Casca 10: The Conquistador (4 page)

One of Vargas's wrist bones began to crack. The pain was so
great, he couldn't even strike at the hand holding him. Captain Ortiz made up his mind quickly. After all, money was worth more than another nearly useless mouth to feed. In addition, the logic of the argument was irrefutable. It would save his pride, and he was certain that no word of what had happened in this cabin would be bandied about.

"Señor Romano, I accept your offer – trusting, of course, in your discretion concerning this matter."

Casca agreed and released Vargas, who rolled away quickly to rest on his haunches, holding his nearly broken limb with his good hand. From the look in Vargas's eyes, Casca knew that there probably would be trouble yet to come. To try to avoid this, before leaving the cabin, he gave a veiled warning to Ortiz.

"There is yet a long way to go before we reach Cuba, Captain. I would hate to have our journey interrupted by any further unpleasantness. For if that did happen, I would feel compelled to address the matter to you personally in the strongest manner I am capable of."

Ortiz knew exactly what the scar-faced man meant. He nodded his understanding as the door closed behind them.

Vargas made no overt move against Casca and Juan, but he never stopped watching them or remembering the humiliation of the way he had been treated in front of his captain. Ortiz had not said anything to him; he merely looked at him with contempt and dismissed him as he would a common deck hand. As the days passed, the fair winds did nothing to decrease the growing hatred he felt for the two men. In time he had found a dozen reasons for his not being able to break the steel grasp of the one called Romano. His treatment of his crew became even harsher as he fought to regain his self- esteem by abusing those beneath him. And with each act of domination, his courage began to return. Hate combined with renewed confidence gave him all the more reason to take revenge. He knew that Captain Ortiz would not be displeased if the two somehow met with a fatal accident before they reached Havana. He would wait and mark time until the proper opportunity presented itself.

Casca and Juan spent their hours in swordplay, as did most of those who planned on winning their fortunes in the New World on the point of their weapons. Juan had a good wrist and used it to his advantage, often parrying Casca's strong thrusts with little effort. Casca didn't let him know that this was done with his help. He wanted to build the smaller man's confidence in himself. Subtly, he let Juan learn techniques that he had not been taught in the fencing schools of Spain, techniques that could well mean the difference between life and death for the young man. Only Casca had any idea of what they might have to face if things went as he thought they would and the Spanish at last found their way to the lands where dark-skinned warriors wore the bright, rainbow-colored feathers of rare birds and human sacrifices had been and might still be made on stone altars to terrible and bloody gods.

He liked the young man, though he knew that pride such as Juan felt had led to thousands of deaths in the past and would cause even more in the future. He knew better than to try to change the
customs and teachings of generations overnight. But if Juan survived, time might be the best instructor of all. Juan's physical strength was not great, but he wasn't lacking in courage. He would do. If he lived long enough, he might even achieve that which he sought; namely, to rebuild his family's fortune and return to Spain in the manner befitting a grandee of Castile.

They reached the southern waters, where the sky and winds grew warmer and dolphins raced in front of the ship as if they were welcoming or guiding the caravel to a safe harbor. The waters became crystal clear, where a man could look down through the depths over thirty meters and see the animals of the warm seas as clearly as if they were in a fishbowl. Islands appeared with increasing frequency, green palm-dotted spots of land that beckoned them to stop and rest. But Ortiz had no mind for such things and made only one short detour to a flat, isolated island less than two miles around. This was done only to replenish their supply of fresh water, and no one other than the landing party was permitted to leave the ship. Once the kegs had been filled at a spring and brought back on board, they set sail for the last leg of their journey. Cuba was now only a three-day sail.

Luis Vargas had observed his quarry long enough to know their patterns. Juan and his ugly friend had made a habit of rising with the predawn to come on deck and take the morning air. It was their custom to sit on the railings by the bow and face into the path of the ship. It should not be too difficult to arrange an accident. He was not concerned about Casca; he knew that he could take care of him. If he waited in the shadows, two quick strikes with a belaying pin would take care of them, and both would be over the side in less time than a heartbeat. He'd take out the scarred one first and then the youngster. With surprise on his side, he had no doubt about his ability to accomplish his desire. Let them swim to Cuba.

The nights had become heavy and oppressive in the small confines of the tiny cabin. Casca had always been an early riser and used this as a chance to go to the upper decks, where the breeze from the sea could wipe away the cobwebs of a troubled sleep filled with night sweats. Juan had taken to accompanying him. It seemed as if the hours before the dawn were when the soul was most awake. They'd sit on the bow and talk of many things, some in the past and some yet to come. De Castro was amazed at how much history his new friend knew. Although much of what this man, Romano, said was near heresy or even treason, there was something in the voice that said he was telling the truth or at least the truth as he believed it.

