excerpt
“I will not kill you.” Losada stepped forward. “I only kill if I
must.” Tamanoa translated, and the Indian snorted and spat at
Losada’s boots. Losada didn’t move a muscle. Tamanoa was having
difficulty with some of the words. “He says Spaniards do nothing
but kill.”
The prisoner stared scornfully at Tamanoa, then spoke directly to
him, his lip curling in disgust. Tamanoa stood transfixed, obviously
taken aback by whatever the Indian was saying to him. The Indian
spat at Tamanoa’s mutilated face. “Translate, Carlos! What did he
say?” demanded Losada.
Tamanoa cleaned his face with the back of his hand. “He says kill
me, you traitor to your race, to your mother earth, to your ancestors.
Kill me if there is anything alive in you still.”
Losada had heard enough. He motioned for the prisoner to be
taken away. I never found out what happened to him, and I am
ashamed to confess I never asked.
“Why didn’t you take more prisoners?” Losada demanded.
“They fought us. It was not possible,” said Pánfilo.
Losada knew he was lying.
“Why didn’t you take more prisoners?” Losada demanded,
again, this time towards Benjamin.
“There are no more prisoners because of him,” said Benjamin,
motioning towards Pánfilo. The weary disgust in Benjamin’s voice
was all the proof that Losada needed. “He who goes with wolves
howls. He is the wolf, and the others followed suit. He is
bloodthirsty.”
At that moment, when Pánfilo looked at Benjamin as a cat looks at
a mouse just before jumping it, I knew Benjamin had made a terrible
mistake. He could never turn his back to Pánfilo in battle, and trust
he would survive.
Losada ordered Juan de Gámez to put together a raiding party of
thirty men to supplement our dwindling rations. Losada had given
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