Surrounded by five snow-covered volcanoes, the spectacle of Riobamba's landscape can only be matched by the political dramas that its indigenous peoples have created and performed for centuries. From c.1450 to the present, the region has been subject to successive invasions and colonization schemes, first by the Inca, then by the Spaniards, and more recently by national agrarian capitalists. The demographic and political upheavals that ensued defy cultural survival, yet Riobamba's ethnic groups are among the largest and most cohesive in contemporary Ecuador. Known among members of the dominant culture as "vivos," the regions's native peoples have met these challenges by developing their individual and collective imaginations as well as their political/theatrical skills. It is to these strategies, created and refined on the stage of a tumultous history, that this chapter will be devoted.

When the Spaniards arrived in Riobamba in 1534, they encountered a highly atomized political scenario. With the Spanish conquest of the Inca, the area's indigenous inhabitants were first polarized into aboriginal Puruhuayes and Inca mitmaq, and then further fragmented on both sides into constellations of small, independent groups. According to most scholars of the Northern Andes, this political decentralization was characteristic of pre-incaic Ecuador and resurged after the Incaic veneer was lifted. See among others: Moreno Yánez 1983, Salomon 1986, Oberem 1993, and Burgos Guevara 1975. The political infighting, both between and inside these small units, that must have been suppressed by Cuzco, resurfaced as Inca-appointed and demoted leaders, both mitmaq and puruha, all vied for position in the new political configurations of yet another invasive force--the Spaniards. This left the local indigenous leadership disunited and its legitimacy in serious question throughout the early colonial period.

The Spaniards, having already experienced larger, more politically centralized ethnic groups in the Southern Andes, attempted to apply what they thought they knew of that model to the North Andean case. Their centralizing administrative reorganization, especially of the Riobamba region, was, therefore, akin to forcing square pegs into round holes, and unleashed centuries-long hostilities both within and between indigenous communities and between the Indian Republic and the Spanish regime. For this reason, the Corregimiento of Riobamba in the Audiencia of Quito is an especially interesting area for studying the institution of the

"colonial cacicazgo" and attendant issues of chiefly legitimacy. Perhaps nowhere in the Viceroyalty of Peru was there as much need for "invention" in order to fit local realities to colonial imperatives. And perhaps nowhere in Riobamba was there a chiefly lineage more adept at "inventing" themselves than the Duchiselas of the town of Yaruquíes.

An examination of the Duchiselas' rise to local and regional power is especially timely, since they have recently become the "darlings" of Ecuadorean nationalist histories--belated indigenista and/or integrationist attempts to construct a national identity in the present through the "imagined community" of a glorified indigenous past (Anderson, 1991). The Duchisela lineage plays a crucial role in this construction where it is placed at the pinnacle of a chiefly hierarchy composing a "Kingdom of Quito" that is both pre-Hispanic and pre-Incaic--that is, pre-Peruvian to "patriotic" Ecuadoreans currently embroiled in the border war with their neighbors to the South (Costales 1992, Velasco 1979, Carrera Andrade,1963).

What I seek here is not the truth or the lie, but rather how the historical actors, the Duchiselas in this case, were "made." The main sources for this drama derive from a late eighteenth-century suit over the cacicazgo of Yaruquíes in which seven last wills and testaments of members of the Duchisela lineage are presented as evidence. The wills range from that of Don Juan Duchisela (el viejo) in 1605 to that of his grandson, Don Manuel, in 1769, providing a century and a half of clues about the imagination and shrewd political maneuvers that went into the "making" of the Duchisela cacicazgo and the "inventing" of the family's legitimacy. The paper is divided into two parts: Part I is composed of three vignettes extracted from the Duchisela wills which narrate, in theatrical form, the lived experiences of the Duchisela family under colonial rule; Part II is an academic analysis that focuses on the strategies utilized by the Duchisela lineage to "invent" internal legitimacy--that is, to justify their position to their local subjects as opposed to the Spanish regime.

Part I

"A Battle of Wills": A Family Drama in Three Acts

Act I: Wooing Legitimacy: A Colonial Love(?) Story

It is the year 1605 and the community of Yaruquíes has now passed through decades of unrelenting epidemic disease (Alchon 1991: 37). At the age of 35, Don Juan Duchisela has just lost his third wife, and is himself ill enough to write a last will and testament. All subsequent data for Act I is culled from two eighteenth-century copies of the the following document unless otherwise specified: " Testamento de Don Juan Duchisela, 1605 y su codicilio, 1655" presented as evidence in ANQ, Cac:38: Vol.75, 1788: 8-21; and in ANQ, Cac:32, Vol.52, 1754: 43v-69v. The combined study of both copies was necessary for a complete paleographic transcription and to determine authenticity. As the cacique dictates his will to Don Juan Paguay, the Indian scribe, a colorful life story unfolds that is in vivid contrast to the pervasive misery that must have enveloped the town during prolonged periods of sickness. It is a story filled with philandering, strategic liaisons, internecine conflicts and extortion. Among the main characters are a mestiza mistress, a prodigal son, a favored son, and six illegitimate children.

As a young man Don Juan has a son with his lover, Doña Barbola Cabatio, whom he marries three years after the boy's birth, thereby legitimating him. This son, Don Gaspar Duchisela, would so bitterly disappoint his father that Don Juan would later dispossess him not only of the cacicazgo but of the family's considerable assets. Disenchantment with his original family begins early on, for the whole time that he is married to Doña Barbola, Don Juan carries on an illicit affair with Doña Ysavel Carrillo. The union of this powerful Indian cacique and wealthy mestiza mistress produces six illegitimate children and an awesome family fortune. Both Aquiles Pérez (1969) and the Costales (1992) have studied the Duchisela family and have pondered over whether Doña Ysavel Carrillo was a mestiza or simply adopted a Spanish surname. While she is never actually described in the documentation as a mestiza, there is strong evidence that she was not an indigenous woman. Her name never appears with the suffix, india or natural , nor is she ever associated with an ayllu. Her seemingly independent wealth and the fact that Don Juan was not interested in legitimating her children are also indicators of non-Indian status. She and her descendants were also the only people in the extensive documentation on the Duchisela family to carry Spanish surnames until Don Manuel Duchisela married Dona Antonia Lopes in the eighteenth century. Upon Doña Barbola's death, Don Juan marries Doña Ysavel but refuses to legitimate her children, probably because they are mestizos and will not legally have rights to the cacicazgo.

