They stopped laughing.
* * *
The pirates were aboard, and along with them came the fire, leaping from sail to sail. It was obvious to all that even if they somehow repulsed the pirates, both ships were doomed. Those sailors who weren't already engaged in bloody-handed combat began throwing kegs and hatch covers into the water, and several managed to get the ship's boat into the water on the side opposite the pirates' ship. Cristoforo saw how the captain disdained to abandon his ship -- he was fighting bravely, his sword dancing. And then the sword wasn't there, and through the smoke swirling across the deck Cristoforo could no longer see him.
Sailors were leaping into the sea, striking out for bits of floating debris. Cristoforo caught a glimpse of one sailor pushing another from a hatch-cover; he saw another go under the water without having found anything to cling to. The only reason pirates hadn't yet reached Cristoforo himself was that they were making some effort to cut loose the burning masts of the Genovese ship before the fire spread down to the deck. It looked to Cristoforo as though they might succeed, saving themselves and the cargo at the expense of the Genovese. That was intolerable. The Genovese would fail in any case -- but Cristoforo could at least make certain that the pirates also failed.
Taking two more flaming pots in his hands, he lobbed one out onto the deck of his own ship, and then the second even farther, so that the helm was soon engulfed in flames. The pirates cried out in rage -- those who weren't screaming in pain or terror -- and their eyes soon found Cristoforo and the ship's boy on the forecastle.
"I think now's the time for us to leap into the sea," said Cristoforo.
"I can't swim," said the ship's boy.
"I can," said Cristoforo. But first he pulled up the hatch cover from the forecastle, dragged it to the gunwale, and heaved it over the side. Then, taking the boy by the hand, he jumped into the water just as the pirates swarmed up from the deck.
The boy was right about his inability to swim, and it took Cristoforo considerable effort just to get him up onto the hatch cover. But once the boy was safely atop the floating wood, he calmed down. Cristoforo tried to get part of his own weight onto the tiny raft, but it made it tilt dangerously down into the water, and the boy panicked. So Cristoforo let himself back down into the water. It was five leagues to shore, at least -- more likely six. Cristoforo was a strong swimmer, but not that strong. He needed to cling to something to help bear his weight so he could rest in the water from time to time, and if it couldn't be this hatch cover, he would have to leave it and find something else. "Listen, boy!" shouted Cristoforo. "The shore is that way!" He pointed.
Did the boy understand? His eyes were wide, but at least he looked at Cristoforo as he spoke.
"Paddle with your hands," said Cristoforo. "That way!"
But the boy just sat there, terrified, and then he looked away from Cristoforo toward the burning ship.
It was too tiring, treading water while trying to communicate with this boy. He had saved the boy's life, and now he had to get about the business of saving his own.
What he finally found, as he swam toward the invisible shore, was a floating oar. It wasn't a raft and couldn't lift him entirely out of the water, but by straddling the handle and keeping the blade of the oar flat under his chest and face he was able to get some respite when his arms grew weary. Soon he left the smoke of the fires behind him, and then the sound of screaming men, though whether he ceased hearing that awful noise because he had swum so far or because all had drowned, he could not guess. He did not look back; he did not see the burning hulks finally slip down under the water. Already the ships were forgotten, and his commercial mission. All he thought of now was moving his arms and legs, struggling through the heaving waters of the Atlantic toward the ever-receding shore.
Sometimes Cristoforo was sure that there was a current running away from shore, that he was caught in it and would be carried away no matter what he did. He ached, his arms and legs were exhausted and could move no more, and yet he kept them moving, however weakly now, and at last, at last he could see that he was indeed much closer to shore than before. It gave him hope enough to keep going, though the pain in his joints made him feel as though the sea were tearing his limbs off.
He could hear the crashing of waves against the shore. He could see scruffy-looking trees on low bluffs. And then a wave broke around him, and he could see the beach. He swam farther, then tried to stand. He could not. Instead he collapsed back into the water, only now he had lost the oar and for a moment he went under the water, and it occurred to him that it would be such a foolish thing for him to swim so far only to drown on the beach because his legs were too weary to hold him.
Cristoforo decided not to do anything so foolish as to die here and now, though the idea of giving up and resting did have a momentary appeal. Instead he pushed against the bottom with his legs, and because the water was, after all, not deep, his head rose above the surface and he breathed again. Half swimming, half walking, he forced his way to shore and then crept across the wet until he reached dry sand. Nor did he stop then -- some small rational part of his mind told him that he must get above the high tide, marked by the line of dried-up sticks and seaweed many yards beyond him. He crawled, crept, finally dragged himself to that line and beyond it; then he collapsed into the sand, unconscious at once.
It was the high tide that woke him, as several of the highest reaching waves cast thin riffs of water up to the old high-tide line, tickling his feet and then his thighs. He woke up with a powerful thirst, and when he tried to move he found that all his muscles were on fire with pain. Had he somehow broken his legs and arms? No, he quickly realized. He had simply drawn from them more work than they had been designed to give, and he was paying for it now with pain.