Vargas stood by the sail locker, hidden in the shadows, waiting for his quarry to present itself. He enjoyed the anticipation of the coming event. He would redeem himself in the eyes of Captain Ortiz, and then all would be well. A head came up from the stairwell leading below deck. It was joined by another. Casca and Juan took their time walking with the roll of the ship toward the bow. Vargas sucked in his breath, holding it in as his heart began to beat faster. As the two men neared him, his hand gripped the belaying pin tighter. His muscles tensed, his legs beginning to tremble at the strain of containing his desire. He wanted Romano; the other was just an added bonus. Casca was in the lead. That was good. He'd brain him first and then smash the smaller man before he had time to react or cry out.

It would have gone as he planned if fate hadn't taken a hand. As Casca passed him, Vargas moved out to strike, his arm rising to crush the belaying pin down on the skull of his prey. Unfortunately for him, when he raised his arm up with the pin, he hit the side of the sail locker. Casca turned in time to
catch the blow on his left forearm. The heavy hardwood pin nearly broke the bone. He turned under the blow, dropping his body and shoulder down at right angles to his attacker. Casca lowered his body to where his shoulder was on a level with Vargas's waist. Vargas's own momentum threw him onto Casca's shoulder. Grasping Vargas by the tunic with his free hand, Casca thrust back up with his leg muscles, raising Vargas off the deck, waist over his shoulder.

When his shoulder hit Vargas in the gut, it took the air out of the second mate. He was still trying to suck in a breath as Casca twisted and turned, heaving him into the air. The second mate just had time to take one quick breath before he hit the water. Juan never had time to do anything. The whole event was a blur. When all this was over, Casca had a feeling that the events were vaguely familiar, and he recalled a distant moment when he had performed much the same act while passing through the Straits of Messina.

The watch on the quarterdeck heard a cry for help come from the starboard side. He knew the voice well; it had chewed him out more than once and mocked him as it meted out twenty lashes with the knot. The seaman rushed to the side and looked down. He saw Casca and Juan standing there, looking back to where the voice now cried less loudly for help. The watch had a pretty good idea of what had taken place. He looked about to see whether anyone else had heard Vargas's cry. There was no sign of it. He returned to his watch rather pleased that he had been able to settle the score with the second mate at no risk to himself.

Juan knew that Vargas had been trying to kill them, and he considered the man no great loss. One who came from the shadows at night was most certainly a person without any sense of honor and therefore deserving of his watery fate.

In the morning, without having any witnesses to call on, Captain Ortiz had to enter into his log that the second mate, Luis Vargas, had been lost overboard some time during the night. He tried to read the expressions of Juan and Casca, who merely smiled and winked at him. Ortiz felt quite uneasy at that and was glad that they would be in the safe port of Havana in only two more days. Then he would be rid of his troublesome cargo. As for Vargas, there was something about the man he would miss, but there had never been a shortage of those with the same qualities. Vargas's position would not be very difficult to fill.

In color and design, Havana was much like any town of Spain. Only the tropical winds from the warm seas gave the air a heavy feel that was not of Castile. Near the tavern of the Dos Dracos, two men pushed their way through the early evening crowd of soldiers, sailors, Indian slaves, and mestizo whores. They were going to the inn for a particular purpose. Hernan Cortes was outfitting an expedition to the New World. He was signing on men for that adventure now.

Casca Longinus, now called Carlos Romano, took his place in line at the doorway to the Dos Dracos, standing behind a sailor with bare feet and calloused broad hands suited for raising a sail or swinging a cutlass. Over the mass of heads, he could see the interior of the tavern. It was crowded with all that was the best and worst of Spain, men of great pride and quick tempers who prided themselves on their piety and fear of God as they did on their ability to lie and kill. Most of those signing the articles were much like him. They brought their own weapons and armor if they had it. There would be no pay, only a share of the loot if there was any. Casca was one of the few who had no real interest in the gold of the Indians nor in their silver and women. Neither did he have the burning desire to save their souls by bringing the cross to replace their heathen idols. His was another purpose, a reason that came from centuries before.

Juan stood behind his larger friend near the rear rank of the soldiers and sailors gathered to hear Cortes make his speech. The man had a way with words and men; Casca would give him that. But he had a premonition that Cortes was not one who would let much, if anything, stand in the way of his desires. Cortes removed his polished steel helmet as he began, his voice reaching easily over the heads of those assembled on the docks.

"Certain it is, my friends and companions, that every good man of spirit desires and strives by his own effort to make himself the equal of the excellent men of his day and even those of the past." At this, Casca barely controlled a derisive laugh, not that it would have stopped the words that followed. "And so it is that I am embarking upon a great and beautiful enterprise, one which will be famous in times to come, because I know in my heart that we shall take vast and rich lands, peoples such as have never before been seen, and kingdoms greater than those of our monarchs. Certain it is also that the lust for glory extends beyond this mortal life and that taking a whole world will hardly satisfy it, much less one or two kingdoms.