From what we know of Doña Ysavel Carrillo, she is a veritable worldbeater. Not only has she inherited properties from a presumably Spanish father, but has, according to Don Juan's will, amassed considerable wealth in money and land from her own hard work and industry (de su propio trabajo e industria). She finances Don Gaspar Duchisela's (Don Juan's first son) stint as alcalde mayor in the City of Quito, where he is said to have racked up 2,000 pesos of debt. She is also especially adept at buying up lands in ecological zones that yield highly sought after products. As we shall see shortly, the efforts of this shrewd mestiza business woman will play a pivotal role in the survival of the Duchisela cacicazgo and in the invention and maintenance of the family's chiefly legitimacy. It is enough to make one wonder about the texture of their love affair and subsequent marriage. Was she in love with him? Why else would a wealthy mestiza have an affair and six children with an Indian, even if he was a cacique? Considering Spanish America's race-based social hierarchy, women like Ysavel usually aspired to marry "white," even if the pickings were slim and they were forced to marry "poor." Was he in love with her? This is a more difficult question to answer, especially in view of his attempts to maneuver her assets into his will.

By the year 1605, Doña Ysavel has passed away and Don Juan has already married and buried his third wife. With Doña Barbola Curiguarmi, Don Juan has three children--Don Antonio, Don Joseph and Doña Faustina--this time all of them legitimate. His decision to step over his first-born son, Don Gaspar Duchisela, and name the twelve year old Don Antonio as his successor in the cacicazgo is not only a stunning rebuke to Don Gaspar and his sons, but was so unfathomable that his descendants described it as a family mystery for generations to come. To add fuel to the fire, he names his illegitimate mestizo son, Don Juan Carrillo, to administer the cacicazgo until Don Antonio comes of age. He then proceeds to distribute the majority of his assets to his three legitimate children with Doña Barbola Curiguarmi, his last wife. In the 1605 will, many of these assets, especially lands, were Doña Ysavel's, but appear as his own, and the 2,000 peso debt his son owed her has been forgotten.

Unlike his unfortunate spouses, Don Juan bounces back from his illness and lives a long life. In 1655, at the age of 90, we find him making amendments to his will. Apparently during the ensuing years, he is either badgered by Doña Ysavel's children or has suffered from a guilty conscience about the incorporation of Carrillo resources into his cacicazgo. In this codicil, he makes arrangements to pay his illegitimate children for the 2,000 peso loss--a change of heart that will later lead to bitter fraternal strife. He also admits that Doña Ysavel wrote a will naming all her properties, but he "suspects" that it has been lost. He then rearranges the distribution to compensate her six children for at least those lands that belonged to her before their marriage. This still leaves considerable properties in his and his heirs' names which will be carried on as part of the Duchisela cacicazgo. And when in 1685 Don Antonio Duchisela, his heir, finally writes his last will and testament he succeeds in incorporating into the cacicazgo even some of the lands that were designated by Don Juan as part of the Carrillo estate--this by claiming Doña Ysavel as his mother, when he is clearly the son of Doña Barbola Curiguarmi, Don Juan's third wife. More than eighty years later in 1769, Ysavel's lands still appear as part of the cacicazgo in the last will and testament of Don Antonio's son, Don Manuel Duchisela. Evidently, a protracted love affair and subsequent marriage with a wealthy mestiza was quite a strategic liaison and translated into a political instrument of chiefly legitimacy across generations.

Act II: Sporting Legitimacy: The Story of the Prodigal Son

It is 1655 in the town of Yaruquíes, and Don Juan el viejo, now on his deathbed, asks his lifelong friend, Sargent Juan de Guadalupe, to draw closer. He implores him to honor the friendship and love they have always shared by executing his will in a manner that will alleviate his conscience and by fulfilling the special promise he made to him regarding this matter. The Indian scribe, Don Juan Paguay, dutifully records these words, and only these words. It is clearly a secret promise.

Although the centuries since this mysterious scene have left no trace of evidence that would help us to unlock the secret of Don Juan's heart, the historian/ playwright suspects that it was about Don Gaspar. Both the old man's will and his codicil take on a distinctive tone whenever he refers to his firstborn son--an almost acerbic tone--a tone perhaps born of the contempt that a man of means and power might feel toward a son for whom he had wished great things, but who consistently failed him. Whatever the motive for his bitterness, it is evident that Don Juan and his presumed successor had had a serious falling out.

There is something at once defensive and scolding about the way Don Juan alludes to Don Gaspar's less than exemplary history. He states repeatedly that he has already given Don Gaspar his inheritance when he came of age, and that he owes him and his heirs nothing. Styling himself the generous though unappreciated father, he lists everything he ever gave his eldest son--2,000 pesos in silver, fancy clothes, fine furniture, houses, lands, and orchards -- all of them described in the minutist detail. In the codicil, he enumerates all the debts that Don Gaspar had incurred in Quito while he was the alcalde de naturales there, a prestigious, but apparently costly position. How he had spent 2,000 pesos of Doña Ysavel's money on clothes, banquets, and other luxuries in a single year. Disgusted and ashamed, he feels compelled to pay his son's debts from his own assets in order to relieve his conscience and to account to God. He then warns that there might still be some lands out there that Don Gaspar is using, but they are not his; he stipulates emphatically that he did not give those lands to him as possessions, but only loaned them to him. Indeed, Don Gaspar Duchisela comes off as a spendthrift dandy; a talentless, irresponsible gadabout who has squandered part of the family fortune and whose wealthy mestiza stepmother naively foot the bill.

