Regret of a Conquistador

Rafael spat his chewing bamboo, coughing out blood as he sat down on his chair at the army camp. His men coughed, fed up with the rampant stink of the camp, and the hot mosquitoes that infiltrated their clothes and armor. The freshwater lake spring had been spoiled by the Aztec Rebels, poisoned beyond belief. Murky as hell. Devoid of happiness. This was to be their last resting place. And somehow, Rafael felt a foreboding move towards Heaven itself. Cortes may have wiped out the Aztecs, but their diminished population put up a fierce resistance against the men of iron and fire.

El Lugar de Angustia, the place of Anguish they called it. The place of mud and goo, insects eating on the corpses of deceased bastard lowlife criminals press-forced into the service of Spain. The place where those crack recruits suffered the worst fates against the Aztec Rebels. A poignant sign of resistance from the Gods of the Aztecs not to interfere any more with their people. The place where corrupt governors of Spanish Mexico sent the worst of their recruits whenever a report was sent from Madrid. Rafael shuddered at the thought of those men that had been sacrificed to their Gods. He would die like a man of hero and valor, like how he had read of the Pagan Norse warriors fighting in Valhalla. Rafael would die a man fighting for the Kingdom of Heaven.

The humid heat had taken the toll out of him ever since he had been freed from the Inquisition. His men had fared no better, being crack recruits from Cadiz. In exchange for his freedom, he would be exiled to the realm of the New World and no longer visit Valencia, where the Inquisition had wiped his family out for being Protestants. Now, that Cortes had conquered most of it, the few remaining Aztec Rebels needed to be wiped out.

His lieutenant, Morisso grabbed a cup of wine and made him drink as he spat out, coughing again.

Rafael waved him away. 'You know what the worst thing about being sent here Rafael is?'

Morisso looked at him. 'What is it, Captain?'

Rafael chuckled at his innocence. 'You a Christian boy? Catholic? Protestant?'

Morisso bowed down. 'I was a Christian in Cordoba, but my heritage is Moorish.'

'And you were exiled?'

'To Istanbul, I only arrived in Spain to discover my lover who was kidnapped by Spanish mercenaries in Italy, she was sold to the New World as a slave.'

'Give up thinking about her lad. A fat lot of good that did for you anyway boy. And you were sent to the shores of Spain's new colonies not knowing your fate. Well, sooner or later God may smile upon you.'

'I hope so...Spain is not a country that I would serve.'

'Rafael glared at him. 'And the Ottomans? Would you serve them?'

The boy's stern expression didn't hide his disappointment. 'I wish to be free.'

Rafael laughed ironically. 'This is what Spain does. They send young lads like you to fight wars that have no consequence to you. Look at me Morisso. I'm a criminal. I'm a murderer. I've killed people in war. I've stolen, I've cheated the ones I loved, and I caused the death of my family. Is this is the look of a man you want to serve?'

Morisso couldn't reply back. He couldn’t have an answer when Spain sent the worst of its men to control the Caribbean. They were not soldiers, they were criminals given weapons and armor to wipe out the Aztecs and other savages that dared to threaten Spain’s authority.

'Of course, you won't have an answer. We're thieves. We're looters. These savages here, I don't think they deserve extinction. But that's what we do. That's how the Moors, your people were kicked out of Spain. No one remembers us. No one ever will. What did you want to become Morisso?'

Morisso smiled sadly. 'I wanted to go to Istanbul, to become a painter at the Sultan's Court. My kind isn't welcome in Spain at all now. I think I would fit there more than anything else.'

Rafael sighed. 'I am from a land far away from here, a land called Valencia. My home. I was once a man of honor. A merchant. Before greed corrupted me, and my wife left me. I made a deal with those...that caused the destruction of my family. A Catholic wife and...a Protestant husband. Who would have thought it would have worked out? I became a Governor, and corrupt as ever. As Governor, I separated couples for the sake of the one that left me...and only now do I realize I have come to the point of my life. I have read about the Pagan beliefs, and my ancestors came from Norway, the home of the Vikings.

He chuckled slowly. 'Those that have committed the worst crimes go to the coldest regime in existence. And those that haven't go to Valhalla or Asgard. Funny isn't it? How the world worships Christ. Now I've languished against the sins of my crimes, corrupted and tortured many people who didn't deserve it. In my quest for vengeance, I lost everything. I have purchased slaves, committed the worst of crimes, hated people for the color of their skin and religion, and hated myself. I had no control over my emotions. I lost myself to greed. Could I ever stand in front of Jesus Christ and ask for forgiveness? You tell me. I am doubtful now. I am always doubtful. And I doubt, that even God himself would forgive me. Do you understand what I speak?'

Rafael glared at Morisso's doubtful expression. 'So what is it worth then? Humans are killers anyway, brutal and savage.'

Rafael looked straight at him, murmuring words that Morisso would keep for the rest of his life. 'There was a time when humans were noble. When the Pagan Gods ruled this world. Now it is gone. This is a time of war. And war never finishes. It will always be there. We become better than who we are. Ignore the history of those people that have tainted the noble history of mankind, and worry only about yourself. You Morisso will craft your own destiny in ways I cannot say. Your choice determines everything. Your choice will make your life one day. And you will become the man you will be. But listen well and clear. Do not repeat the past mistakes of old. Focus on yourself, and perhaps one day, God himself will reveal the truth in the great deserts of Arabia.'

Morisso wiped a tear from his face as Rafael faintly smiled.

Rafael nodded. 'I'll be writing a letter to Spain to make sure you are not fit for the army. In that way, neither will your identity be assumed, you will be wiped off the pages of Spanish history. Besides, a young painter like you shouldn't be in the hot humid jungles of the Empire.'

'I...thank you, Captain.'

Rafael arose and loaded his pistol at an figuring shadow lurching from the green bushes, surrounding their camp. They had come. 'Don't be. I've nothing left now. You're young. Don't make the same mistake I did. Run. Now.'

Morisso leaped towards the bushes at the end of the army camp before starting back. 'Thank you...Captain. Why do you not come?'

Rafael pointed his pistol towards the other end of the bushes where the figures had revealed themselves to be creatures from a world of torment and fire in his mind, half represented angels to him. To Morisso, they were the rebels that would finish them off. 'I hope you find the one you love chico. Everything's gone now. Only God can save us. Don't be a fool and run before they get you!'

He fired.