"It didn't seem as if we were gods, when we were among them. It was just Mother and Father and their friends," said Diko.

"And to me, it was a job. Until I found you. Or you found me. Or however that worked."

"It worked," said Diko with finality.

He cocked his head and looked at her sideways, to let her know that he knew he was asking a loaded question. "Is it true you aren't going with Colўn when he sails east?"

"I don't think Spain is likely to be ready for an ambassador married to an African. Let's not make them swallow too much."

"He's an old man, Diko. He might not live to come home."

"I know," she said.

"Now that we're making Atetulka the capital of Caribia, will you come there to live? To wait for his return?"

"Hunahpu, you aren't expecting that at our age we would start to set a bad example, are you? Though I admit to being curious about the twelve scars that legend says you carry on your ... person."

He laughed. "No, I'm not proposing an affair. I love Xoc, and you love Colўn. We both still have too much work to do for us to put it at risk now. But I hoped for your company. For many conversations."

She thought about it, but in the end, she shook her head. "It would be too ... hard for me. This is too hard for me. Seeing you brings back another life. A time when I was another person. Maybe now and then. Every few years. Sail to Haiti and visit us in Ankuash. My Beatrice will want to come home to the mountain -- Atetulka must be sweltering, there on the coast."

"Ya-Hunahpu is dying to go to Haiti -- he hears that the women wear no clothing."

"In some places they still go naked. But bright colors are all the fashion. I think he'll be disappointed."

Hunahpu reached out and took her hand. "I'm not disappointed."

"Neither am I."

They held hands like that, for a long time.

"I was thinking," said Hunahpu, "of the third one who earned a place atop this tower."

"I was thinking of him, too."

"We remade the culture, so that Europe and America -- Caribia -- could meet without either being destroyed," said Hunahpu. "But he's the one who bought us the time to do it."

"He died quickly," said Diko. "But not without planting seeds of suspicion among the Spaniards. It must have been quite a death scene. But I'm glad I missed it."

The first light of dawn had appeared over the jungle to the east. Hunahpu noticed it, sighed, and stood. Then Diko stood, unfolding herself to her full height. Hunahpu laughed. "I forgot how tall you were."

"I'm stooping a little these days."

"It doesn't help," he said.

They went down the pyramid separately. No one saw them. No one guessed that they knew each other.

* * *

Cristobal Colўn returned to Spain in the spring of 1520. No one looked for him anymore, of course. There were legends about the disappearance of the three caravels that sailed west; the name Colўn had become synonymous, in Spain, at least, with the idea of mad ventures.

It was the Portuguese who had made the link to the Indies, and Portuguese ships now dominated all the Atlantic sea routes. They were just starting to explore the coast of a large island they named for the legendary land of Hy-Brasil, and some were saying that it might be a continent, especially when a ship returned with reports that northwest of the desert lands first discovered was a vast jungle with a river so wide and powerful that it made the ocean fresh twenty miles from its mouth. The inhabitants of the land were poor and weak savages, easily conquered and enslaved -- much easier to deal with than the fierce Africans, who were also guarded by plagues invariably fatal to white men. The sailors who landed in Hy-Brasil got sick, but the disease was quick and never killed. Indeed, those who caught it reported that they were healthier afterward than they had ever been before. This "plague" was now spreading through Europe, doing no harm at all, and some said that where the Brasilian plague had passed, smallpox and black death could no longer return. It made Hy-Brasil seem magical, and the Portuguese were preparing an expedition to explore the coast and look for a site for supply stations. Perhaps the madman Colўn was not so mad after all. If there was a suitable coast for resupply, it might be possible to reach China by sailing west.

That was when a fleet of a thousand ships appeared off the Portuguese coast near Lagos, sailing eastward toward Spain, toward the straits of Gibraltar. The Portuguese galleon that spotted the strange ships at first sailed boldly toward them. But then, when it became obvious that these strange vessels filled the sea from horizon to horizon, the captain wisely turned about and raced for Lisboa. The Portuguese who stood on the southern shores said that it took three days for the whole fleet to pass. Some ships came close enough to the shore that the watchers could say with confidence that the sailors were brown, of a race never seen before. They also said that the ships were heavily armed; any one of them would be a match for the fiercest war galleon of the Portuguese fleet.

Wisely, the Portuguese sailors put in to port and stayed there while the fleet passed. If it was an enemy, better not to provoke them, but instead hope they would find some better land to conquer farther east.

The first of the ships put in to port at Palos. If anyone noticed that it was the same port from which Colўn had set sail, the coincidence went unremarked at the time. The brown men who disembarked from the ships shocked everyone by speaking fluent Spanish, though with many new words and odd pronunciations. They said they came from the kingdom of Caribia, which lay on a vast island between Europe and China. They insisted on speaking to the monks of La Rabida, and it was to these holy men that they gave three chests of pure gold. "One is a gift to the King and Queen of Spain, to thank them for sending three ships to us, twenty-eight years ago," said the leader of the Caribians. "One is a gift to the Holy Church, to help pay for sending missionaries to teach the gospel of Jesus Christ in every corner of Caribia, to any who will freely listen. And the last is the price we will pay for a piece of land, well-watered with a good harbor, where we can build a palace fitting for the father of our Queen Beatrice Tagiri to receive the visit of the King and Queen of Spain."

Few of the monks of La Rabida remembered the days when Colўn had been a frequent visitor there. But one remembered very well. He had been left there as a boy to be educated while his father pressed his suit at court, and later when he sailed west in search of a mad goal. When his father never returned, he had taken holy orders, and was now distinguished for his holiness. He took the leader of the Caribian party aside and said, "The three ships you say that Spain sent to you. They were commanded by Cristobal Colўn, weren't they?"

"Yes, they were," said the brown man.

"Did he live? Is he still alive?"

"He is not only alive, but he is the father of our Queen Beatrice Tagiri. It is for him that we build a palace. And because you remember him, my friend, I can tell you, in his heart he is not building this palace for the King and Queen of Spain, though he will receive them there. He is building this palace so he can invite his son, Diego, to learn what has become of him, and to beg his forgiveness for not returning to him for all these years."

"I am Diego Colўn," said the monk.

"I assumed you were," said the brown man. "You look like him. Only younger. And your mother must have been a beauty, because the differences are all improvements." The brown man didn't smile, but Diego saw at last the twinkle in his eyes.

"Tell my father," said Diego, "that many a man has been separated from his family by fortune or fate, and only an unworthy son would ask his father to apologize for coming home."


Перейти на страницу:
Изменить размер шрифта: