In all the long years Harry had been tracking his career, this was the first time he had seen the man in the flesh. This was Cristobal Colon, Christophorus Columbus, a man who seemed to Harry to have been made flesh from the flimsy fragments of prophecies and augurs written down centuries before he had been born. A man about whom history pivoted.
Harry found himself hoping that Colon would lose his argument yet again. For if Colon by some chance swayed de Santangel, Harry knew that he was going to have to stand on his feet and shout Colon down, betraying years of effort by himself and his friends. Harry prayed that this convoluted dilemma could be resolved in some way that spared him making such a dreadful decision.
Without preamble Colon began to speak. It was a case he had set out many times before, and he told it clearly, with a deep, strong voice. But his tone was laced with impatience that he was forced to go through all this again, and his Spanish was poor, his Italian accent thick, and he stumbled over his words.
He began by quoting the authorities of antiquity. He leaned heavily on the great Ptolemy, who in the second century had presented a clear and consistent model of the world, around which the sun and stars rotated on crystal spheres. Colon knew Ptolemy through a three-centuries-old Latin translation of a book called the Almagest that had been preserved by the Arabs.
He referred too to the work of Pope Pius II, who before his elevation had written a book developing Ptolemy’s ideas, and a cardinal called Pierre d’Ailly whose Image of the World had presented strong views on the relative sizes of Asia and the Ocean Sea. He read extracts from Roger Bacon’s Opus Majus, which was a synthesis of Ptolemy’s vision with more recent work by Christian and Muslim geographers. Bacon argued that there was no significant land mass to be found save those already known: Asia, Africa and Europe.
Ferron scowled as Grace’s own engineer was quoted against her case.
Summing up these ideas, Colon presented a map drawn for him by one Martin Behaim, with a relatively narrow Ocean Sea and only a scattering of islands between Europe and Asia. If Colon’s arguments were correct then a voyage west across the Ocean Sea to the riches of the east, thus closing a circle around the curve of the earth, ought to be a trivial matter.
Colon was interrupted by a weary-looking geographer from Talavera’s party, who presented rebuttals he had been forced to make many times before. All this was supposition, he said, addressing de Santangel. ‘Nobody would argue with the bulk of Ptolemy’s ideas, so lucidly set down in a greater age than this, and preserved through the ignorant copying-down of the Arabs. Of course the earth sits at the centre of the universe; that much is obvious to a child.
‘But as to the size of the earth, even the great Ptolemy is only one authority among a range with differing views. Centuries before Ptolemy was born the Greek Eratosthenes computed the earth’s circumference from the angle of shadows cast by the sun, and derived a figure somewhat greater than Ptolemy’s. These “authorities” like d’Ailly have clearly been selected by the gentleman because their estimates of the earth’s figure all lie at the lower end of the range of accepted possibilities, the mean of which lies, I should judge, somewhere around four times bigger than that shown in the gentleman’s charts. And if that is so, if we were so foolish as to set off a boat into the western sea, the crew would never return - and nor would our money!’ That won a laugh.
But Harry knew he had a point, as he and Geoffrey had indeed selected many of the more helpful authorities and fed them to Colon.
Colon, however, was undeterred. He said simply that nobody could prove his figures right until the earth was sailed all the way around, but nobody could prove them wrong either.
He went on to the next leg of his case, that a voyage across the Ocean Sea would be no more than an extrapolation of journeys of exploration that had already been made - mostly by the Portuguese, he pointed out to the Spanish court. He spoke of developments in shipbuilding, and of the discovery of hitherto unknown islands in the Ocean Sea, from Madeira and the Canaries to the Azores.
