Ferdinand nodded slightly to acknowledge his friendship but he did not relax his sense of irritation and urgency. Throwing his arms about Ocampo’s shoulder, he led him to a divan covered with gold and purple embroidery and pulled him down beside him: ‘It’s those damned Colón heirs. They’re driving me crazy with petitions and noisy claims.’
‘Still? I thought that had long been settled.’
‘No. When their father died three years ago they began pestering me in earnest. Said that since he had discovered the New World for Isabella and me, I owed them, as his heirs, huge amounts of gold. More than the treasury has!’
‘I am a lawyer, Majesty, but I do not bemire myself in family inheritances. In such battles honest men always lose.’
‘That’s my problem, Ocampo. Yours is to sail out to Española and ascertain the truth as to how Cristóbal Colón discharged his duties there in my behalf.’
Ocampo moved away from the king, and placing his left thumb under his chin, he began, with the forefinger of that hand, to stroke his right cheek, closing his good eye; in this posture which he often used when trying to delay a decision, he gave the strong impression of a man immersed in deep thought. The king, seeing this, allowed him time to reflect, and when Ocampo finally spoke he surprised the monarch: ‘But didn’t you send an inquisitor out there eight or ten years ago to do the very thing you’re now asking me to do?’
The shrewdness of this response pleased the king and caused him to relax. Clapping Ocampo on the knee, he said: ‘You have a long memory. Yes, nine years ago I dispatched Francisco de Bobadilla to Española to check on Colón. Gave him five extraordinary powers.’
‘Didn’t he do a good job?’
‘That’s what this problem is about. Isabella and I accepted his report, and we thought that finished the matter. But now the Colón heirs are claiming that Bobadilla was both prejudiced against their relative and a liar. If so, their pleas for more rewards might be justified.’
‘What kind of man was Bobadilla?’
In answer the king rose, took Ocampo by the arm, and walked with him out into the garden of the palace, and there, among the spring flowers and budding trees, he gave a sharp summary of his onetime secret agent: ‘As different from you, Ocampo, as a man could be. Where you are slim, he was so fat he was almost ridiculous. Where you have a cautious, well-trained mind, he was impetuous. And where you bear the scars of honorable service to your country, he was terrified of a mouse, and the sound of a cannon sometimes unhinged him.’
‘Why did you give such a man an important job?’ and the king said: ‘Isabella favored him, and I could deny her nothing.’
These words produced an astonishing result, for as the king walked beside a line of tall, thin cypress trees, reminding him of those that had marked the cemetery where funeral rites for the great Isabella had been held, he broke into tears. Turning to Ocampo, he clutched his trusted friend to him and sobbed: ‘I have been desolate since her death. Ocampo, she was the finest queen the world has produced. None ever served their king more graciously …’ He stopped abruptly, then said in a much different voice: ‘She was in many ways more brilliant than I am. I work hard, keep my eye on the task, adjust to the storms about me. She was calm and steady, like a flower-filled meadow when the wild storm passes.’
They had reached a point in their walk from which, across fields, the famous Roman aqueduct of Segovia could be seen, and this notable structure, now almost fifteen hundred years old and still delivering water to the city, reminded them of empire and government and the powerful things they themselves had helped create in Spain. Sitting on a wooden bench, the king said: ‘We united this country. No one thought it could be done, all those warring principalities. But we triumphed.’
‘What I have always admired about you, Majesty, was your willingness to make bold moves. To do vast things that others would have shied away from.’
‘You mean like throwing the Muhammadans out of Spain and Europe?’
‘But also evicting the Jews.’
‘That was a strong move,’ the king agreed. ‘But you must remember, we did give them a fair chance. If they converted to our religion, we allowed them to stay. If not …’ He hesitated ominously, then fingered a gold medallion that hung suspended upon his chest by a silver chain: ‘I am as proud of this medal as anything I have in the world. The pope gave it to me when he awarded me the title El Católico. Said I was the premier Catholic in the world, because I strive to see that all my realms—Castille, Aragon, Sicily and New Spain across the seas—are as Catholic as I am.’
