Three Days in May

Part I

Monday, May 18, 1506

I-JUANITO

That morning, Juanito woke up in a good mood. He had finally been able to sleep the whole night through. His Lordship had not called on him a single time.

For a month, ever since he had been chosen to serve him, that had never happened.

It was Andrea, His Lordship’s devoted personal butler, who entrusted him with that role because his master was not able to leave his bed anymore and needed to be watched around the clock. His illness never seemed to let up. He used to wail all night long; his pain did not allow him to sleep.

Juanito always had to be ready for whenever His Lordship called out to him. He would rush over and give him some water to drink or hand him the chamber pot. Then, more and more frequently, he would spread ointment, which Dr. Sánchez had prepared, on his hands and feet. It was pungent and made from who knows what kind of strange ingredients. But it seemed to be at least somewhat good, because after Juanito rubbed the parts of His Lordship’s body that hurt with that nasty stuff, his wailing seemed to let up a bit.

Once in a while the sick man even smiled at him. He used to say that Juanito had hands of gold.

The boy was very satisfied by that and tried to carry out his task even better than was expected, even though he was forced to watch over him as he lay, stretched out, on top of a large straw mattress that Andrea had placed, not in His Lordship’s bedroom—because that might have annoyed him—but in the hallway outside, through which a lot of cold drafts ran.

Blasts of icy wind did, in fact, come into the hallway from the large courtyard on the ground floor. It ended in another section that had an enormous window that lit up everything, but which also allowed cold air from the outside to come in.

Fortunately, it was then May, so the days had become longer and warmer.

Juanito got up from his bed, stretched, and ran his hands over the clothes he had on to smooth them out. He went up to the window and suddenly became aware that it had to be late, a lot later than when His Lordship usually called on him to start his daily washing up.

The window looked out on the garden that was behind the Franciscan convent. Two friars were already at work in it. Beyond its surrounding wall, Calle de Santiago was bustling with activity. Wagons, loaded down with all kinds of goods, came and went while busy men and women milled about.

Strange, Juanito thought, that His Lordship has not woken up yet. Very strange.

He normally heard him reciting his prayers shortly after dawn.

Juanito thought that it would be better if he went and looked in on him. He went up to the bedroom door, which was ajar. Trying to make as little noise as possible, he went in.

The room was immersed in darkness because His Lordship, like always, had made sure that the heavy red velvet drapes that hung down on each side of the window were completely closed the night before. But a thin stream of light filtered in underneath them and lit up the floor.

When Juanito got used to the darkness, he moved slowly in the direction of the bed.

It was an enormous one made out of carved wood that had a magnificent canopy from which curtains hung; they were also made of red velvet. They weren’t closed; His Lordship had said that he wanted to be able to see, all of the time, who was coming in or out of his bedroom.

Next to the bed was a piece of furniture that looked a lot simpler. It was a kind of chest of drawers on top of which rested a pitcher of water, a small basin, a chalice, and a candelabrum. The candle that His Lordship always wanted to remain lit throughout the night had already gone out. Also, the large brazier no longer warmed the room; its embers had completely gone out.

The rest of the furniture had been reduced to a bare minimum.

In front of the right wall were two large wooden chests. In front of the opposite wall, next to the window, was a writing desk that was cluttered with books and letters. A seat rested there.

At each side of the door were two imposing-looking chairs. Some sumptuous outfits were laid out in very orderly fashion on top of one of them: a red velvet cloak, a suit with decorative black embroidery that had shiny buttons and gold ribbons on it, black stockings, and a shirt made out of fine muslin.

Every evening, Juanito carried out the task of tidying up those clothes and polishing the boots he then had to place in front of the chair. His Lordship had said that everything had to always be completely ready for when he might have the strength to leave his bed and go to King Ferdinand’s court.

The bedroom walls were covered with nothing more than whitewash.

On the one that faced the bed was a large picture, surrounded by an imposing frame; it was a depiction of the Madonna and Child. Under that image, in gold letters, was a Latin inscription: Jesus cum Maria sit nobis in via (Jesus and Mary, be always our guides). Juanito, who didn’t know how to read, and least of all, understand Latin, had asked for explanations from Friar Miguel, who showed up every day to carry out Holy Communion with the sick man (and often to say Mass).

The friar had told him that it was a phrase that was very dear to His Lordship and that it was meant to show his devotion to the Holy Virgin and the trust that he had in the Savior.

Another smaller picture was on the left wall. It portrayed a gentleman whose face wore a thoughtful, serious expression. He was dressed in elegant clothes and there was a sword at his side.

Juanito had found it difficult to recognize, in that personality, who was so proud and strong, the same characteristics that he found in His Lordship. But then he understood that it was an official portrait, like those that were created of great men, which often did not resemble their subject at all.

What struck him the most and aroused his curiosity when he entered that room for the first time had been a coat of arms that was repeated everywhere: It towered over the bed’s canopy, among fest-ooned carvings of fruit and flowers, and decorated the chests, backs of the chairs, and picture frames.

It’s like it’s some kind of fixation, Juanito thought.

Later on, Andrea explained to him that that coat of arms was something very important.

"It was conferred upon His Lordship’s family by the sovereigns, King Ferdinand of Aragon and Queen Isabelle of Castile—God bless her soul—when he returned from his first voyage in search of the route to the Indies.

