Before the infantry captain joined his men in the charge, Hastelloy pulled him aside for a word. “Do not stop until every last one of the men is dead, then move on to the village and round up the women and children. Send me word when it’s done.”
“Yes, Sir,” he responded with an eager grin crossing his face before leaving Hastelloy to stand alone among his thick white cloud that reeked of sulfur.
He hated the smell, and he hated this entire bloody business of subjugating these natives. Hastelloy thrived in situations of warfare, but this was not war. These natives were farmers armed with wood and string facing professional soldiers trained in firearms, sword fighting, and hand-to-hand combat. It was the equivalent of a grown man overpowering and violating a five-year-old. Still, it was the reality of things in the New World, and the best Hastelloy could do was make his victories so swift and overwhelming that the natives would see the futility in their resistance and stop. That way he could move on to the real objective of reaching the replicator to stop the pandemic of diseases now ravaging the native populations.
Thankfully, this was it. This was the last pocket of resistance left on the island. Governor Ovando had sent Hastelloy to the island of Cuba to put down the rebellion and establish settlements. He had done precisely that and would be rewarded with lands and titles. These would enable him to finally challenge Juan’s base of power in the New World and win the race to the mainland. It was distasteful but necessary.
A few minutes after hearing the clanks and shouts of his men grow more distant up the hillside, Hastelloy began to notice a sound getting closer. Hoof beats were approaching, at least two, perhaps three sets of them. Through the dense fog, he could not be certain of the count, but he did know they were coming fast.
Hastelloy considered for a moment that it might be his men returning with news of the battle, but it was too soon. Plus, it did not take multiple riders from an already small cavalry force to deliver a message.
The cadence of thunder coming from the fog picked up to a full charge an instant before three horsemen in a perfect line materialized through the white haze. They adjusted their course upon spotting Hastelloy in order to run right over him. He had half a second to dash to his right two steps before diving in a desperate attempt to reach safety, but the width of the charge was too great.
The outer horse caught Hastelloy midthigh and hit with force enough to flat spin him three times around before he hit the ground and skidded to a stop. His entire lower left side was numb, but he did not have time to worry about such trivial things. The horsemen executed a rounded turn to bring them about with good momentum to make another run at their target.
Hastelloy stumbled to his feet and managed to draw a dagger by the time his attackers lined up their second charge. He was able to dodge the first stampede, but stood no chance of doing so again with a left leg that was without feeling at the moment. Knowing that avoidance was no longer an option, he instead chose to face the charge head-on as it rushed toward him at thirty miles per hour. Unless his aim was true, he was a dead man.
The straight approach made Hastelloy’s task of aiming for the middle rider a simple task. He flung his blade through the air and hit the rider just below his jaw in the throat. The deadly blow sent him tumbling backward off his mount. The unguided horse then veered to the left just enough for Hastelloy to lunge between the gap and come out the other side unscathed.
The middle horse continued riding off into the fog while the remaining two horsemen stopped, turned about, and drew their blades before charging Hastelloy at a much slower pace than before. The intent of this charge was to cut the target down with their swords rather than pulverize him under the hooves of their horses.
Hastelloy drew his own sword and observed that both his attackers were right-handed. He lined himself up to be in the center of their charge, which caused one of the riders to cross his sword hand to the other side of his horse. At the last moment, Hastelloy darted across that rider and in doing so caused the horse’s neck to block the rider’s swing. In the meantime, Hastelloy used his blade to chop the horse’s front legs off at the bend.
This sent the horse careening into the dirt headfirst to snap its neck on impact and flip over the top of its rider to leave him crushed under the animal’s immense weight. Hastelloy wasted no time running the man through with his sword before pulling the rider’s crossbow protruding from behind the saddle.
He notched a bolt, and moved on to cocking the firing lever. He spotted the arming bar lying on the ground five feet from the downed horse. As Hastelloy moved to retrieve it, he saw that the remaining rider was also in the process of arming his crossbow.
Hastelloy picked up the three-foot-long metal rod, hooked it under the string, and braced it against a notch cut into the weapon’s handle. The flat strip of metal holding each end of the string groaned as it bowed under the force of Hastelloy’s lever. When the arming hook snapped over the string to hold it in place, Hastelloy dropped the arming bar, readied the weapon and took aim at his target who, unfortunately, was a hair quicker.
The horseman fired his weapon, and time slowed to a snail’s pace as Hastelloy watched the four-inch bolt leap from the weapon. As it crossed the fifteen feet between the rider and him, Hastelloy had no time to move, but he did recall the excruciating pain he had felt the last time a crossbow bolt hit him. He remembered it hurting far worse the first time as the fletching brushed by his right shoulder to pass with no harm done.
“You’re quick. I’ll give you that,” Hastelloy taunted, “but I’ll take accuracy over speed any day. Now before I pull this trigger, I’d like to know who gave the order.”
After a few seconds passed without answer, Hastelloy pressed the petrified man. “I’m virtually certain who it is, but I need you to remove all doubt. You can either tell me and this bolt will kill you quick, or you can try to hold out. In which case, this bolt will be but the first of many painful wounds you endure.”