In the half century between his will and his codicil, Don Juan Duchisela has had sufficient time for his resentments to accumulate toward a vengeful, draconian solution. He now names his and Ysavel's illegitimate mestizo son, Don Juan Carrillo, as one of the executors of his will, instructing him to take from his possessions the equivalent of the 2,000 pesos that Don Gaspar owed his mother. In addition, he arranges to pay Ysavel's children for some of their mother's properties--these turn out to be the very lands he had originally given to Don Gaspar as his inheritance when he came of age. Between these two moves and the bequeathing of the cacicazgo to Don Antonio, Don Gaspar Duchisela becomes the family's "desheredado." The prodigal son, however, would not be the one to bear the onerous burden of this vindictive maneuver; it would, instead, be shouldered by Don Gaspar's issue, the truly "unfortunate" Don Juan and Don Simon.

In fact, the life and death of Don Juan el viejo would leave a grievous legacy for the whole Duchisela family. The descendants of he and his three wives would engage in bitter internecine rivalries over both the cacicazgo and its assets for nearly two hundred years. The retaliatory acts and shifting alliances of this protracted battle scene begin immediately after his death when its seventeenth century protagonists, Don Antonio Duchisela, Don Juan Carrillo, and Don Juan Duchisela (Gaspar's son), come into collision over the political and economic control of the cacicazgo. Although Don Juan el viejo had named Don Juan Carrillo to administer the cacicazgo until Don Antonio came of age, his tenure in the position does not last for long (Costales 1992: 153). Apparently, the old man had not counted on the meddlesome nature of Spanish colonial officials who had an unshakeable belief in the concepts of legitimacy, primogeniture, and racial purity (Díaz Rementería 1979: 119, 132). Their sensibilities, no doubt, offended by the specter of a mestizo bastard occupying the town's highest office, they instead appoint Don Juan Duchisela, the first born son of Don Gaspar--an event that is sure to have caused Don Juan el viejo to roll over in his grave.

The second Don Juan Duchisela manages to maintain political power until his pending death but remains without rights to the family's economic resources. In his will of 1670 he speaks bitterly of the manner in which his grandfather summarily disowned his father, Don Gaspar, ultimately resulting in his and his brother's complete disinheritance. But, he reserves his most acrimonious accusations for Don Juan Carrillo whom he says went about collecting his mother's 2,000 pesos with such a vengeance that there was now nothing left of the Duchisela fortune. He portrays Juan Carrillo as a greedy viper who usurped his position as executor of his grandfather's will to force payment of the 2,000 pesos and then some. In the process, he sold the family finery and silver at public auction, rented lands and ranches at will, and seized all manner of livestock and other prized possessions. He then distributed the proceeds among his five sisters, leaving the legitimate heirs completely "destroyed." Gaspar's son reiterates several times that the Carrillos have been more than well-paid for his father's debt to their mother, and warns Juan and his family not to demand anything further of his heirs. Of course, this is a gross exaggeration, considering that his successors in the cacicazgo retain many of Ysavel's lands for generations to come. His portrayal of Juan Carrillo is undoubtedly the distorted perception of a man, who through no fault of his own, is made to live out the consequences of his father's wreckless behavior and his grandfather's vindictiveness--and what better scapegoat then a "bastard half-breed." As for the cacicazgo, Don Juan Duchisela, eldest son of Don Gaspar, dies without issue and names the favored Don Antonio as his successor in fulfillment of his grandfather's wishes. And so, Don Juan el viejo's will, though temporarily thwarted, is carried out.

Act III: "Forging" Legitimacy: The Imposter Caciques

As the visitador Juan Josep de Villalengua travels along the flank of the Chimborazo, the most dazzling of Riobamba's snow-covered volcanoes, he cannot imagine what political intrigues await him in Yaruquíes. The year is 1779 and he has been charged with conducting a royal inspection and census of the Audiencia of Quito's Indian subjects (Alchon, 1991: 120); it is also the year that Doña Antonia Duchisela, the town's cacica, has died without heirs. In the Riobamba region, as elsewhere in the Audiencia, the untimely death of a ruler is always an occasion for the usual protagonists to dredge up the bitter injustices of the past in multiple and protracted bids for power. Typically, descendants of the direct line, lateral lines, and female lines as well as bastards and imposters all vy for control of the cacicazgo often supported by regional factions that cut across race and class. Litigation goes on interminably, while the legal maneuvers, unorthodox practices, and downright deceptions used to wrest the prize are too numerous and varied to be recorded here. Yaruquíes is no exception, and a more experienced visitador would have braced himself for the inevitable.

Immediately upon the inception of the royal visita, one contender, Don Francisco Xavier Mayancela y Duchisela steps boldly forward to request possession of the cacicazgo of Yaruquíes. He claims he should rule by right of inheritance because he is a descendant of the direct line; he is, after all, the legitimate grandson of Don Ysidro Duchisela, who, in turn, claims to be the son of Don Juan Duchisela, grandson of Don Juan Duchisela el viejo, and great grandson of Don Gaspar Duchisela, trunk of the chiefly line. The visitador Villalengua, following established procedures, then publishes the request with a warning that Don Francisco will be granted the cacicazgo, provided that no one with more right claims it.

At this juncture, the usual cast of characters appears predictably on stage. Doña Margarita Duchisela, followed by an entourage of supporters, comes to object. Indignant, she charges that Don Francisco Mayancela y Duchisela is an imposter who has usurped the Duchisela surname. Her allegation focuses on the legitimacy of Don Francisco's grandfather, Don Ysidro Duchisela, whom she says was not the legitimate son of Don Juan Duchisela, but a bastard to whom Don Juan's wife, Doña Juana Lliufa y Nitibron, gave birth after her husband's death. According to Doña Margarita, Don Ysidro had not one drop of Duchisela blood. Others paint a more lurid scenario, that not only was he illegitimate but that he was the progeny of an illicit love affair that the widow, Doña Juana Lliufa, had with her husband's brother, Don Simon.