With that voyage, Andrea had told him, "His Lordship had rendered a great service to Their Royal Highnesses, and for that reason, they allowed him to put their arms on his coat of arms, even though he was not born in either of their kingdoms. His Lordship is, in fact, from far away, from a city called Genoa, which is in Italy. His real name is not Cristóbal Colón, which is what they call him here in Spain, but Cristoforo Colombo, which is an Italian name.

It is a prophetic name, Andrea added, with a great deal of haughtiness, and it means that His Lordship was predestined, by God, to carry out that great undertaking. Cristoforo means bringer of Christ and he brought the Holy Faith to the inhabitants of the Indies. And Colombo in His Lordship’s language, is how one says dove" in Castilian, which is the symbol of the Holy Spirit.

If you look closely at the coat of arms, Andrea went on to explain, "you will see, in the two panels at the top (which, he specified, are called quarters), that there is a castle of gold in a red field, and a lion rampant. They are the symbols of the Kingdoms of Castile and León of Queen Isabelle’s.

"In the two lower sections, His Lordship had placed, in the one on the right, some islands and a stretch of mainland to depict his discoveries, and in the one on the left, five golden anchors, to remind everyone that he is the Admiral of the Ocean Sea. Underneath, on top of the shield’s point, the real family coat of arms appears: a blue stripe against a gold field.

His Lordship is now very sick, because he spent so many years on the sea and has experienced so many worries, Andrea went on to say. "You should have seen him when he was well!

He was very tall, imposing, and thin, and his character commanded respect from everybody. He was not noble by birth but exercised noble behavior. He was a great gentleman who always lived his life without flaunting his wealth or his high social class.

Juanito felt proud to be serving a personality as great as Columbus.

When he got close enough to the bed so he could get a good look at him, Juanito was overtaken by fear.

The man seemed to be dead. He was lying in a supine position and his eyes were closed. His silhouette stood out against in the shadows’ backlighting, which emphasized his pronounced, almost aquiline nose. His mouth was partially open. Under his shirt, which was unlaced over the top of his chest, one could see a thin, wasted away body, while his long, bony arms were dropped down next to his sides. His breathing was labored.

Your Lordship, Juanito called out in a clear voice. Your Lordship, I think it’s late. Your Lordship should wake up! he said more loudly, as he tried to make the sick man move. Are you okay?

Columbus didn’t react.

Up till then, Juanito had never seen a man as sick as Columbus was. Even though he was very inexperienced, Juanito did, however, understand that His Lordship must have been very ill.

Just like he had come in, on his tiptoes, Juanito did an about turn, crossed the room, went out into the hallway, and rushed down the stairs.

* * *

Running all the while, he crossed through the atrium and went into the kitchen.

Already, around the big table in the middle, they were preparing lunch at a feverish pace.

It wasn’t that His Lordship ate all that much; on the contrary, he almost got by eating only bread and milk. But his small entourage—about twenty people, which consisted of friends, family members, and servants who had accompanied him to Valladolid—had to be provided with everything they needed, on a daily basis. It was something that he, as a gentleman, was expected to do. Even though, truthfully speaking, he certainly had not shown himself to be all that extravagant when he was well. Not in relation to himself, either.

I am used to having little at my disposal since I have spent most of my time traveling over the sea, he used to say. All I want is just what I need… Nothing more. And then, as far as his eating habits were concerned, he loved healthy foods. Simple dishes, nothing elaborate.

Under the watchful eyes of Andrea, a few servants prepared some meats.

One of them was busy plucking chickens, while another stuck them onto skewers. A whole pig was ready to be cooked; it was going to be basted using aromatic oil that was in a bowl. A woman was rinsing and cutting up vegetables. A large saucepan, filled with water, was on the fire; it was ready for vegetables to be put in so they could be cooked, while all of them that were going to be eaten raw were, little by little, placed on big trays. Another servant, whose skills were obviously expert, was preparing sauces that were supposed to go along with the vegetables. He carefully stirred oil or vinegar into Mediterranean aromatic herbs, as well as into some rare spices.

The bread, which had just been taken out of the oven, filled the room with a pleasant aroma.

Juanito looked around for Andrea.

As soon as he saw him, he let out a sigh of relief and went up to him. But before he could open his mouth to communicate his anxiety, Andrea grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of the kitchen.

What the hell’s the matter? You look as white as a sheet! Is he dead?

No, no, at least I don’t think so. He seems to be breathing. He must be in really bad shape, though, because I tried to wake him up but he didn’t react.

Andrea didn’t think about what needed to be done a moment longer.

Run and get the doctor, Andrea ordered. Then go get Friar Miguel and the rest of the friars and have them come right away. But please don’t tell them anything. Don’t let them know what’s going on. It’s better for them not to know, at least until Dr. Sánchez shows up.

Let’s hope that’s soon, he said to himself.

Andrea did not like the idea that he was going to have to manage the situation himself, even though he was quite aware that there wasn’t going to be much he would have to do from that point on.

It is going to be a matter of days, if not hours, Dr. Sánchez said. We’ll do everything we possibly can, but now we’re going to need a miracle!

And to think that when Columbus arrived in Valladolid, only a few months before, he was still hoping that he would be able to move around and walk. He had taken up lodgings where he was because it was close to the Franciscan convent; it was, to be more specific, inside of its enclosure, and only a few steps from the main building and the church.

Because of that, I will be able to go to Mass every day, Columbus had said.

