"She's coming with me, on the Nina. If you don't want to find the
western route to the Indies, we will. Right, Nina?" he said, taking her
hand and moving to where the rope-ladder dangled over the side of the
Santa Maria to the skiff below.
"Don't take her from this deck," Columbus ordered.
Danny ignored him. "Don Juan!" cried Columbus, and the peg-leg came
toward Danny.
"I'm sorry, Don Martin," he said, "but--"
Still holding Nina's hand, Martin stiff-armed him out of the way and ran
for the side. Someone jerked the rope-ladder out of reach and someone
else leaped on Martin. For, he was Martin now, Martin Pinzon. His own
identity seemed submerged far below the surface, as if somehow he could
look on all this without risking anything. He knew that he was merely a
defense mechanism, to ward off fear: for, it wasn't true. If Martin
Pinzon were hurt, _he_ would be hurt.
He hurled the man from his back. Nina screamed as a cutlass flashed in
the sun. Martin-Danny ducked, felt the blade whizz by overhead.
"Jump!" Martin-Danny cried.
"But I can't swim!"
"I can. I'll save you." It was Danny again, completely Danny. He felt
himself arise to the surface, submerging Martin Pinzon. Because the
Spaniard probably couldn't swim at all, and if Danny made promises, it
was Danny who must fulfill them.
He squeezed Nina's hand. He went up on the side--and over. The water
seemed a very long way down. They hit it finally with a great splash.
Down they went and down, into the warm murky green depths. Down--and
finally up. Danny's head broke surface. He was only yards from the
skiff. He had never let go of Nina's hand, but now he did, getting a
lifeguard's hold on her. He struck out for the skiff.
* * * * *
Fifteen minutes later, they were aboard the Nina. "I command here,"
Danny told the crew. "Is that correct?"
"Aye, sir," said Don Hernan, the mate.
"Even if Columbus tells you different?"
"Columbus?" spat Don Hernan. "That drunkard is in command of the Santa
Maria, not the Nina. We follow Martin Pinzon here."
"Even if I give one set of orders and Columbus another?"
"Even then, my commander. Yes."
"Then we're sailing west," Danny cried. "Up anchor! Hurry."
"But I--" Nina began.
"Don't you see? He thinks I'm abducting you. Or he thinks I'm sailing
west with you to certain death. He will follow with the Santa Maria and
the Pinta, trying to rescue you. And we'll reach the Indies. Columbus
will sail across the Western Sea to save his daughter, but what's the
difference _why_ he'll sail. The important thing is, Queen Isabella gave
him the charter and the caravels and with them he's making history. You
see?"
"I ... I think so," Nina said doubtfully.
A heady wind sprang up. The square-rigged sails billowed. The Nina began
to surge forward--into the unknown West.
Tackle creaked aboard the nearby Santa Maria and Pinta. The two other
caravels came in pursuit. But they won't catch us, Martin knew. They
won't catch us until we reach--Hispaniola. And then, pursuit will be no
more. Then, it will no longer matter and we'll all be heroes....
* * * * *
Which is the way it turned out--almost.
The Santa Maria and Pinta pursued all through August and September and
into October, but the Nina kept its slim lead. The ships were never out
of sight of one another and once or twice Columbus even hailed them,
imploring them to return to Spain with him. When they ignored him, his
deep voice boomed to his own crew and the crew of the Pinta: "Then sail
on, sail on!" It was these words, Danny knew, that history would record.
Not the others.
One morning in October, he awoke with a start. Something had disturbed
his sleep--something ...
"Good morning, captain," a voice said.
He looked up. It was a giant of a man, with a hard face and
brutal-looking eyes. He knew that face. Pietro! The giant of the tavern.
"But you--"
"I was aboard all the time, my captain," Pietro said. "An auxiliary
rower. You never knew." He said nothing else. He lunged at Martin's
bunk--for I'm Martin again, Danny thought--a knife gleaming in his big
hand.
* * * * *
Martin-Danny sat up, bringing the covers with him, hurling them like a
cloak at Pietro. The giant's knife-hand caught in the covers and Danny
swung to his feet, shoving the big man. Pietro stumbled into the bunk,
then lashed around quickly, unexpectedly, the knife loose again. Danny
felt it grating across his ribs hotly, searingly. He staggered and
almost fell, but somehow made it to the door and on deck. He needed
room. Facing that knife in the close confines of the cabin, he was a
dead man and knew it.
