Temple

'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.

'Where do you think you are going?' inquired Renco, seeing him stand.

'I'm leaving,' said Bassario simply.

'But I need your help,' said Renco. 'Vilcafor says that his men had to remove a great boulder from the temple's entrance and that it took ten men to do so. I am going to need as many

. again if I am to roll it back into place. I need your help.'

'I feel that I have done more than my share in your quest, noble prince,' said Bassario. 'Escaping Cuzco, traversing the mountains, charging blindly through the perilous forests.

And all the while making a fake idol for you. No, I have done my share, and now I am leaving.'

'Have you no loyalty to your people?'

'My people put me in jail, Renco,' Bassario retorted harshly. 'Then they punished my family for my crime—banished them to live in the filthiest, roughest quarter of Cuzco.

My sister was molested in that slum, my father and mother beaten and robbed. The robbers even broke my father's fingers, so that he could no longer fashion stone. He was left to beg—to beg for scraps to feed his family. I have no grudge against my own punishment, no grudge at all, but then I also have no loyalty whatsoever to the society that punished my family for a crime that was mine and mine alone.'

'I am sorry' said Renco softly. “I did not know of these incidents. But please, Bassario, the idol, the Spirit of the People '

'It is your quest, Renco. Not mine. I have done enough for you, more than enough. I think I have earned my freedom.

Follow your own destiny and allow me to follow mine.'

And with those sharp words, Bassario shouldered his longbow and climbed down into the quenko and disappeared into the darkness.

Renco did not attempt to stop him. He just looked after him, his face awash with sadness.

Now it was that the rest of us were all prepared for our con frontation with the rapas. All that remained was one final touch.

I picked up the small bladder of monkey urine that the toothless old man had given to me earlier that night and opened its cap.

At once, an utterly vile odour assaulted my olfactory pas sages. I winced at the odour and despaired at the prospect of pouring the foul-smelling liquid over my body.

But I did so nonetheless. And oh, how putrid it was! It was no wonder the rapas detested it.