Then, one of the five screamed. The one man had been knocked to his knees and Christopher saw his teeth clinched into the screaming man’s thigh. Christopher could see blood starting to show through the screaming man’s thin cotton pants.
The other four grabbed the one man by the shoulders, yanking him backwards but he would not go easy. Finally, he was pulled free and the screaming man clutched his wounded thigh.
Taking advantage, the one man twisted and grabbed a chair and slammed it hard into the head of an adjacent man. The adjacent man fell to the floor unconscious.
The one man turned his attention back to the screaming man by striking him in the stomach. He grabbed his hair as he was bowed forward and drove his knee into the man’s face, breaking bone.
One of the three remaining charged, leading with his fist but the one man ducked and the charging man’s clenched hand slammed into the wooden pillar that supported the roof. The pillar was two foot-by-two foot of solid oak and the charging man screamed as his hand broke.
The one man was grappled into a headlock and in return, he stomped on the headlock man’s foot with the heel of his boot. Christopher heard the bones crunch.
Released from the grip, the one man squared up to face the remaining man. With lightning speed, the one man drove his fist into his throat and the remaining man stumbled backwards gasping for breath.
The Madrid La Policia had arrived during the fight and they watched with amusement. They moved next to Christopher for a better view and waited until the end before breaking up the melee and arresting those involved.
Christopher interceded with the highest ranking officer, who recognized Christopher. “He’s with me,” he said, nodding towards the one man. The one man nodded his appreciation at the gesture and the five were arrested.
Christopher motioned him over and offered a seat. “Glass of Spain’s finest?”
“Aye,” the man accepted and Christopher poured. Drinking through busted lips was difficult but he managed.
“I am Christopher Columbus.”
“Aye, I know who you are. I am Juan Ponce de Leon.”
“I have heard of you as well. You fought against the Moors in Grenada?”
“Aye.”
“Well Juan, it’s a pleasure to meet you. You fight well.”
“The Moors were good practice,” Juan agreed.
“So it seems. May I inquire as to the altercation?”
“An old sailor’s squabble. We get into it every so often. There are not always five.” Juan smiled as he rubbed his jaw.
“So you sail as well?”
As they spoke, Christopher found himself impressed by what he saw in Juan. He was especially interested in Juan’s time as an ambassador in service of the King and realized then how impractical he had been: Juan had not needed his assistance in not being arrested.
Juan told Christopher of his time in Ethiopia and with the Northmen. “In fact, the Northmen are the reason the King is sending your voyage. He wants to confirm their stories of a New World.”
They spoke several times over the next week and Juan expressed interest in joining Christopher’s expedition. The King consented not to the first jaunt but the second if the first voyage was successful.
“How is Leonore?” Christopher asked, flouting Juan’s memories.
“She is well,” Juan replied about his wife, sitting up from his supine position.
“And your son?”
“Very well. He grows like a weed in a courtyard. And he’s almost as frustrating.”
“I hear he’s just as stubborn as his old man.”
“As is yours. Good to see you, old friend.” He stood fully and they embraced. “You missed a beautiful funeral. The mass was long and much too boring to honor one who had lived a life such as you. The food and drink were exceptional. Your son spared no expense in that regard.”
Christopher laughed but turned serious. “Ah, my son. How I long to see him. I hear the two of you have a bit of a disagreement.”
“Aye, a bit.”
“Well, let’s not talk further on an empty stomach. Let me show you around and I’ll introduce you to the best fruit you’ll ever taste. Then, we’ll recapitulate our lost years.”
Juan agreed and followed. Christopher led them down a path filled with wonders and Juan realized they were creating the landscape. Whatever was imagined, the next moment became reality.
They walked for nearly thirty minutes before entering a grove of trees. The trees stretched upward so high that Juan could not see their tops and trunks were such that six men could surround the tree with outstretched arms and not be able to touch.
The back of the grove opened into a wide space, lit by the sun. The light came in a broad beam that refracted on a thin brook next to a small shelter – Christopher’s home in Eden.
Christopher offered fruit from one of the trees and Juan had never tasted anything so juicy or sweet. It appeared conceived of honey and sunshine.
Juan looked up at the sky and witnessed a deep azure hue. No clouds scarred the firmament and the temperature reached a comfortable irrelevance. “Is the weather always this perfect?” Juan asked.
“Always.”
“It’s incredible. What have you learned of this place?”
“I’ve learned that since the garden was left behind by men, the garden now decays, if you can call this decaying.”
“From whom do you learn?”
“Abuelo teaches me.”
“Abuelo?”
“Aye. He comes here sometimes and we talk.”
“And he tells you of the outside world?”
“He does. He has told me of my son and you. And now, I would like to hear from you. Tell me of Diego.”
Juan hesitated for a moment. “He’s your son, stubborn and hard-headed.”
Christopher laughed
