The Port of Dawn City
The air in the port was heavy with an awkward silence, a quiet, broken only by the gentle murmur of my sailors and the sound of the foreigners' footsteps.
Standing on the dock, I watched the people descending from the Santa María. Each of them was a testament to what fear, uncertainty, and wonder can do to a human being. Their eyes, once lost and desperate, were now wide open, exploring every corner of the port.
I noticed some holding small crosses to their chests, whispering prayers, while most simply stared in awe, their faces grimy and worn by the sea. I recognized them from my history lessons. They were men of the 15th century, common sailors, perhaps criminals released for this expedition.
Their astonished faces told me they had never expected to find a civilization of this level on their journey. They had dreamed of gold, of spices, of trade routes, but not of this.
For my part, I tried to listen to their words, their whispers and murmurs amongst themselves. I recognized Spanish, likely the intonation of Castile, but my ear, accustomed to the structures and phonemes of the modern Spanish I had learned in my past life, could barely make out a few loose words. It was 15th-century Spanish, archaic and with a different rhythm.
An internal voice told me that I would not be able to communicate fluently with them, and that to try would be madness, as it would reveal too much. Besides, the best way to act at this moment was in silence.
With Zasaba, Sogeking, Foza, and some of my attendants by my side, I began to move forward.
The soldiers, who formed a security cordon around me, looked tense, their hands gripping their spears tightly. It was a logical precaution. Although our men had already disarmed the visitors, the history of the future reminded me that betrayal could come without weapons.
I stopped a few meters from Columbus.
He looked at me with a mix of surprise and curiosity. His eyes, though tired, were filled with a spark of intelligence that I, in some way, admired. Despite his ignorance, this man possessed the audacity of madness that had changed the course of history.
I raised my right hand and, with my palm up, greeted him. I spoke in Muisca,
"I am... Chuta... Welcome... to the... Suaza... Kingdom," I said slowly with a few gestures to accompany the meaning of my words.
Confusion seized their faces. Columbus, in his own language, turned to one of his men and asked, "Do you understand what he's saying? What language is this?"
The man shook his head, his expression one of pure perplexity. "I don't understand anything, Admiral," he replied, his voice trembling.
I could understand their words, but their intonation was so different from what I remembered.
Columbus shook his head and turned back to me, trying to speak. "You speak of... You speak...?" The frustration on his face was evident. "Do you know... Europe... Spain?"
Our attempts ceased; we both knew it would be impossible to communicate. However, the attendants who accompanied me would take care of this.
They, who had studied languages at the Simte Academy, were noting down every word the Europeans said. Their concentration was admirable. They weren't looking for meaning, but rather phonetic patterns, speech rhythms, the structure of sentences. They knew that with enough time, they could decipher these men's language.
I was pleased. I knew that this first interaction was only to break the ice and observe.
Columbus continued to try and communicate with his men, frustrated, while I simply observed.
Ten minutes later.
I found myself leading the way to the stone mansion of Dawn City.
Behind me walked Christopher Columbus, a priest, a royal scribe, and a couple of men who seemed to be translators of Arabic and Hebrew, and some men who appeared close to Columbus.
The rest of the crew remained on the ships under the guard of my sailors and would later be taken to enclosed places to rest. It would not be a good idea to expose my entire city to men who, for the most part, were criminals.
Walking through the city, I could see the confusion in their eyes. It wasn't the awe that a 15th-century man would feel upon seeing something so grand, as the scale of the constructions in my kingdom was not as impressive as that of Europe.
But I did notice a deep curiosity about the architecture, which was completely different from that of their world. The facades of the houses, the temples so distinct from their churches, and the clean streets—everything was new to them.
Upon reaching the mansion, I guided them directly to the great dining hall. The long sea voyage and the hunger they had suffered were reflected on their faces. They couldn't hide the thinness of their bodies. Their eyes went wide upon seeing the table.
It was covered with a variety of dishes that, to them, must have seemed exotic and extravagant. My cooks had prepared a feast: fried fish seasoned with local herbs, tomato salads, meat and potato stews, and, of course, the unmistakable guacamole, a delicacy I hoped would surprise them. For dessert, there were large bowls of papaya, mango, and pineapple, fruits that did not exist in Europe.
Columbus and his retinue sat down cautiously. I could feel their fear, the concern that the food might be poisoned or its flavor horrific. But the aroma of the stews and the perfume of the fruits were too tempting, especially for men who had subsisted on hardtack and salted meat for months.
Etiquette went out the window almost immediately. After the first spoonful, the ferocity with which they began to eat made me realize the true extent of their suffering on the journey. Columbus, the scribe, the priest... all of them devoured the food with a haste that bordered on the animalistic. Food fell from their mouths, and they didn't bother to clean up the mess.
While I watched them, I sat at the table with them, eating calmly. My manners were not as refined as they had been in my past life, but, regardless, I have never been one to worry too much about table etiquette.
The different cultures that make up my kingdom have distinct ways of eating, and all have been accepted. My companions, like me, ate calmly, without being concerned by the ferocity of the guests. For them, it was normal for hunger to make you lose your manners. Besides, this showed that the men from far away loved their local foods.
For my part, I ate until I was full, pleased that the first guests to my lands were enjoying a real meal.
An idea crossed my mind as I watched them. "With that hunger and lack of self-control they were showing, it was better not to show them the liquors the Kingdom had perfected... If the food had driven them mad, alcohol could be catastrophic. It's better to keep the conversation and our plans with a clear mind," I thought as I continued to watch the Spaniards eat, almost without breathing.
