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The Good Samaritan and The Hanged Man

Written by Garrett W. Vance

Gonzalo Xoan de Alcantara rode slowly through the peculiar landscape, unlike anything he had seen in the Old World or the New. He and his very unhappy horse were trying to work their way onto higher ground, low hills glimpsed beyond the tangled growth. They were surrounded by swampy forests of towering ferns, and what looked like fir trees, but weren't. The ground was sticky green mud, hard going for his tired palomino stallion. Even worse, the air itself was sticky; hot, humid, and thick with the stench of rotting vegetation along with other, stranger scents that made his horse snort nervously. Sometimes the long-suffering beast would find something edible enough to nibble at amongst the odd plants, but Gonzalo could feel the hide had grown taut against its ribs. There just wasn't any proper grass to be found in this dismal realm. Still, the proud stallion seemed like it wanted to live, and so it adapted. He knew he would have to adapt too, learn the ways of this inhospitable country if he wanted to survive.

He often wondered if he might have died without realizing it during the inexplicable event that had brought him here. Being a Christian man who had sinned most grievously, Gonzalo thought he must be in Purgatory, or perhaps even Hell itself: The terrifyingly enormous dragons, unnaturally large insects, and other seemingly demonic creatures that roamed these sultry jungles certainly lent credence to the theory. Just the weird cries and calls that echoed through the jungle were enough to make a grown man tremble in fear, the evil cacophony of the devil's minions. Surely, the Lord was punishing Hernando de Soto and his followers for their cruelty toward man and beast. Gonzalo had grown disgusted with de Soto's inhumanity, and had been making plans to desert his band as they murdered and raped their way deeper into the New World. He had hoped to make his way to Mexico, and join the priesthood there to atone for his part in de Soto's evils. Now he doubted he would ever have that chance.

The unexpected advent of the strange event that swept them away to this hellish place had provided the distraction he had needed to make his break. Perhaps de Soto would think him lost in the tumult, perhaps that son of a jackal was on his trail this very moment; it was hard to worry about it much when there were so many other dangers present. Gonzalo kept an open mind. Either he was alive and would continue living until some dragon claimed him, or he was already dead and suffering the Lord's wrath. Such an inexplicable force could only be an act of God. It didn't really matter now. He was here, wherever here was. He prayed daily for forgiveness for the innocent blood he had spilled, and promised to somehow atone for his grievous sins.

The stallion stepped into a deeper patch of muck and began to struggle. Gonzalo pitied the creature and dismounted, leading the exhausted horse carefully back onto more solid ground. Gonzalo trudged on, his boots squelching through the green mud, looking for an exit from the marshy jungle. After a while, he saw a sight that made his heart leap with joy: An opening in the dense wall of vegetation leading out to a sun-drenched sandy hillside. At last, he and his horse could escape from their fetid prison! Soon, they stood blinking under the light of the early afternoon sun, their eyes having grown accustomed to the jungle's green dimness. Much relieved, they walked comfortably across an open area, the ground a mix of coarse sand and pebbles. They were on an easy path which followed along the feet of a range of low hills bordering the swamplands.

An eerie cry emerged from the vegetation, not far from where they had just exited. Gonzalo quickly determined it would be best to put some distance between themselves and that jungle, lest the horrid creatures within decide to chase them down on open ground. They had been very lucky to survive their time in that foul smelling bog. They moved away in a gentle trot, which was as fast as either of them could manage after the day's long slog. Reaching the bottom of the nearest hill, Gonzalo led his horse upward at a shallow angle, climbing in a northeasterly direction that would eventually bring them to the top of the wall of hills.

