Year 3 of the SuaChie Calendar.
Year 1485, Port of Lisbon.
The salty wind of the port lashed against Christopher Columbus's face. His eyes, fixed on the horizon, searched for something that was not there: a path, an answer, a hope. Two years had passed since he came to seek the King of Portugal for a project of his own. Two years of pleas, of meetings, of letters and of rejections.
The Portuguese, proud of their control over the maritime routes to Africa, had refused to give his plan a chance. Columbus had learned of the existence of lands further to the west on one of his voyages to Iceland. In their long nights, sailors spoke of a theory, of a route that would lead them to the Indies without the need to circle Africa.
Columbus, guided by his passion for adventure, took this theory and turned it into an obsession. He combined his knowledge of navigation with his astronomical research and concluded that the distance to the Indies could not be too great, and that it would be possible to sail west across the ocean.
"Madness," a Portuguese cartographer had said. "An impossible voyage," a nobleman had declared. "A waste of time and resources," King John II of Portugal had stated.
The words of rejection echoed in his head, but they did not diminish his resolve. The Portuguese refusal only made him stronger. He believed in his idea. He believed in his destiny.
He gazed into the distance; the sea was an infinite blanket of blue. He imagined a route, a route that would lead him to glory and riches. To fame. To immortality.
With his hand over his chest, he felt the beat of his heart. The despair he felt was not because of the Portuguese refusal, but because of the wait. His wife and son waited for him at home, and he could not return empty-handed. For a moment, he thought of leaving everything, of returning to his normal life, but the idea was dismissed as soon as it formed. His life was not normal. His destiny was great.
With a look of determination, he made a decision that would change the course of history. If the kingdom of Portugal did not want to fund his dream, the neighboring kingdoms of Castile and Aragon would. Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand were at war, but he knew that their ambition for greatness was as strong as his own. The route to the Indies was the path to glory. The route to the Indies was the path to immortality.
And he was going to be the one to discover it.
3 years later, 1488, Port of Lisbon.
The smell of saltpeter and fish filled the air of the port of Lisbon. Three years had passed since Christopher Columbus left Portugal with his shattered dream, but now, his return was different. He did not come as a supplicant, but as an emissary of the Spanish nobility, with the hope that a joint voyage could convince both kingdoms.
However, just as it had happened before, his proposal had been rejected by Portugal. King John II of Portugal, despite his attempts to convince him of his theory, had remained firm.
The last three years in Spain had been an ordeal of waiting. The Crown of Castile and Aragon, absorbed by its war against the Moorish kingdom of Granada, had constantly postponed its decision. Columbus had gone from hall to hall, from noble to noble, repeating his calculations, his maps, his promises of glory and riches over and over again. But the words of rejection from the Spanish monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabella, had resonated in his ears.
"There is no viability," they had told him, with the same voice as the Portuguese. "There is not enough evidence that the distance between Europe and the Indies to the west can be crossed by the vast ocean or northern sea, beyond the strait that separates Europe from Africa."
Columbus, a man who prided himself on his perseverance, felt his dream slipping through his hands like desert sand.
On this trip, he tried once again to speak with the various nobles of Portugal, and even with members of the Crown. He proposed the expedition as a joint voyage, financed by both kingdoms, an adventure that would unite them in the pursuit of glory.
But it seemed the Portuguese refused to participate. The shadow of his own failure was vast. What had angered him the most was the betrayal he had learned of, the rumor that had spread throughout the port like a fire.
"They say the King sent a ship a year ago to explore in the direction you had pointed out," an old sailor had whispered to him, his eyes like two stars in the night.
The news had struck Columbus like lightning. Not only had they tried to carry out the expedition without him, but this voyage, which had been done without his guidance, diminished the veracity of his theory. Now, if the Spanish Crown learned of this Portuguese finding, they could postpone the expedition until there was real proof, or even refuse to fund it.
Columbus's rage swelled as he heard the shouts of the crowd swirling on the dock. He looked toward the bay, where a ship, weathered but proud, was being towed by smaller vessels.
Bartholomew Diaz's ship.
The explorer had found a possible route around the south of Africa, thus avoiding Ottoman tolls and opening a direct route to the Indies.
Columbus's fury was immense. The Portuguese, his rivals, his enemies, had found a route. And he, the man who had given them the idea, the man who had spoken to them of a direct route, was left on the shore, waiting.
But it was not just anger. It was not just envy.
His rage was not as great as the excitement and longing to discover the route he was sure existed.
"The western route," Columbus murmured, his voice a whisper amidst the bustle of the port.
