Christopher Columbus and the Lost City of Atlantis

by E. J. Robinson

  “You seem to forget, Your Grace, that only a month ago you accomplished what no Spanish king could in eight hundred years.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” she said softly. “But if history has taught me anything, it’s that every feat comes at a cost. For every decision, a price to pay.”

  Columbus suspected she was talking about them now.

  “If you’re feeling guilty because of us, I can tell you stories about your husband.”

  “There’s no need. I’ve heard them all. Toda de Larrea. Joana Nicolau. Did you know he brought Aldonza Roig de Ibarra to war with us? As if dressing her as a soldier fooled anyone. In my youth, I had seen what calamity a poor monarch could wreak. My brother nearly left Spain in ruin. I vowed never to marry a man with similar vices. But men are men. I knew Ferdinand had fathered two children before we met. And though he swore these were an aberration—the missteps of youth—I chose to believe him because his vision of the future mirrored my own. But now the future has arrived, and many of my countrymen will suffer for it.”

  Columbus thought he understood. He’d heard grumblings that the crown might expel all Muslims and Jews from their lands. He had a hard time believing it, though Grand Inquisitor Tomás de Torquemada had already subjected many to conversion. By expelling the rest, he could seize their assets. For all men knew of war, they often forgot the most damning costs came after it was lost or won.

  “Enough maudlin talk,” Isabella said. “Tell me of your most recent exploits. And spare me the claims you were at La Rábida as we bid you. I know the odor of brine when I smell it.”

  “It’s ironic that you mentioned stories,” Columbus said as he slipped on his pants and moved across the room. He approached an ornate bookshelf that held a library of old texts and velum manuscripts. He ran his finger across the spines, noting the works of the masters—Seneca, Prudentius, St. Augustine, Gregory, and Jerome.

  “For they are where my tale begins. Eighteen months ago, I was in Egypt searching for a portal to the Field of Reeds when I stumbled upon an ancient ruin, recently plundered. But in the thieves’ haste to escape, they overlooked a scroll that contained a tale of Sekhet-Aaru, but unlike any version I’ve ever heard described before. It spoke of an island civilization to the west, both ancient and advanced. An empire of great wealth and terrible power.”

  “You speak of Atlantis.”

  “Yes. You’re familiar with it?”

  “As I said, I enjoy myths.”

  “I, too, believed it a myth. Then I heard a story from a spice trader about a temple in India that had also been robbed of a petrified, sandalwood flute—centuries old—with carvings that told of the destruction of a similar city. The raiders were said to be foreigners and bore a striking resemblance to those seen in Egypt. I searched other libraries throughout my travels only to find that each place I looked, someone had beaten me to it. And then, at last, I found a detailed description of an artifact that was believed to contain a map to Atlantis. I traced it through numerous hands only to learn it had been looted by Ottoman sailors and taken to the sultan’s palace in Constantinople.”

  “So much for that. Wait, you didn’t—”

  Isabella leaned forward, riveted. All the while, Columbus continued to peruse the library. Latin, Roman History, Catechism, heraldry, and philosophy.

  “I made my way there under the guise of a Florentine trader and slipped into the palace in the dead of night. Yet when I finally reached the treasury, I discovered the artifact wasn’t there. I questioned one of the guards. He told me it had been traded recently.”

  “Traded? To whom? For what?”

  “For this,” Columbus said, pulling a golden sword from under the folds of his robes. Isabella leaped from the bed and snatched it from his hands.

  “This is my sword!” she cried. “It should be in the Royal Chapel of Granada. How did the Moors come by this? Who stole it?”

  “No one, I’m afraid. You see, the thieves I spoke of—the ones who left clues wherever they traveled—they all bore the same symbol. Your husband’s crest.”

  Queen Isabella reacted with a sharp intake of breath.

  “I learned of other artifacts,” Columbus continued, “both purchased and stolen, all shipped to Spain under the secrecy and security of the Crown.”

  “And, what? You believe this mystery ends with my husband?”

  At last, Columbus smiled. He found the book he’d been searching for.