The two friends were particularly proud of their role in establishing the Holy Inquisition to defend the church. Its task, under the directions Ferdinand had spelled out when instituting the office, was to root out heresy wherever found in the world: ‘The priests have been doing a splendid job, Ocampo, and when you reach Española you must harass the infidels there—atheists, pagans, Jews, stamp them out!’
Before Ocampo could affirm his determination to support the faith in the New World as he had in the Old, the two men were joined by a sprightly Frenchwoman, Germaine de Foix, niece of the King of France and Ferdinand’s new wife. He seemed pleased to see her, but after she had led the men into a salon where a tasty repast awaited—meat, cheese, chewy bread and strong Spanish wine—she left them, and when Ocampo asked: ‘Has she adjusted to Spain comfortably?’ the king said brightly: ‘Oh yes! Better than any of us could have expected. And our friendship with France is stronger, thanks to her.’ Then he paused, looked toward the door to be sure she was out of earshot, and said: ‘But she does not compare with Isabella.’
Ocampo saw that the great man, who had accomplished so much good in Europe, was about to break into tears again, so he started to turn away, but Ferdinand, seizing control of himself, caught Ocampo by the arm and swung him around: ‘Please, trusted friend, uncover the truth about Colón.’
‘I shall, I promise you. But before I leave, can we not agree that Colón did the major things he promised? Did he not find new lands of enormous value? Did he not complete successfully three later voyages, in 1493, in 1498 and in 1502, to demonstrate to others how easy it was to cross the ocean?’
‘We know what he did at sea. I want to know what he did on land.’
‘Which land? If we can believe him, he touched on many lands, perhaps China, Japan, India, but for sure, the islands he named, Cuba, Puerto Rico, Jamaica …’
‘We’re interested only in Española. He served us there as our viceroy, and it’s from there the charges against him came.’ As the king bade Ocampo farewell and God’s speed he said with great warmth: ‘Solve this problem for me, Hernán, and any position in the kingdom is yours, any title you choose,’ and they embraced.
When the lookout called ‘Land!’ to the ship’s captain, the mariner hesitated briefly to assure himself that Española* did lie ahead, then summoned his important passenger to his side: ‘There lies your island!’ and for the next hour Hernán Ocampo stood spread-legged in the prow of the ship, watching the miracle of an island rising slowly from the sea. The captain, noting with approval the one-eyed man scanning the horizon, said to the sailor at the wheel: ‘He’s making believe he’s Colón, arriving to take command of that island and this sea.’
‘Why’s he wear that eye patch?’
‘Lost his eye fighting the Moors.’
‘I know. But why red and gold?’
‘I’ve wondered myself.’
‘Ask him.’
‘You don’t ask a man like him a question like that.’
‘I would.’
‘Then give me the wheel, because I’d like to know too,’ and the young fellow went directly to Ocampo, coughed to make his presence known, and asked, deferentially: ‘Excellency, can I ask you a question?’
‘I’m not an excellency. Just another licenciado.’
‘Why is your eye patch that mix of red and gold?’
Ocampo took no offense; instead, he smiled at the sa
ilor: ‘Don’t you know?’
‘I’m completely lost.’
‘When an army fights, it must have a banner that all can recognize, a signal of our side against theirs. Have you never seen the banner we Spaniards used against the Moors? A red and gold flag, two magnificent colors, don’t you think?’
‘I do.’
‘So when I lost my eye in the siege of Granada, I swore: “I shall proclaim the colors of Spain until I die.” And here I am.’ With that he resumed his watch on the waiting land.
Española was a big island offering a hilly profile, and as it grew clearer Ocampo detected an appealing aspect: it contained numerous white-sand beaches edged by palm trees dancing in the breeze. He would always remember that first poetic image: a curving beach, inviting and clean, with a ballet of swaying palms.
When the captain cried: ‘That’s your town, Santo Domingo,’ Ocampo saw the first organized settlement of the New World, capital not only of this island but of all Spain’s possessions in the lands Colón had discovered. As Ocampo watched the city emerge from the sea he saw that it was still only a collection of one-storied wooden structures, dominated by one obviously important stone building of two floors.
‘Whose is that?’ he asked, and the captain replied: ‘One Pimentel, the lieutenant governor. Man of high family. Seems to dominate the place.’
When a small fleet of canoes manned by Indians swarmed out from the shore, Ocampo noticed that the men were savage in appearance—low foreheads, very dark hair, brownish skin, wearing no more than a loincloth—but sharp-eyed and eager to conduct their simple commerce with the ship. Then he looked above their clamoring hands and waving paddles, and he caught a remarkably clear impression of the town itself.
It contained, he calculated from imperfect evidence, about nine hundred people, a chain of rude houses along the beach and a central square of sorts from whose northern side rose a wooden church with a proud steeple topped by a sturdy cross. It was in all respects, he judged, the kind of solid Spanish town he had seen so often in the hill country south of Madrid, and he felt reassured by its comforting appearance: In this town I will not feel a stranger.
As soon as the watchers who had lined the shore to greet the incoming ship saw Ocampo stride ashore, sternly dressed, cavalier’s hat cocked on his head, imperial in every motion, with that red and gold patch gleaming in the sun, they realized that an important force had come amongst them on a mission of some moment. Those who had been stealing from the king began to shiver, fearing that he might find them out, but in the next moment they were astonished by a sudden change in his manner: he smiled at the silent watchers, bowed as if paying them honor, and even relaxed his rigid stride, for he wanted to give them a message: ‘I come among you as a friend.’
They were impressed when he signaled back to the ship, from which two scribes now descended, men in their twenties carrying bundles of papers. No sooner had they hit land than they began to scurry about, looking for an appropriate building to commandeer for headquarters. Rather quickly they focused on the two-story stone house which the captain had said was occupied by a man named Pimentel, but when they asked to inspect the place, the owner, anticipating their mission, coldly informed them: ‘This house would not be appropriate. My wife’s family occupies more than half, and grandchildren romp everywhere.’
When Ocampo joined his scribes he asked: ‘What’s the matter here?’ but before his men could explain, the owner stepped forward and introduced himself: ‘Alejandro Pimentel y Fraganza, representative of the king,’ and Ocampo bowed, for the man’s last two names were distinguished in Spanish history.
‘I am Hernán Ocampo of Sevilla, personal emissary of the king and eager to find headquarters for the work he ordered me to do on his behalf.’ In this courteous manner each informed the other that he was a man of some importance, not to be treated lightly.
Pimentel, an austere man in his sixties, bowed stiffly and assured the newcomer: ‘I shall do everything to assist you, but as I have explained to your men, this house would not be convenient for you. My wife’s family—’ His sentence was interrupted by the appearance in the doorway of Señora Pimentel, an attractive woman in her thirties accompanied by an older woman who had probably been her dueña in the years before marriage and who now served as a kind of confidential maid, for she moved close to her mistress as soon as she saw that strange men were present. ‘I have been explaining to the king’s special emissary that since your family occupies much of our house …’
His wife spoke softly but with an obvious desire to settle the problem: ‘The Escobar house in the square, facing the sea, is hardly being used,’ and walking beside her husband, with her former dueña two steps behind in her traditional place, she showed Ocampo a simple but commodious frame building with two large windows, one looking out to sea, the other into the heart of the square facing the church, which the citizens were already calling ‘our cathedral.’
As soon as Ocampo and his men satisfied themselves that the house suited their purpose and was available, the two scribes sprang into action, requisitioning furnishings in the king’s name and directing sailors how to unload and place the items Ocampo had brought with him from Sevilla. The principal piece was a magisterial oak chair, with a heavily carved back and two massive arms, which caused anyone who occupied it to appear aloof and formidable.