What then ensues is a veritable "battle of wills," as Doña Margarita, legitimate daughter of Don Juan Roberto Duchisela brings suit against Don Francisco Mayancela for the cacicazgo of Yaruquíes. There is no end to surprises as the contenders and their respective factions present several of their ancestors' last wills and testaments to prove or disprove the legitimacy of the late Don Ysidro. From this bizarre parade of dead Duchiselas, the ingenuous Don Francisco calls forth his grandfather to give witness to his legitimacy. There, in his will of 1758, Don Ysidro stated repeatedly (perhaps too repeatedly) that he was, indeed, the legitimate son of Don Juan Duchisela and Doña Juana Lliufa y Nitibron, as well as the grandson and great grandson of the original caciques of the town. Considering the almost sacrosanct nature of last wills and testaments, one would think that the presentation of such a legal instrument would be sufficient to truncate the proceedings. In a stunning reversal, however, Doña Margarita presents two more wills, those of Don Juan Duchisela (1670) and Doña Juana Lliufa y Nitibron (1682) in which both declared that they there had been no issue from their marriage. Furthermore, Doña Juana stated explicitly that after her widowhood, God had seen fit to give her a son, Don Ysidro LLiufa y Nitibron. Doña Margarita's lawyer interjects here that not even Don Ysidro's mother had had the nerve to confuse his name with that of the Duchiselas, as he had so brashly done in his own will.

This unexpected turn of events leaves both Don Francisco Mayancela and his lawyer abashed and prompts the latter to desist upon examination of the latest evidence. Doña Margarita now presses to receive costs and damages. To counter this, Don Francisco's lawyer, still believing in the veracity of the opposition's evidence, charges that if his client had known about these wills and thus his real genealogy, he would never have pursued the case. Giving the story yet another twist, he accuses Don Justo Tigsilema of hiding these wills from Don Francisco and encouraging him to claim the cacicazgo. It turns out that Don Justo is the widower of Doña Antonia, the cacica who has just died; he has consequently been administering the cacicazgo for years and is apparently seeking a way to maintain influence. According to Don Francisco's lawyer, however, he suddenly switches sides in the suit because he has conjured up a better way to ensure control--he simply marries Doña Margarita, the plaintiff--a maneuver that would once again place him in direct administration of the cacicazgo, should she win the case. It was at this point that he supposedly whipped out the two wills proving Don Ysidro's illegitimacy. Don Justo Tigsilema, of course, vehemently denies this and claims that he never had the wills in his possession to begin with and that he and Doña Margarita had to round them up and even had to pay off a pawn broker in Riobamba for one of them.

In the interim, however, Don Francisco's lawyer comes up with a a couple of new angles and requests that the case be reopened. First, he presents another will as evidence, that of Don Juan Roberto Duchisela of 1734. Don Juan Roberto, a member of the direct line, was the cacique principal and gobernador of the town by right of inheritance from his father Don Antonio Duchisela. Don Antonio was the son of Don Juan Duchisela el viejo, but according to Don Juan Roberto there was an irregularity in his father's succession. For some "unknown" reason, Don Juan Duchisela el viejo had passed over his first-born son, Don Gaspar Duchisela, to grant the cacicazgo to Don Antonio, a younger son whom he had had in his third marriage. In a stunning deathbed reversal, Don Juan Roberto stated that, because of the laws of primogeniture and mayorazgo, the cacicazgo really belonged to the heirs of Don Gaspar, the formerly disinherited branch of the family. He thus named Don Ysidro Duchisela, whom he described as Don Gaspar's legitimate son, as his successor.

Second, Don Francisco Mayancela's lawyer also claims that after more careful examination of the wills of Don Juan Duchisela and Doña Juana Lliufa y Nitibron, it is evident to him that they are forgeries and that the charges of his client's illegitimacy are completely false. He maintains that the paleography of the two wills is not that of the seventeenth century, but that of the contemporary period. He also compares them to earlier documents written by the same scribe and signed by some of the same witnesses and points out that the writing and signatures are different. Evidently, Don Ysidro's bastard status has been trumped up by Doña Margarita and her new consort through the creation of falsified legal instruments.

The plot now thickens as Doña Margarita and Don Justo respond by adding yet another intrigue to the scenario. They insist that Don Juan Roberto made a big mistake in assuming Don Ysidro to be his legitimate cousin, as evidenced by the wills of Don Juan Duchisela and Doña Juana Lliufa. But even worse, he had allowed the parish priest to dupe him into believing this was so and to coerce him into inserting a completely erroneous, last-minute "confession" in his will. The priest, Dr. Don Joseph de la Vega, they allege, had some interesting reasons of his own for this maneuver. It seems that he had arranged a marriage between Don Ysidro and his favorite "maid" (probably his mistress or his daughter) and then engineered the couple's takeover of the cacicazgo at the expense of the town's legitimate caciques. Don Ysidro, supposedly a bastard who usurped the Duchisela name and possessed not a drop of Duchisela blood, did indeed become the cacique and even succeeded in passing the cacicazgo on to his granddaughter, the recently deceased Doña Antonia.

As for the paleographic variations and inconsistent signatures of the wills, the court examines the evidence carefully and moves that while the boldness of the letters varies, the characters all exhibit more or less the same formation, and so the wills cannot be proven to be forgeries. In the end, the Spanish administration, its decision resting on the damning evidence of illegitimacy contained in the two wills, names Doña Margarita to the cacicazgo. And the "bastard" line of Don Ysidro, supposedly passes into oblivion, but not really. Because "deja vu" is the leit motif of North Andean succession stories, the audience will revisit this drama.

