Read Online Casca 10: The Conquistador by Barry Sadler - Free Book Online
Authors: Barry Sadler
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face lean and darkened by years in the tropical sun, was full of expression as he related the tale of his being shipwrecked while on a mission with Vasco Nunez de Balboa for the admiral governor of Santo Domingo in the year 1511. He had been shipwrecked, losing not only his ship but twenty thousand gold ducats destined for the royal coffers when their caravel struck the shoals of Las Tibores. Twenty men survived the wreck in one boat without sails, water, or food and with only one set of oars. For two weeks they drifted, until they finally were caught in a current that carried them to the province of the Maya. Seven died on the journey; the rest were taken captive by a ruthless Cacique, who'd caged them and then sacrificed five of the castaways to his heathen idols and ate them.
Geronimo and the others were being well fed for what they believed was a fattening up for the next savage fiesta. With luck, they'd managed to break out of their cage and escape, taking refuge with a chieftain named Aquincuz of the Xamananza. He was not on good terms with their original captor. But one by one the survivors had died, until only he and a seaman, one Gonzalo Guerrero, remained. Guerrero had refused to join him when he received Cortes's letter, as he had taken a rich native wife, painted his face and hands black in the native manner, and had many children by the woman. Geronimo thought he was too ashamed to let his fellow countrymen see him in his new state. This did not matter to Cortes, for he had what he needed most in the person of Geronimo, and now he was more determined than ever to set sail once again. But he would have to wait until the weather permitted.
Cortes's policy of making friends had turned the Indians of Cozumel into willing allies, eager to accept all the Spaniards said, even to taking up the god on the cross, along with his mother, as replacements for their own ancient, dark, and bloody lords of heaven. Through Geronimo, he was able to preach the word of God to the heathens, as was his duty as a Christian soldier. The idols of Cozumel were cast down and destroyed by the Indians themselves, who worshiped before their new altars, burning incense and making small sacrifices of partridges, fruit, and maize but not the blood of humans.
From the time they had left Cuba, they'd spent nearly six weeks before they set sail to look for their still missing ship. With Cortes and Casca on the same brigantine, they searched the rivers and coves of the mainland, working their way slowly northward. Their efforts were rewarded when they reached a lagoon they called Puerto Escondido. There they found their lost vessel, unharmed and with its crew safe.
Cortes was not going to waste any more time now that he had his stray sheep. He ordered the fleet to set sail immediately. Juan watched as Casca stood on the bow of the flagship looking over the deep green waters. An old scar on his chest started to ache. He wondered what they would find when they reached the coast, where the Indians of Cozumel said the greatest of the kings held sway. His chest burned, though it had been centuries since he had lain upon the pyramid altar waiting for the sacrificial knife to descend. He shivered with the evening chill, his skin tingling from the spray splashing lightly over the bow. He had promised the people of the city of Teotihuacan that he would return one day, not really believing it. But now he was coming back. Was he still remembered as a god? Did his death mask of jade still rest in the sacred chamber of the pyramid temple, beneath the sign of the Feathered Serpent Quetzalcoatl? He had been the god, Quetza when he had left them after killing the monstrous king of the Olmecs, Teypeytel, named for the huge spotted cat that looked much like the leopards of Africa. The Feathered Serpent had been taken as a symbol from the dragon-prowed long ships with their red and white striped sails. He and his Nordic warriors had arrived in the tropic climes on
Geronimo and the others were being well fed for what they believed was a fattening up for the next savage fiesta. With luck, they'd managed to break out of their cage and escape, taking refuge with a chieftain named Aquincuz of the Xamananza. He was not on good terms with their original captor. But one by one the survivors had died, until only he and a seaman, one Gonzalo Guerrero, remained. Guerrero had refused to join him when he received Cortes's letter, as he had taken a rich native wife, painted his face and hands black in the native manner, and had many children by the woman. Geronimo thought he was too ashamed to let his fellow countrymen see him in his new state. This did not matter to Cortes, for he had what he needed most in the person of Geronimo, and now he was more determined than ever to set sail once again. But he would have to wait until the weather permitted.
Cortes's policy of making friends had turned the Indians of Cozumel into willing allies, eager to accept all the Spaniards said, even to taking up the god on the cross, along with his mother, as replacements for their own ancient, dark, and bloody lords of heaven. Through Geronimo, he was able to preach the word of God to the heathens, as was his duty as a Christian soldier. The idols of Cozumel were cast down and destroyed by the Indians themselves, who worshiped before their new altars, burning incense and making small sacrifices of partridges, fruit, and maize but not the blood of humans.
From the time they had left Cuba, they'd spent nearly six weeks before they set sail to look for their still missing ship. With Cortes and Casca on the same brigantine, they searched the rivers and coves of the mainland, working their way slowly northward. Their efforts were rewarded when they reached a lagoon they called Puerto Escondido. There they found their lost vessel, unharmed and with its crew safe.
Cortes was not going to waste any more time now that he had his stray sheep. He ordered the fleet to set sail immediately. Juan watched as Casca stood on the bow of the flagship looking over the deep green waters. An old scar on his chest started to ache. He wondered what they would find when they reached the coast, where the Indians of Cozumel said the greatest of the kings held sway. His chest burned, though it had been centuries since he had lain upon the pyramid altar waiting for the sacrificial knife to descend. He shivered with the evening chill, his skin tingling from the spray splashing lightly over the bow. He had promised the people of the city of Teotihuacan that he would return one day, not really believing it. But now he was coming back. Was he still remembered as a god? Did his death mask of jade still rest in the sacred chamber of the pyramid temple, beneath the sign of the Feathered Serpent Quetzalcoatl? He had been the god, Quetza when he had left them after killing the monstrous king of the Olmecs, Teypeytel, named for the huge spotted cat that looked much like the leopards of Africa. The Feathered Serpent had been taken as a symbol from the dragon-prowed long ships with their red and white striped sails. He and his Nordic warriors had arrived in the tropic climes on
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