The governor ordered a halt to the march and sent horsemen charging off to the rear. Everyone turned. Hundreds of warriors approached us from behind, too far away to tell much except that their number grew the closer they came. The Spaniards pointed and murmured among themselves but stood their ground.
“They say it is the Pa-cahas and we have marched into a trap,” Cooquyi said with the hint of a smile.
“No, those are my people. Casquis ... Casquis!” I shouted, relieved and somewhat disappointed. Now I would have to share the glory of the Pa-cahas’ defeat.
Soon, two horsemen escorted Issqui and his Council to the front of the army. Lord de Soto looked down at them from his black stallion.
“Son of the Sun,” King Issqui called out, “I come before you, escorted by honored members of the Red Council, to reaffirm my and my people’s loyalty. I know that just as you, my generous Lord, gave Casqui the sacred cross and our prayers before that sign brought us rain.”
King Issqui bowed deeply and said, “I commit the best warriors of my nation to your service, my Lord.”
Lord de Soto accepted the praise and pledge with a simple nod while he also listened to a report from one of his forward scouts.
Through the interpreter, Lord de Soto asked, “What do you know of a large town with new walls off to the northeast?”
“It is a new main town of the Pa-caha,” Issqui said. “I have heard rumors of its construction from traders. It is said it is surrounded by a great wall of cypress, and its plaza is as large as the entire main town of Casqui.”
Lord de Soto studied the King of Casqui while he listened to the translation of his words.
“Issqui,” Lord de Soto commanded, “select three young men from the captured Pa-caha prisoners who can convincingly carry my message to their king and repeat it three times.”
“I, Hernando de Soto, emissary of the Emperor and King, Ruler of all Spain, come in the name of the one true God, seeking to enter your town in peace. Hear me, people of Pa-caha. Forgive your enemies, the Casquis, for they have accepted and prayed before the Cross of our Savior. Grant safe passage to all.”
The messengers raced away as the army marched after them. Within sight of the town walls, a band of Pa-caha bowmen in a grove of trees off to the right released a spread of arrows. They fell short of the Spanish line. De Soto immediately sent two squads of horsemen after the hundred or so bowmen.
They took to their feet, running toward a smaller walled town away from the main town. Before the horsemen reached them, more Pa-cahas sprang from hiding places behind the squads. Their arrows found their mark among the Spanish, but bounced off their cloaks and hats of metal. A few horsemen turned back toward the second band of bowmen, who scattered like a flushed flock.
Lord de Soto signaled to King Issqui. Someone among his War Council let out a lone cry. And from behind the Spanish army came a sound never before heard in that land—war cries of a thousand Casquis, swelling to a single voice.
The sound grew and spread as the warriors of Casqui chased the fleeing Pa-cahas. The Spanish army stood their ground as my people raced past. For the first time, the confidence of the Casqui people matched their hatred. Vengeance filled every heart.
Cooquyi grabbed my arm before I could follow. “Your place is here,” he said.
I jerked back.
He gripped harder and said, “Honor your promise to Master Diego.”
More Casquis ran by, young and old; some I knew by name and others by sight. I hung my head. Cooquyi let go. I dropped to the ground and hid my face. When the last of my people had passed, he offered his hand. I stood on my own.
From a distance, I watched my people charge after the second band of bowmen also running away from the main town. A handful of horsemen with their lances forced the Pa-cahas toward the charging Casquis. Caught between two never-envisioned forces, the Pa-cahas formed a circle. Back-to-back, they sent their arrows flying.
The conquistadors quickly galloped out of range while Casquis fell dead and wounded. However, their number was so great and their charge so swift, they overran the Pa-cahas before any one of them could release more than three arrows. A swarm of war clubs, axes, and fists rose and fell.
“Prisioneros ... prisioneros ... prisioneros,” the Spanish horsemen yelled until the beatings and killing stopped. The Casqui warriors then turned toward the first band of Pa-caha bowmen disappearing into the smaller town. The conquistadors held back as hundreds of Casquis broke through the gate. Behind the walls, there would be no Spaniards to stop their rage. Every Casqui wanted his due.