Even Dr. Sánchez was pleased about his choice, but for another reason. A hospital was in the convent; that made him feel a lot calmer. Someone would always be ready to rush to the aid of the famous sick man if need be. At any rate, it wouldn’t be just him who would be responsible for Columbus’ welfare.

The criados and the servants also thought his decision was a good one.

It was a lot better than lodging at Duke of Medina Celi’s place, as Columbus, at an earlier time, thought was perhaps going to be the case. The duke was the son of one of His Lordship’s great supporters, who had gone on to a better life. He was very friendly. His palace was very beautiful, and comfortable, too. But living in his house meant that Columbus’ friends would have to suffer through a burdensome life at the court, and that his servants would have to submit to the orders of people they didn’t even know.

Fortunately, His Lordship did not ask the duke if he could lodge at his place, because, he said, I am Viceroy of the Indies and the Admiral of the Ocean Sea. It would not be dignified for me to do something like that.

Another possibility had also been taken into consideration, namely, the main building at the Franciscan convent.

When Columbus traveled around Spain, he often stayed at convents. Since he was so thrifty and frugal, he adapted well to sleeping in monks’ cells and participating, with sincere devotion, in the communities’ religious exercises. Valladolid’s Franciscan convent was very big and was able to house, with no difficulty whatsoever, his entire entourage.

This time, however, he made it known that he preferred to be on his own. He didn’t express it but knew that he was no longer in a condition to be able to live a life that was as difficult and austere as the other one.

The friars then suggested the house he was now in, even though it wasn’t one that could be described as a lordly dwelling. It was, in fact, one whose construction was rather simple; sections of it had been thrown up at various times over the years.

The main part, a four-sided section, was on two floors that were connected by a large stone staircase that opened up onto a very spacious atrium.

It was, in all likelihood, built in a hurry so that one of the Order’s prelates, who was passing through the city, would have a place to stay.

A single-story longer structure was later added on to one of the sides.

The stables and warehouses were behind it. In the front was a spacious patio from which one could gain access to a series of small rooms.

The criados and the servants lived in those. His Lordship’s brother, the Adelantado (General Captain), Don Bartholomew, and Columbus’ sons, Don Diego and Don Hernando, who ran back and forth between Valladolid, Seville, and the Catholic king’s court to see him, were always able to use the bedrooms on the main building’s first floor, which were next to his.

The furnishings, however, were rather spartan. Columbus wanted them to be left as he had found them, that is to say, simple and basic.

Only, for his bedroom, he wanted the furniture that had been made for the Santo Domingo palace.

After Columbus, once and for all, returned from the Indies, he, from that point on, took it with him wherever he went.

So, I will feel at home, he used to say. But in reality, since it looked very imposing and stately-looking, it represented, for him, the last testimonial of his glorious past, and a manifest symbol of his social status.

The kitchen, pantry, and a large sitting room were on the ground floor. The sitting room was simply furnished, too. It was where Columbus’ friends, who had followed him to Valladolid, spent the day, when they were not doing other things.

* * *

The choice of those lodgings turned out to be a good one, if only because the stopover in the city was being drawn out much longer than what had been expected.

Columbus showed up with King Ferdinand of Aragon’s court, which had been following him for more than a year.

In reality, he would, with pleasure, have managed without that agonizing pilgrimage through Spain. But he absolutely needed to speak with the sovereign. So, he made up his mind to do everything he could to make sure he would be received by the king.

According to the stipulations in the agreements that had been made with the kings of Spain on the eve of his first big transatlantic voyage, the Admiral was supposed to have the right to govern the lands he might discover, and the right to a large part of the revenue from the sale of all goods that would be collected at those places. He was, later on, able to arrange for the transmission of those rights to his descendants.

However, when it became obvious that those lands were not the Indies, which is where he had agreed to go, and of a size that no one would have expected, and that they were also rich in natural resources he had never expected to find, the Spanish monarchs realized that they had made promises they couldn’t keep.

In fact, not only had Columbus not demonstrated that he had the capacity and necessary preparation to maintain order and the rule of law in a big, rich, and, above all, unruly colony that was so very far away, but the monetary benefits that had been promised him were going to be excessive. Because of that, there was a risk that allowing him and his family to have access to them would give them too much power.

Because of that, the kings started to interpret, in a way that became more and more restrictive, the various clauses in the agreements. After that, they appointed another governor to his post.

After Queen Isabella’s death, Ferdinand of Aragon looked for any possible way he could get into a legal squabble with him, for the purpose of depriving him of all the rights he could still boast of. Columbus was determined to re-appropriate everything he felt he had a legitimate right to. Convinced that the king’s behavior was the result of his courtesans’ envy, after an initial, very cold and inconclusive meeting with him in May of 1505, Columbus left the warm, sunny clime of Seville to support his own cause. He followed the court, first to Segovia, and then to Salamanca.

He spent the entire cold winter in Old Castile. He hoped, all the while

he was there, that he would be able to confer with the sovereign. The latter, of course, informed Columbus, through his sons or high dignitaries at the court, that he was always going to be too busy to receive him. Because of that, Columbus kept sending him letters of appeals and memos that turned out to be useless; they were completely ignored.

At the beginning of April, 1506, Columbus, who continued to be a member of Ferdinand of Aragon’s retinue, arrived in Valladolid. But by the time he got there, his health, which had always held up during so many transatlantic crossings, had broken down. He alternated between brief periods of relative well-being to long days when his legs could not hold him up anymore. And his hands, swollen and painful because of gouty arthritis, which he had been suffering with for quite a long time (and which the doctors, at that time, still didn’t distinguish from gout), looked more and more deformed and useless.

