More than a dozen great ships lay anchored in the harbor of San Juan, their cannons flashing in the sunlight. On both sides, the gun batteries had been built outward, and the planned Fort Queen Isabella had also raised two small forts. It was just that all these defensive arrangements, following the traditions of European ports, faced the sea to the north.
"Lord! We placed the weight of our defenses on the sea, guarding against a possible eastern fleet, guarding against ships from Portugal... But who could have imagined that the true threat would come from inland, from those native tribes we once dismissed with such disdain?"
When the expedition's leaders frowned, put on their armor, and hurried on foot to the south side of the stronghold, the tragic aftermath of the Natives' raid a few days ago appeared before their eyes once more.
Half of the former Taino village had already ceased to exist. The ground was covered in round burn marks burned clear through, the foundations of grass huts staring hollowly up at the sky like the eye sockets of the dead. The support posts of wooden houses had burned into charcoal pillars, and half-broken palm leaves had burned into black feathers that scattered into ash at the slightest touch. Shells, broken bones, and shards of pottery lay half-buried in the soot, with not the slightest trace of what they had once been.
The only fresh things were the more than one hundred Taino Natives hanged from the withered trees farther out. Flies circled their rotting corpses, giving off the stench of death. This was not only punishment for their nighttime escape, but also the expedition's venting of all its pent-up hatred after being raided by the Kingdom. And among these hanged bodies, naturally, there were also fallen