And so it began again, or so it seemed. Santangel, watching from a distance, soon realized that this time the fix was in. Instead of years it took weeks. The new council included most of the pro Colўn faction from the previous group, and few of the conservative theologians who had so vehemently opposed him. It was no surprise when they made a perfunctory examination of Colўn's proposals and returned with a favorable verdict. It remained only for the Queen to call Colўn to court and tell him.
After all those years of waiting, after it had seemed a few months ago that it was all wasted, Santangel expected Colўn to be joyful when he heard the news. He stood in the court and instead of gratefully accepting the Queen's commission, he began to list demands. It was unbelievable. First, this commoner wanted a noble title befitting the commission that was being given him. And that was only the beginning.
"When I return from the Orient," he said, "I will have done what no other captain has ever done or dared to do. I must sail with the authority and rank of Admiral of the Ocean-Sea, exactly equal in station to the Grand Admiral of Castile. Along with this rank, it will be appropriate that I be granted the powers of viceroy and governor-general of all lands that I might discover in the name of Spain. Furthermore these titles and powers must be hereditary, to be passed down to my son and his sons after him forever. It will also be appropriate that I be granted a commission of ten percent of all commerce that passes between Spain and the new lands, and the same commission on all mineral wealth found there."
After all these years in which Colўn had shown not a sign of personal greed, did he now stand revealed before them as just another parasitic courtier?
The Queen was speechless for a moment. Then she curtly told Colўn that she would take his requests under counsel, and dismissed him.
When Santangel took word of Colўn's requests to the King, he was livid. "He dares to make demands? I thought he came to us as a supplicant. Does he expect kings to make contracts with commoners?"
"Actually, no, Your Majesty," said Santangel. "He expects you to make him a nobleman first, and then make a contract with him."
"And he doesn't budge on these points?"
"He is very courteous, but no, he simply does not bend, not a jot."
"Then send him away," said the King. "Isabella and I are preparing to enter Granada in a great procession, arriving there as liberators of Spain and champions of Christ. A Genovese mapmaker dares to demand the titles of viceroy and admiral? He does not even merit a se¤or."
Santangel was sure Colўn would back down when he heard the King's reply. Instead, he coolly announced his departure and began packing to leave.
It was chaos all evening around the King and Queen. Santangel began to see that Colўn was not such a fool to make these demands. For all these years he had to wait, because if he left Spain and went to England or France with his proposal, he would already have two failures behind him. Why would France or England be interested in him, when the two great seafaring nations of Europe had already rejected him? Now, though, it was widely known and witnessed by many that the monarchs of Spain had accepted his proposal and agreed to fund his voyage. The dispute was not over whether to give him ships, but rather what his reward would be. He could walk away today and be assured an eager welcome in Paris or London. Oh, were Ferdinand and Isabella unwilling to reward you for your great achievement? See how France rewards her great sailors, see how England honors those who carry the banners of the king to the Orient! At long last Colўn was negotiating from strength. He could walk away from the Spanish offer, because Spain had already given him the ftrst and most important thing he needed -- and it had been given him for free.
What a negotiator, thought Santangel. If only he were in trade. What I could accomplish with a man like that in my service! I would soon hold the mortgage on St. Peter's in Rome! On the Hagia Sophia! On the Church of the Holy Sepulchre!
And then he thought: If Colўn were in business, he would not be my agent, he would be my competitor. He shuddered.
* * *
The Queen vacillated. She truly wanted this voyage, and that made it very difficult for her. The King, however, was adamant. Why should he even have to discuss this foreigner's absurd demands?
Santangel watched how uselessly Father Diego de Deza tried to argue against the King's inclinations. Has this man no sense of how to deal with monarchs? Santangel was grateful when Father Talavera soon drew Deza out of the conversation. Santangel himself remained silent until at last the King asked for his opinion. "Of course these demands are just as absurd and impossible as they seem. The monarch who grants such titles to an untried foreigner is not the monarch who drove the Moors from Spain."