He imagined himself as the greatest explorer in history. The glory of his discovery would be so great that the kingdoms of Castile and Aragon would kneel before him. His name would be remembered for generations, his position in the kingdom and in Europe would rise to unprecedented heights. And the route the Portuguese had found would be a mere footnote in the history of his greatness.
With a determination that had been strengthened by rejection, Columbus departed from Portugal. He would not return to Portugal until his dream was a reality, until the west was his path to glory.
4 years later, 1492. The eighteenth year of the reign of Queen Isabella I.
After many years of deliberation, his expedition project had been rejected again the previous year, and that time, Columbus saw his dream crumble. His mind, once filled with maps and routes, was now clouded by defeat. But at the last minute, luck smiled upon him.
Thanks to the intervention and support of two men of great influence: the merchant and scribe Luis de Santángel and the archbishop Diego de Deza. Columbus had secured the financing he needed.
Luis de Santángel, a businessman with vision, offered him the money the Spanish Crown could not or would not give him. In exchange, he would receive a substantial share of the profits if Columbus was successful in his expedition. A calculated risk, a risk that Columbus was willing to take.
It was now mid-April, and he had signed the legal document that would elevate him to Admiral, Viceroy, and even give him a great financial benefit. Columbus was very satisfied with the result and was celebrating with his eldest son, Diego, and his new partner, Beatriz, with whom he had his younger son, Hernando.
He was enjoying a few days of peace with his family, because he knew that he would soon have to spend several months completing all the preparations for the expedition. And while the document he had signed conferred a certain power, this was only for one of the ships, the main ship, which the Crown would lend him. The other two ships, which he hoped to take, would not be delivered directly by the Crown. He even had doubts whether he would be able to use the main ship or if he would spend a few more months just getting another ship.
Columbus felt worried, but at the same time he was excited and expectant for the day he would depart. Worry was a ghost that followed him everywhere, but excitement was a light that guided him.
Five months later.
Columbus was in the Canary Islands; the last few months had not been easy for him. He had secured the three ships, but only the main ship, the Santa María, seemed capable of sailing. The other two ships did not seem fit. The other two ships did not have the capacity to travel long distances, and he also did not have the crew to sail them.
"It's a useless ship!" he had shouted at a carpenter, his face red with rage in Palos de la Frontera a few months ago.
"Captain, we can't fix it," the carpenter had replied, his voice trembling.
Columbus's dream, which had been so close, was slipping through his hands once again. However, his faith in himself was greater than the anger he felt. With the support of a local man, a navigator from Palos de la Frontera named Martín Alonso Pinzón, he was able to get two other caravels, the Pinta and the Niña, which could complete the voyage.
However, God seemed to be sending him more and more challenges, as he had now been waiting a month to fix the Pinta's rudder and replace its sails with square sails.
"God, if this is a sign for me not to make this journey, I will listen," Columbus thought, resigned, looking at the horizon, which seemed to call him, but he could not answer that call.
"Admiral Columbus, the carpenters and artisans have managed to repair the rudder, we can depart," a member of the Santa María's crew said excitedly.
"At last!" Columbus said excitedly, jumping to his feet. "Alert the captains and their men. We will depart tomorrow."
All that waiting and tension had come to an end; now he could finally depart on this expedition he had waited so long to carry out.
The next day.
Columbus, on the bridge of the Santa María, gave the signal and shouted:
"To the west! To our destiny!"
As he felt the sea breeze, the swell, and the chirping of the port birds, he looked at the horizon. His heart, which had been filled with despondency and frustration, was now filled with an emotion he could not describe in words. The sun was rising behind him, and Columbus knew that the dawn of his adventure had arrived.
The vast ocean, which was once a barrier, was now the path to glory. And he, Christopher Columbus, was going to be the one to travel it.
.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
Here we have perhaps a perspective some were hoping for (I'm not sure, really).
Christopher Columbus, the explorer who spent 10 years searching for funding for his exploration, or perhaps his dreams. He achieved his goal, and best of all, his name would go down in history as a result of his perseverance.
Unnecessary Fact of the Day: The term "Spain" began to be used until the union of the Kingdoms of Castile and Aragon in the 15th century. But it only became official after 1700.
IMPORTANT NEWS
Unfortunately, I will have to start working to help my father, who has a shoulder problem. Now I will be working approximately 10 hours a day, and I will only have Sundays off.
However, you, dear readers, will not be affected. The only thing I may not be able to do very carefully is corroborate the information that will appear in the following chapters that involve the encounter with the Europeans.
My other novels, which don't have much support, will be on hold, or maybe if I get into god mode, I'll be able to write all the novels and work at the same time.
That's all.
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Read my other novels.
#The Walking Dead: Vision of the Future (Chapter 76)
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis (Chapter 24)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File (Chapter 9)
You can find them on my profile.]