The man still seemed intent on holding his tongue, so Hastelloy made his point abundantly clear. “I assure you that whatever I want to know, you will tell me . . . gratefully.”
“Juan Ponce de León,” the man said an instant before Hastelloy pulled the trigger. He dropped the discharged weapon at the same time as the rider’s body hit the ground with a bolt protruding from his neck.
“So my anonymity in the New World is no more,” Hastelloy said to himself while climbing aboard the vacated horse.
“I suppose a conquistador does garner more attention than a governor’s accountant,” he added before heading to the top of the recently conquered hillside as if nothing had happened.
Chapter 32: Not a Happy Family Anymore
HASTELLOY WOULD HAVE preferred to enter his settlement of Havana without making a show of things. He was not at all proud of conquering the island of Cuba, but he had received advanced word that the governor had arrived the day before. When one was trying to gain status with the ruling authority, it rarely paid to play the part of a humble servant.
As such, Hastelloy led a marching procession of his victorious soldiers through the central street of Havana. Three hundred men marched five abreast with their muskets held over their right shoulder. Next came a mass of eight hundred women and children all tied together. They were prodded along and corralled by forty-seven mounted horsemen holding their swords up high with a severed head of a native warrior impaled upon each blade.
The settlers of Havana lavished praise and cheers on the soldiers as they marched the captives into a caged-off area, where the taskmasters would divvy up their labors between the farm fields and mines. Hastelloy could not bring himself to look at the sad scene. Instead, he focused his eyes straight ahead at Governor Ovando, who greeted him at the steps of the mayor’s villa.
“Governor, I present to you the island of Cuba. It is now free of rebellion, as requested,” Hastelloy offered as an introduction while still holding his elevated position seated in the saddle.
&nb
sp; Ovando understood the optic all too well and bid Hastelloy to dismount. “Come my friend. Join me on a walk along the beach so that we may discuss the state of things.”
“I’d be honored,” Hastelloy responded before swinging his leg behind him to dismount. He handed the reins to one of the governor’s aides and ushered the prim and properly dressed governor toward the white beach with sand so fine as to be mistaken for silk stockings caressing ones feet.
“You’ve done well, Hernán,” Governor Ovando commended. “It took you three months to quell a state of open rebellion on the largest island we’ve encountered thus far.”
“And I did it while sustaining minimal casualties,” Hastelloy boasted. “Am I out of line to expect that a large contingent of the slaves I brought back will be mine to keep? After all, I’ll need them in order to work the embarrassingly massive land grant you plan on giving me as reward for my outstanding and faithful service.”
“Hah,” the governor exclaimed and placed a friendly arm across Hastelloy’s shoulder. “You’re my notary. I’d expect nothing less from you than to already have the papers drawn. As long as you keep making me rich, I can think of no one better to manage this island than you. Take care that the crown and I each continue receiving our customary twenty percent, and this island is yours.”
“You know me too well,” Hastelloy deadpanned back. “Now let’s move on to the mainland. I’ve heard we finally managed to establish a colony there, and it has been a bonanza of gold and silver for you.”
“Knowing the way your mind operates, you’ve no doubt also heard that the local natives are very hostile toward us. I’d also wager good coin that you’re keenly aware these natives and their Aztec Empire managed to repel six other colony expeditions. In fact, the settlement is under siege by them as we speak,” Ovando challenged.
Hastelloy shot the governor a knowing look laced with a self-assured smile. “The thought did occur to me that you might want your most successful commander at the head of any relief mission sent to save that lucrative settlement.”
“No, no. Frontier Governor Juan Ponce de León already has that assignment. He’s been assembling his army for months now,” Ovando informed Hastelloy. “Besides, you just appointed yourself administrator of this island. Don’t you have work to do here before moving on to other ventures?”
Hastelloy hoped the straightforward approach with Governor Ovando would get him assigned to the mainland. The rampant spread of European diseases was already ravaging the local native population with far more death and misery than his military exploits ever could. He needed to reach the mainland and the replicator before too much longer or else the death toll would be catastrophic. The governor’s reluctance forced him to take a more abstract approach to getting what he wanted.
“Speaking of the frontier governor, I’m afraid I must request that a warrant be drafted for his immediate arrest,” Hastelloy said with his stern tone indicating this was in no way a request.
Governor Ovando stopped dead in his tracks and showed with a furrowed brow that his mood had darkened considerably. “That certainly came from out of nowhere. Why would I want to arrest Juan?”
“Did you notice at the back of my parade that I only had forty-seven of my original fifty cavalry men with me?” Hastelloy asked. An affirmative nod gave him leave to ask, “Are you at all curious as to why?”
“I am told that war often results in casualties,” Governor Ovando answered with great annoyance at having to state the obvious.
“A skilled rider can run down a thousand of these natives without suffering a nick or scratch,” Hastelloy explained. “During the middle of our last battle, those three riders came back to try and assassinate me. They charged in with the main army, but circled back around while the battle raged to try and kill me on Juan’s order.”
“If each of them could kill a thousand regular foot soldier, then how did little old you manage to survive an attack by three of them?”