A few years later, Doña Margarita Duchisela, cacica of Yaruquíes, dies without heirs. Once again the usual cast of characters appears on stage; Don Francisco Mayancela y Duchisela is among them. Now, Don Alfonso Duchisela, legitimate grandson of Don Juan Roberto Duchisela, assumes Doña Margarita's former role and reenacts the challenge to Don Francisco's legitimacy. This time the Spanish courts rule in favor of Don Francisco Mayansela, the usurper of the previous case, leaving the audience to wonder whether "legitimacy" isn't just a battle of wills.

Part II

Inventing Chiefly Legitimacy: The "Making" of the Duchisela Cacicazgo

Upon deeper analysis of the Duchisela wills and some historical contextualization, the human interest story that bubbles easily to the surface in Part I can be fleshed out to construct a wider window on the meaning of the "cacicazgo" as a colonial institution. For embedded within the thick description of these seven legal instruments are many important clues as to how caciques were made and their legitimacy constituted over time, at least in the town of Yaruquíes. Efforts to globalize these conclusions will be made through comparisons with studies of other cacicazgos both in the Audiencia of Quito and in the larger Andean region.

The Stage is Set

At the time of Spanish colonization, the North Andean highlands were characterized by a multiplicity of small political units each headed by an autonomous lord. In the interests of more efficient administration, the colonial regime carried out a program of centralization in which a number of independent groups were often aggregated into a "cacicazgo" and one of several leaders of equivalent rank was promoted to the position of "cacique principal." This policy led to protracted conflicts over chiefly legitimacy, as demoted lords and their descendants carried on bitter, intergenerational struggles to recuperate power (Powers 1995: 134-141). The tenure of the "ruling" lineage, then, would depend on its ability to legitimate itself, both externally and internally, that is, to the Spanish regime and to the local community.

True to the policy described above, the Duchisela cacicazgo was a Spanish creation. From the materials that surface in the various lawsuits over legitimacy and the Perez and Costales studies, the story surrounding the family's rise to power can be reconstructed as follows. Before the Spanish arrival, the area around Yaruquíes was inhabited by the ayllus of Cacha, Quera, Suclla, Yaruquíes, Sidlag, Siviquies, and others, each of which had its own autonomous cacique. During the century prior to the European invasion the leadership of these groups varied, according to the vicissitudes occasioned by serial Inca campaigns emanating from Cuzco. Both Tupac Yupanqui and Huayna Capac rewarded the Puruhuayes who had allied with them during these battles by appointing them caciques of their respective groups. According to Velasco, the Duchiselas alternately resisted and supported the Inca invaders, initially losing power and then recuperating it.

In a careful study of both Velasco and existing Spanish documentation, however, Aquiles Pérez concludes that the Duchiselas were never a ruling lineage before the arrival of the Europeans. When the Spaniards came on the scene in 1534, the family sided with Benalcázar and was apparently awarded a señorío ( Pérez 1969: 343-383). By 1545, the Viceroy Blasco Nuñez Vela described Duchiselam (the first leader's pre-Christian name) as lord of the whole province of Puruguay, allegedly confirming a previous appointment made by Francisco Pizarro (Pérez 1969: 349-350). Apparently, the Duchiselas had succeeded in vindicating themselves not only by consolidating the leadership of their own ayllu (Cacha), but in gaining power over other ayllus that had not previously been under their control. During the reducciones of the 1570s, when six (and possibly up to 14) of the area's ayllus were relocated in Yaruquíes, Spanish officials appointed the first Don Gaspar Duchisela as cacique principal of the town (Costales 1992: 151). His heirs were then legitimated in that position, at least juridically, by successive visitas and by their own last wills and testaments. Nevertheless, as in other "cacicazgos" of the Riobamba region, the rancor of Yaruquíes' demoted leaders would be played out across generations, both in and out of the courts (Powers 1995: Chap.5). As other newly-created caciques principales, the Duchiselas would expend considerable energy justifying their position to the community, that is, inventing legitimacy.

The Duchiselas Create a Family Fortune

There are a number of strategies that the Duchisela family utilized to achieve and maintain politico-economic control of the cacicazgo of Yaruquíes. As in other studies of Andean cacicazgos, the accumulation and consolidation of chiefly wealth and community resources played a pivotal role. We will, therefore, start by reconstructing, through exegesis of their last wills and testaments, the ways in which the Duchiselas both composed a sizeable family fortune and maintained the good will of most of their subjects, while doing so.

Of the strategies for land accretion, clearly Don Juan Duchisela el viejo's marriage to Doña Ysavel Carrillo was the most lucrative. A detailed examination of his will and codicil of 1605 and 1655 is instructive. Of the 42 properties recorded in this document, 24 belonged to Don Juan's cacicazgo before his union with the wealthy heiress, while 18 either belonged to Doña Ysavel or were purchased with her money during their marriage. When sizes are totaled, using Borchart de Moreno's formula, Don Juan's holdings amounted to 33.2 caballerías of land--or between 374.4 and 531.2 hectares. Doña Ysavel was responsible for bringing an additional 28.25 caballerías to the cacicazgo--or between 315.8 and 452 hectares.This means that, by marrying Doña Ysavel, Don Juan almost doubled the amount of land to which he had access. Together they controlled 61.45 caballerías which totals between 693.15 and 983.2 hectares. This number does not include properties for which sizes were not recorded in the will nor smaller properties measured in "brazas," some of which were quite important, either for their high yields or because they produced specialty crops. In the Audiencia of Quito, where cultivable land was at a premium, the couple's combined assets represented a spectacular fortune, even in comparison to Spanish holdings.

