We’re being followed,’ he whispered.

‘Who's following us?’ I asked alarmed, looking in all directions.

‘I think they’re part of some tribe. Keep calm. If they wanted to attack us, they would have done so by now.’

He was right. They had been watching us for a long time and continued to do so until we reached the point where we had left their territory.

The nights were just as complicated. We could hardly sleep, and only a good bonfire kept away snakes, scorpions, and, more worryingly, cougars.

One evening we camped next to a small rocky cave when I came down with a fever. My temperature kept rising and the quinine I was taking hardly had any effect on me. The next morning, I felt a small improvement and we decided to push on. But after a couple of hours I began to feel dizzy. My forehead was burning up just like it had the night before and I ended up fainting at the professor's feet.

That was the last thing I remember until I woke up two days later in a small reed hut. I opened my eyes, but my head was still spinning as I turned to the right and saw the professor smiling.

‘It seems that the fever has abated. Are you feeling better?’

‘I’m exhausted,’ I replied, ‘but my forehead no longer feels as if it’s on fire.’

‘That's a good sign,’ he replied, placing his hand on my forehead. ‘It’s just what the shaman said.’

‘Shaman?’ I repeated, surprised.

‘We’ve been in an indigenous village now for two days. It was the only place where you could recuperate.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You came down with a case of malaria,’ he replied solemnly.

‘It's all Henson’s fault. We should have taken the other route. I bet he hasn’t even asked about how I’m feeling.’

‘On the contrary, my dear Margaret. He has hardly left your side for the past two days, barely sleeping a wink in all that time.’

I was momentarily stunned. Those were the last words I expected to hear.

‘If he hadn't brought you to this village, you wouldn't have survived one more day. You should count your blessings.’

‘But he doesn't listen to anyone. He always thinks he’s right. He’s insufferable.’

‘He’s just doing his job. If you put yourself in his place you would understand him better.’

At that moment James entered quietly singing to himself.

‘I see you’re well.’

‘I do feel better,’ I said with a faint smile.

‘I’ve brought breakfast. Fresh fruit and tea. The shaman assured me that after taking this herbal concoction and a week’s rest, you’ll soon feel as right as rain.’

‘We can't wait a week!’ I exclaimed in alarm. ‘The French will get ahead of us and our expedition will be lost.’

‘Forget about them. There’s still a long way to go.’

‘I would like to thank you for taking care of me.’

‘It was my pleasure.’

‘Could you bring my case? I must look simply awful.’

‘But of course, Margie,’ he replied with a wide smile. ‘For what it’s worth, I don’t think you need it.’

It was the first time he had given me a compliment, and he did so with such tenderness that I was unable to answer him. From that moment on, my opinion of him began to change.

Two days later we set off again at my insistence. For the first few days I rode on the back of a mule trying not to be a burden to the rest of the group as I still felt exhausted.

One afternoon we finally glimpsed some steep mountains on the horizon; a sign that we were leaving behind the last vestiges of the Amazon jungle and entering the Altiplano. We would have to cross high mountains with deep valleys where there was little vegetation.

Our way was marked out by small villages where most of the population engaged in mining activities. The sweltering conditions of the jungle had given way to a dry heat during the day and an intense cold at night. Little by little, I noted how the state of my health was improving.

One cold morning we reached Potosí, the mining epicentre of that region. Next to the mine, the Spanish had built a town to exploit both the silver deposits and the indigenous people, who worked for a meagre wage in such subhuman conditions that many of them could barely survive. Servitude in the mines lasted a year, and when this time was up, they were forbidden to work in them again for another seven years. However, many Indians re-engaged in the work under their own volition as labourers.

We left behind the precarious houses where the miners lived with their families and crossed the centre of the town.

This place had become an area full of taverns and brothels where miners would spend their money after long and exhausting hours of work. We would only stop only long enough to take on supplies and spend the night.

That afternoon James went to purchase more goods and food while the professor and I remained in an inn so full of fleas and cockroaches that I would rather not talk about it. After resting for a while, the professor went outside to partake of some fresh air while I gazed out of my bedroom window and saw how the mountain had been pitted by the mineshafts, giving it the illusion of having been hollowed out. A strong smell of mercury and sulphur suddenly hit me and I had to close the window.

The professor was leaning against the barrier of a long bridge over the river while smoking his pipe when some men appeared out of nowhere, grabbed the professor and took him off down the street. I tried to scream, but I was so scared that I was unable to utter a sound. I shrunk into a corner of my room crying until James returned.

‘Do you mean he’s been kidnapped? In broad daylight?’ he asked.

‘There were hardly any people on the street,’ I replied, my words filled with anguish.

‘What did they look like?’ He asked, leaving his hat on a chair.

‘They didn't look like they were from this area. One of them reminded me of one of the Frenchmen from the dining room in Cartagena.’

‘What kind of monsters are we dealing with?!’ he exclaimed angrily.

‘Let's go to the police,’ I suggested desperately.

‘That won't do any good,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘They'll have already been bribed’

‘Well, what can we do?’

‘We’ll just have to wait and see what happens next.’

After three hours we finally heard from the Frenchmen. They had sent the guide whom they had hired in Cartagena with a proposal.

They would return the professor safe and sound if we gave them the document we had stolen from them at the hotel. That wasn’t all they were demanding: we should abandon the expedition and return to London.

That was not to our liking, but what choice did we have. We carried out the exchange that night and the professor was returned unharmed.