“When it comes to my military prowess, I am no one to be trifled with. That’s how I am still alive,” Hastelloy declared.
“I assume you have proof of this. Any eye witness, a letter from Juan detailing the plot to these would-be assassins,” Governor Ovando suggested.
“I have the fact that three cavalry men were found dead half a mile from the main battle where I was last seen. I have a report detailing that my dagger was pulled from one of their necks. I have another of them dying from a crossbow bolt fired from the other’s weapon that I confiscated during the fight. Plus I have one of the attackers naming Juan as their conspirator with his dying breath” Hastelloy insisted.
“That proves you either turned on your own men, or they did in fact come after you as you say,” the governor challenged. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume it was the latter, but that still offers no verifiable proof that Juan gave the order.”
“Come on Governor, you know how things operate out here. We are not some big happy family working together. The last decade among these islands has been rife with rivalry, jockeying for position, mutiny, and betrayal among the ambitious conquistadores.”
“Yes I do know that, and I encourage it,” Governor Ovando admitted while staring Hastelloy dead in the eyes. “The more ambitious men I have pushing one another under my governance while paying me 20 percent of their profits, the better. That is how I’ve grown so rich.”
“I just brought you a massive victory and future payday, and he tried to kill me,” Hastelloy countered. “Don’t you want to protect the income I will bring to you?”
“While you have certainly earned your keep under me, those contributions pale in comparison to what Juan Ponce de León brings in,” Ovando said with a solemn shake of his head. “Until that changes, evidence or no evidence of an assassination plot against you, Juan is more valuable to me than you. I will not arrest him.”
“Then give me the chance to earn more for you than he ever could,” Hastelloy insisted. “Let me go to the mainland. I’ll even pay for the expedition out of my own treasury.”
“Well, when you put it like that, what do I have to lose?” Governor Ovando replied with his arms held out wide in a show of mock surrender. “I can’t make it official of course, but you have my permission to assemble a relief expedition. You’ll need to move fast, though. Juan is well ahead of you in organizing his men, and he is the official Captain-General in charge of the expedition. I’d expect trouble from him and his forces.”
“Believe me, Governor, I am all too aware of Juan’s ability to cause trouble,” Hastelloy answered.
Chapter 33: Heading West
HASTELLOY LOOKED OUT across Havana’s bay and was less than impressed by what he saw. His expeditionary fleet, if he could call it that, consisted of six small vessels that had seen better days. He had no cannons, no horses, and manning those decrepit ships were three hundred men with little to no military experience, training, or discipline. In truth, most of them belonged behind bars.
Still, considering how late to the game he was and what was left for him to work with, it was not a bad result. Of greater importance was that it appeared Hastelloy’s force was ready to depart. The latest intelligence informed him that Juan’s fleet was still a week away from setting sail for the mainland.
“The last of the barrels are being loaded onto the ships,” a wiry sailor missing half his teeth reported to Hastelloy.
“Good. I trust none of them were too heavy to cause much trouble,” Hastelloy asked.
“Light as a feather,” the man responded before gesturing with his head and eyes for Hastelloy to look behind him. “Still, I think we have some trouble.”
Hastelloy turned around and followed the sailor’s eyes to a cluster of horsemen approaching with a battalion of foot soldiers marching in formation a few hundred yards behind them. Juan’s ships may have been running behind schedule, but his soldiers appeared ready and well equipped for a fight in the here and now.
“Should
I muster the men to try and put up a fight?” the sailor asked.
“Are any of them loyal enough or paid well enough to lay down their lives for me?” Hastelloy asked, and received a negative shake of the head from his audience.
“Besides, what would you fight them with?” Hastelloy asked with a knowing grin. “No. Let the Captain-General have it. He went through all the trouble of locating this little task force and bringing his men all the way out here. He should not come away empty handed for his effort.”
“Stall them as long as you can, but in the end give him the ships and release the men from my service,” Hastelloy ordered. “I would do the honors myself, but the Captain-General and I don’t get on all that well. Besides, I already have plans on how to spend the rest of my day.”
“God speed on your journey,” the sailor responded before holding a horse steady for Hastelloy to climb into the saddle.
Hastelloy took one last look at his puny fleet. A few feet away he watched five men step up to work a rope and pulley loader. The five newcomers yanked on the rope with all their collective might to hoist a platform holding three large barrels into the air. The immense weight should have only traveled a few inches vertically. Instead, the loading platform took off and launched all three barrels ten feet into the air.
The five men all stumbled and fell onto their backsides. A moment later, the three barrels crashed down onto the loading dock and busted open to reveal they had no contents.
“Careful,” Hastelloy said to them as he led his horse away from the docks. “None of those provision barrels are quite as heavy as they look.”
After a twenty-hour ride on horseback across the island, Hastelloy came to the port settlement of Santiago. He guided his mount to the docks, where the impressive sight of eleven large ships bristling with cannons greeted him. As he rode closer, his ears were treated to the sound of cavalry horses whinnying from below deck. Now this was an expeditionary force to be reckoned with, not that rabble back in Havana that Juan spent so much time and effort to disrupt.
Origins: Discovery Page 21