Horsemen gathered the Pa-cahas who survived the beatings and pushed them toward the army. A thin, haggard conquistador riding Master Diego’s brown horse led a group of captives, old men and boys, not a warrior among them.
“Juwne de Salvo,” Cooquyi whispered. “He lost his horse in the battle of Mavila. Master Diego permits him to ride Old Brown as long as he shares most of his bounty with the master.”
Juwne circled the huddled group as Master Diego rode up.
“Bounty includes slaves,” Cooquyi said and ran to his master’s side.
I followed. Master Diego pulled his sword from the scabbard and pointed at four of the Pa-cahas then at me. He spoke to Cooquyi.
“What did he say?” I asked.
Cooquyi hesitated.
“Ya,” Master Diego shouted. “Cuatro.” Again, he pointed at the Pa-cahas.
“What does he mean?” I demanded.
“Master has given you charge of those four prisoners,” Cooquyi said.
I shook my head. “What can I do?”
“Make them understand your master’s words.”
“What words?”
“Listen.” Cooquyi pointed to Master Diego.
He rose in his saddle and stared hard at the four Pa-caha prisoners. Grand-sounding Spanish words rolled out in an elegant and threatening speech. Cooquyi translated for me, and I to the Pa-cahas in my best Aquixo tongue, a version of their language.
“Cowards of Pa-caha, you are now prisoners of Spain,” I said.
“Make the prisoners listen,” Cooquyi barked. “Make them understand.”
“Cowards of Pa-caha,” I shouted at the four, an elder of high rank, and three boys not much older than myself. “You are all now prisoners of Spain. Your only escape from pain or death is through complete loyalty to your new masters, Diego de Guzman and Hernando de Soto.”
I felt Shadow Wind’s hot breath on my back.
Cooquyi shouted, “Tell them again!”
I stepped in front of the elder. “Listen to me,” I shouted and repeated Master Diego’s words.
The boys looked as though they might have understood. The old man did but refused to show it. From all of them, I felt disdain but no fear of me. I looked up at Master Diego. He nodded slightly and jerked back on Shadow Wind’s rein with a snap.
The horse rose up on her hind legs, pawed at the prisoners, and let out her own war cry. The old man stood straight, but the rest fell on the ground and covered their heads. Shadow Wind’s hooves came down just a step from one of the boys. Master waved his sword again. With a growl, he turned and rode back to Lord de Soto’s side.
Juwne brought more captors as the Spanish army continued marching on the main town of Pa-caha. Master returned each time to choose the best of the lot.
I repeated his words with an ever-stronger voice and greater threats. “The Spanish beasts will run you down,” or “The Spanish sword will cut you in half.”
Naffja, Saswanna’s oldest brother, came in behind a group of prisoners, supporting a frail, naked man. I never knew Naffja to help anyone. He caught me staring. I turned back to my charge of prisoners as though I had not seen him.
“Look here, look here!” He yelled until he had the attention of a growing crowd of Casquis. He wrapped his arms around the feeble man. “This is my uncle’s son. This is my cousin.”
“Pa-cahas took him two summers ago and sliced the back of hi
s ankles. They crippled my cousin, our brother. He is as young as I but will never run again.”
Naffja waited. The crowd closed in. He shouted, “My cousin says that inside the walls of the Pa-caha town, their Temple Mound is ringed with tall poles. And stuck atop each is the severed head of a Casqui.”
The crowd began to kick and strike any Pa-caha prisoner they could reach. Foot soldiers rushed in between.
Naffja waved his war club in the air. “Hear me,” he called. “Our people have given the Spanish many gifts: skins, fish, meat, and now many Pa-caha slaves.”
The crowd cheered.
“Now it is time,” Naffja shouted, “for the brave of Casqui to take what has long been ours—revenge.”
“Revenge ... revenge ... revenge!” he yelled until all joined in.
“I run for my cousin,” Naffja shouted. “I run for revenge.”
“Revenge ... revenge,” the young and brave chanted as they followed Naffja’s lead.