The next morning, we collected our belongings and began our return journey via the road that led back to Cartagena. We were escorted by two porters paid for by the French as far as the Colombian coast, where we would board the steamer back to Europe.

Only one detail had been overlooked by the Frenchmen. As we were returning, James struck up a conversation with the two porters and eventually reached an agreement with them. He would pay them more money than they had received from the French if they returned to Cartagena without us. As a consequence, the porters would receive money from both sides and leave the area for good. They readily agreed.

We promptly turned around and resumed our originally journey. The French were now one day ahead of us but there was still a long way to go.

In a deep valley amongst several mountains we finally managed to glimpse the city of Cuzco, the ancient capital of the Incan Empire. The entrance to the city was flanked by a triple wall formed of large stone blocks that ran all the way around the city.

After entering through its busy main gate, we walked along the main street with its old colonial double-storey buildings and numerous churches. During our walk, we could see that this city had few similarities with the port of Cartagena de Indias where we had disembarked. Most of its inhabitants were descendants of the indigenous peoples and their culture appeared to be more deeply rooted.

When we had reached a small square, we passed through a very busy market where the natives walked carrying several bales on their backs, bent double by the enormous weight. Merchants transported their wares in precarious carts loaded to the brim while mothers carried their new-born children in cloths tied around their necks as their older children walked beside them.

The whole place was dotted with makeshift wooden stalls all with precarious awnings where they sold their wares: alpaca garments, hand-woven tanned leather, all kinds of fruits and vegetables, and some handicraft pieces purchased mostly by local elites. Some spoke Spanish while others continued to speak in their native tongue.

Most striking of all was the colourful clothing. Women wore wide multi-coloured skirts and picturesque exaggerated black bowler hats, while the men wore large ponchos that protected them from the cold, along with their enormous wide-brimmed sombreros.

Although most of the population were indigenous, they continued to be governed like the rest of the country by Creole elites, the descendants of the Spanish.

In Cuzco we had planned to meet with the archaeologist Néstor Domínguez, who had informed the Geographical Society of the discovery which had been made some one hundred and thirty miles from the capital by tribesmen. They had had to cross an extensive mountainous area where they had found the remains of a city overgrown by the jungle.

Néstor worked in the municipal archive office next to the cathedral of Cuzco. It was one of the oldest in all of South America, located in the huge Plaza de Anasen, the nerve centre of the city, surrounded by ancient buildings with beautiful arcades.

As soon as I had walked into the building, I entered a magnificent cloister that captivated me. It was an old baroque palace of Spanish origin built on a rectangular double-storey courtyard that rested on semi-circular arches with Doric columns. The city council had managed to acquire it for a pittance.

After traversing the courtyard, we came across several rooms transformed into libraries full of classic volumes, all resting on beautiful Gothic bookshelves. The upper floor was accessed by a spiral staircase topped by an exquisite balustrade.

On arrival, there was no one at reception and so we searched the ground floor but without success. At last we heard a noise coming from the top floor and decided to go upstairs.

‘Are you Señor Domínguez?’ James asked.

The Peruvian turned around and nodded.

‘Señor Henson, I presume,’ he replied with a broad smile. ‘Welcome to Cuzco, the ancient capital of Peru. I hope you have had a good journey.’

‘Not as good as we had expected,’ he replied, twisting his face.

'You must not be used to this heat in England. I imagine that the journey will have been arduous,’ he added, shaking hands with us.

‘That was the least of our inconveniences,’ James pointed out as we dropped the heavy rucksacks on the floor. ‘Margaret fell ill with malaria, Professor Cooper was kidnapped and as for the expedition, we have stiff competition.’

‘I’m astounded,’ he said in great surprise. ‘Let's go to my office.’

We crossed the archive room, walked out of the back door and down a hallway that led to the other wing of the building.

‘Do you know if anyone else has been informed of the discovery?’ James asked.

‘The tribesmen alerted the local authorities. Then the news reached us here in the capital.’

‘Then we’re not the only ones looking for the city,’ concluded James.

We crossed a narrow corridor decorated with beautiful Spanish tapestries that represented the evangelisation of the Indies.

‘There are many treasure hunters in this area. But none of them have the equipment necessary to unearth a city buried beneath the jungle for centuries.’

‘I think that will change very shortly,’ James added with resignation. ‘The competition I'm talking about is from the Sorbonne in Paris.’

We could hear loud voices from several people shouting at the other end of a courtyard. Néstor explained that in that part of the building, there was a room where citizens presented their complaints.

‘The French have been here before. They destroy everything they come across and they don’t use local archaeologists at all,’ Néstor complained as he briefly opened the door to his office and dropped the documents on a table before locking it.

‘Do you have everything ready?’ James wanted to know, anguished by the advantage the French had on us.

The Peruvian nodded with satisfaction.

‘Let's go to my house,’ said Néstor, pointing towards the end of the plaza as we left the building. ‘It’s not far from here.’

Néstor was a Creole of Spanish origin. He had black hair, a dark complexion and was of medium height with an ever-present smile on his face. He had a passion for Incan culture and language, having studied both in Lima. I liked him immediately.

He was one of the few archaeologists in the whole of South America accustomed to dealing with foreign expeditions. In his country the local authorities showed little interest in either recovering assets or financing research. He had no choice but to be part of the various expeditions that other countries would undertake in the area.