It was fairly easy going, and they were quickly nearing the range's rolling summit. Gonzalo wondered what may lie beyond, praying that it would not be another swampy jungle! He and his horse both breathed deeply, enjoying a gentle breeze out of the north. The air up here was still filled with the heady scents of strange plants, but it was fresher and cooler. Perhaps they weren't actually in Hell after all, but Gonzalo kept a keen eye out for danger anyway. A new landscape meant new creatures, and if they were anything like the jungle's terrifying denizens they would be far larger, and more dangerous than anything he had ever beheld in his past travels, dwarfing even the bull elephant that had charged him in Africa. He recalled maps he had seen with chimerical beasts painted along the edges. Everyone knew they were just the artists enjoying a bit of fancy, since they really didn't know what lay beyond. "Here be monsters!" they always warned. Gonzalo wondered if he would ever have the chance to tell them they had been right.

Coming over a low hill, Gonzalo beheld an unexpected sight: A man hanging upside down from a tree limb. The fellow was English, perhaps, although his face was flushed a purplish-red from his uncomfortable position. A rough rope sling wrapped tightly around the left ankle held the man in the air, his head bobbing a good four feet above the ground. He had been caught in some kind of a snare. A curved sword lay on the ground nearby, gleaming in the bright afternoon light. It had apparently slipped free from its scabbard when it was turned upside-down, and had landed tantalizingly just out of reach of the hanged man.

Gonzalo's horse snorted, also surprised by the odd scene. The hanged man's eyes opened, blue-gray irises and bloated pupils floating in blood-saturated red.

"Please," the man croaked. "Help me down." He was speaking English.

It had been a number of years since Gonzalo had used that crude islander tongue, not since his time serving as a guard for the Spanish ambassador in the English court. Cold, rainy, stinking England was now the second worse place he had ever been, his current situation having taken first prize by some small margin. The English were by no means friends, but as a Christian, a true Christian, unlike those sons of goats he had parted ways with, he knew he couldn't leave the poor fellow to such a slow and painful death. Moreover, this might be a test from God to see if he would be merciful to a potential enemy. After a moment of concentration, the foreign words came back to him. Gonzalo cleared his throat, he had not had cause to use his voice for many long days.

"May I first ask, who are you, sir?" he called out politely. That seemed a reasonable question before freeing the fellow. The hanged man struggled to twist his body around to get a better look at Gonzalo.

"I'm Corporal Nate Tucker, US Army Cavalry, from Texas. This here deer trap got me last night. I don't think I can take it much longer. Please, I'm begging you, cut me down!"

Gonzalo didn't quite catch all of that, but he was pretty sure Corporal Nate Tucker claimed he was a soldier in an army. Hopefully he would prove to be a true soldier, a man of honor, not a roving butcher as de Soto had been.

Gonzalo tied his horse carefully to a low, thorny branch. Usually the stallion could be trusted not to run off, but even a seasoned and battle-trained mount such as this might lose courage at the approach of a lizard-demon! He carefully scanned the area to make sure there were no further traps. Assured of his own safety, Gonzalo took hold of the soldier's midriff, and lifted him a few inches to take the pressure off. This caused the man to gasp, and go limp. Just as well, Gonzalo preferred him to be unconscious for the time being. He used his antler-handled skinning knife to cut the hanging rope, then eased his burden to the ground as gently as he could. This was no easy task. The soldier outweighed him by a good forty pounds, a remarkably large and well-fed person!

"Holy Mother of God! You are a heavy one, Corporal Nate Tucker!" Gonzalo swore aloud, hoping the Lord would forgive him for his unfortunate exclamation. He feared that from his current, sinful state, he had a long way to go before he could be possibly accepted as a priest, even in the half-pagan churches of the Mexican wilds. Grunting some more, he did his best not to drop his charge on his head, thus adding further injury.

Once he had placed the unconscious man safely on the ground, Gonzalo went to work on the rope still twined tightly around his ankle, being careful not to cut too deep. Luckily, the soldier's skin was protected by sturdy leather boots, with dark blue trousers made of very heavy cloth tucked into them. A quick glance at the rest of him showed gold buttons on coat of the same color and firm weave as the trousers. The fine-looking, but functional riding wear of a very successful soldier! Gonzalo was most impressed. Apparently he was rescuing a high ranking officer; only a man such as that could afford this kind of quality. Gonzalo began to work the boot off, turning his face up toward the breeze to escape the unpleasant odor emanating from within.