After Doña Ysavel's death, Don Juan (el viejo) explored a few different avenues for moving her handsome assets permanently into the cacicazgo. In his will of 1605 he listed six properties that he had already given to his eldest son, Don Gaspar, when he came of age--five of the six were among Ysavel's largest lands. Presumably, these would be passed on as part of the Duchisela domain. Apparently outwitted by his and Ysavel's illegitimate children, he amended his will in 1655 to pay her heirs for nine of the properties she had brought to the marriage and bequeathed to them a tenth property--eight caballerías of land in Chimborazo; the other eight lands associated with Ysavel he recorded as his own, describing some of them as "paid for with Ysavel's money but belonging to him," and distributed them among three of his legitimate children.

Letting his conscience get the best of him, Don Juan also came clean in his codicil about the 2,000 peso debt his eldest son owed to the late Doña Ysavel. He instructed his executors to use some of his assets to pay her six children for both the lands and the debt--a combined value of 4,640 pesos. We know from the 1670 will of Don Juan Duchisela (Gaspar's son) that the Carrillo children were indeed paid for Gaspar's debt, but it is unclear as to whether they ever received payment for their mother's lands. Some of these properties, along with those retained by Don Juan for his own estate, however, continued to appear in the Duchisela wills up to 1769 and perhaps beyond--showing a substantial incorporation of Carrillo lands into the cacicazgo.

Beyond the accumulation of land, Don Juan's "strategic liaison" with Doña Ysavel Carrillo also aided the Duchisela family in formulating a sophisticated economic plan. First, the will of 1605 attests to a deliberate land-buying strategy, rather than random acquisitions. The properties that both Don Juan and Doña Ysavel bought in the early seventeenth century were scattered throughout multiple ecological zones and included fruit orchards, sheep ranches, sugar cane fields, and high-yield cereal lands. They were purchased from Spaniards, mestizos and Indians within a short period of time, giving the impression of a methodical scheme, and more often than not with Doña Ysavel's money. This buying spree was apparently an attempt to put together a varied set of resources, perhaps an effort to recuperate traditional vertical control of the economy after the dislocations of the late sixteenth-century reducciones. As we shall see, however, this was not all it was.

In addition to the expenditures on land, Don Juan also used Ysavel's considerable assets to purchase various pieces of equipment necessary to set up an obraje, iron pieces to establish a mill, a breeding stallion and riding gear, and five mules with harnesses. Most of these items are what would be needed to spin, weave, dye, and transport cloth. Obviously, Don Juan used his second wife's money to diversify his investments and enable him to participate in the colonial textile economy. In short, he and Ysavel employed a strategy that combined the best of both the Andean and Spanish economic systems: the reestablishment of vertical control for the maintenance of the Andean ideal of self-sufficiency and the establishment of infrastructure necessary for participation in the new Spanish market economy.

If Ysavel was indeed a mestiza, this strategy represents a glaring example of resource transfer from Spanish to Indian hands--a type of "reverse" appropriation that puts into question the traditional historiography of linear and uni-directional land divestment. Rooted in binary analyses of conqueror and conquered, previous colonial land studies, have had a tendency to totalize the phenomenon of Spanish expropriation of Indian lands. At least in the town of Yaruquíes, land tenure seems to have had a more variegated history.

Much of the incorporation of Doña Ysavel's lands took place during the tenure of Don Antonio Duchisela, Don Juan el viejo's heir. In spite of the loss of five of the cacicazgo's original properties, Don Antonio kept pace with and even superceded his father in lands, mostly owing to the incorporation of precisely five of Doña Ysavel's properties. In his will of 1684, he merely recorded these as if they were a part of the original cacicazgo. Evidently, problems must have surfaced regarding them, however, because he wrote a new will in 1685 in which he repeatedly claimed that Doña Ysavel was his mother, leading the reader to believe that her lands were his maternal inheritance. As mentioned previously, he was the son of Don Juan el viejo's third wife, Doña Barbola Curiguarmi.

Most of the original Duchisela lands he still held remained constant in size, at least those that are calculable, and these, in combination with the 11 caballerías of land he "inherited" from Doña Ysavel, brought his assets to 35.25 caballerías, as compared with his father's original 33.2 caballerías. So, without Ysavel's lands, Don Antonio's chiefly domain would have shrunk to 24.25 caballerías, a loss of 27 percent, from that of his father before his marriage to Doña Ysavel Carrillo.

A century and a half later, Don Manuel Duchisela, Don Antonio's grandson, still maintained holdings of 29.5 caballerías, most of which were the lands recorded in Don Juan Duchisela el viejo's last will and testament of 1605. Although many of the family's traditional lands, such as Pachanlica, Llagpizan and Amala, no longer appeared in Don Manuel's will of 1769, he still managed to keep pace with his grandfather's holdings by retaining the incorporation of 7 caballerías of Doña Ysavel's lands and inheriting 5.25 caballerías from other sources. Don Manuel's total was down only 3.7 caballerías from that of Don Juan el viejo's before his lucrative marriage. Once again, without Doña Ysavel's lands and his other inheritances, Don Manuel's assets would have been reduced to the remaining Duchisela lands or 17.5 caballerías. In other words, only half of Don Juan el viejo's original lands were still intact after 164 years. Nevertheless, through the incorporation of new lands and the retention of some of Doña Ysavel's contributions, the cacicazgo's holdings were more than respectable for the period. At a time when many surrounding cacicazgos, not only in Riobamba but throughout the Audiencia, had long since collapsed, the Duchisela family was able to "stay the course."

The Duchiselas Create a Political Machine

The accumulation and maintenance of wealth also translated into political capital for the Duchiselas. Although these lands and other assets appear in their last wills and testaments as seemingly private holdings that are passed down from one generation of heirs to another, there is a curious mix of European and Andean concepts embedded in the language used to describe them. The testators' use of verbs, such as tengo (I have), poseyo (I possess), compré (I bought), vendí (I sold), empeñé (I pawned), and "mando a mis herederos" (I bequeath to my heirs) all attest to an understanding, however culturally modified, of the western idea of individual proprietorship. Also woven into these Spanish-style, legal instruments, however, are substantial vestiges of the Andean principles of collective ownership, reciprocity and redistribution. Regarding lands, especially large tracts, the phrase "mando a mis herederos" ( I bequeath to my heirs) often appears linked to the phrase "partibles con mis deudos" (to be shared with my subjects). Since there is rarely any mention of community lands in these wills, it is my opinion, that what we see here is a hybrid form of communal land masquerading as individual private property, or at least being described in the language of western land tenure.