An hour later.
We were now in one of the mansion's meeting rooms, a space intended for diplomacy. Zasaba, my attendants, Columbus, the scribe, and the priests from both sides were there, forming a circle of tension and curiosity.
I knew this was not a negotiation meeting, but a language exchange session. The Spaniards had arrived in my world, and I had to lay the groundwork for fluid communication.
My attendants, following the instructions I had given them months ago, set about asking basic questions. They pointed to objects, gestured, and pronounced words in Muisca, hoping the guests would respond with their own words.
The scene was chaotic, almost like a farce. An attendant pointed to a clay bowl and said "Cana," the Muisca word for 'bowl,' and a Spaniard responded with "Taza," without understanding the gesture.
The other attendants noted down the word, the phonetics, the context in which it was used. It was a rudimentary process, but I knew that with a sufficient amount of data, my linguists could build a rudimentary dictionary in a matter of days.
I observed all this with the calm of someone who knew the end of the game.
The future had changed, not only because of my presence but because of the reality the Europeans were about to discover.
The situation amused me, but I also felt a pang of frustration. Although my mind remembered the Spanish of the future, the phonetics and structure of this 15th-century Spanish were so distinct that I struggled to adapt. It was as if my brain were listening to a dialect it didn't know.
In a moment of silence, when my guests' frustration was palpable, I decided to intervene. I turned to Columbus, raised my hand, and, with the clearest voice I could muster, I uttered the two words I knew would take his breath away.
"Hola, Admiral," I said, with an accent that sounded more of the future than of the present.
The effect was immediate. Columbus's mouth fell slightly open, and the priest, who had been silent until now, let out a murmur of awe and crossed himself. The scribe dropped his quill. For their part, my people showed no surprise; they took it as something normal. For them, it was obvious that the 'Son of Heaven' possessed wisdom of divine origin, which allowed me to learn much faster.
Columbus, recovering from the shock, addressed me. "Do you speak our language, young man? Where did you learn it?" he asked, with a new emotion in his voice.
Here came the difficult part. I knew what he had asked me, but I couldn't answer with more than monosyllables and simple words so as not to arouse suspicion. "Yes, I learn it now," I simply said. I knew I couldn't say anything more, as I hadn't yet heard the proper words.
The conversation became a challenge for me. I could only respond with words they used. If Columbus used the word 'barco' (ship), I could use the word 'barco' to respond.
"My name is Christopher Columbus," he said, extending his hand with a mix of respect and a curiosity he couldn't hide. "I am the Admiral of this expedition. It is a blessing that you speak our language."
I returned his greeting. "Columbus," I said, repeating his name. I didn't need to introduce myself, as I had already done so at the port. "Thank you," I added, as I had heard that word several times.
The conversation, or what seemed like a conversation, continued like this for almost an hour. Columbus, the scribe, and the priest were bombarded with questions from the attendants to understand Spanish. They, in turn, also began to ask me things, knowing that I was beginning to master Spanish, at least on a basic level. However, each of them asked with a different objective.
Columbus, with an insatiable thirst, asked me about the location, the name of my lands, and if I was close to India. The scribe asked me about the type of government, the resources, the population. And the priest, whenever he saw an opportunity, spoke to me of his God, of the cross, and asked me if my people and I would accept their religion.
For their part, my attendants were happy. Their work had accelerated by 1000 times. I was having a conversation with the Spaniards, in Spanish, which allowed them to get more data and speed up their study of the language.
Seeing their enthusiasm, I felt a little overwhelmed. My plan was simple: to be cautious, to show a little of my knowledge, but not to reveal too much. I just wanted them to feel comfortable so my people could learn from them.
At one point, Columbus's emotion transformed into a more practical concern. Staring at me intently, he asked, "Young man, may we inquire about our ships? And the situation of our sailors?"
His voice was more direct, his tone more serious. The formality of the feast and the meeting had dissolved. It was a question from an Admiral to a Governor.
I took a deep breath and answered him in his language. "I understand. All the sailors are being cared for in large houses in the city... They will be treated the same way as you, with hospitality and respect... However, for our safety, and to ensure you have no intentions of attacking, your ships will remain here, and you will as well, for a time."
The surprise on his face was evident. It was not a question; it was an order, and he knew it.
His gaze hardened for a moment, but then resignation took hold of him. He nodded slowly, his eyes shifting away from mine and looking around him. He was in a strange place, surrounded by a power he did not understand. He had arrived looking for a shortcut to the Indies, but he had found something completely different.
He realized he was not in a position to negotiate, but to obey. His dream of being the greatest explorer had been fulfilled in a way he could never have imagined.
I felt a little satisfied. I had established my position without the need for violence.
The first great encounter in the history of the New World was under my control.
It only remained to be seen if I could maintain control as history continued.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter.
First, I want to say that I wanted to take an extra chapter to develop the encounter a bit, as this won't come up again in any encounter with another culture.
On the other hand, I won't go into much detail about how the ships and sailors disembarked, but if you'd like, I can add it to the chapter on Columbus's perspective that will appear later on this topic.
Unnecessary Fact of the Day: The number of people who left the port of Palos de la Frontera was 90, spread across the three vessels. It's unknown if there were any important people on board, and we only know of one royal scribe, perhaps some priests, and the rest were sailors or criminals.
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Read my other novels.
#The Walking Dead: Vision of the Future. (Chapter 78)
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis. (Chapter 26)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File (Chapter 9) (PAUSED)
You can find them on my profile.]