He was often unable to get up from his bed or grab hold of objects. And what upset him most was that he found it difficult to write.

* * *

The arrival of spring however, re-ignited Columbus’ hopes. Not only because that wonderful season had made his days less painful, in that it gave him the illusion that he had improved, but above all, because the new political landscape that was emerging at that time made him feel that he would finally be able to resolve his problems.

Princess Joanna was about to arrive in Valladolid from Flanders, where she was living with her husband, Philip of Hapsburg.

She was the third-born child of the Catholic monarchs. After the premature death of the hereditary prince, Don Juan, and her sister, Isabella, who had been born first, Princess Joanna became the heir to the Kingdom of Castile.

Columbus thought that the arrival of the new sovereign might be a good opportunity for him because, in addition to Castile, Joanna inherited, from her mother, the land he had discovered. He hoped that he would then find the justice that

the sovereign persisted in denying him.

Columbus remembered Princess Joanna well. He had occasion to run into her at different times when he was visiting the court.

The image that ran through his mind the most was that of a young girl who broke away from the Catholic kings’ group of children, and who, flying in the face of etiquette, rushed up to him on the day of his triumphant return from his first voyage to the Indies. The monarchs had been welcoming him at that moment, with great pomp, before an imposing array of nobles and dignitaries from the Kingdoms of Castile and Aragon.

Joanna was, at that time, an adolescent who could not be thought of as beautiful because she had inherited her father’s pronounced nose and protruding lips. But she was vivacious and strong-willed. Because of that, she inspired a natural, good feeling in people. Indifferent to the looks of disapproval from her mother and to the scolding of her governess, she drew close. She was curious about the colorful cortege that was following him, in which there were some Indians whose innocent nudity had been hurriedly covered with small garlands of leaves and flowers. But she was attracted more than anything else by the multi-colored parrots.

She asked him if he would give one to her. The day after, Columbus

had one promptly delivered to her. So, a kind of complicity was established between the two.

They had many things in common: spontaneity, a distrust of the untrustworthy atmosphere that reigned at the court, and their refusal to go along with the hypocrisy that dominated it.

* * *

Columbus was certain that the princess was going to take his issue to heart.

Unfortunately for both of them, the succession to the throne of Castile was about to turn into a tragedy.

A rebellious non-conformist who was unable to put up with the coercive rules that were imposed on her by her mother, and by the climate of terror started up under the Inquisition, Joanna was not well thought of in Spain. To such an extent that rumors spread, and for quite a while, that her mind was not healthy.

Her father, Ferdinand of Aragon, took advantage of that. Shortly before the death of his wife, he succeeded in being named Regent of Castile by her, on behalf of their daughter.

The Catholic king’s government, however, gave rise to protests on the part of Joanna’s husband, Philip of Hapsburg. The latter, after a long, complicated series of diplomatic negotiations, during which accusations flew back and forth, decided to show up, along with his wife, to take, if necessary, by force, that which he thought they had a right to.

So, Philip of Hapsburg and his wife, Joanna, landed in La Coruña on April 26, 1506.

Because he feared that what was going on might trigger off some popular revolts, Ferdinand of Aragon immediately left Valladolid so he could meet with his daughter and son-in-law.

After that came a time when there were very strong tensions, which were about to break out in a civil war. A few months later, however, in September of that same year, everything was resolved because of a death, like what was often the case in those times: that of Philip of Hapsburg. It was a timely and unforeseen one; and because of that, it seemed rather suspicious.

Before the situation became more serious, since Columbus didn’t really know how things were going to end, and because it was impossible for him to be with the Aragon king and his court at that time, he wrote a letter. He entrusted his brother, Bartholomew, with the task of delivering it to Philip of Hapsburg and his wife.

In that letter, Columbus stated that he was very unhappy that he was unable to pay his respects to them in person but offered his services as a navigator and cosmographer. He then declared himself their vassal and servant.

He waited and hoped for a positive response. At the same time, he became more and more convinced that he shouldn’t give in to what he thought of as an injustice.

* * *

While Juanito quickly called on the doctor, Andrea thought it would be a good idea to come and check the situation out in person. He went up the large stone staircase, walked down the hallway, and then went into Columbus’ room.

The first thing he did was head to the window and open the drapes and the large glass shutters so that a bit of fresh air could filter in. The sun lit up the room.

He then approached the bed. Columbus was lying there, not moving, just like Juanito had left him.

Andrea knew him well. He had entered into his service several years before, along with his brother, Giovanni Antonio. They had followed him to the Indies.

Giovanni Antonio and Andrea were Christopher’s first cousins; they had the same last name. Columbus had them come to Spain because he felt the need to have someone he trusted close to him. People of every sort surrounded him all of the time. They were ready for everything, but also unscrupulous.

Then, little by little, Andrea was entrusted with tasks that had become more and more difficult. So, in the end, he replaced his brother in the care of the house and his illustrious relative.

From that time on, he was the only one who bore the burden, without batting an eyelash, when Columbus was angry, or when he got annoyed with others if things didn’t go the way he wanted. He’s a man who’s suffered a lot. Too much, really, he used to say.

Andrea tried to wake him up out of his torpor but was unsuccessful. He touched his forehead. It was burning. Then, automatically, like so many times before, he poured some water into the basin and began to wipe his face with a cloth.