The continued value placed on reciprocity and redistribution is evident not only in the dominant place of the community in the chiefly lands recorded in the wills, but also in the extraordinary lengths to which the Duchiselas went to take care of their subjects. If we examine Don Antonio's will of 1685, which is the most explicit of all seven with regard to "shared lands," we discover that 28 of the 35 caballerías he listed were shared with the community--the overwhelming majority. This might not seem unusual if they were lands inherited from the original caciques of the town (lands assigned to the community during the reducciones of the 1570s), but more than half (15 caballerías) were deliberately purchased in the early seventeenth century by Don Juan. Apparently, his and Ysavel's land-buying scheme was not just a strategy for familial aggrandizement, but for community survival. Once again, we see the meshing of two economic systems--those of European and Andean land tenure--to achieve the greatest possible benefit.

There are many advantages to this hybrid tenure arrangement. The most obvious, and one that has been discussed in other studies, is that privatization could have been a a chiefly strategy to protect subsistence lands from confiscation by the Spanish regime. Private property simply was not subject, as was communal property, to the wholesale public auctions of "surplus" land that took place throughout the seventeenth century. As the Crown's financial crisis intensified, several campaigns of confiscation and regularization swept through the North Andean countryside, especially in the 1640s and 1690s, leaving many indigenous communities almost completely divested (Powers 1995: 131). During these agrarian onslaughts, lands held under western, as opposed to Andean precepts--that is, private lands purchased with money and titled as such--were usually respected. This could be one reason why the Duchiselas were so careful to record in their wills which lands had been purchased, from whom, and for how much money.

A less obvious reason for purchasing private land that would be communally shared was the political control that such an arrangement bestowed upon the Duchiselas. Because privately held lands were shared with the community, but not legally owned by the community, the Duchiselas, now supported in their possession of the land by an externally imposed Spanish judicial system, could exercise considerably more power over their constituency than under the pre-Hispanic contract between rulers and ruled. In other words, the overlay of western individual property ownership onto an Andean communal land/labor structure altered the principles of reciprocity and redistribution in ways that would favor the caciques' position vis-a-vis the community.

Probably, the most important development of the trend toward privatization, however, was that the Duchisela family was able to turn both the Spanish land tenure and judicial systems to one supreme advantage. Its culturally modified use of western private property rights, bolstered by Spanish legal instruments, such as titles and last wills and testaments, gave the family a kind of power within the community that had a "teflon" quality, especially with regard to the intrusions of the Spanish regime. Because the lands were privately held by a designated heir or heirs and bequeathed from one generation to another, the chiefly lineage was able to monopolize economic (and hence political) power no matter who the Spanish regime appointed to be cacique and gobernador of the town. Even when the colonial administration selected a an alternate leader, such as Don Ysidro Lliufa y Nitibron or Don Francisco Mayancela, thus splitting the community's politico-economic leadership, the Duchiselas' control of lands endowed them with a permanence of power that was difficult to rival. Because the use of Spanish inheritance practices ensured that the economic resources of the cacicazgo would remain with the chiefly lineage, the community's subsistence was left in the hands of the Duchiselas, giving them an internal legitimacy with which the Spanish bureaucracy could not tinker. What we have here is an ingenious manipulation of western concepts and legal tools against a western colonial regime.

Although the family's control of the community's resources gave them de facto power no matter who was at the official helm, most of the time they also managed to exercise raw political control over the town. By manipulating political appointments in the ayllus under their rule and arranging strategic marriages with both the leading families of the town's ayllus and with chiefly families of other towns, the Duchiselas were able to compose a vast network of alliances that served to secure both their continued leadership of Yaruquíes and their central position in regional politics.

Analysis of both the last wills and testaments and lawsuits over the family's legitimacy reveals that the Duchiselas succeeded, through corrupt practices, in orchestrating the town's political organization from early on. In his codicil of 1655, Don Juan Duchisela el viejo intruded directly on the leadership of the Cacha ayllu, strongly recommending that its hereditary leader not be permitted to exercise office. In a scathing attack on the competence of Don Fabian Puncho, he stated that, although legitimate heir to the principalazgo, Don Fabian was an unruly, runaway Indian (un indio cimarrón y fugitivo) who had no talent or ability whatsoever to assume the responsibilities of the position. He insisted that the arrangement made by the visitador, Don Antonio de Arteaga, in 1654 should remain in place

--that is, that Don Juan Tenelema and Don Lorenzo Duchisela -- no doubt his partisans -- should continue to admininister the ayllu of Cacha. In addition, he claimed that although Don Esteban Lobato was not the "legitimate" leader of the Quera ayllu, he had been administering it for many years and should continue to do so, unless the courts decided otherwise; the Lobatos, a powerful mestizo family, were related to the Duchiselas through marriage.

Nearly a century later, we find Don Juan Roberto Duchisela, Don Juan's grandson, being accused of the same kind of nepotism insinuated above. In a suit of 1754, Don Juan Chagpalbay, contender for control of the Cacha ayllu, claimed that a few generations earlier, Don Juan Roberto had viciously (con mano poderosa) removed his father, Don Basilio Chagpalbay, from office and had awarded the position to Don Alfonso Daqui--the descendants of whom had continued to administer the ayllu. Chagpalbay explained that Don Alfonso was Don Juan Roberto's brother-in-law, being as he was married to Doña Maria Duchisela, Don Juan Roberto's sister, and that the demotion was part of a move to consolidate all the town's power inside the Duchisela family (ANQ, Cac:32, Vol.52, 1754: 2v and 105v). Whether this is true remains to be seen, but what is clear is that there was indeed a perception abroad in the town that the Duchiselas were unfairly monopolizing power. This can be ascertained from a

related suit in which several of the principales of Yaruquíes attempted to have the embattled Don Juan Roberto removed from the office of gobernador (ANQ, Cac:34, Vol.59, 1773: 40-40v).

