“Why do I have a difficult time imaginin’ you a mild-mannered sort of guy?” asked Crockett, grinning. “You sure about that, LeBlanc?”
“Perhaps my years with the Foreign Legion betray me more than I care to admit,” said the Frenchman, a
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twinkle in his eyes. “I assure you, I only lose my temper in good cause.”
“You’re my type of fella, LeBlanc,” said Crockett. “Betcha keep that temper in control a coupla hours every week.”
“About that,” admitted the Frenchman. “Which has led to my violent demise several times on this uncivilized world. What concerns us today is my most recent death, only a few weeks ago.”
LeBlanc’s cheerful features turned serious. “If, as many have surmised, the civilizations on the River follow a somewhat historical order, I translated here from a valley several million miles away. It was the home of a nation of seventeenth-century Indians from South America. During my sojourn there, these normally peaceful natives were fighting for their lives against a horde of invaders from the north who had already overrun a dozen nearby valleys. At the time of my death, in a minor skirmish with the enemy, a large party of reinforcements had just arrived from the south. In my humble opinion, a major war was brewing.
“One of probably hundreds taking place along the River,” said Bowie. “Resurrection sure didn’t change mankind’s basic nature. We sure the hell were an ornery bunch.”
“Not that I ain’t interested in your adventures, LeBlanc,” said Crockett, “but how does Santa Anna fit in the picture?”
“I am coming to that,” said the Frenchman. “The invading armada, and that term was singularly appropriate, consisted of a fleet of ships carrying sixteenth-century Spaniards under the leadership of Philip II of Spain. Their terms to the Indians were quite explicit: convert to Catholicism or die. Aiding the King in his mission was the infamous leader of the Inquisition, Torquemada.”
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Socrates sighed. “How many tears the gods must shed over the crimes committed in their names.”
“My native friends were helpless against the invaders. Only the timely arrival of the southern forces saved them from annihilation. Can you guess who led that rescue force?”
Crockett groaned. “Santy Anna. He always claimed to be a man of the people. Even the Indians.”
“Three men commanded the relief troops. You guessed correctly about Santa Anna. The other two were Simon Bolivar, whose name I recognized, and a man unknown to me, Che Guevara. All of them seemed dedicated to saving the Indians from Philip and Torquemada.”
“Great news,” said Crockett bitterly. “How can I kill that son of a bitch if he’s a hero? Besides, killing him wouldn’t serve much purpose if he’s just born again somewhere else.”
The frontiersman rose to his feet. “Maybe this trip wasn’t such a great idea after all. Maybe whatever business we left unfinished on Earth deserved to be forgotten.”
“You suggesting we abandon the voyage?” asked Bowie.
“I don’t know,” replied Crockett. “Suddenly, though, I’m not so sure we should continue. Besides, if LeBlanc’s right, Santa Anna’s five million miles away. That’s a mighty long trip.”
“We must continue,” said Isaac softly. His gaze swept the group and came to rest on Bowie. “You understand why.”
“I think so,” admitted the Texan, sorrow filling his voice. “You were there, weren’t you?”
Isaac nodded. “/ was there.”
A minute passed before he continued. “A captain of the Roman legions, I served in Judea under Pontius
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Pilate. The squadron I commanded handled the execution of Rome’s enemies. On that fateful day in Jerusalem, we were commanded to execute three men—two thieves and a rabble-rouser. A good soldier, I followed my orders. The three were crucified.”
Isaac drew in a deep breath, his voice crackling with emotion as he continued. “I personally drove the nails into his hands, the man called Yeshua. As I had done with many others over the years. Only this time, instead of cursing or shrieking in pain, he whispered words of absolution to me. ‘I forgive you, my son,’ he said. ‘You only do God’s will.’ ” Tears trickled down Isaac’s face. “And, then afterward, when we raised the cross, the look in his eyes… the look in his eyes…”