Dr. Sánchez arrived almost immediately. He was an elderly doctor who was well known and held in high esteem in Valladolid where—thanks to luck, but also to his shrewd management of his friendships and associations—he miraculously succeeded in escaping unscathed from the snares of the Inquisition. He had been suspected of witchcraft, since he prepared himself—and what’s worse, in great secrecy—most of the wonderful drugs that he administered to his patients.

Dr. Sánchez had been very friendly with the Franciscans at the convent for quite a while. He did everything he could to help in the hospital. He went to Mass in their church every morning so he could show, in public, his great devotion by confessing, taking communion, and showing penitence. At the hospital, where he would go afterwards, and where he sometimes stayed until the afternoon, he was attentive and always available.

But then he would close himself up in his house, where he lived alone. He never allowed anyone in while he was surrounded by his books and mysterious alembics. People knew that he grew many kinds of medicinal plants in his garden and that he used others that the friars supplied him with in his practice, as well as some unusual ones that came from the Far East and the Indies. It seems that he was the first to try all of them out.

When the Franciscans asked him to take on the responsibility of caring for Columbus, Dr. Sánchez decided that he would go along with it, even though he knew that it might take him away somewhat from his favorite activities.

He was going to benefit from the experience, no matter what. It seemed all but certain that the patient was going to die. But Dr. Sánchez was going to be able to show that he had done everything he possibly could by using a great deal of skillful care, and because of his Christian charity.

He entered the room slowly, as if he wanted to give everybody the impression that he was in full control of the situation.

A small, silent group formed behind him. His unexpected arrival had taken all of those who were in the house away from their duties.

If Dr. Sánchez is here at this odd hour, it must be something serious, they said to one another. They followed him up the stairs. They were worried but wanted, at the same time, to be present at the event, which they feared, and which they were all expecting to take place.

Juanito then showed up along with Friar Miguel. The latter thought it would be a good idea to bring four young friars with him. They quickly positioned themselves in one of the room’s corners and started to chant psalms in a low voice.

Their chanting created a sound in the background that played on the emotions of everyone who was there. They were deeply moved—someone even began to weep. Who knows whether it was because of Andrea’s cold cloths, the friars’ praying, or the confusion that reigned at that moment, but Columbus opened his eyes after a bit.

He looked around and then fixed his gaze on all those who were present, one after the other. He noticed the young friars wearing their purple stoles. They were, like everyone else, surprised by how unexpectedly he seemed to have come back to life.

He understood what was going on and made an angry but almost imperceptible gesture. He seemed to be saying that his time had not yet arrived.

He then attempted to get up from his pillow and speak but was unable to.

He felt very tired. He closed his eyes again.

That was enough, however, to ease the tension.

In view of the fact that the sick man had no intention of dying yet, Dr. Sánchez had everyone leave the room, with the exception of Andrea and Juanito. He gave the order to light the brazier.

He then pulled the tools of his trade out of his bag: a small melting pot, small bags filled with grain, dry herbs, broken up into tiny pieces, and two small bottles.

He poured, in different dosages, grains and aromatic herbs into the pot. And after he thoroughly mixed all of that together, he placed it over the fire.

Little by little, the room became filled with a pleasing although strong and unusual fragrance.

As soon as the mixture was ready, Dr. Sánchez removed it from the fire and poured it onto a linen cloth he had gotten ready. He folded it to make a poultice and then waited for it to reach the right temperature so he could gently place it on the sick man’s throat.

Columbus, without opening his eyes, made a slight smile. Heat radiated throughout his body; it made him feel better.

The doctor then examined his arms and legs. He was trying to locate, one by one, the places that hurt, as well as the lumps into which the arthritis had traveled. He gently massaged those spots, using the ointment he had.

When he finished with that, he placed another bottle on top of the chest that was close to the bed and gave instructions for the patient to take a few swallows of what was in it if he happened to wake up. He then went out of the room, saying he would return later.

II-MATTEO

Almost noon, it seemed as if life had come to a standstill on Calle de Santiago. All that could be heard in the distance was the shouting of children, all wrapped up in their playing.

Some warm, comforting springtime air filtered into the shadowy bedroom, along with a ray of sun. The intense fragrance of blossoming trees wafted in from the garden.

Columbus’ eyes were still closed; but he was conscious.

Or better yet, he was experiencing that enjoyable state that sometimes goes along with a high fever, when one is aware that they are stretched out on top of a bed but too weak to make any gesture. It seemed as if he had entered into an almost extra-corporeal dimension, outside of space and time.

He had, from that privileged position, a clear view of his entire life. It, right then, seemed like something very distant, in the past, but, at the same time, more real than ever before in its many particulars, with all the joys and sufferings that had punctuated it.

The children’s voices took him back to his childhood, to a small street in Genoa named Vico Diritto (or Straight Alley). Other children were playing with him. His mother was there, calling out to him from the top of the stairs at the front of their house.

He rushed back home with his young siblings. They all sat down around the table in a big kitchen which also acted as a sitting room for the entire family.

The lunch was concocted out of very little. The main course was prebugion, which was the name that the Genoese gave to their borage and chard soup; or else mashed chickpeas, accompanied by a bit of bread, sometimes flavored with morsels of cheese or an egg from the two or three hens that had been raised in the small garden. The vegetables and apples, from the only tree that grew there, also came from there.

