“It already hurts, you dolt. Just get on with it,” Juan shouted and had his order met with a sharp sting that induced both agony and relief. The arrow was out.
The native spent an inordinate amount of time evaluating the bloodied arrow point. The stone tip had a green tint to it that held the guide’s interest.
“What is it?” Juan asked. “Have you never seen a white man’s blood before? It’s just like yours.”
“This green substance, it is sap from the manchineel tree,” the native explained. “We use it as a poison to kill our targets even if the wound itself does not.”
“It hit my leg, I’ll be fine,” Juan insisted while Vasco helped him back to his feet. “You see, my leg works without issue.”
“The poison is in your body. It works quickly. I’m sorry, but you will be dead within the hour,” the native guide reported with a solemn expression.
“An hour?” Juan repeated in disbelief. He looked to Vasco for answers, but his friend had none to offer. Juan’s mind flew into a panic before a clarifying thought focused his faculties once more.
He pulled out his monocular again and looked to the mound. Five natives were attending to the cavalry riders who had made it back. Juan watched as they poured healing waters carried around their necks into the wounds of their soldiers and horses to bring them back to full health.
Juan lowered his monocular and looked at Vasco. “They have healing water on that hilltop. It’s my only chance.”
“It will take at least an hour to spread the men out to mount a proper charge,” Vasco protested. “You don’t have that much time.”
“We charge as we are then,” Juan responded without regard for the safety of his soldiers. He could already feel the poison beginning to work in his body. His joints were stiffening and his breathing became labored as he stood there.
The lives of his soldiers meant nothing in that moment. The navigator was right. All the riches and power he amassed in the New World meant nothing because in death he would lose it all. His only thoughts were on his survival by getting his hands on those healing waters.
“Order the charge. Our losses will be greater, but we’ll overwhelm them with our numbers regardless,” Juan commanded.
“As ordered,” Vasco responded with dread blanketing his words.
Chapter 44: The Thunder of Guns
HASTELLOY SMILED INWARDLY as he watched Juan’s soldiers, still in a single column formation break into a charge while a full quarter mile from the hilltop. They were running straight into his line of fire and would be out of breath by the time they reached the top. The result was everything he planned to happen from the suicide cavalry charge.
He did not expect Juan’s soldiers to be so well trained and able to deliver a solid volley of musket fire before the horses reached their lines. The fact that only two made it through was a momentary concern, but it proved to be enough. Juan was hit with a poison arrow and now thrust his army forward in a desperate attempt to capture the stem cell serum carried around the necks of his five healers.
This was the moment Hastelloy conceived during his years of captivity. He sowed the seed of Juan’s obsession with eternal life before the boy shut the cellar door behind him. Rumors of healing water on the mainland and knowledge that Hastelloy was there to protect it eventually drew Juan out from his untouchable seat of power.
Even now, Juan had superior numbers and firepower, but that no longer mattered. His obsession with preserving the wealth and power he amassed in his lifetime nullified that advantage. The fast acting poison infecting Juan’s body put that quest for eternal life in peril. His reckless reaction was all but assured. He was throwing away the lives of his entire army to preserve his own.
The desperate actions of men to preserve their power was so predictable that it nearly took the honor out of winning battles like this. Nearly. On this day, Hastelloy took an extra measure of pleasure in his moment of victory because though he may not have wanted to admit it, this was personal between him and Juan. Being stabbed in the back and imprisoned alone in the dark for over three years had a way of doing that. Hastelloy recognized it as a weakness in himself, but that vulnerability would soon be no more.
Juan’s army charged despite the two cannons they saw in front of them. It took real courage to run toward those guns. They were indeed disciplined and trained to follow orders. There were limits, though. Hastelloy would wager that even these brave men would not have followed the order if they knew about the additional ten cannons arrayed on either side of the hill and hidden among the trees. Those devastating weapons of war had their sights and ranging trained on the enemy’s center, anticipating Juan’s desperate order to charge. It was too late for them now.
“Fire and reload with canister shots,” Hastelloy shouted.
The two hilltop cannons let loose their blasts and signaled the other ten to follow suit and unleash their thunder upon the battlefield. The twelve cannonballs landed on the concentrated enemy troops from all angles and sent hundreds of them to the afterlife amid powerful explosions and shrapnel tearing apart flesh and limbs. Still they came.
After thirty seconds, the ten cannons surrounding the hilltop repeated the devastation and did so three more times before Juan’s splintered force reached the two hilltop cannons.
“Fire!” Hastelloy ordered and watched as the canister charges let fly hundreds of bullets that leveled the leading edge of the charge. Still they came.
“Ready arms . . . fire!” Hastelloy ordered of his soldiers. The effect was devastating on the enemy, but still they came.
The valor shown by Juan’s forces was well past commendable and now approached a level of fanatical. More than half their army met obliteration in the charge and yet they managed to reach Hastelloy’s line. It was piecemeal at first, but the battle quickly degenerated into a hand-to-hand melee all across the hilltop.