He hit the stairs and headed for the deck. He reached the door--tugged.
It held fast. He heard Pietro's laughter, then threw himself to one
side. The knife thudded into the wood alongside Danny's shoulder.
Then the door came open, throwing him back. He stumbled, regained his
balance, plunged outside. With a roar, Pietro followed him, knife again
in hand.
Danny backed away slowly. Only a few crew members were on deck now, and
a watch high up in the crow's nest. The watch was crying in an
almost-delirious voice: "Land, land! Land ho-oo!" But Martin-Danny
hardly heard the words. Pietro came at him--
Suddenly Don Hernan was in front of him. Don Hernan's hand nipped up and
then down and a knife arced toward Danny. He caught it by the haft,
swung to face the giant. But, he thought, I don't know how to use a
knife. I'm Danny Jones, I ...
Pietro leaped, the knife down, held loosely at his side, underhanded,
ready to slash and rip. Danny sidestepped and Pietro went by in a rush.
Danny waited.
Pietro came back carefully this time, crouching, balanced easily on the
balls of his feet. For all his size, he fought with the grace of a
dancer.
Danny felt warm wetness where the blood was seeping from his ribs. Feet
pounded as more of the crew came on deck in response to the watch's
delirious words. Instead of crowding at the prow, though, they formed a
circle around Danny and Pietro. Danny thought: But I'm the captain. The
captain. They ought to help me ... they ... He knew though that they
would not. They were a fierce, proud people and the law of single combat
would apply even to the captain who had piloted them across an unknown
ocean.
Pietro came by, attempting to slash with his knife from outside. Danny
moved quickly--not quick enough. The knife point caught his arm this
time. He felt his hand go numb. His own knife clattered to the deck as
blood oozed from his biceps.
Once more Pietro charged him. Weaponless, Danny waited. Pietro was
laughing, sure of himself--
Careless.
Danny slipped aside as Pietro brought the knife around in a wicked
swipe. He spun with it and when he came around Danny was waiting for
him. He drove his left fist into the great belly and his right to the
big, bearded jaw. Pietro slumped, disbelief in his eyes. He swung the
knife again but only succeeded in wrapping his giant arm around Danny.
He bent his head, shook it to clear it of the sting of Danny's blows.
And Danny rabbit-punched him.
Pietro went down heavily and someone shouted. "The face! Kick him in the
face!"
Wearily, Danny shook his head. He went with Nina to the rail and saw the
green palm-fringed island of the New World. Nina smiled at him, then
ripped something from what she was wearing and began to bandage his
ribs, his arm.
* * * * *
They heard a splash. Danny looked around, saw Don Hernan and a member of
the crew gazing serenely down. Pietro was down there, where they had
tossed him. For a while the body floated, then the limbs splashed wildly
as Pietro regained consciousness. He drifted back away from the ship. He
went under, and came up. He went under again, and stayed under....
"The Indies," Nina said.
"The Indies," Danny said. He did not make the distinction between east
and west. They must learn for themselves.
The Pinta and the Santa Maria came up alongside. All thoughts of pursuit
were gone. Columbus waved. He was very close now on the deck of the
Santa Maria. There was something in his face, something changed.
Columbus was a new man now. He had been shamed. He had followed his
daughter and Martin Pinzon across an unknown ocean and he was changed
now. Somehow, Danny knew he could now make voyages on his own.
"Martin," Nina whispered. "They may say it was father. But it was you.
I'll know in my heart, it was you."
Danny nodded. She put her arm around his shoulder, and kissed him. He
liked this slim girl--he liked her immensely, and it wasn't right. She
wasn't his, not really. She was Martin Pinzon's. He let the Spaniard
come to the surface, willed his own mind back and down and away. She's
all yours, Pinzon, he told the other mind in his body. She--and this
world. I'm a--stranger here.
But once more he kissed Nina, fiercely, with passion and longing.
"Goodbye, my darling," he said.
"Goodbye! What--"
He let Martin Pinzon take it from there. "Hello," said Martin Pinzon.
"I mean, hello forever, darling."