And he spoke of earlier attempts to sail west across the Ocean Sea. He had collected many such tales in his years on Porto Santo and in Portugal. One Diogo de Tieve had sailed steadily south-west from the Azores, coming to a place where the condition of the sea and the circling of land birds indicated that land lay to the west, but he had had to return before it was reached. A Genoese merchant called Luca de Cazana had mounted several voyages that sailed west from the Azores for a hundred leagues or more, but in vain. Colon said that even unsuccessful explorations returned useful information about the state of the winds and the ocean currents. Colon himself had sailed far down the coast of Africa, and, he claimed, knew the Ocean Sea as well as any man alive.
Now he moved on to older legends. He referred to stories of the voyages of Saint Brendan and other Irish monks who had supposedly sailed far to the west across the north of the Ocean Sea, encountering mountains of ice and other strange phenomena. He quoted from the sagas of the Vikings, who, as was well known, had built churches in a western land so rich and warm that vines grew readily, so extensive it had never been explored properly.
Colon turned at last to what he believed to be the strongest plank of his argument: his own personal experience. He spoke of evidence he had seen with his own eyes, relics from the lands across the sea fortuitously washed east: bits of carved wood, branches of unfamiliar species of trees, even war canoes carved from single logs. It had been such bits of evidence, Colon said, which had been the seed of his own quest to go west.
Concluding, Colon spoke of the riches of the east, and quoted at length the biography of Marco Polo, who had crossed China in the days of the Mongol Peace. And Colon spoke of his dream of a grand alliance of western Christendom with the armies of the Khan and the wealth of the domain of Prester John, all linked by Colon’s mighty new trans-oceanic trade routes: a grand alliance that would fall upon the great Islamic states from the east and wipe them from the earth, at last liberating Jerusalem from the hands of the infidel.
One by one the court’s experts rose to counter aspects of Colon’s case.
Harry half listened. Of course, he thought, there was a hope, just a grain of it, that Colon might actually be right. Much of Colon’s evidence was faked by Harry, Geoffrey and Abdul. But not all of it.
And if anybody could succeed at this venture it would be Colon. He was a vision of doggedness, of determination. Where others had tentatively probed a little way west before running for home, if Colon ever got his ships he would keep right on going come what may.
Yet, Harry thought sadly, Colon was at the same time an unimpressive figure. His poor education showed in the stumbles in his Spanish, and in his sometimes weak grasp of scholarship. Snobs about the new printing presses mocked men like Colon, who now found learned material much too easy to get hold of, and regurgitated it, half-digested, in pursuit of their own pet theories. Such nostalgics pined for the good old days when books were so rare and expensive that scholarship was properly kept in the hands of the privileged few.
But, Harry thought, his soul stirring, if the prophecies were right, these flawed arguments by a flawed man might yet result in a bold stroke that would transform the fortunes of mankind for ever.
The last speaker was Diego Ferron. ‘This is all fanciful. Legend. Tittle-tattle from drunk sailors. It is the mission of this court to prosecute holy war. But the way to do that is to drive east, straight for the exposed belly of Islam, not to follow some fool’s errand to the west. The monarchs’ money should be spent on weapons, not ships, not thrown into the endless Ocean Sea in pursuit of a dream...’
De Santangel heard him out. Then he got to his feet.
And just as he did so there was a murmur at the back of the court. Harry turned.
Amid a flurry of bowing and murmured obsequies Queen Isabel walked in. Flanked by soldiers of the Holy Brotherhood and trailed by bishops, nobles and other courtiers, she was dressed for the field in a practical-looking gown
of crushed velvet, and her famous chestnut hair was pulled back from a still-beautiful face. She had a quality of light about her that changed the very room, Harry thought.
She smiled almost fondly at Colon, who bowed with a flourish.
XXVI
Isabel took the seat de Santangel had vacated. She murmured to the financier that she was sorry to have missed Colon’s presentation but looked forward to his judgement.
De Santangel, glorying, showed off. He walked back and forth, stroking his bearded chin. ‘I’ll tell you what I think of all this, good Colon. I can see you’re a man of substance: of good bearing, of integrity, of faith, of belief - and of determination, which is what a man needs to get along in business.