‘Place it so that I face the shaded wall,’ Ocampo directed, ‘and put the chair for the person I’m interrogating facing the bright light from the window. Your two tables can go wherever you find it most convenient.’ But when the four chairs were in position, he studied them, readjusted them slightly, them demanded a saw.
After some searching through the town the saw arrived, and Ocampo revealed his strategy: ‘Cut a meager fraction from each front leg of the witnesses’ chair. I want to be relaxed and comfortable as I lean back in my big chair, them to be nervous and slipping forward in the small one.’
In those first days the citizens of the island looked with quiet awe at the newcomer, seeing a man whom they could not easily characterize: ‘Look! Tall and straight like any grandee, with the piercing eyes and pointed beard of a gentleman, but he didn’t get that scar and eye patch playing cards in a garden. If you move forward to speak with him, he smiles and welcomes you.’ One of the scribes, hearing such comments, warned listeners: ‘Suave like a turtle dove, tenacious like a hawk,’ and this epigram circulated. Before the week was out Ocampo and his men were listening to a flood of testimony relating to the behavior and performance ashore of the Admiral of the Ocean Sea, the late Cristóbal Colón, né Cristoforo Colombo.
Ocampo accepted the testifiers as they came, not trying to keep them in chronological order; he wanted to hear the natural flood of complaints with all the contradictions, lies and verifiable charges as they spewed forth. However, each night when the two scribes were finished with their scratching pens, they arranged their sheets in logical order, and it is in this sequence that Ocampo’s report was submitted to the king.
The opening statement in that final report was made by one Vicente Céspedes, a rough seaman thirty-nine years old from the famous seaport of Sanlúcar de Barrameda at the mouth of the Guadalquivir from which the galleons of Sevilla regularly set sail. Growling pugnaciously, he said: ‘If they’ve told you about me, which I’m sure they have, because there’s some as wants to silence me, you already know that I don’t think much of the admiral, seein’ that he stole money from me.’
‘If this concerns the withholding of your pay, we already know about that.’
‘It does not. It concerns what happened on a Thursday, the eleventh of October in 1492.’
When Ocampo heard this notorious date he cringed, remembering the king’s orders: ‘We know what he did at sea. I want to know what he did on land.’ Staring sternly with his good eye, he told the sailor: ‘I warned you. We’re interested only in what happened on Española.’
‘But that’s what this is about, if you’ll listen,
excusin’ my roughness as I can’t read or write or speak like a gentleman …’
Seeing that he could not halt this torrent of words, Ocampo said: ‘Do proceed.’
‘That afternoon the captain general summoned all hands to the afterdeck, very nervous he was, and he said: “What did I promise yesterday when you were near mutiny?” and a man near me bellows: “That if we don’t see land in three days, back we go safe to our homes in Spain.” And he said: “That’s still the promise,” and we cheered.
‘But then his jaw firmed, real mad like, and he told us: “I am positive, I swear on the grave of my mother, that Asia lies just ahead. It must,” and I whispered to the man next to me: “He’s tryin’ to convince himself,” but then he reminded us: “What did the queen promise when we left Palos?” and it was me who answered, for I sore wanted that prize: “Ten thousand maravedis† a year for life,” and he said: “True, and today I add that I shall also give the lucky man a silken doublet,” and I could fair feel that silk makin’ love to me back.
‘Well, about this time a fresh wind blew up from the east and fairly whisked us along to the shores of China, and Colón had been so convincin’ in his speech that all of us believed that before we reached the end of the third day, when otherwise we would turn back, we would see China, and I was sure as I had so often dreamed, that it would be me who first saw it.’
‘Why were you so sure there would be land?’
‘I’d studied the sea, every day. I could tell by the look of the water, its feel maybe, that we were passing into a new area. The big waves had disappeared and the quiet sea looked like some precious jewel that women wear.’
‘So your dream came true?’
‘It did. Sometime toward midnight I spotted a light on what had to be a shore, it had to be, so I called out: “Land ahead!” and prepared to don my silken doublet and pocket those lifelong maravedis, but can you guess what actually happened, Excellency?’