Almost everyone nodded wisely. They all assumed Santangel was playing the game of flattery, and like any careful courtier they were quick to agree with any praise of the King. Thus he was able to win the general approval for his most important stipulation: "untried foreigner."
"Of course, after the voyage, which Your Majesties have already agreed to authorize and fund, if he returns successful, then he will have brought such honor and wealth to the crowns of Spain that he would deserve all the rewards he has asked for, and more. He is so confident of success that he feels he already deserves them. But if he is that confident, surely he will accept without hesitation a stipulation on your part -- that he receive these rewards only upon his successful return."
The King smiled. "Santangel, you fox. I know you want this Colўn to sail. But you didn't get your wealth by paying people until after they delivered. Let them take the risk, is that it?"
Santangel bowed modestly.
The King turned to a clerk. "Write up a set of capitulations to Colўn's demands. Only make them all contingent upon his successful return from the Orient." He grinned wickedly at Santangel. "Too bad I'm a Christian king and refuse to gamble. I would make a bet with you -- that I will never have to grant these titles to Colўn."
"Your Majesty, only a fool would bet against the conqueror of Granada," said Santangel. Silently he added: Only an even bigger fool would bet against Colўn.
The capitulations were written in the small hours of the moming, after much last-minute consultation between the counselors of the King and the Queen. When at dawn a beadle was sent to deliver the message to Colўn, he returned flustered and upset. "He's gone!" he cried.
"Of course he's gone," said Father Perez. "He was told that his conditions were rejected. But he will only have left at dawn. And I suspect he will not be riding quickly."
"Then fetch him back," said the Queen. "Tell him to present himself at once before me, for I am ready to conclude this affair at last. No, don't say 'at last.' Now hurry."
The beadle rushed from the court.
While they waited for Colўn to be brought back, Santangel took Father Perez aside. "I didn't figure Colўn for a greedy man."
"He's not," said Father Perez. "A modest man, in fact. Ambitious, but not the way you think."
"In what way is he ambitious, then, if not the way I think?"
"He wanted the titles to be hereditary because he has spent his life pursuing this voyage," said Perez. "He has no other inheritance for his son -- no fortune, nothing. But with this voyage he will now be able to make his son, not just a gentleman, but a great lord. His wife died years ago, and he has many regrets. This is also his gift to her, and to her family, who are among the lesser nobility in Portugal."
"I know the family," said Santangel.
"You know the mother?"
"Is she still alive?"
"I think so," said Perez.
"Then I understand. I'm sure the old lady made him keenly aware that any claim to gentility he had came through her family. It will be sweet indeed for Colўn if he can turn it backward, so that any claim of true nobility for her family comes through their connection to him."
"So you see," said Perez.
"No, Father Juan Perez, I see nothing yet. Why did Colўn put this voyage at risk, solely to gain
such lofty titles and absurd commissions?"
"Perhaps," said Father Perez, "because this voyage is not the end of his mission, but the beginning."
"The beginning! What can a man do, having discovered vast new lands for Christ and Queen? Having been made viceroy and admiral? Having been given wealth beyond imagining?"
"You, a Christian, you have to ask me that?" said Perez. Then he walked away.
Santangel thought himself a Christian, but he never was sure what Perez meant. He thought of all sorts of possibilities, but they all sounded ludicrous because no man could possibly dream of accomplishing such lofty purposes.
Then again, no man could possibly dream of getting monarchs to agree to a mad voyage into unknown western seas with no high probability of success. And yet Colўn had achieved it. So if he had dreams of reconquering the Roman Empire, or liberating the Holy Land, or driving the heathen Turk from Byzantium, or making a mechanical bird to fly to the moon, Santangel would not bet against him.
* * *
There was famine now, only in North America, but there was no surplus food anywhere else to relieve it. To send help required rationing in many other places. The tales of bloodshed and chaos in America persuaded the people of Europe and South America to accept rationing so that some relief could be sent. But it would not be enough to save everyone.
