most elegant restaurants, where he often hosted sumptuous dinners.
'Don't forget the weevils that developed in their food,' Austin said, trying to move Perlmutter away from his favorite subject.
'I can't imagine what weevils would be like. I've tried locusts and grubs in Africa. Good sources of protein, I'm told, but if I want something that tastes like chicken, I'll eat chicken. You'll have to tell me precisely what you want to know. Why are you so curious about Columbus, if I may ask?'
Perlmutter listened quietly, his encyclopedic mind absorbing every detail, as Austin summarized the story, from the Moroccan murders to the blunted sting.
'I think I see what you need. You want to know why Columbus would inspire anyone to kill. It wouldn't be the first time Columbus excited tempers. He was an incredible survivor. He was wrong about discovering America, yet that is what he is famous for. To his dying day he claimed to have discovered China. He never acknowledged the existence of an entire continent. He started the slave trade in the Americas and brought the terrible glories of the Spanish Inquisition to the New World. He was obsessed with gold. He was either a saint or a scoundrel, depending on your point of view.'
'That was then. I'm talking about now Why would somebody murder to prevent his discoveries from being discredited? All I need is one link.'
'His voyages have produced tons of written material and millions of pages. What has been written about the old boy could fill an entire library.'
'I'm aware of that, which is why I called. You're the only one I know who could brush away the dross.'
'Flattery will get you nowhere . . .'
'I'll repay your work with dinner at a restaurant of your choice.'
. . . But food will. How could any man resist twin seductions of his ego and appetite? I'll start digging right after I have lunch.'.
22 PERLMUTTER CHEWED OVER AUSTIN'S request along with succulent breast of duck stuffed with grapes on focaccia, left over from 'dinner the night before, complemented with a rare Marcassin Chardonnay. Austin would rue the day Perlmutter tempted him with food. There was a new French restaurant in Alexandria he was dying to try. A bit pricey perhaps, but a deal was a deal. His blue eyes danced merrily in his ruddy round face in anticipation. Austin would get his money's worth: Perlmutter knew without turning a page that an ocean of literature had been written on the subject of Christopher Columbus. Too vast to simply jump in and start swimming. He would need a guide, and there was none better he could think of.
After tidying up from lunch he pawed through his card file and dialed an overseas number.
'Buena dies,' came a deep voice on the other end.
'Good morning, Juan.'
Ah Julien! What a pleasant surprise. All goes well with you?'
'Very well. And you, my old friend?'
'Older than the last time. we talked,' the Spaniard said with a chuckle, 'but let us discuss more agreeable subjects. I trust you called to inform me that you have tried my recipe for cordonices emhoja de parra.'
'The quail in grape leaves was superb. As you advised I stuffed each quail with a fresh fig instead of the thyme and lemon zest. The results were spectacular. I also used mesquite wood in the grill.'
Perlmutter had met Juan Ortega in Madrid at a convocation of rare book collectors. They discovered that in addition to an obsession with antique volumes, they shared a gourmand's fondness for fine dining. They tried to get together at least once a year to indulge their gustatory yearnings and traded recipes in between.
'Mesquite! A stroke of genius. I should expect nothing less. I'm glad the recipe pleased you. No doubt you have something for me to try.' Perlmutter could almost hear Ortega licking his lips.
'Yes, in a moment. But there is another reason for my call. I must request the use of your skills not as a master chef but as Juan Ortega, the greatest living authority on Christopher Columbus.'
'You are too kind, my friend,' Ortega ducked. 'I am only one of many historians who have written books on the subject.'
'But you're the only scholar who is astute enough to help me with a most unusual problem. The ghost of Senor Columbus seems to be at the center of some rather odd goings on. Allow me to explain.' Perlmutter outlined the highlights of the situation as Austin had given it to him.
A strange story,' Ortega said at the end of the recitation. 'Especially in view of a recent incident. Several weeks ago we had a crime here in Seville that had to do with Columbus. A theft of Columbus papers from the Biblioteca Columbina in the great cathedral of Seville. A coincidence perhaps?'
'Perhaps yes. Perhaps no. What was stolen?
'A letter pertaining to the fifth voyage of Columbus. It was written to his patrons, King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. The king, really, the queen having died by then.'
A shame to lose such a valuable document.'
'Not really. Columbus did not take a fifth voyage.'
'Of course, I should have remembered. But I don't understand this letter.'
A hearty laugh issued over the phone from three thousand miles away. A forgery, amigo. A fraud. How do you say it? The papers were phony'
How do you know it was a forgery? From the handwriting?' 'Oh no, the handwriting is quite good. So authentic an expert could not tell the difference.'
'Then how do you know the writing was forged?'
'Simple. Columbus died May 20, 1506. The log is dated after that date.' .
Perlmutter paused for a moment, thinking. 'Could there have been a mistake about the date of his death?'
'The house on Calle de Cristobal Colon, where he expired, has been preserved. There is controversy about when he is buried, however. His remains are said to lie in Seville or Santo Domingo or Havana. At least eight different funeral urns supposedly contain his ashes.' Omega sighed heavily. 'When you are dealing with this man, you swim in murky waters.'
'I remember in your book Discoverer or Demon? you said no one is even certain where he was born.'
'Yes, that is correct. We don't know for sure whether he was Spanish or Italian. He said he was born in Genoa, but Columbus was not known for his honesty. Some even contend that he came from the Greek island of Chios. The official version says he was an Italian weaver's apprentice. Ethers maintain this was not so, that he was actually a Spanish mariner named Colon. We know he married the daughter of a Portuguese aristocrat and need in royal circles, which world have been a difficult feat for the mere son of a weaver. There are no authentic portraits: A true man of mystery. Which is the way he preferred it. He did everything he could to obscure his identification.'
'That has always puzzled me.'
'Those were turbulent times, Julien. Wars. Intrigue. The Inquisition. Maybe he was on the wrong side of a royal controversy. He may have served a country at war with Spain or one that would be taken over by Spain. There were reasons of heredity as well, evidence he was born the bastard son of a Spanish prince. Hence Cristobol Colon, the name he was known by later in life.'
'Truly fascinating, Juan. We must discuss it over glasses of sangria when next we meet. But I'm interested in knowing more about this stolen document.'
'You know of the monk Las Casas?'
'Yes, he transcribed parts of the original Columbus log.'
'Cornet. Columbus presented the log of his first voyage to his patron Queen Isabella. In turn she commissioned an exact replication which she gave to Columbus. Upon the admiral's death, this Barcelona copy, as it was called, was inherited by his son Diego along with charts, books, and manuscripts. These in turn went to Fernando, who was the illegitimate child of Columbus by his mistress. He reminds me very much of you, Julien.'
'It's not the first time I've been called a bastard, nor will it be the last.'
'I did not mean to sully your birthright, my friend. I meant that he was an archivist and a scholar, a lover of books who assembled one of the finest libraries in Europe. When he died in 1539 his possessions, books, and Columbus papers went to Luis, the son of Diego. His mother removed Most of Fernando's possessions to a monastery here in Seville. When she died in 1544 it was a tragedy for the world.'