  “No, Your Grace. I believe it ends where it first began—with Plato.”

  Columbus set a finger to the top of the spine of Plato’s Timaeus and pulled. The fall of a tumbler echoed through the room. When the bookshelf retreated inward, Queen Isabella gasped.

  Chapter Two

  The stairwell was dark and narrow, forcing Columbus to stoop as he wound upward. In his left hand, he carried a single candle, its flickering light laboring in the darkness.

  With each step, Columbus felt his pulse quicken, the pounding in his ears fueled with nervous excitement. Would he find the map at last? He tried to temper his emotions. He had been disappointed so many times before, and yet something told him he was on the precipice of a genuine discovery, one that could radically change his life—possibly the world—forever.

  Queen Isabella quietly kept pace behind him. The only sound being the pad of her naked feet and the rustle of the silken bedsheets with which she’d cocooned herself. It had been clear the moment Columbus revealed the secret door that she’d had no idea of its existence. For a woman who despised secrets, one in such proximity to her betrothal bed must have felt like a stinging betrayal. He almost told her to go back then and forget what she’d seen, to put it behind her and move on with her life. And yet he knew that was an impossibility. She needed to see what was behind the door as much as he did. Maybe more.

  The top of the stairs spilled out onto a small landing that disappeared into the darkness. Columbus retrieved a lantern from a hook and lit it before passing it to Isabella. Then, he entered the room in search of others.

  The windowless chamber came to life with a golden glow. When Columbus finally turned to take it all in, his breath seized in his chest. Feet rooted to the floor, the adventurer could only stare and marvel. This is it, he thought. The haul I’ve been waiting a lifetime for.

  Columbus had seen his share of treasure rooms. Tombs loaded with gold and jewels. Fortified vaults full of plundered riches. This was different. It was more museum than repository, with objects representing vast swaths of lands, cultures, and epochs. There was no visible cohesion to the lot. The faded tapestry hung on the wall stood in stark contrast to the stone tools displayed atop a plinth. The cracked and broken vases that filled one wall of shelves appeared a thousand years older than the rusted spear tip nestled in a bed of silk.

  Time stretched as Columbus took it all in. He startled when Isabella spoke, her eyes as round as saucers. He’d forgotten she was still there.

  “All these years I never knew,” she muttered.

  Columbus was almost expecting her to thank him for the revelation. She slapped him a second time instead.

  “That is for taking me under false pretenses.”

  Columbus rubbed his tender cheek and tipped his head. “If it makes you feel better, Highness, I have never taken a woman under any other.”

  Isabella simmered and turned to leave. Columbus caught her by the hand. He saw she was genuinely hurt. That hadn’t been his intention.

  “You know I could have come straight here instead of navigating that mess downstairs?”

  “So, why didn’t you?”

  “I wanted to see you. And I thought you needed to know. To see this.”

  He let her anger subside before he walked deeper into the room. She followed, curiosity overweighing her anger. The collection was stunning, the pieces unlike either had seen. Queen Isabella paused when Columbus stopped in front of a brass bust of an older man.

  “Plato was the first to write of Atlantis in Timaeus in 3
60 B.C. He said his father related stories of the island from others who had kept them for generations. Most of his peers scorned him for it, even suggesting he made it up, but he wasn’t the type to believe in fancy.”

  Had Columbus days to peruse the room, he might have pored over each object in detail. Unfortunately, time was not on his side. The party downstairs remained in full swing, but for how long? There were too many guards on high alert, too many curious people lurking about. He had to find the map quickly. He moved through the room, scanning and dismissing items until he finally found what he was looking for.

  The bronze disk was the size of a military shield and sat on a wooden pedestal. Raised letters of some indiscernible language were etched across its surface, swirling in toward the large crystal at its center. He was mesmerized.

  “This is a most curious fashion,” Isabella said.

  Columbus turned. She was standing in front of a tattered skirt embroidered with stick figures.

  “You have a keen eye, Highness. It’s called a peplum. Created for the annual Panathenaea Festival in Athens to celebrate Athena's victory over Atlantis.”