‘But I can also see that the case you’ve spouted is a lot of bilge. No, no,’ and he held up a hand as Colon made to protest, ‘I don’t want to hear it all trotted out again. Once is enough, thanks! But what I will say is that it’s bound to be a lot of bilge, because the truth is nobody can say what lies on the other side of the Ocean Sea until somebody goes out there to see for himself. Am I right? So that’s the bare bones of the case.
‘Now, I’m a man of business, and I’m used to estimating risk. And as I see it the risk to the monarchs is low. All we have to fund is the first voyage, for if you succeed subsequent voyages will be paid for out of the profits, and if you fail, for instance if you don’t come back, we just won’t go out again. All you want is three ships. You’re asking for, what, five million maravedis? Why, I’d be prepared to put up my own house as collateral on that much if necessary.
‘And why? Because the returns are potentially huge. The Portuguese are already sucking in profits from Madeira; we are already making money from the Canaries. Now, I’m no geographer and I don’t know if you’ll find a way to Asia or not. But it stands to reason that there’s something out there, because God surely wouldn’t make a world half-covered with an ocean good for nothing but fish!
‘Our new kingdom of Spain has grown from nothing to cover the whole peninsula, in a few centuries. Now, it seems to me, we have the chance to build a new Spanish empire that could grow much further, beyond all imagination. Why, the monarchs could be compared in future to - to—’
Abdul said drily, ‘Alexander the Great?’
‘Exactly! And on the other hand if we don’t take this chance some other petty king or grasping prince, from Portugal or England or France, will take it instead, and we’ll be for ever in their shade.
‘And I’ll tell you something else. We need the money. For centuries we lived off a tithe of Moorish gold. Now we’re funding the war with money confiscated from the Jews by the Inquisition. But the Moors are all but defeated. And if some have their way,’ and he eyed the Inquisitors, ‘we’ll soon be driving the last Jew out of Spain, and half our merchant class and a good chunk of our wealth will go with them, and then we’re going to need a new source of funds.
‘Cristobal Colon, you may be a genius or as mad as a grasshopper in a hat, I’m not qualified to judge. But you offer a vision of virtually unlimited wealth, for a price that represents an affordable risk. And for that reason I’ll be recommending strongly to their noble majesties,’ and he bowed to Isabel, ‘that they fund your mission. Let it not be said that such great and noble monarchs denied themselves a grand chance to probe the secrets of the very universe over a pittance.
‘And as for the proposal that Colon should become a general in God’s army,’ he concluded, glancing at Ferron, ‘God has many generals, but we have only one Cristobal Colon. He is meant for discovery, not war, friar!’
So, Harry realised, his and Geoffrey’s years of work and scheming - and perhaps a manipulation of history centuries deep - were coming to fruition in this very room.
And Harry himself had to ruin it. He gazed at Ferron, who met his eyes calmly. Anger flared in Harry. Perhaps he would defy this monster even now.
But then Ferron turned to his serving girl, who had knelt, silent and still as a statue, throughout Colon’s presentation. Ferron slid back the veil from the girl’s face.
It was, of course, Agnes. Her chin was bruised, her nose a little bloody. Her eyes were empty, unfocused, and a little drool laced her lips. It was clear she was drugged.
Harry knew he had no choice. Reluctantly, he stood. The Queen, de Santangel, even Colon, turned to him curiously.
Geoffrey plucked at his sleeve. ‘In God’s name sit down. We have won! There’s no more to be said.’
But Harry shook him off. ‘I must speak.’ He turned to de Santangel, his head full of devastating arguments against Colon - not least the fact that some of his evidence was simple fakery, planted by Geoffrey and himself. He prepared to speak.
And Ferron’s other Moorish companion, the tall woman, leapt to her feet. From beneath her loose white robes she produced a blade, long and sharp and polished.
With a strangled cry she hurled herself at the Queen. Isabel stared, with no time to react.