Pain, though, was not going to make him stay on the beach to die. He got up onto all fours and crawled ahead until he reached the first tufts of shoregrass. Then he looked about for some sign of water he could drink. This close to shore it was almost too much to hope for, but how could he regain his strength without something to drink? The sun was setting. Soon it would be too dark to see, and while the night would cool him, it might as easily chill him, and weak as he was, it might kill him.
"Oh God," he whispered through parched lips. "Water."
* * *
Diko stopped the playback. "You all know what happens here, yes?"
"A woman from the village of Lagos comes and finds him," said Kemal. "They nurse him back to health and then he leaves for Lisbon."
"We've seen this in the Tempoview a thousand times," said Hassan. "Or at least thousands of people have seen it at least once."
"That's exactly right," said Diko. "You've seen it in the Tempoview." She went over to one of the older machines, kept now only for playing back old recordings. She ran the appropriate passage at high speed; looking like a comical, jerky puppet, Columbus peered in one direction, and then fell back into the sand for a while, perhaps praying, until he knelt up again and crossed himself and said, "The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit." It was in that posture that the woman of Lagos -- Maria Luisa, daughter of Simao o Gordo, to be precise -- found him. Also looking like a marionette in the fast Tempoview playback, she ran back to the village for help.
"Is this what you've all seen?" she asked.
It was.
"Obviously nothing happens," she said. "So who would have bothered to come back to look at this with the TruSite II? But that is what I did, and here is what I saw." She returned to the TruSite II and resumed the playback. They all watched as Columbus looked about for water, turning his head slowly, obviously exhausted and in pain. But then, to their shock, they heard a soft voice.
"Cristoforo Colombo," said the voice.
A figure, then two figures, shimmered in the darkening air before Columbus. Now as he peered in that direction, all the watchers could see that he was not looking for water, but rather staring at the image that formed itself in the air.
"Cristobal Colўn. Coullon. Columbus." The voice went on, calling his name in language after language. It was barely, barely audible. And the image never quite resolved itself into clarity.
"So tenuous," murmured Hassan. "The Tempoview would never have been able to detect this. Like smoke or steam. A slight excitation of the air."
"What are we seeing?" demanded Kemal.
"Be still and listen, " said Tagiri, impatient. "What conclusion can you reach before you've seen the data?"
They fell silent. They watched and listened.
The vision resolved itself into two men, shining with a faint nimbus all around them. And on the shoulder of the smaller of the two men there sat a dove. There could be no doubt in the mind of any medieval man, especially one who had read as much as Cristoforo, what this vision was supposed to represent. The Holy Trinity. Almost he spoke their names aloud. But they were still speaking, calling him by name in languages he had never heard.
Then, finally: "Columbus, you are my true servant."
Yes, with all my heart I am.
"You have turned your heart to the east, to liberate Constantinople from the Turk."
My prayer, my promise was heard.
"I have seen your faith and your courage, and that is why I spared your life on the water today. I have a great work for you to do. But it is not Constantinople to which you must bring the cross.
Jerusalem, then?
"Nor is it Jerusalem, or any other nation touched by the waters of the Mediterranean. I saved you alive so you could carry the cross to lands much farther east, so far to the east that they can be reached only by sailing westward into the Atlantic."
Cristoforo could hardly grasp what they were telling him. Nor could he bear to look upon them anymore -- what mortal man had the right to gaze directly upon the face of the resurrected Savior, let alone the Almighty or the dove of the Holy Spirit? Never mind that this was only a vision; he could not look at them anymore. He lowered his head forward into the sand so he could not see them anymore, but listened all the more intently.
"There are great kingdoms there, rich in gold and powerful in armies. They have never heard the name of my Only Begotten, and they die unbaptized. It is my will that you carry salvation to them, and bring back the wealth of these lands."
Cristoforo heard this and his heart burned within him. God had seen him, God had noticed him, and he was being given a mission far greater than the mere liberation of an ancient Christian capital. Lands so far to the east that he must sail west to reach them. Gold. Salvation.
"Your name will be great. Kings will make you their viceroy, and you will be the ruler of the Ocean. Kingdoms will fall at your feet, and millions whose lives are saved will call you blessed. Sail westward, Columbus, my son, a voyage easily within the reach of your ships. The winds of the south will carry you west, and then the winds farther to the north will return you easily to Europe. Let the name of Christ be heard in these nations, and you will save your own soul along with theirs. Take a solemn oath that you will make this voyage, and after many obstacles you will succeed. But do not break this oath, or it will be better for the men of Sodom than for you in the day of judgment. No greater mission has ever been given to mortal man than the one I give to you, and whatever honors you receive on earth will be multiplied a thousandfold in heaven. But if you fail, the consequences to you and all of Christianity will be terrible beyond your imagining. Now take the oath, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit."
Columbus struggled back up to his knees. "The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit," he murmured.
"I have sent a woman to you, to nurse you back to health. When your strength is restored to you, you must begin your mission in my name. Tell no one that I have spoken to you -- it is not my will that you perish like the prophets of old, and if you say that I have spoken to you the priests will surely burn you as a heretic. You must persuade others to help you undertake this great voyage for its own sake, and not because I have commanded it. I care not whether they do it for gold or for fame or for love of me, just so they fulfill this mission. Just so you fulfill it. You. Carry out my mission."