They almost never had meat—only on special occasions. They only had fish when somebody gave them some. But every so often, Columbus’ mother would make some wonderful, sweet-tasting tarts. She used to add honey and walnuts to the dough, hazelnuts the children gathered when they went beyond the city limits, and blackberries if they happened to arrive home before they ate them all up. Sometimes his mother also made salt tarts seasoned with pine seeds, rosemary and thyme, as well as mint and sweet marjoram.

The head of the family, Domenico Columbus, was a penniless artisan. His workshop, where he used to thread, card, and sometimes even weave wool was on the ground floor of his house on Vico Diritto. The income from his work was beginning to support his family less and less. Because of that, Domenico tried to steer a middle course by taking on other work. It, more than anything else, had to do with running a small food business.

At the time when Genoa’s political life was in an upheaval, he sided with the Fregoso’s, whose tradition was Angiovin, and who were opposed to the Adorno’s, who instead relied on the Aragons during continuous, bloody skirmishes.

Domenico came out ahead when the Fregoso’s controlled the city. He was first appointed to serve as keeper of the Olivella Gate between 1447 and 1448. It was a job that was given to him again, by Pietro Fregoso, between 1450 and 1451, when he was already married to Susanna Fontanarossa. That was when their first child, Christopher, was born.

Susanna divided her time between taking care of the house and the children. The marriage was going well, or, at least, it seemed that it was because she was often pregnant. Although a lot of those times she was not successful in carrying her children to term or she delivered a stillborn child.

After Christopher, three other male children were born between 1451 and 1468: Giovanni Pellegrino (who died shortly after he reached the age of majority), Bartholomew, and Jacopo. Bianchinetta appeared on the scene when the firstborn son was an adolescent. She turned out to be the last child. Susanna would have liked to have had other children, if only another little girl to be company to her and to her older sister. But her husband said that he could not run the risk of their having another female child: Bianchinetta’s dowry is already going to be a problem, so imagine what it would be like if we had another daughter!

Bianchinetta was an ugly slip of a girl. When her brother, Christopher, moved to Spain, a cheese monger who lived just a couple of steps from Columbus’ house, a certain Giacomo Bavarello, took her as his wife. He was a decent man who helped Domenico any time he was having problems.

Domenico Columbus’ work did, however, offer him some advantages. Although he and his family were not rich, and not even well-off, they were able to shield themselves from the icy blasts of wind that often-assailed Genoa, which used to rush down, unexpectedly, from the Apennines. Domenico, unlike many of his contemporaries, was able to supply his wife and children with warm cloaks. They were made with scraps of wool that had been left over from what he had made to sell. But they turned out to be very useful, just the same.

Susanna discovered that she was able to make felt with other scraps of lesser quality. After that, she learned how to make caps for her children. Because other mothers wanted the same thing for theirs, Susanna began to take orders from them—first, for the children of friends. And then, she started to make and sell them, or exchange them for something she thought would be useful for her family. That was how she could help when it came to keeping their household running.

* * *

Columbus, for many years of his childhood, remained closed up inside the house on Vico Diritto; he only left to go to school—the woolmen’s school, where he learned to read and write, and work with numbers—or so he could run some errand for his parents. Or to go to mass at Saint Andrea Church.

There, like at the Saint Andrea Gate, which was close by, he could watch as processions of nobles passed by.

The children were always fascinated by the horses, which were decked out in sumptuous saddles and bridles, the riders’ proud appearance, and the sedans, on which the women who sometimes accompanied them rode. They all looked very handsome and beautiful, and unapproachable, proud and elegant, totally out of their reach.

The people who rushed up to see them would form two well-ordered, silent rows. They could do nothing more than admire them. They really felt no envy towards them because the social distance between them was so very great: They were nobles upon whom everything was bestowed.

Domenico lowered his head and Susanna bowed down. But most of the time, the nobles did not deign to send a single glance their way.

Every so often, however, riders passed by at a gallop, without any women behind them. They, with swords drawn, looked threatening. At those times no one stopped to pay them their respects but instead would run off and lock

themselves up in their homes. Susanna and Domenico would pick up their youngest children, and with the others clinging to their clothes, would also run to look for refuge back home on Vico Diritto

* * *

Christopher was eight years old when, one September morning, his father closed, in a very hurried manner, his shop and left it behind. Domenico told his wife and children to not leave the house for any reason whatsoever until he got back.

That was the day before a big movement started in the city.

It was known that Pietro Fregoso, after asking help from the Angevins to free him from his adversaries, and after having practically delivered the Republic into their hands, came back from Novi, where he had taken refuge with his followers. He had attempted to regain power by taking advantage of the fact that the French armada had left the port to go to Livorno to fight the Aragon forces.

John of Anjou, the French governor of Genoa, had all gates to the city closed at that time. He then went to meet with the ex-ally, with the soldiers that were still with him, to keep the conflict from growing larger and the Adorno’s supporters from becoming involved.

So, the streets in Genoa were the Angiovin faction’s battleground, while most of the population, tired of so much discord, attempted to stay out of the whole thing. Domenico Columbus owed a great deal to Pietro Fregoso; he could not forget his benefactor, now that he might need him.

Susanna and her children closed themselves up in their house. They, with the windows and the door bolted, sat down and waited.

Every so often she looked out at the street. She was nervous and paid attention to everything she heard. And what terrible kinds of things she heard!

The raging, painful shouts of ferocious men came from the city.

It all seemed to come to an end several hours later.

Susanna opened the door to the house and her children went out into the street. It seemed as if life had gotten back to normal.