He hoped he was in time. He didn't relish having to cut a gangrenous foot off. He had seen a surgeon perform that operation after a battle once, and knew it to be a grisly task. Gonzalo massaged the calf for a few minutes, then carefully worked his way down to the foot, helping blood to slowly flow back into it. The soldier moaned, and he whispered a quick prayer to the Lord that He be merciful, and keep the poor fellow from waking up just yet. The returning blood would feel like the piercing of a thousand thorns. Now, rubbing the foot gently, he could see a bit of color returning to the ghostly white flesh. The foot reeked due to a long separation from air and clean water, but it was a normal man-stink, not the rancid stench of spoiled flesh. Gonzalo moved the toes around to increase the blood flow to those extremities. He looked up at the too-blue sky and spoke aloud in his native Spanish.

"Am I doing right by this unfortunate placed in my path, dear Lord? If I had any oil I would anoint him with it, as Mary of Bethany did for Your only son. Please, Lord, help this man recover fully from his trial, I, Your willing servant, most humbly pray."

After a while, Gonzalo could see the foot had returned to a nearly normal color. It would likely be sore, and difficult to walk on for a few days, but it was intact. The soldier would not end up a cripple.

"Thank you, Lord, thank you for Your mercy," Gonzalo whispered, head bowed. When he raised it again he noticed that there was a large object hanging from the soldier's smooth, black belt. It was a leather pouch containing an odd looking item. At the top he could see a pearl handle. As softly as he could, so as not to alert the still groggy soldier, Gonzalo unclasped the holster. He pulled out a long, silvery barrel. His blood began to run a few degrees colder. It looked like some kind of a firearm. Gonzalo thought of the bulky harquebus hanging from his own silver-studded shoulder belt. This thing was smaller, smoother, and he suspected, deadlier.

Of course, a rich officer would have only the best of pistols, but Gonzalo had never seen one of such quality, even in the royal courts of England and Spain. He gave the soldier an apologetic shrug as he carefully placed the weapon in his own leather storage pouch, just for a while, until he could further gauge the fellow's mood and intentions. He picked up the fallen sword as well. How that must have been a torture, the means of escape just out of reach! Gonzalo was an excellent swordsman, but he didn't want to fight. There was no sense in taking any chances.

Gonzalo noticed the shadows growing longer, the light growing thicker. He reckoned it was getting late, evening would be coming before too long. All that exercise had left him hot and sticky under his breastplate. Over the past few days he had steadily shed different pieces of his armor, like the elbow and knee plates that constricted his movement more than he liked. He was storing them in his saddle bags until he decided whether or not to part ways with them. They were heavy, and took a toll on both himself and his horse. It was also possible they might be the only thing that could save him from the terrible bite or raking claws of the nightmarish creatures he had encountered; so far the thundering report of his harquebus had kept those at a distance, but the powder wouldn't last forever. It was a conundrum. In the end, he thought he would decide on traveling light as his best chance for survival. Once all the ammunition was gone, it would be better to flee the beasts as fast as he could without the armor slowing him down. It will be as the Lord wills!

Gonzalo shook his head in dismay. Now he had another neck to look after. For the moment Corporal Nate Tucker was lying in the shade of the thorny tree that had been his prison, sleeping soundly. Another mercy of God. He placed one of his water skins near the soldier so that he could find it easily upon awakening.

After scouting around a bit, Gonzalo decided that right where they were was as good as any place to make camp. The trees around here were sparse. They were gnarled, thorny things, with thick, stubby leaves. They looked like something you would find in the desert, but he had never seen their exact like in any desert he had visited. The "hanging tree" was near the hill's top, which afforded them a view all around. To the east Gonzalo could now see a wide region of open spaces, plains and distant mesas, a very different landscape from the swampy jungles behind them. The sight made him smile. This looked more like the world he knew. Perhaps he would find Mexico after all, or some other somewhat civilized region. He gathered fallen branches for a fire. The wood was oily; it would probably burn well. Soon Gonzalo had a sizable blaze going. He began to feel safer. Fire was one of the few things the nightmarish creatures in these lands seemed to fear.