A related strategy for the consolidation of power, the "marriage alliance," was one that the Duchiselas utilized masterfully, perhaps better than any other chiefly lineage of the Audiencia. Although the formation of political conglomerates through marriage is commonly described for the Andean cacicazgos of the eighteenth century, the Duchiselas seized upon this strategy almost at the inception of Spanish rule. Nearly every member of the chiefly line married outside his/her ayllu--with alliances being formed in a concentric circle whose circumference radiated out over time to cover an increasingly larger political surface. Inter-ayllu marriages between the Duchiselas and other elites of Yaruquíes eventually ended in the genealogical convergence of all the town's ayllus. As the seventeenth century wore on, members of the chiefly line increasingly married into the chiefly lines of other towns in the region of Riobamba, and as the eighteenth century approached the strategy was extended to form alliances with cacicazgos in distant areas of the Audiencia. Throughout the entire colonial period, this formation was punctuated by interracial marriages with important Spanish/mestizo familes of Riobamba--a strategy that was sure not only to accrue new resources to the Duchisela cacicazgo, but to add clout to the family's already pivotal position within the regional power structure.

Examples of the Duchisela penchant for "marriage alliances" are abundant in both their last wills and testaments as well as in secondary sources on the lineage. Of Don Juan el viejo's three marriages, two were strategically exogamous. The origins of his first wife remain unknown, but his second, Doña Ysavel Carrillo, was most certainly from a local Spanish/mestizo family of means. And his third wife, Doña Barbola Curiguarmi, judging by the partial anthroponym, Curi, was mostlikely from a chiefly lineage of nearby Macaxí or Licán (Costales 1992: 125-126). In addition, Don Juan's daughter, Petrona, married into the ruling family of Lito, and two of his grandsons were Llangarimas, an important lineage of Calpi. As the analysis proceeds chronologically into the seventeenth century, marriage patterns begin to cut across a wider swath of the Riobamba region. Don Antonio Duchisela, Don Juan's heir, married Dona Francisca Nanguai whose parents were caciques of Lito and Punín, thereby linking three of the area's major cacicazgos. The second Don Juan Duchisela, Don Juan's grandson, contracted marriage with Doña Juana Lliufa y Nitibron, who was cacica of the Niti ayllu, also in the town of Calpi.

In the eighteenth century, the network continued to both deepen and expand as Don Antonio's son, Don Juan Roberto Duchisela, backtracked to connect once again with the famous Carrillo family by successively marrying two of Doña Ysavel's female descendants. His son, Don Manuel, then married Doña Antonia Lopes of San Andrés, another important native town in the region, and after her death, took yet another Carrillo, Doña María, as his second wife. His son-in-law, Don Ventura Tumay Guaraca was also the cacique principal and gobernador of the town of Licán. By the time Doña Margarita Duchisela of Yaruquíes married Don Justo Tigsilema of Calpi in the late eighteenth century, the "marriage alliance" strategy had resulted in extensive consanguineal integration of the cacicazgos of Calpi, Licto, Punin, Licán, San Andrès and Yaruquíes, with forays into those of Guano and Asancoto.

As the eighteenth century progressed, the Duchiselas extended their marital tentacles to the cacicazgos of other regions, such as Ambato and Latacunga, and even to the far reaches of the Audiencia in Carchi. Other scholars have posited that these extra-regional marriage alliances are evidence of a pan-Audiencia chiefly hierarchy with the Duchiselas at the pinnacle --a type of colonial kingdom that reflected the Duchisela lineage's supremacy in a pre-Hispanic "Kingdom of Quito." The existence of concurrent colonial documentation pointing to constant local conflict over Duchisela legitimacy, however, leads me to more measured conclusions. The colonial marriage alliances, when carried out regionally, were an important strategy for overcoming this conflict through the creation of kinship bonds and for the consolidation of local and regional power--a strategy that was undoubtedly a kingpin in the "invention" of internal legitimacy. The extension of this strategy to other areas of the Audiencia in the eighteenth century may have widened the Duchiselas' political influence and resource base, but considering the indigenous elites' disparate responses to the eighteenth century rebellions, it is unlikely that the family dominated an organized chiefly hierarchy during the colonial period.

Conclusion

In the Audiencia of Quito, the "cacicazgo" was, for the most part, a colonial invention, and, as such, its holders were left with the awesome responsibility of "inventing" their legitimacy. In their scramble to integrate themselves into the new hegemonic formations of the Spanish colonial regime, the Duchiselas utilized a number of imaginative strategies to "make" their cacicazgo and to legitimate their leadership both locally and regionally. Most of their efforts were based simultaneously on coercion and consensus, leading to odd strategic juxtapositions such as: interracial love affairs with extortion; primogeniture/mayorazgo with disheritance of a prodigal first son; private land ownership with communal land use; and brute political force with integrative marriage alliances. Many of these "improbable" juxtapositions were the result of combining the best of Andean and Spanish institutions and led to highly effective hybrid forms, especially in the areas of land tenure, resource management, economic success, and political hegemony.

The making of the Duchisela cacicazgo and the invention of the family's legitimacy were ongoing processes that were continually contested, not only by outsiders, but by members of the lateral, female and bastard lines of the lineage. In the highly fragmented and contentious political arena that was Riobamba, the outcomes of these power grabs were often the literal and figurative result of a "battle of wills." It was the author's hope that through the exegesis of seven indigenous testaments, the interior meaning of this "battle of wills" would be brought to light, both at the experiential level of the historical actors and at the analytical level of the historian.

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