Christopher went back up the alley and headed towards the Saint Andrea Gate. Everything seemed to be business as usual, even though the big gate was still closed and armed guards were standing in front of it.

Suddenly, however, four galloping horsemen arrived, coming from the city’s center. They were certainly persons of high rank—Columbus thought—because sumptuous cloaks totally covered the backs of their horses. Plumed helmets hid the greater part of their faces.

The horsemen found that the gate was bolted and then realized they had fallen into a trap. They turned around so they could go back but then saw a band of angry, shouting men running up the same street they had just come up.

The horsemen drew their swords and got ready to defend themselves. At the same time, rocks and pieces of wood, which were being thrown out of the windows of houses, and which were clearly meant for them, began to rain down everywhere.

There was wild confusion.

Christopher was petrified; he had never seen anything like it.

The small crowd that filled the square made its way onto a corner, from the opposite side of the entrance to Vico Diritto. Because of that, Christopher was unable to head back home. He was in danger of being forced to get involved in the clashes because of where he was standing.

He trembled with fear. But it was only the start.

One of the four horsemen, at whom the attackers seemed to want to direct more than a bit of their wrath, was struck twice in the head by an iron club. He fell to the ground. His big helmet came off of his head. It rolled away and his face was revealed.

Christopher, overwhelmed, recognized Pietro Fregoso, the man whom his father held in high esteem, more than any other, the man who had helped his family so much.

Right after that, the group that had accosted the riders started to attack him with rocks and sticks.

They were right in front of Christopher.

He felt like he should do something but didn’t know what.

Then suddenly, as if trying to rid himself of that horrible sight, he shouted with all the force he could muster.

The other three horsemen rushed up. They succeeded in freeing their comrade from the vise-like grip of the assailants and threw him back up on top of his horse. The riders then headed off, at a gallop, in the direction of his palace.

Christopher didn’t even have the time to pat himself on the back for what he had done because he noticed that one of those who had aggressed against Pietro Fregoso, a fierce-looking fat man, was coming towards him with a thick stick in his hand.

In just a split second, Christopher realized that he was in danger. He slipped away and headed towards the only route of escape available to him. He managed to blend into the crowd. He then threw himself, headlong, into the maze of alleyways that led down to the sea.

He ran without stopping, until his strength abandoned him. Then, totally exhausted, he threw himself onto the ground. He then realized that he had come upon the reef that closed off the great ring of the port to the east.

It was a spot with which Christopher was very familiar. He had often come to it with his

friends. It was a magical place where one could pretend he was assaulting the fortress by scaling the rocks up to the top. Or going back down to the shore, a boy could find some great hiding places so he could pretend he was carrying out an ambush or preparing to confront enemies he imagined had come from the sea.

One could even get a good view, if they were on the reef, of what was arriving in the port. It was a never-ending, truly fascinating spectacle.

When ships arrived, busy people would go back and forth, carrying out their specific task.

The pilots would go and meet the ships so they could pull them to the wharfs. And there were other men who stood by, ready to recover the ropes that the sailors tossed out. Once the moorings were completed, gangplanks were positioned and the unloading of goods began.

Then, the boys, on top of the rocks, would make bets on the number of boxes and sacks that would end up placed on the ground. They also tried to guess where they had come from and who was going to get them. They had learned how to recognize the ship owners and their assistants who showed up, right on time, to check goods and sort them out in the warehouses, or to place them directly on wagons.

When the ships set sail, the procedures were just the opposite.

Ships loaded down with soldiers sometimes showed up in port. However, only rarely in that case did Christopher show up to watch them moor. The wharfs then became covered with armed guards; even the areas around the port were monitored.

Christopher looked all around.

This time there were no ships, no moorings going on at the docks, and no moored anchors but only a small ship that looked as if no one was on board. There were, on the other hand, a lot of armed men on the docks.

They will see me, sooner or later, if I stay here, he thought. They will ask me what I’m doing here and they might order me to go back into the city. I should look for a safe place to hide until I decide what to do.

Just below the slope, the play of the currents had created a small beach. In front of it, in a corner of the port that was too shallow for ships, about ten big fishing boats were anchored.

The little beach was covered with fish traps, nets, baskets, and other fishing tools. There was also a small wood box. Fishermen used that kind of thing to store equipment that might get ruined if it were exposed to the elements.

That, Christopher thought, could be a good hiding place. He started to go slowly down the massive rocks, trying to it in a way that would ensure he would not be seen. He reached the small box but was unable to open it.

He was very tired and, above all, very worn out by the emotions he had experienced that day. He then hid, as well as he could, next to the small structure that looked out towards the sea, so that not even the closest guard, who was only about 250 feet away, would be able to see him. He trembled some more.

He couldn’t erase the sound of the blow that had struck Pietro Fregoso’s head from his mind. It was a sound he had never heard before—somewhere between a blow with a stick against a box made of strong wood and one against an earthenware jar: Slam, bang, and then right away, the cracking of a bone that shattered, and blood on his face. And the ferocious, determined, fearsome look on the face of the man who came towards him with that big stick! And then who knows how anxious his mother might have been? And his father? Where was he?

He used to go out at other times, without saying a single word, but not to the tavern to get drunk and lose the little bit of money he might have earned in games. He would to come back home very tired and often in a sorry state.

His mother, crying, would welcome him home. She would then help him take off his clothes and lie down on his bed. After that, she would prepare a hot plate of food for him and then cuddle him without uttering a single word.