This hopeless inadequacy came to humanity as a terrible shock, not least because they had believed for two generations that at last the world was a good place to live. They had believed theirs was a time of rebirth, rebuilding, restoration. Now they learned that it was merely a rear guard action in a war whose conclusion was already decided before they were even born. Their work was in vain, because nothing could last. The Earth was too far gone.
It was in the midst of the agony of this realization that the ftrst news came out about the Columbus project. The discussion was grim. When the choice came, it was not unanimous, but it was overwhelming. What else was there, really? To watch their children die of hunger? To take up arms again, and fight for the last scraps of food-producing land? Could anyone happily choose a future of caves and ice and ignorance, when there might be another way, if not for them and their children, then for the human race as a whole?
Manjam sat with Kemal, who had come to wait out the voting with him. When the decision came, and Kemal knew that he would indeed be taking the voyage backward in time, he was at once relieved and frightened. It was one thing to plan one's own death when the prospect was still remote. Now, though, it would be a matter of days before he went back in time, and then no more than weeks before he would stand scornfully before Columbus and say, "Did you think Allah would let a Christian discover these new lands? I spit on your Christ? He had not the power to sustain you against the power of Allah! There is no God but Allah, and Muhammad is his Prophet!"
And then someday perhaps, a future searcher in Pastwatch would see him standing there, and would nod his head and say, That was the man who stopped Columbus. That was the man who gave his life to create this good and peaceful world we live in. That was the man who gave the human race a future. As much as Yewesweder before him, this man chose the course of humanity.
That would be a life worth living, thought Kemal. To earn a place in history that could be spoken of in the same breath with Yewesweder himself.
"You seem melancholy, my friend," said Manjam.
"Do I?" said Kemal. "Yes. Sad and happy, both at once."
"How do you think Tagiri will take this?"
Kemal shrugged with some impatience. "Who can figure out this woman? She works all her life for this, and then we have to practically tie her down to keep her from going out urging people to vote against the very thing she worked for!"
"I don't think it's hard to understand her, Kemal," said Manjam. "It's as you said -- it was the force of her will that caused the Columbus project to reach this point. She was responsible for it. That was too much of a burden for her to bear alone. Now, though, she can be satisfied inside herself that she opposed the destruction of our time, that the final decision was taken away from her, was forced on her by the will of the vast majority of humankind. Now her responsibility for the end of our time is not hers alone. It will be shared by many, borne on many shoulders. She can live with it now."
Kemal chuckled grimly. "She can live with it -- for how many days? And then she will wink out of existence along with all the rest of humanity in this world. What does it matter now?"
"It matters," said Manjam, "because she has those few days, and because those few days are all the future she has. She will spend it with clean hands and a peaceful heart."
"And is this not hypocrisy?" asked Kemal. "For she did cause it, just as much as ever."
"Hypocrisy? No. The hypocrite knows what he really is, and labors to conceal it from others in order to gain from their misplaced faith in him. Tagiri fears the moral ambiguity in something that she knows she must do. She cannot live with not doing it, and yet fears she cannot live with doing it, either. So conceals it from herself in order to proceed with what she must do."
"If there's a difference there, it's damned hard to see," said Kemal.
"That's right," said Manjam. "There's a difference. And it's damned hard to see."
* * *
From time to time, as he rode toward Palos, Cristoforo pressed his hand to his chest, to feel the stiff parchment tucked into his coat. For you, my Lord, my Savior. You gave this to me, and now I will use it for you. Thank you, thank you, for granting my prayer, for letting this also be a gift to my son, to my dead wife.
As he rode long into the day, Father Perez fell silent beside him, a memory came into his mind. His father, stepping forward eagerly toward a table where richly dressed men were seated. His father poured wine. When would that have happened? Father is a weaver. When did he pour wine? What am I remembering? And why does it come to me now of all times?
