Casca 10: The Conquistador (18 page)

Four hundred and fifty Spaniards, forty-six horses, and over three thousand Tlaxcalans died in the few minutes from the time when they left the palace of Moctezuma to the time when they reached Tacuba. For the Spaniards, that time would be forever known as
la noche de tristes
, or the night of sorrows.

For others the night of sorrows was not over. In the city of the fishermen they made sacrifices of ten Spaniards by placing them in nets and then twisting and tightening until each victim's flesh and intestines were squeezed out of the mesh. This process took over two hours to complete.

At the altar of the war god, Cuahtemoc was ready to pay homage to his god. The altars were prepared for sacrifice, and the heads of the dead invaders and even their horses were set on the ceremonial poles by the temple of Huitzilopochtli. From out of the flayed man's eyes he saw the offering being brought to him along the wide streets lined with the thousands of the city of Mexico. To make certain there would be no unseemly display during the ceremony, the "messenger" had been forced to eat and drink a mixture made of sacred mushrooms and ground coca leaves.

Juan de Castro sweated beneath the ceremonial mask. His eyes dilated, he moved as if in a dream world. He had been sweating heavily even before he was given the mixture. He felt lightheaded and dizzy. Faces swam before him, and the feathered robe seemed very heavy. He moved in time with the beat of the drums that were covered with the skin of humans. Reed flutes shrieked above them, and in his drugged state he thought that he could hear the breathing of every one of the thousands on the streets. Slaves went before him, casting flowers to the crowd as naked girls swept the earth in front of him with their hair. He felt strangely content and at peace. Behind the mask he smiled at the painted faces around him. On either side priests, their faces painted black, helped to guide his steps as they began the climb to the top of the temple.

He stood, his back to the sacrificial stone, making no move or protest as his mask and robe were removed. His face had a pale waxy cast to it. Cuahtemoc motioned for him to step back. He did as he was commanded. It all seemed so natural. Even the man wearing another's skin did not seem out of place. Gentle hands helped him lie back on the darkly stained stone. It felt cool and pleasing to his hot flesh.

His arms were stretched out to the sides. Priests held them taut as they stretched out the skin of his chest and arched his back. Cuahtemoc stood over him as thousands of voices in the streets below chanted paeans to their gods, praying for this messenger to be accepted.

Cuahtemoc raised the knife of flint to the four winds. Drums and flutes increased the tempo to a crescendo. The knife plunged, sliced down, and was pulled to the side, exposing the chest cavity and the thing Cuahtemoc sought – Juan's beating heart. Grasping the pumping, rubbery organ in his hand, Cuahtemoc severed the arteries and muscles holding it. Juan never screamed. The pain he felt was a distant thing that had no relationship to him. There was only a vague discomfort as his mouth filled with blood and he died.

Cuahtemoc showed his prize to the people of Mexico, and they roared their approval. The new king was pleased at the way the ceremony had gone. To honor his victim, he had Juan's body sliced into thin strips and distributed to the mob,
who ate the flesh as a sign of honor to the messenger.

Casca felt a stab of pain in his chest. It nearly doubled him over. He knew that pain well. Looking back at the great city, he thought he heard a distant rumble of voices crying out in righteous joy. He knew that Juan was gone. It was also time for him to leave this land of smoking mountains and death. He had failed, and there was no longer anything for him here.

That night he walked past the last sentry and went into the desert. Looking at the stars, he faced to the east and began to walk. He took with him his battered armor and sword and the small pouch of gems. With them he could arrange passage back to Cuba and from there take a ship to somewhere else he didn't belong, perhaps Peru or Africa.

That night the Aztecs rejoiced in their victory, not knowing that death more terrible than the guns of the Spaniards or even the knives of their priests was already walking among them. When they ate of the body of young Juan de Castro, they ate death. For in the cells of his fevered flesh he carried smallpox...

Dien Bien Phu.  It was to be France’s most glorious victory in the Indochina War.  Eleven thousand courageous Legionnaires were flown into the valley, totally unaware that fifty thousand Viet Minh with heavy cannons were waiting in the hills above them. One relentless officer vowed to lead his Communist forces to victory.  But his soul would never rest until he danced on the grave of one godforsaken Legionnaire….

 
Death to Casca!

For more information on the entire Casca series see
www.casca.net

The Barry Sadler website
www.barrysadler.com

By Barry Sadler

Casca 1: The Eternal Mercenary

Casca 2: God of Death

Casca 3: The Warlord

Casca 4: Panzer Soldier

Casca 5: The Barbarian

Casca 6: The Persian

Casca 7: The Damned

Casca 8: Soldier of Fortune

Casca 9: The Sentinel

Casca 10: The Conquistador

Casca 11: The Legionnaire

Casca 12: The African Mercenary

Casca 13: The Assassin

Casca 14: The Phoenix

Casca 15: The Pirate

Casca 16: Desert Mercenary

Casca 17: The Warrior

Casca 18: The Cursed

Casca 19: The Samurai

Casca 20: Soldier of Gideon

Casca 21: The Trench Soldier

Casca 22: The Mongol

By Tony Roberts

Casca 25: Halls of Montezuma

Casca 26: Johnny Reb

Casca 27: The Confederate

Casca 28: The Avenger

Casca 30: Napoleon’s Soldier

Casca 31: The Conqueror

Casca 32: The Anzac

Casca 34: Devil’s Horseman

Casca 35: Sword of the Brotherhood

Casca 36: The Minuteman

Casca 37: Roman Mercenary

Casca 38: The Continental

Casca 39: The Crusader

Casca 40: Blitzkrieg

Casca 41: The Longbowman