In any event, when Domenico Columbus came back this time, he did not find his first-born at home.

If that had been the case, who knows what kind of punishment he would have thought up for him!

He certainly would treat him to some blows. But he also would make him stay at home so he could not see his friends. And he would have, of course, forced Christopher to help him for hours on end in his dust-filled workshop, which he hated so much.

Columbus started to cry.

* * *

He cried for a long time. After he calmed down, he crouched down, as well as he could, into his hiding place.

He didn’t know what he should do; neither did he have the strength to think about it.

An hour, perhaps two, perhaps three went by.

Sinister noises continued to come from the city. Obviously, rather than calming down, the battle had grown more furious than ever.

The soldiers moved incessantly over the top of the docks. They shouted orders from one end of the port to the other.

In an attempt to think about something else, Christopher focused his attention on the boats in front of him. That was how he ended up noticing a man who was checking the nets he had unloaded on the ground, as if nothing was going on.

Christopher was unable to see his face. His head was covered by a ruffled mass of white hair that ended up in a thick

beard, which was also white and unruly. But when the man turned around to walk up to the box, the boy realized who he was.

It was Matteo, an old fisherman who also lived on Vico Diritto. He had treated his family really well. Sometimes, when he had left over fish that he had been unable to sell, he would bring it to Christopher’s mother. For the children, he used to say.

In return, Susanna would give him one of her cakes; he appreciated that a lot. This is for your wife, she would say. The health of Matteo’s wife, who was as old as he was, was a lot poorer; because of that, she no longer left the house.

Also because of that, Matteo had stopped working on the Genoese ship owners’ big ships, on which he had spent his entire life, and had adapted himself to the life of a fisherman. All he needed to survive was a good catch once or twice a week.

Matteo wasn’t concerned about anything else. Gone were the times when he had felt emotions. Gone were the times when he entertained illusions. It didn’t matter to him anymore who the Commander of Genoa was because he had ended up realizing that nothing about his life ever changed.

So that morning, too, he went off to fish. He set out for the sea and carried out his work like he always did. He then got ready to go back home.

Matteo recognized the boy that he saw.

You’re the son of Domenico, who lives on Vico Diritto, aren’t you?

Yes.

For Heaven’s sake! What are you doing here on a day like this? Don’t you know it’s dangerous?

Christopher started to cry all over again. This time, however, he let his tears flow freely because he had finally found someone who showed an interest in him. He wasn’t alone anymore.

Between all the tears and hiccups, he told Matteo about his misadventure.

The old man was somewhat bewildered. He really did not know what to do.

He tried to stall. But then he pulled a piece of bread out of a cloth bag that was hanging from his back and broke it in two. He searched around in the bag and took out two pieces of dried meat, which he also divided into equal parts.

They ate in silence. The old man also offered wine that he had in a flask to Christopher, but the latter was only able to swallow a single gulp.

Let’s do this, Matteo said, after he thought about it a lot. "I have to go home, otherwise my old lady will become anxious. They allow me to go through, without asking me any questions, because all of them know that all I’m doing is what I have to do for my business. But you, after the trouble you have gotten into, should stay here. At least until we know what turn things are going to take.

"But stay calm. You’re safe here.

"Wait until it’s dark, and then jump into my boat. That one, over there… Do you see it? It’s the one with the two blue stripes. I recommend that you try not to let anyone see you. You should get under the seat in the back, where the rudder is. You see where I mean? There’s enough space there for you to lie down. Hide your legs under the sail. I’ll leave it in such a way so you’ll be able to cover yourself without having to move it around. You might be able to stay comfortable all night long. No one will come looking for you.

I’ll let your mother know what’s going on. Stay calm. We’ll see each other again tomorrow.

Christopher didn’t wait until dark.

Taking advantage of a moment when the guards were distracted, he ran up to the boat and jumped in. He then took refuge under the seat in the stern, like Matteo had told him to.

Christopher was alone and far from home; but the greatest fear he had harbored had faded away. He stretched out as best he could and covered himself under the edge of the sail.

In front of him, between the sail and the seat in the stern, all he could see was a piece of sky that was becoming a darker and darker blue.

Then, the stars started to light up.

The noise from the city had died down. Not so much, however, that the sound of bells could not, almost suddenly, be heard. First one, then all of the city’s bells. They sounded the death knell. They rang out for quite a while.

As soon as they fell silent, Christopher realized that the turmoil was also over. Leaning over the boat’s edge, he saw that the guards were no longer wandering about; they were sitting around a fire, talking quietly.

The silence of the night was calming, only broken up by a dog’s barking.

Little by little, he started to hear the different sounds of the sea.

One, coming from a distance, was that of the waves crashing against the rocks that were located beyond the port. But there was also another that was closer: it was that of the ebb and flow under the boat. It was a new sound for him since he had never gotten onto a boat before; it was sweet and relaxing. A light, rhythmic oscillation of the hull went along with it; it was a soothing, gentle rocking movement.

In the end, he dropped off to sleep.

* * *

It was still dark when a sudden movement of the boat made Christopher jump.

Matteo was coming on board. He ordered, in a low voice: Stay where you are. Don’t move until I tell you to. He then went over to the stern to free the moorings.

After that, Matteo moved towards the prow where he pulled slowly on the rope, which brought the anchor on board.

He then picked up the oars and gradually, but vigorously, made his way through the other boats and reached the entrance to the port.

He motioned at the closest guard, as if nothing out of the ordinary