Lord de Soto gave no commands to stop the forty or so Casqui warriors as they raced past the front line. He slowed the march and watched as the band crossed the cornfields toward the western wall of Pa-caha—higher, wider, and greater than all the walls of Casqui. A black mud-plaster covered most of it, but in some sections, bark could still be seen on the closely spaced upright timbers.
Arrows rained down from slots in the three towers that flanked either side of a narrow gateway. Young warriors around him fell, but Naffja did not slow down.
Spanish scouts raced around both sides of the town. De Soto ordered two squads of foot soldiers to the front. One group carried the Spanish crossbow: a small metal bow mounted across a piece of wood the length of a man’s reach. The other soldiers carried a weapon called an arcabuz with a short staff, forked at the top that they often used for a walking stick.
They advanced in two lines to a point just out of reach of the arrows coming from the towers. The front arcabuz soldiers knelt on one knee, laid their strange weapons on the forked rod, and rested the other end on their shoulder. The second line placed short arrows in their metal bows and put the weapon to their shoulders. Naffja and his braves came out of the cornfields and started across the open land toward the canal that surrounded the town.
Lord de Soto shouted, “¡Arcabuceros listos, fuego!”
A terrible roar followed. Not thunder, but more like thunder than any other sound I knew. Sparks spewed from the line of arcabuceros. Smoke rolled up and back over the Spanish. Wonder and fear mingled with the hushed voices of both Casqui warriors and Pa-caha prisoners.
The tower walls splintered. Chunks flew in all directions. Casquis began to cheer. Pa-cahas began to pray. I hung my head. Saswanna tried to tell me about a weapon that killed with thunder.
In the confusion, the Pa-caha arrows stopped. The Spanish bowmen released a wave of their own arrows. Naffja waded into the canal; his shrinking band of warriors followed. Over their heads, the Spanish arrows flew faster and farther through the shattered holes and slots of the tower walls.
The arcabuceros thundered again. The Casquis scrambled out of the canal under a storm of arrows and splinters. Several more fell before they reached the safety of the wall. Against the wall, the bowmen on the other side could not see Naffja as he led his braves toward the main gate.
Like the one at Casqui, the gate had a narrow opening to a long passageway only wide enough to allow for two or three gatekeepers with bows at the other end. A Casqui brave jumped into and out of the opening.
An arrow hit the second brave who tried. He fell. The small band faltered until the Spanish weapons rumbled for the third time. The remaining braves charged the gate with war axes and clubs.
Just then, a scout came yelling and gesturing toward the right side of the town. His black stallion danced a circle as Lord de Soto shouted commands to his captains. He led a band of his best horsemen, Master Diego among them, to the south around the wall.
A second band of horsemen rode off to the left while the army marched forward toward the main gate. Cooquyi ran after Master Diego. The twelve captors in my charge looked to me as Spanish soldiers passed by.
“Get up!” I shouted, waving my arms. “Get up and walk.”
When we were close enough, Pa-caha arrows filled the air. Servants and prisoners fell but not one Spaniard. They marched on without concern. The closer we came, the fewer arrows flew. Word spread that the Pa-cahas had fled in boats down a canal running out the backside of the town into a swamp.
At the moat, all the prisoners, including my charges, were pushed across the bridge. Once before the Spanish had been tricked and attacked inside the walls of a town they had believed was deserted. They herded the prisoners toward the narrow entranceway.
“Into your conquered town,” I shouted at my twelve prisoners. Two abreast, I shoved them into the passage behind the other prisoners. A Spanish swordsman pushed me in after my charges.
War cries then screams came from the front of the tight passage. The prisoners began to turn back, but swordsmen shoved us forward. Metal shield against my back, I tumbled into the main town of Pa-caha.
A wide road stretched before me onto a great plaza lying at the foot of a massive Temple Mound. My prisoners ran in every direction. Naffja’s braves chased after them, shouting for revenge.
Two braves circled the elder Pa-caha. One kicked him in the back, knocking him to the ground. The other raised his war club. I ran in from behind and grabbed it.
“Stop!” I yelled. Pulling the club from his hands, I shouted my first Spanish command, “Paren . . . paren.”
Both Casquis and Pa-caha looked puzzled.
“This prisoner belongs to my Spanish master, Diego de Guzman,” I said.