The image faded, and was gone. Almost weeping with exhaustion and glorious hope, Cristoforo -- no, he was Columbus now, God had called him Columbus, his name in Latin, the language of the Church -- Columbus waited in the sand. And, as the vision had promised, within minutes a woman came and, seeing him, immediately ran for help. Before night had fully come, he was being carried in the strong arms of fishermen to the village of Lagos, where gentle hands put wine to his lips and took his salt- and sand-caked clothing from him and bathed the salt from his chafed skin. Thus am I newly baptized, thought Columbus, born again on the mission of the Holy Trinity.
He uttered no word of what had transpired on the beach, but already his mind churned with thoughts of what he had to do. The great kingdoms of the east -- immediately he thought of the tales of Marco Polo, of the Indies, of Cathay, of Cipango. Only to reach them he would not sail east, nor south along the coast of Africa as the Portuguese were said to be doing. No, he would sail west. But how would he get a ship? Not in Genova. Not after the ship he had been entrusted with was sunk. Besides, the ships of Genova were not fast enough, and they wallowed too low in the open water of the ocean.
God had brought him to the Portuguese shore, and the Portuguese were the great sailors, the daring explorers of the world. Would he not be the viceroy of kings? He would find a way to win the sponsorship of the King of Portugal. And if not him, then another king, or some other man and not a king at all. He would succeed, for God was with him.
* * *
Diko stopped the playback. "Do you want to see it again?" she asked.
"We'll want to see it many times," said Tagiri. "But not at this moment."
"That was not God," said Kemal.
"I hope not," said Hassan. "I didn't like seeing that Christian trinity. I found it -- disappointing."
"Show this anywhere in the Muslim world," said Kemal, "and the rioting would not stop until every Pastwatch installation within their reach was destroyed."
"As you said, Kemal," said Tagiri, "it was not God. Because this vision was not visible to Columbus alone. All the other great visions of history have been utterly subjective. This one we saw, but not on the Tempoview. Only the TruSite Il was able to detect it, and we already know that when the TruSite Il is used, it can cause people in the past to see those who are watching."
"One of us? That message was sent by Pastwatch?" asked Kemal, already angry at the thought of one of them meddling with history.
"Not one of us," said Diko. "We live in the world in which Columbus sailed west and brought Europe to destroy or dominate all of America. In the hours since I saw this, I realized: This vision created our time. We already know that Columbus's voyage changed everything. Not just because he reached the West Indies, but because when he returned he was full of absolutely believable stories of things he had not seen. Of gold, of great kingdoms. And now we now why. He had sailed west at the command of God, and God had told him he would find these things. So he had to report finding them, he had to believe that gold and great kingdoms were there to be found, even though he had no evidence for them, because God had told him they were there."
"If not one of us, then who did this?" asked Hassan.
Kemal laughed nastily. "It was one of us, obviously. Or rather, one of you."
"Are you saying we created this as a hoax?" said Tagiri.
"Not at all," said Kemal. "But look at you. You are the people in Pastwatch who are determined to reach back into the past and make things better. So let's say that in another version of history, another group within a previous iteration of Pastwatch discovered they could change the past, and they did it. Let's say that they decided that the most terrible event in all of history was the last crusade, the one led by the son of a Genovese weaver. Why not? In that history, Columbus turned his unrelenting ambition toward the goal he had ri
ght before this vision. He comes to shore and interprets his survival as God's favor. He pursues the crusade to liberate Constantinople with the same charm, the same relentlessness that we have seen in him on his other mission. Eventually he leads an army in a bloody war against the Turk. What if he wins? What if he destroys the Seljuk Turks, and then sweeps on into all the Muslim lands, wreaking blood and carnage in the normal European Christian manner? The great Muslim civilization might be destroyed, and with it who knows what treasures of knowledge. What if Columbus's crusade was seen as the worst event in all of history -- and the people of Pastwatch decided, as you have, that they must make things better? The result is our history. The devastation of the Americas. And the world is dominated by Europe all the same."
The others looked at him, unable to think of anything to say.
"Who is to say that the change these people made didn't end up with a worse result than the events they tried to avoid?" Kemal grinned at them wickedly. "The arrogance of those who wish to play God. And that's exactly what they did, isn't it? They played God. The Trinity, to be exact. The dove was such a nice touch. Yes, by all means, look at this scene a thousand times. And every time you see those poor actors pretending to be the Trinity, fooling Columbus into turning away from his crusade and embarking on a westward voyage that devastated a world, I hope you see yourselves. It was people just like you who caused all that suffering."
Hassan took a step toward Kemal, but Tagiri interposed herself between them. "Perhaps you're right, Kemal," she said. "But perhaps not. For one thing, I don't think their purpose was just to turn Columbus away from his crusade. For that, all they would have needed to do was command him to abandon the idea. And they said that if he failed, the consequences would be terrible for Christianity. A far cry from trying to undo the Christian conquest of the Muslim world."
"They could easily have been lying," said Kemal. "Telling him what they thought he needed to hear to get him to act as they wanted."
Pastwatch: The Redemption Of Christopher Columbus Page 11