"I have assembled ships, arms, horses, and the other materials of war, a great stock of provisions, and everything, else commonly needed and profitable in conquest. I have spent large sums, for which I have put in pawn my own estates and those of my friends. For it seems to me that the less I retain of it, the greater will be my honor. Small things must be given up when great things present themselves. I hope in God that more profit will come to our king and nation from our expedition than from those of all others. I need hardly mention how pleasing it will be to God, our Lord, for love of whom I have willingly offered my toil and my estate; nor shall I speak of the danger to life and honor to which I have exposed myself in getting the fleet together, because I would have you know that I do not seek gain from it so much as honor, for good men hold honor dearer than riches."

Casca thought that Cortes did very well in bringing up things he didn't want to mention. The man was a natural politician. Cortes caught his breath and continued.

"We are engaging in a just and good war which will bring us fame. Almighty God, in whose name and faith it will be waged, will give us victory, and time will see the accomplishment that always follows upon whatever is done and guided by intelligence and good counsel. We must, therefore, employ a different way, a different reasoning, and a different skill from those of Cordoba and Grijalba. I shall not pursue the matter further because of the pressure of time, which urges us onward. There we shall do as we shall see fit, and here I offer you great rewards, although they will be wrapped about with great hardships. Valor loves not idleness, and so therefore, if you will take hope for valor, or valor for hope, and if you do not abandon me, as I shall not abandon you, I shall make you in a very short time the richest of all men who have crossed the seas and of all the armies which have made war. You are few, I see, but such is your spirit that no effort or force of Indians will prevail against you, for we have seen by experience how God has favored the Spanish nation in these parts and how we have never lacked courage or strength and never shall. Go your way now, content and happy, and make the outcome equal to the beginning."

The assembly gave a great cheer, much encouraged by the speech, especially the part about making them rich men. There was a rush for the assembly to line up in three rows to sign the articles that would make them part of this great enterprise. Casca and Juan waited their turn, the scar-faced man thinking of the manner in which fate turns its endlessly spinning wheel of chance. If Grijalba and Cordoba had not made a chance landing on the shores of the unknown lands to the west of Cuba, Cortes would not at this time be signing on hands to go there.

Cortes waited until all had signed the articles and then stood on a table to get their attention once more. To all there, he gave the order that they were to sail as soon as a mass was said and the wind turned favorable. Men rushed to gather their gear and load equipment and horses. They would be ready when the time came.

It was February 18, 1519, when Cortes gave his pilots their orders and set a large lantern from his mast to serve as a guide for the others of his small fleet. The course was set for due west of Punta de San Anton, the last tip of Cuba, for Cape Catoche, the closest landfall at Yucatan, sixty leagues distant.

The conquistadors of Spain had set sail.

A storm blew up that night, and they were forced to change their course. Instead of Yucatan, they made first landfall on the island of Cozumel. Three ships of the fleet had managed to stay with Cortes's flagship, and of the rest, only one ship failed to find its way to Cozumel, though all of them were blown off course and had to pick their own paths and speed. The ship commanded by de Morala had lost its rudder in the storm, and this caused some delay before Cortes was able to press on.

Two more days' sail without sight of land and they reached Punta de las Mujeres, where they found several of the stray ships at anchor, waiting. Cortes ordered his pilots to set their course for the direction in which the winds and weather had most likely blown the remainder of his lost ships. He found them anchored in a fair harbor within sight of a native town. Ordering a patrol to investigate the village, Cortes hoped to find a friendly reception. But when they returned to the ships, it was with the word that all the natives had fled. When questioned further, they said that the town was well built of mortar and stone with roofs of thatch. They did return with some garments of cotton
and a few pieces of gold jewelry found in the houses. There were several of what they believed to be temples and a high tower; but in those they found nothing. Outside the village there were fields of maize, orchards, and many beehives.

Cortes was pleased but also a bit surprised that the villagers had run away to hide in the woods. This was the same place where Juan de Grijalba had ventured to earlier. Fearing an ambush, he ordered fifty men and their horses to land, not only to search out the countryside but also to rest the animals and let them pasture. Casca was in the search party, being one of those who owned his own animal. He and ten others found five women and three children hiding in the brush. These they returned to Cortes, who naturally could not understand them. He managed by using signs, making them understand that he was not going to do them or their children any harm. One of the women was clearly the mistress of the others, and from the way the children clung to her, it was certain that she was also their mother. Casca watched with approval as Cortes put the weeping woman at her ease by giving her gifts of clothing, several small mirrors, and scissors, which astonished her when she understood their use. Once she no longer was in fear for her life, she requested permission to send one of her servants to speak to her lord and master to tell of the manner in which she had been treated.