Nate began to stir. He set up slowly and reached for a wide brimmed leather hat that that had fallen nearby. Once that was placed on his head his eyes seemed to come into sharper focus. He nodded to Gonzalo as he rubbed his foot.

"Thank you, sir. You've saved my life," he said in a strong, baritone voice.

Gonzalo bowed his head politely. "It was God's will that I came along in time. Drink some water," he told him, pointing to the canteen. The soldier graciously returned the nod, and took a long swig. He paused to get that one down properly, then took another.

"I was sure I was going to die. You sure saved my butt."

"God is merciful."

****

Nate nodded politely, not wanting to offend this obviously religious person. Not yet, anyway. "I reckon He is, seeing as how he sent the good Samaritan my way." Nate saw that appellation make his rescuer smile and blush under his deep tan. Bingo, religious. "Still," he added, "He sure has a funny sense of humor sometimes. Must have to have created a place like this one! I've been on the run from horned-toads the size of hills for days now, never seen nuthin' like it in my life."

"The dragons. Or demons. Perhaps He is testing us."

"Mebbe so. Still, I'd like to find my way back to regular country. I don't s'pose you know the way, do you?"

Gonzalo shook his head sadly. "No sir, I am afraid I am as lost here as you are. I had hoped briefly that perhaps you would know the way."

"Well, that's a shame." Nate took another long swig of the water, his head was still swimming from its time upside-down, but he was beginning to feel better. Nate put the skin down and took a minute to drink in the sight of his rescuer.

Before him was a slender man, obviously in top physical condition, muscular, and graceful in his movements. Probably a well-trained fighting man. His face was long and rather sad, the look of a man who had felt many years of melancholy. The nose was prominent and hawkish. His beard and eyebrows were a bushy black over deeply-tanned olive skin. Bright golden-brown eyes reminded Nate of a falcon's. This was not a man who would miss much. The clothes were the thing that gave Nate pause, he had never seen anyone dress so outlandishly. The man wore a dented, but still remarkably shiny helmet, with a high fin above, and a metal brim around. It came to a sharp point in the front and back. He also wore a silvery breastplate, just like a knight in the old time stories. Beneath the armor was a quilted cotton coat of deep crimson. His forearms had buckled on bands of metal to protect them. A wide belt with an outlandishly large golden buckle held up a pair of green breeches tucked into brown leather boots that nearly reached his thighs.

Nate knew the man must be a conquisatador, but he didn't behave like one of de Soto's goons. He decided to play dumb on the subject and draw Gonzalo out.

Nate shook his head, pretending to be puzzled. "I guess you must be my knight in shining armor, mister. I heard you speakin' Spanish, but I'm fair sure you're no Mexican. Your English is pretty good, but some of the words sound funny, like something out of the Bible, or them Greek myths my pappy liked to read. Where the heck are you from, anyway? Argentina? Cuba? Spain?"

Gonzalo flushed a little. "Please pardon my rudeness. It is inexcusable of me to have asked your name, Corporal Nate Tucker, and not provided my own. Please consider that at the time I was only thinking of how to rescue you from your imprisonment."

Nate raised his eyebrows, a little surprised the guy had remembered his full name and rank at one hearing. This was a sharp stick, all right, and he could sure talk smooth.

Gonzalo rose up to his feet, where he stood proudly at five-foot, ten-inches, and gave a graceful bow. "I am from, as you say it in English, Spain. I am a Spaniard. My name is Gonzalo Xoan de Alcantara, originally from the province of Seville. I came to the New World in the service of my king and under the command of Hernado de Soto, but I am now . . . unattached." Better not to tell another soldier that I am a deserter, he thought.