No answer came to his mind, and the horse plodded on, pounding dust up into the air with every step. Cristoforo thought of what lay ahead. Much work, outfitting a voyage. Would he even remember how, all these years since the last voyage he was really a part of? No matter. He would remember what he needed to remember, he would accomplish all he needed to accomplish. The worst obstacle was past. He had been lifted up by the arms of Christ, and Christ would carry him across the water and bring him home again. Nothing would stop him now.
Chapter 9 -- Departures
Cristoforo stood near the helm, watching as the sailors readied the caravel for departure. A part of him longed to skim down from his lofty station and join in, to handle the sheets and sails aloft, to carry the last and freshest of the stores aboard, to be doing something with his hands, his feet, his body to make him a part of the crew, part of the living organism of the ship.
But that was not his role here. God had chosen him to lead, and it was in the nature of things that the captain of a ship, let alone the commander of an expedition, had to remain as aloof and unapproachable to the crew as Christ himself was to the Church he headed.
The people gathered at the shore and on the hills overlooking the sea were not there to cheer on his mission, Cristoforo knew. They were there because Martin Pinzўn, their favorite among sailors, their hero, their darling, was taking a crew of their sons and brothers and uncles and cousins and friends out into the open ocean on a voyage of such bravery as to seem madness. Or was it of such madness as to seem bravery? It was Pinzўn in whom their trust resided, Pinzўn who would bring their menfolk home if anyone did at all. What was this Cristobal Colўn to them, except a courtier who had wangled his way into the favor of the Crown and won control by fiat of what he could never have earned through seamanship? They knew nothing of the boy Cristoforo's years haunting the docks of Genova. They knew nothing of his voyages, nothing of his studies, nothing of his plans and dreams. Above all, they had no idea that God had spoken to him on a beach in Portugal, not that many miles to the west of them. They had no idea that this voyage wa
s already a miracle which could never have taken place were it not that it had God's favor and therefore could not fail.
All was ready. The frenetic activity had settled to languor, the languor to waiting, as eyes that had before watched the work now turned to look at Colўn.
Watch me, thought Cristoforo. When I raise my hand, I change the world. With all their labors, not one of these other men can do that.
He closed his fist. He lifted it high above his head. The people cheered as the men cast off and and the caravels; slipped away from land.
* * *
Three hollow grey hemispheres formed a triangle, like three serving bowls laid out for a feast. Each was filled with equipment for the different missions that Diko, Hunahpu, and Kemal would carry out. Each had a portion of the library that Manjam and his secret committee had collected and preserved. If any one of them reached the past and changed it so that the future was obliterated, then that one portion of the library would contain enough information that someday the people of the new future would be able to learn of the future that had died for them. Would be able to build on their science, wonder at their stories, profit from their technologies, learn from their sorrows. It is a sad sort of feast these bowls contained, thought Tagiri. But it is the way of the world. Always something must die so that another organism can live. And now a community, a world of communities must turn their dying into a banquet of possibilities for another.
Diko and Hunahpu stood beside each other as they listened to the final explanation from Sa Ferreira; Kemal was by himself, listening attentively enough but obviously not a part of what was going on. He was already gone, like a dik-dik in the jaws of a cheetah, past fear, past caring. The Christian martyrs must have looked like this, thought Tagiri, as they walked into the lion's den. It was not the look of sullen despair that Tagiri had seen on the faces of slaves being chained below decks in the ships of the Portuguese. Death is death, someone had said once to Tagiri, but she had not believed it then and did not believe it now. Kemal knows he is walking toward death, but it will mean something, it will achieve something, it is his apotheosis, it gives his life meaning. Such a death is to be not shunned but embraced. There is an element of pride in it, yes, but it is an honorable pride, not a vain one, that glories in sacrifice that will achieve a good end.
Pastwatch: The Redemption Of Christopher Columbus Page 24