It was several hours before six native men came to the town to see whether what the servant had said was true and whether the wife of the calachuni was actually being treated as an honored guest. They were given small gifts and sent back with the word that the Spaniards had come as friends and that the calachuni himself should come and see that he had no reason to fear them. The next morning the chief came, bringing gifts of honey, bread, and fish. This was the first opportunity Juan and Casca had to see Cortes in his element, that of winning the natives to his side. He was a natural diplomat. He ordered that all the things taken from the houses be brought to him, including the few items of gold and silver they had found. These he laid out so that their owners could identify and reclaim their possessions. These simple acts, so contrary to what Casca had seen of the normal Spanish method of dealing with what they considered to be inferior beings (and they considered everyone in the world inferior beings), left him sanguine. He had high hopes for his commander if Cortes conducted all of his business in the same manner.

Francisco de Cordoba, one of Cortes's captains, had in his company a man named Melchior, who had spent time as a fisherman in the coastal waters near Yucatan and had a small grasp of the tongue of the people of these regions. Although Melchior's abilities were limited, it was better than nothing. It was through him, accompanied by many signs and sand
drawings, that Cortes was able to make most of his words known. The natives were impressed by the Spaniards, with their beards and fair skin, and especially by the horses, which they would watch for hours at a time. It was clear that they considered the Spaniards to be more than just ordinary men and therefore were not very upset when Cortes ordered their idols smashed and replaced with the cross. In this, Juan joined in with a fervor, for he was a good Catholic. Casca watched it all and wondered if all the natives they met would be as ready as these were to accept the new religion the Spaniards were offering them. Old ways die hard.

The Cacique, whose wife Cortes had treated so nobly, came to him after they had been there about ten days. He made signs to Cortes, pointing toward Yucatan, that he had heard of four or five other bearded men there. Upon considering how vital to his plans it would be to have someone who really
could communicate with the natives, Cortes at last coaxed the Cacique into sending three men to the bearded men, even though they were afraid that if they were found out, they would be killed and eaten by the chieftain who held the bearded men captive. It took a few more bribes of trinkets before they were convinced to try. Cortes wrote a letter to the unknown captives, saying:

Noble lords,
I have departed from Cuba with a fleet of eleven vessels and five hundred and fifty Spaniards and have arrived here at Cozumel, where I am writing this letter to you. The people of this island have assured me that in your country there are four or five bearded men like us in every respect. They cannot give me more details, but judging from what they have told us, I suspect and consider as certain that you are Spaniards. I and these gentlemen who have come with me to explore and colonize these lands beg you, within six days from the time you receive this letter, to come to us without delay or excuse. If you will come, we shall recognize and reward the favor that this fleet will receive from you. I am sending a brigantine to pick you up and two ships to act as escort.

Hernan Cortes of Havana, Cuba

In order to keep the letter hidden, Cortes chose the brightest looking of the Indians and hid the letter in the man's thick braids. He sent Captain Escalante and his brigantine, along with Diego de Ordaz and several Indians, to command the two escort ships and the fifty soldiers on them. Escalante landed the Indians where he was told to, let them off, and waited seven days, though he had been told to wait for six. When the Indians didn't return, he figured they'd been found out and killed or taken as slaves. Cortes was disappointed that they had not returned with at least one Spaniard who could speak the tongue of the Indians. He gave the order for his fleet to make ready to sail.

The fleet had not cleared the cape before they had to put about and return to Cozumel, where Pedro de Alvarez's ship had sprung a leak so bad that not even two pumps could keep it under control. The Indians were glad to see them return, but Cortes was impatient, feeling that even nature and luck were beginning to conspire against his destiny. It was the following Sunday, which was the first day of Lent, when Cortes decided to hold a mass before they attempted to leave again. It was then that he was told that a canoe had been seen sailing from Yucatan to the island, heading for where his ships were anchored. Cortes put out a guard under the command of Andres de Tapia, the commander of his arquebusiers, in case the new arrivals were hostile. They went to the beach to await the arrival of whoever was coming from the mainland.

The log canoe touched the beach, and four men got out of it, all of them wearing only breechclouts, their hair braided over their foreheads, bows and arrows in their hands. Three of them started to try to get back into the boat when they saw the Spaniards of de Tapia coming at them with drawn swords. One stepped in front of them, speaking their tongue and halting their flight. Then he turned to those carrying the good steel of Toledo in their hands and cried out in Spanish, "Gentlemen, are you Christians?" When they affirmed that it was so, he broke into tears, sank to his knees, and begged them to do likewise. They joined him as he said thanks to God and the Holy Virgin for their mercy in restoring him to his country and out of the hands of the devils who had held him for so long.