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