  “Is that significant?”

  “You remember I told you Plato was the first to write of Atlantis?”

  “I hope so. It was minutes ago.”

  “The Panathenaea originated one hundred years before Plato was even born.”

  Isabella looked back at the skirt, stunned. If true, there wasn’t a museum in the world that wouldn’t have featured one of these pieces as their main attraction.

  “One hundred and twenty-five, actually,” a deep voice said behind them.

  Columbus and Isabella whipped around. In the entrance stood a smug-looking Amerigo Vespucci next to a glowering King Ferdinand with several royal guards behind. Columbus cursed himself for not hearing their approach.

  “You see, My King,” Vespucci sneered, “even now the libertine seduces the queen for the treasures I have claimed for you.”

  King Ferdinand glanced at his wife dispassionately, suggesting he would deal with her later. Then he spoke to his guards. “Kill him but leave his head unblemished. I want to hear the lamentations of maidens ring throughout the night when I fix it to a spike on the Roman Bridge.”

  As the Royal Guards stepped forward, Columbus grabbed Isabella and pulled her in front of him. In his opposite hand, he held a small glass globe that appeared to be made of jade.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Columbus said.

  “What is that?” Vespucci asked.

  “A little something from the Orient. It may look benign, but I assure you it packs quite the punch.”

  As Vespucci hesitated, King Ferdinand stepped forward, incensed.

  “You dare flaunt your baubles in my wife’s face?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Isabella muttered.

  “I apologize, Your Grace,” Columbus said. “But you leave me no choice. The queen will continue to be my captive unless we can come to an agreement.”

  “What agreement?” King Ferdinand snarled.

  “We both believe Atlantis exists. You wish to claim it for yourself and your kingdom. I know for certain I’m the only person on Earth who can find it. I will agree to do that for you…in exchange for ten percent.”

  “Ten percent!” Ferdinand balked.

  “And the title Viceroy of the Seas.”

  “Is that all?”

  Columbus pursed his lips. “Admiral of the Spanish Fleet has a nice ring to it too.”

  “He promised the expedition to me!” Vespucci cried.

  “Silence!” King Ferdinand shouted.

  “Fine. As I find my current bargaining position tenuous, I’ll amend my offer. All I ask is a single treasure of my choosing.”

  “And if I refuse?” Ferdinand asked.

  “Not every empire has your scruples. Portugal, for example, does have a bigger fleet. And I am on first-name basis with King João.”

  “Did you bed his wife too?”

  Columbus hesitated a moment. Isabella glared and then shook her head. “Your infantile insouciance is appalling.”

  “I don’t know what that means, but thanks,” Columbus said with a wink.

  “He’s bluffing,” Vespucci said. “He would never harm the queen.”

  “I agree,” King Ferdinand said before turning to his guards. “Kill him.”

  Queen Isabella gasped as Columbus’s hand tightened around her waist. He whispered for her to close her eyes.

  She did just as Columbus hurled one of the jade orbs at the king’s feet. It exploded hot white phosphorous that momentarily blinded everyone. Columbus whipped his heavy robe off, grabbed the bronze disk from its pedestal, and slung it over his shoulder before sweeping Isabella into his arms. “Until next time, mi amor.”

  The kiss was quick but electric. Isabella fell to the floor, breathless, as Columbus shouldered through the guards and ran down the stairs. King Ferdinand howled, “After him!”

  The clamor of steel was hot on Columbus’s heels as he burst into the audience chamber only to find it empty. The alarm had been raised, and he heard more soldiers approaching from the hall. Columbus dashed back into the servant’s corridor just as Vespucci appeared, his shimmering blade biting into the wall where Columbus’s head had been a moment before. Vespucci tore it free as Columbus fled down the hall.

  The kitchen staff was busy cleaning when Columbus bounded into the room. As he swept pans and dishes off the tables to slow his pursuers, Vespucci was nimble enough to evade them, unlike the guards, who slipped on the wet tiles and went down in a heap.

