Shadows of the Pomegranate Tree

Epilogue

TWENTY YEARS LATER, THE victor of al-Hudayl, now at the height of his powers and universally regarded as one of the most experienced military leaders of the Catholic kingdom of Spain, disembarked from his battleship on a shore thousands of miles away from his native land. He strapped on the old helmet which he had never changed, though he had been presented with two made from pure silver. In addition, he now wore a beard, whose redness was the cause of many a ribald jest. His two aides, now captains in their own right, had accompanied him on this mission.

The expedition travelled for many weeks through marshes and thick forests. When he reached his destination, the captain was greeted by ambassadors of the local ruler, attired in robes of the most unexpected colours. Gifts were exchanged. Then he was escorted to the palace of the king.

The city was built on water. Not even in his dreams had the captain imagined it could be anything like this. Boats ferried people from one part of the city to another.

‘Do you know what they call this remarkable place?’ he asked, to test his aide, as the boat carrying them docked at the palace.

‘Tenochtitlan is the name of the city and Moctezuma is the king.’

‘Much wealth went into its construction,’ said the captain.

‘They are a very rich nation, Captain Cortes,’ came the reply.

The captain smiled.