Hastelloy knew their target was the native healers, but chaos sprung up around him in the blink of an eye and blocked him from reaching his allies. Hastelloy drew his sword and rushed into the fray. It seemed that every stroke of his sword struck down an opponent, but there were so many standing between him and the healers.
As Hastelloy drew near, he saw that he was behind the curve. Juan and a cluster of six men fell upon the healers. He watched from a hundred foot distance as one of Juan’s men knocked a healer unconscious with a blow to the head. Another healer managed to shatter the glass amulet around his compatriot’s neck before Juan and his men carried him away.
Hastelloy reached the remaining four healers, but could do nothing to help the fifth. Juan was in full retreat and had the benefit of several hundred soldiers between them, which gave Hastelloy an opportunity.
“Look, your commander flees,” Hastelloy yelled several times while pointing at the enemy commander running down the hillside. Within a few minutes, the clashing of swords and shouts of men fell silent as the opposing sides stood across from one another. Hastelloy’s men were ready and eager to continue fighting for their commander, but Juan’s soldiers stood leaderless. Their fanaticism no longer had a focus.
“We are all Spaniards,” Hastelloy declared for all on the hilltop to hear. Your Commander General used you to get what he wanted and now leaves you to die at my hands. I have seen enough bloodshed today. I invite you to join my army and share in the riches we have won back in Tenochtitlán.”
“They gave us twelve chests full of gold,” one soldier affirmed.
“They have women more beautiful than you see in your dreams,” another added.
“If we are agreed, then sheath your swords and cross over to our side and be welcomed as brothers in arms,” Hastelloy announced.
Nothing happened at first, but the sound of one sword being stowed invoked another and another. Soon the line between friend and foe was no more. There only stood one army under Hastelloy’s command on the hilltop while Juan retreated into the jungle with six men and his captive.
Hastelloy si
gnaled one of his officers over for a word. “Take the combined army back to Tenochtitlán. I will pursue Juan Ponce de León and his remaining men with our native allies.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“They know the land better than any of us, and a smaller group can move quicker through the jungle. It is the only way to get ahead of them and end this once and for all.”
“But they could be heading anywhere, it’s a big, dense jungle out there,” the officer challenged.
“Yes, but knowing my enemy makes it much smaller,” Hastelloy said before looking around at his Spanish soldiers bragging to their former opponents about the riches awaiting them in the Aztec capital. “Do your best to keep the men in line until I return.”
Chapter 45: Pyrrhic Victory
JUAN FELT A surge of hope overpower the numbness claiming his body as his men carried the unconscious healer down the hill and away from the fighting. When they were halfway down the hill, he felt safe enough to grab the leather cord around the healer’s neck to drink the water inside the amulet. His hand ran along the leather until his fingertips reached a shard of broken glass that drew blood from his middle and index fingers.
The amulet was broken. There was no healing water around this native’s neck. The realization nearly made his heart stop beating. Juan looked back up the hill and contemplated charging back in for a moment, but the fighting had stopped. His men had turned against him and there was no going back.
“Carry him into the woods,” Juan ordered, and followed them a couple hundred yards into the dense jungle. “Set him down on the ground.”
“What are we going to do?” Vasco asked with the vibrations of panic beginning to take hold of his voice. “We can’t heal you, and our army is no more.”
“The healing water has to come from somewhere. I’m betting my life that this native knows where. The only concern in my mind is will it be close enough for us to reach before the poison finishes me off first,” Juan answered with a forced confidence to bring Vasco back from the brink.
“Unconscious men tell no secrets,” Vasco countered as the five soldiers placed the limp body of the healer on the ground.
“Then I shall have to wake him,” Juan said as he drew a dagger from his belt and drove it into the open palm of his victim. The native’s eyes snapped open and a moment later his mouth belted out a scream of agony before Juan could cover his mouth and muffle the sound. The native began thrashing his arms and legs about while thrusting his torso and abdomen upward to break free from the pain.
“Hold him down,” Juan ordered of his five soldiers and beckoned his guide to come closer and translate his words to the healer. “Tell me where your Fountain of Youth is hidden and I will let you go.”
The healer’s screaming subsided, and his eyes grew wide with comprehension but soon turned cold and detached with defiance. In response to the silent rejection of his offer, Juan began twisting and wrenching his dagger around in the healer’s hand.
The pain had to be excruciating. The muffled screams rose almost past the point of being heard, and the native’s eyes started rolling into the back of his head as the safety of unconsciousness drew near. Juan pulled the knife out at the last instant and dumped a canteen of water on the healer’s face to bring him all the way back.
“This will not stop until you tell me what I want to know or I die from the poison in that arrowhead. That will still be quite some time from now. All I want to do is live, not take the fountain from your people,” Juan had his words translated with his face inches away from the native’s, but his plea failed to persuade the healer.
“If you lead us there, we would not be able to find it again even if that was our intent. All I want to do is live, so do yourself and me a favor and lead the way.”
The native thought for a moment before nodding his head, which prompted Juan to remove his hand from the healer’s mouth and withdraw the dagger from his palm. “I will take you there. It is not far.”