I stepped between him and the elder Pa-caha as other Casqui braves circled in behind. Naffja ran at me, his blood-soaked body shaking with rage. A war axe in one hand, he carried the head of one of my young prisoners in the other.
“Look around,” he screamed. “This is the place of our enemy.”
I stepped back as he waved the head in my face.
“Are you blind? Can you not see the Casqui heads impaled around their Temple Mound, left for the birds to peck clean?”
“Kill Pa-cahas if you must,” I said, “but do not harm these prisoners of Master Diego.”
Naffja dropped the head, threw down his war axe, and lunged at me. He grabbed the club. I wrestled him to the ground, but he came out on top with the club between us.
“Alto,” a Spanish swordsman shouted, pushing Naffja’s shoulder back with the flat side of his double-edged sword.
Naffja jerked the club from my hands and stood. He handed it to the one I had taken it from. As more Spaniards came through the gate, he picked up his war axe and trophy, and led his braves in a run toward the Temple Mound.
“Revenge, revenge!” they chanted.
Spanish swordsmen and bowmen marched after them. I followed, pushing my remaining charge of prisoners in front of me. Every pole topped with a Casqui head came down and rose again with the head of a Pa-caha. The Spaniards laughed while the young braves danced and yelled, “Revenge!”
Naffja vanished into the most sacred building on the mound, the Temple of the Dead. Moments later, he reappeared carrying a carved wooden chest over his head. He strutted to the edge of the mound, shaking the box until its insides rattled.
Without a word, he grinned and cast the revered bones of a beloved Pa-caha ancestor down the mound to the plaza below. My elder prisoner broke away and ran across the plaza. He had gathered up a few of the scattered bones before a Spanish sword cut him down.
Soon, wild men screamed and danced about the mound, casting honored remains into an ever-growing pile. They stomped, smashed, spit on, cursed, and set fire to the Pa-cahas’ ancestors. Rage boiled around the flames of the dead.
This is not honor, I thought.
“It is not a good day for the people of Casqui,” I said, but no one heard.
Chapter 30
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Manaha’s Journey
Ninety-four years after “their” arrival
Father Sun welcomed the final morning for the Hachia village with a bright sky. The children would live on past this day, but their tribe would be lost as with the nations of the Nine-Rivers Valley. The youngest to the oldest of them rushed about with their own task. Manaha offered to help. In the harsh new reality, she found neither rejections nor any gratitude.
Overnight, Ta-kawa became the unchosen leader. As his sister had foretold, the village listened to his every word. He ordered the lodges emptied; bedding and skins stripped from the sleeping benches; mats and totems pulled from the walls; and, pots, baskets, and jars taken down from every shelf. If it could not be used or valued, he ordered it thrown onto a roaring blaze at the edge of the plaza.
The older boys collected the weapons, trophies, and ceremonial garments of those killed or captured in Tulla. Ta-kawa had them taken to the village-lodge. Each clan selected the most necessary items for the journey and their new life afterward. What remained would burn with the lodge.
Hazaar’s lodge had already been emptied and pulled apart. On the plaza, women fashioned travois, drag-behinds with poles taken from his lodge. Split-cane mats from the walls were woven together to make boxes. They were loaded with clothing and blankets packed around pots and cooking utensils. Spare skins were sewn into back-bundles. All the while, a few of the older women prepared food for the last feast and hard bread for the journey to come.
Boys ran as they must, carrying and fetching where needed. Manaha asked two to help her move the corn stored in the village crib to the plaza. There she worked to separate the ears. The best was for roasting that night or adding to the feasting stew. The driest ears would be ground into cornmeal.
Ta-kawa’s sister stomped up and stood over Manaha. She called three girls to her side. “Two of you begin removing all the kernels from those cobs,” she said, pointing at Manaha’s work. “The other can start grinding.”
Neither woman looked at the other. When she had gone, Manaha gathered up a small basket of the freshest corn from what she had harvested just days before. She carried it to the creek and washed the ears. Too moist for grinding, they would be Manaha’s contribution to the village stew simmering in a large pot in the center of the square-ground. Many would add to it and all would enjoy.
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