The Son of Columbus

by Molly Elliot Seawell

In another minute the Queen entered unceremoniously from the adjoining tent. The little boy’s sad face brightened as he saw her, and, letting go of Doña Christina’s hand, he went willingly to the Queen and respectfully kissed her hand. The Queen, putting her arm around his shoulder, gave him a little toy, a horse, carved and painted, and said to him a few words in the Moorish tongue. The boy, silent and undemonstrative, was yet not unfeeling, and his face showed a faint pleasure.

The Queen then entered into a short conversation with Fray Piña. She was fond of the society of learned men, and always treated them with much respect. Fray Piña, with quick art, brought in the name of the Admiral, saying that Father de Deza and himself profited much by the Admiral’s superior scientific knowledge.

“We are but postulants, madam,” he said, “in mathematics and astronomy when compared with the Genoese navigator. This Father de Deza and I often say to each other.”

The Queen looked fixedly at Fray Piña, showing herself impressed by such words from such men. Then, in a few moments, she left the tent, accompanied by Doña Christina, who still held the little prisoner by the hand.

Diego and Don Felipe then walked back through the sharp December afternoon to their lodgings in the town. The brilliant military spectacle they had seen made them long for more of the same kind. They were at the age when they chafed for action, not realizing how little prepared they were for it and that the stern rule under which they lived was the best school for them. Still, so strong was the pressure brought to bear upon them by Fray Piña and by the Admiral that they did well at their studies.

Meanwhile, they were not the only ones whose patience was painfully tried. The Admiral had the promise of the King and the Queen that as soon as the struggle with the Moors was over they would arrange for the great voyage. It was only a question of time now when the city of Granada must surrender. The arrival of the Queen had put new force into an attack already vigorous. The Spaniards gave the Moors no rest by day or night. First at one gate and then at another, they made desperate assaults, overwhelming the Moorish troops and driving them back with terrible loss into the city.

The Admiral, hoping that his sublime projects would immediately follow the fall of Granada, was eager to make his arrangements that he might begin his voyage early in the summer. But at the moment when, after eighteen years of desperate and determined struggle, the dayspring of hope was at hand, an unexpected difficulty arose. Fernando de Talavera, Archbishop of Toledo, who was destined to be the first Archbishop of Granada, a man of honesty, but without enthusiasm, who had heretofore befriended the Admiral, strongly opposed the honors which the Admiral claimed in the event of his success. Diego and Don Felipe knew this, not from the mouth of the Admiral, who scorned to make any complaint, but from the conversation of those around them. Diego saw his father go forth every day to wait in the anterooms of the great, who seemed to have no time to listen to him. The events passing before them were so brilliant and dazzling that they put off the more stupendous thing, the discovery of a new world. Every day, in the evening, when the Admiral returned, he showed unbroken patience; but Diego knew that no progress had been made. Once he heard his father say to Fray Piña:

“I will wait here patiently until the fall of the city. If then no one will listen to me, I shall leave Spain, and another country shall have the glory of my discoveries.”

All through December the cordon was tightened around the city, the loss inflicted on the Moors greater, their sorties more desperate and more disastrous. It was hoped that by Christmas the standard of the Cross would float over the great mosque in the Alhambra; but still the city held out desperately. On Christmas Day, however, an adventure happened that thrilled Diego and Don Felipe and all who saw it. On that day the fighting had been unusually severe all around the city of Granada, except on the plateau of the Gate of Justice, which faced Santa Fé. At midday, as the Admiral, with Fray Piña and Diego and Don Felipe, stood at an open window watching the fighting, they saw three carts, apparently loaded with provisions, steal out of a small ravine close to the Gate of Justice, and then trot rapidly to the gate. The carts were evidently seen and their burdens noted, for the postern-gate was instantly opened. The first cart entered and became at once wedged in such a manner that the gate could not be shut. Suddenly a knight clad in a light and glittering chain armor and mounted on a superb black horse dashed up the acclivity, followed by fifteen other knights, all picked men. The Admiral and Fray Piña recognized the leader, the gallant Hernando Perez del Pulgar, a cousin of the Prior, Juan Perez, and a man renowned for his daring even among the fearless and brilliant knights of Spain. He carried on his lance-head a fluttering piece of linen; and, dashing at the narrow opening, his horse leaped over the cart, and was followed by another knight, whom Diego and Don Felipe saw was Don Tomaso de Gama. Fourteen other knights rode into the gateway and disappeared.