“That a boy,” Juan said in his own language as he helped haul the healer to his feet.
One of the soldiers tied a rag around the gaping wound in the healer’s hand as Juan turned his attention to Vasco. “You. Go back to the ships and then sail all the way back to Europe and assemble our men. You know what to do and what our mission is.”
“What about you? What if you don’t reach the fountain in time?” Vasco asked.
“Then I’ll be dead, but our struggle against the great evil that hides among us will not. Do what I’ve asked and Godspeed on your journey, my friend. This is only the beginning,” Juan declared before turning to the healer. “Lead on, then, but remember that wound in your hand will kill you as well if you lead us astray. Be true to your word and we both will live.”
Without another word spoken, Juan followed his five soldiers with his translator and captive showing the way. Vasco turned and headed the opposite direction for the coast.
After half a mile spent holding a brisk jogging pace, Juan’s ailment began to take full effect. His hastened heartbeat spread the poison even quicker through his body and caused his arms and legs to go completely numb. The only way he remained upright was by pure muscle memory, but even that began to fail him.
Juan tripped over a stump and fell into the back of a soldier. He managed to hang on to the man’s shoulders long enough for him to turn and catch Juan in his arms. “I’ll carry you from here, Sir.”
The soldier bent down and thrust his shoulder into Juan’s stomach while putting his arm between his legs. He slung Juan’s right arm across his neck and then hoisted Juan up over his shoulders and began running while carrying the burden of their combined weight.
A mile later, the soldier grew tired and let Juan down so another could take over. As a second soldier hoisted Juan atop his shoulders, Juan heard the thrum of a bow from behind them. He managed to look over in time to see an arrow impale his former carrier square in the chest.
“You three soldiers take cover among the trees and do not let anyone by while you still draw breath,” Juan ordered. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” the men answered on the way to their respective hiding spots.
“Let’s move,” Juan ordered of his remaining forces, which consisted of the translator, a captive guide, and one soldier burdened with the task of carrying Juan’s malfunctioning body. “How much farther?”
“Five more minutes,” the healer said over his shoulder while cradling his injured hand. Despite the rag tied around the appendage, he was losing a lot of blood. For that reason, the healer continued pressing the pace.
Behind them, Juan heard a musket blast followed by the blood-curdling scream of a man dying. That sequence of sounds repeated itself two more times to inform Juan that his soldiers had not delayed their pursuers for long.
Up ahead Juan saw that the jungle was thinning out. In addition to the heavy breathing of the man carrying him, Juan also heard the faint sound of trickling water growing louder before they stepped into a small clearing.
He saw a freshwater spring feeding a tiny pool that he thought might be the fountain he sought, except the water was clear instead of white. He watched the healer walk toward a tall tree that stood twenty-feet around atop a maze of roots exposed from erosion at its base. In the middle of that tree he saw a patch of shiny metal that seemed to be the focus of his guide’s attention.
“Put me down and take up a defensive position,” Juan instructed and had his order obeyed.
His legs were wobbly, but to Juan’s pleasant surprise, they still functioned. He managed to stagger his way toward the metal box lodged inside the tree. As he did, Juan watched the healer grab a fistful of mud and force it down into the box through an opening at the top.
Juan felt a rush of nearly orgasmic joy and relief when he saw the familiar white liquid of the healing water begin to flow from a lower hatch of the device. His salvation was at hand so long as his legs propelled him there.
The healer placed h
is wounded hand under the flowing liquid and had his effort rewarded with the hole dug into his hand close up. That was all the mystical powers Juan’s translator needed to see. The hired local went running into the jungle with the look of sheer terror in his eyes.
Juan reached the tree, but his foot snagged on one of the exposed roots and caused him to fall forward. He managed to catch himself on the tree. Juan pushed off and used the extra momentum to reach out and shove the healer out of the way and into the pool of water below. Accompanying the loud splash was the blast of a musket from his remaining soldier still lurking among the trees, reminding Juan that he did not have much time left.
The flow of healing water had stopped, and the closest handful of mud to provoke another stream was only a few steps away, but it may as well have been a hundred miles. Juan’s legs were hopelessly locked in an upright position and would not carry him even that short distance any longer. His only hope at survival was to bargain with his pursuers at this point.
Juan pulled a pouch the size of his fist from the satchel slung over his shoulder and across his neck. It was the last of his gunpowder, but it would do him no good when his enemy arrived. He jammed the pouch into a gap between the metal box and the tree. He then drew the wide-muzzled hand musket from his waist, managed to cock the flint hammer with much difficulty, and held the charged weapon up to the pouch and waited.
A minute later, Juan heard a rustling among the trees that preceded the body of his remaining soldier thrown into the clearing with a pair of arrows protruding from his chest. That unpleasant sight was soon followed by one even less appealing. Four natives, wearing amulets of healing water stepped into the clearing with arrows notched and bows drawn and trained on Juan. Where was the navigator?
One of the natives dropped his weapon in order to help fish the abducted healer from the pond. While that rescue played out, the others crept their way closer to Juan.
Origins: Discovery Page 26