So, Gonzalo had been with de Soto! Nate rose carefully to his feet, favoring his injured leg. He kept a close eye for any sudden moves from the Spaniard. Nate was five inches taller than Gonzalo, and had a heavier build. Maybe he wasn't in quite as top physical condition as his rescuer, but he was still a strong man, and indeed, a seasoned soldier. Nate had no doubt Gonzalo would make for a dangerous foe.

"Well, that's a mouthful, so how about I call you Gonzalo, since I can't even pronounce that one in the middle, I don't think. Just call me Nate, that's what the folks was always hollerin' after me. My full name, since you gave yours, is Nathaniel Theseus Tucker, born in the Texas territory, near what they call Austin these days. Corporal is my rank in the US Army, who is my current employer . . . I am currently detached." Nate didn't mention about being caught in the sack with a chief's teen-age daughter, the little indiscretion that had caused him to light out on his own until things cooled down. Nate smiled, shrugging his broad shoulders.

"Thank you, Nate. Gonzalo is what I usually go by. Please call me that."

Nate nodded cordially, but still kept a wary eye on his rescuer.

"All right then, Gonzalo, we are fine and well introduced." Nate wanted to find out more about Gonzalo's relationship with that evil bastard de Soto. He decided to try to draw him out further.

"Say, Gonzalo, did I hear you say you was with Hernando de Soto? Do you mean the Spanish conquistador?"

"While I have not heard the term 'conquistador' before, it fits the actions of the man. Yes, I was with de Soto, we were following the great river when we were taken by some unknowable force into this evil country." Gonzalo paused as he saw an odd look come over Nate's face. "Do you know de Soto? Has he harmed your people? If so, please, accept my most profound apologies. I have broken with that devil and his band of murderers, and intend to become a man of the cloth to atone for my sins! I have no fight with any Englishman, so please, let us be at peace!" Gonzalo's rich voice rung with a plaintive tone.

Nate believed the man was perfectly sincere and was relieved not to be in the company of an unrepentant raider.

Nate let out a low breath. What to say? He didn't want to lie to the man"I know of him. I heard he's dead now." He rubbed the sandy-colored stubble on his chin and waited for Gonzalo's reaction.

Gonzalo's bushy eyebrows raised in surprise. "Then a scourge has been removed from the Earth. He will face God's justice now." A certain weight seemed to slip off Gonzalo's shoulders.

Nate figured it was time to lead the discussion away from that subject. "Well, that explains why you're dressed so funny. This thing that happened to us, that brought us to this crazy country, still has a few tricks up its sleeves. You're from the 1500's. Where I come from the year is 1838, and I'm not an Englishman, but a lot of my ancestors were. I speak English, but I'm an American. In the 'when' you came from there wasn't an American nation yet. Shoot, just when I think none of this could get any stranger, here you are, a living breathing man from almost three centuries ago."

They regarded each other for a moment, absorbing this revelation. Gonzalo shook his head in solemn disbelief.

"So. We are not just men of different lands, but different times? You came from my future . . . I only believe it because of all the other impossible things I have seen. Tell me, Nate, is Spain still a great nation in your century?"

Nate scratched the back of his neck and said "Well, it's still a nation, but it lost some territory along the way. I'm afraid you missed its heyday. My pappy was a learned man, and he made sure I knew my history. You and me coming from different times might explain a few other things, too. I'm starting to think that maybe we are still in America, but in another time, maybe a long, long time ago. I've heard tell of folks digging up monster bones that were so old they'd turned to stone. Maybe we are back in the days when critters like that were still running around, a couple hundred-thousand years ago, give or take. Anyway, let's just hold onto that question until we get some more answers."

Just as Nate finished speaking, a wailing howl rose up from the jungle beneath them. Gonzalo had heard it before and forced himself to stay calm. Long shadows had stretched across the landscape, it was almost sundown. Instinctively, Nate reached for his pistol and found it wasn't there.

"What the hell? Where's my gun, Spaniard?"

Gonzalo took a step back, arms held out in a gesture of supplication. "Please, Nate, I didn't know if you were a man of reason or not. I had to wait to see if I could trust you." Gonzalo very slowly reached into his leather pouch while Nate scowled at ...