But as the woman’s arm descended, as the blade fell towards the Queen’s breast, Abdul Ibn Ibrahim threw himself between the killer and her target. He took the first strike in his arm, but he stayed on his feet and spun around, trying to get hold of the killer. His reward was another stabbing, this time in the chest. Blood spurted from the wound, frothy with air, and Abdul gurgled, as if drowning.
But the blade was caught, perhaps on Abdul’s ribs, and the killer could not draw it out. The Holy Brothers, had time to fall on the assassin and club her to the ground.
The audience erupted in screams and panic, as bishops and nobles scrambled to get out of the room. Colon stood beside the monarch fiercely, protecting her with his bulk.
Harry ran to Agnes, and scooped her up in his arms. She was as limp as a puppet, her eyes rolling in her head. But she was alive.
He turned to see the Holy Brothers holding down the would-be killer. He got a clear view of her face for the first time.
Her skin darkened, her hair blackened, it was Grace Bigod.
XXVII
James saw the courtiers spilling out of the audience chamber. From his elevated viewpoint they boiled like ants over the ground. He grinned, and swept lower. If Grace and Ferron had arranged for the inquiry into Colon to come out into the open air to see his display in the sky, this was his cue.
But the crowd seemed disorderly. People were running away from the chamber - and likewise soldiers were running towards the mocked-up building. Even from up here he could hear screams. And now he saw a knot of the heavy-set brothers hustling out of the chamber, escorting a finely dressed woman who could only be the Queen. Something had gone wrong. Nobody was looking up. He would have to descend to see what was going on - and to make people look at him.
Tugging on his control lines he dipped his left wing, and banked that way. But then a gust of wind washed over the wing, and it pulled out of his grasp. He felt the machine slide further to the left, and the strengthening breeze made it impossible to pull the wing back. He fought with his control lines and kicked at his machine’s tail. Struts snapped with sharp cracks.
And he slid into a tight spiral, spinning ever leftward, that drove him towards the ground. As the wind pushed back the skin of his face, as his speed rose and he spun like a leaf, he screamed in longing and fear: ‘Grace, Grace!’
XXVIII
It was a huge relief for Harry to get out of the chaotic confines of the audience chamber and into the clear Spanish air. He still had his sister in his arms. Geoffrey stood by him, panting with shock and fear.
The army camp was in chaos. The attempt on Isabel’s life had been like a stick thrust into a beehive. Soldiers ran everywhere. There were screams, and the crack of arquebuses. Muslims, who an hour ago had been able to go about their business unmolested, now ran for their lives. It was a grim irony, Harry thought, that it had been a Muslim who in fact had saved the Christian Queen, and a Christian who had tried to kill her.
‘But I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘I don’t
understand.’
‘Evidently Grace didn’t know of Ferron’s scheme with Agnes,’ Geoffrey said grimly. ‘Our opponents didn’t even trust each other! Grace saw she was losing the argument, Harry. She saw we were winning. And that couldn’t be allowed. She was a woman who had come to need her murderous war, the glory of her weapons. She would even impersonate a Muslim, she would murder the greatest Christian queen, in order to win the argument - and to provoke needless slaughter.’
‘And Abdul—’
‘Abdul, in that flash as the blade descended towards Isabel, saw the opposite. The Moors are already defeated, here in Spain; Boabdil, for all he is despised, is doing a decent job of negotiating a surrender with honour. But if Isabel had been killed Fernando and his soldiers would have vented their fury on Granada. And in the east, the sultans would have responded to such a massacre as they have always threatened to do, beginning with reprisals against the Christians in Jerusalem, and against our holy sites.’
‘And then the holy war would have been inevitable.’
‘Yes. Abdul saw it all in a flash. He gave his life to save a Christian monarch, and to avert global disaster.’
‘We have all spoken of such possibilities,’ Harry said. ‘But it was Abdul who acted.’
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