To rob these men now seemed a sacrilege, but he made no move to stop it. He had no energy left, and those who rifled pockets probably would not listen to him, anyway.

He heard a stirring and looked around. El presidente had entered the plaza, flanked by several of his subordinates. He had watched the battle from a safe distance, beyond the range of the Texan rifles. Now he came to taste the fruits of his victory. Díaz pushed painfully to his feet and tried to salute, but his wound prevented him from raising his arm that high. Santa Anna gave him only the briefest of glances, anyway. This was the nearest Díaz had ever been to the general. He was, after all, merely a lieutenant, a common soldier who had worked his way up from private to corporal to sergeant and finally to a commission. Santa Anna had lieutenants by the hundreds.

He heard one of the officers say, “We have gained the prize, Excellency, but the cost has been terrible. See how many of our soldiers have died.”

Santa Anna betrayed no regret. He said casually, “It gave meaning to their lives. It is a soldier’s destiny to die in battle. These, at least, were privileged to die for Santa Anna.” He added, almost as an afterthought, “And for Mexico.” He turned to a nervous civilian Díaz recognized as the mayor of San Antonio. It was obvious that the poor man had no wish to be here and that he had come only at Santa Anna’s command. “I want you to find for me the bodies of Travis and Bowie and Crockett. I want to see them for myself.”

An officer asked, “What shall we do with so many dead, Excellency?”

“We will bury our own with honor. As for the enemy, we will burn them. Send a detail into the town and pick up as many able-bodied men as you can find. Compel them to bring wood to make the fire.”

One officer left immediately to carry out that order. Another gathered soldiers and had them begin picking up the bodies. The Mexican dead where handled with a certain reverence and care. The Texans were brought to a central place and carelessly flung into a heap. Díaz did not want to look at them, but he could not help himself. He had seen a few Mexicans among the defenders, fighting side by side with the americanos. He wondered if there were any he had known during his service in the San Antonio garrison.

He was standing there when they brought down the body of Elizandro Zaragosa from the narrow walkway atop the wall. The men were about to fling it on top of the others. Díaz shivered again and stopped them. “I know that man. Put him down here. With respect.”

The soldiers looked at him with surprise, as if he had ordered them to spit upon the flag, but they complied. Díaz knelt before his one-time commander and tried to straighten the dirty, blood-stained coat. Bloody slits showed where bayonets had pierced Zaragosa’s chest. The eyes were open. He tried to close them with his fingers, but it was already too late. He supposed it did not matter. Zaragosa had already looked upon his Lord, the Lord of them all.