  Columbus burst into a narrow courtyard, making hastily for the rear gate. He was halfway across the yard when more guards appeared in front of him, crossbows rising. Columbus heard the bolts whistle overhead as he leaped onto a low fountain and vaulted up some empty wine casks before rolling over the lip of the roof.

  Vespucci shouted orders from the yard as he kept pace with Columbus above. Columbus knew if he could reach the gardens, he could easily vanish in the crowd. From there, making it to the docks would be easy. But nothing was ever that easy. The top of a ladder appeared in front of him. He skidded to a halt a second before an arrow bounced off the tiles at his feet. He spun to see three guards atop the Tower of the Dove. One held a lantern, relaying Columbus’s movements, while his two companions shot arrows at him. The hat, Columbus mused. Only something so ridiculous could bring this kind of bad luck.

  Columbus serpentined across the roof and leaped through a narrow embrasure, landing on a long rampart that ran the length of the castle, right into the path of two spearmen. The first charged with a shout. Columbus knocked his spear tip into the ground and used the man’s momentum to catapult him over the side of the rampart, screaming as he plunged into one of the pools below. The second spearman looked up as Columbus drew his sword and winked. The spearman turned and ran.

  More arrows skipped off the stone battlements as Columbus took off again. He slung the bronze disk over his back moments before arrows clanged off it. Then, he drew two more jade globes and tossed them, creating just enough smoke to obscure himself. He was mere feet away from the rear stairwell door when it burst open and Vespucci appeared.

  “Now, I have you,” Vespucci growled.

  He charged with a snarl, sword slashing wildly from left to right. Columbus backpedaled, finding it difficult to maneuver in the narrow rampart. There was little doubt Columbus was the better swordsman, but his style was predicated on craftiness—on outfoxing his opponents. The feints and tricks he was used to using would not work here. And with every second he spent engaged with Vespucci, it gave more time for the royal guards to close in behind him. He needed to do something quickly.

  Columbus’s eyes widened as he looked over Vespucci’s shoulder and shouted, “Your Grace!”

  Vespucci instinctively turned, and Columbus took two steps and buried his foot between Vespucci’s legs. The sound that escaped his lips mirrored that of a ba
by bird falling from its nest. It was pitiful, and utterly hilarious. As the man curled into a fetal ball, Columbus leaned down to pat him on the cheek.

  “I can’t believe you fell for that,” he chuckled.

  He stepped toward the door but heard more guards hammering up the steps. When he turned, he found the second spearmen had returned, this time with reinforcements. He was trapped and took a moment to sigh. Why can’t it ever be easy? He clambered atop the battlements and ran toward the soldiers, screaming. They froze just long enough for him to leap and latch onto the banner hanging over them. As he swung across the open courtyard, he felt that familiar thrill. This is what it means to be alive! Then, the banner ripped, and he thought, This is what it means to fall.

  He hit the roof and slid to the edge, his fingernails cracking as he clawed himself to a stop. To his surprise, he saw someone had saddled a white Andalusian to a rail right beneath him.

  “I guess fortune really does favor the bold,” Columbus said as he leaped. The horse moved, and Columbus landed hard on his duff. “Oof. Apparently, horses do not.”

  Columbus scampered atop the horse and kicked for the open postern gate. He thought he was scot-free when the portcullis began grinding down. Columbus was about to yank the reins when a dagger sailed out of nowhere and skewered a rope to a post. The gate halted mid-descent, letting Columbus slip underneath it. He glanced back, wondering where the dagger had come from. All he saw was a small cowled figure disappearing into the shadows.

  The back road wound down toward the marketplace and was still bustling with people when Columbus saw a blur to his left. He ducked as a second horse soared over a berm, its hooves scuttling across the cobbles as it landed.

  The rider looked over and sneered.

  Vespucci.

  Columbus spurred his horse faster, but Vespucci fell in quickly behind him.

  Drunken pedestrians shouted as the pair shot through the busy market, sending bodies scrambling and overturning food carts.

  Vespucci pulled even with Columbus. “The king has offered a bounty for your head. One hundred thousand maravedis! And I plan to collect it.”