by Andrew Rowen
3 The voyage of Ugolino and Vadino de Vivaldi, financed by Tedisio Doria, 1291.
4 Marco Polo’s journey to and residence at the court of Khubilai Khan, 1271–1295.
5 Perhaps Panagia Krina, Madonna of the Fountain.
6 Central and South America.
7 Fernáo Gomes.
8 Fernandes, Esteves, and Po.
9 Lost to history.
10 The latter lost to history.
11 Gutierre de Cárdenas.
12 Abū l’Hasan ‘Alī ben Nasr ben Saád.
13 Prior of the Dominican convent of San Pablo, currently the site of the Church of Magdalena.
14 Aeterni Regis, June 21, 1481.
15 Guacca and Yainagua (Trou Caïman and Etang Saumátre).
16 A tiny predecessor at the site of the Convento de Jerónimos, Belém being Portuguese for Bethlehem.
IV
1480–1485, AMBITION
CAONABÓ AND ANACAONA
Marriage in Xaraguá
Caonabó released his naborias to return home and sat motionless alone upon a log astride a creek in the Cibao’s foothills, intent on immersing himself with the great beast of Haiti on which he had now lived for almost two decades. He shut his eyes, savored the creek’s soft gurgle, the scent of the glade’s ferns, and the coolness hovering above the water, and waited for the beast to grow accustomed to his presence. The birds soon returned to the surrounding trees and then alighted in the streambed. Caonabó raised his eyelids a sliver.
Some thirty paces upstream stood a heron, as motionless as Caonabó, its gray legs rising as slender sticks among the reeds where it stood. The bird spied Caonabó’s eyelids flicker and they studied each other carefully. Each spotted a small frog resting on a stone in the creek between them, and Caonabó wondered whether the heron would hunt. Perhaps it felt too distant from the frog, he too close, or the frog too small. After a few moments, the heron began to move about, skirting the frog while apparently searching for other prey, making its motion obvious and feigning disinterest. The bird came within striking distance and turned to face the frog, which was well aware and prepared to jump. But the heron’s eyes darted back and forth between the frog and Caonabó many times.
The stalemate lingered, and Caonabó reflected that critical judgments—whether to attack or retreat, whether one was safe or vulnerable, and whether another was friend or foe—frequently were difficult to make. He felt his soul rejuvenated and stood to depart, whereupon the heron took flight and the frog dived into the creek, and he thanked Haiti for the serenity of the past few moments and her wisdom.
When he reached the village outskirts, his closest nitaínos awaited to advise him excitedly that a Xaraguán nitaíno waited at the caney, bearing a message he would not reveal. All agreed it must be the response regarding Anacaona, and they reminded Caonabó to be gracious whether he had won or lost. Caonabó assured them he would be—Anacaona’s hand was but one of many means to maintain friendship with Xaraguá. But he churned inside.
Caonabó hailed the nitaíno from the plaza and walked slowly to greet him. Neither sought an audience in solitude or to engage in pleasantries, and without much ado the Xaraguán informed Caonabó that his offer to marry Anacaona had been accepted provided he agreed to certain understandings.
Caonabó glowed triumphantly, his nitaínos cheered him loudly, and the news immediately spread throughout the village. No one— including himself—could have envisioned this accomplishment two decades before.
The Xaraguán terms were not surprising, and Caonabó and his nitaínos realized they were not worth negotiating because the Xaraguáns would remain firm. Maguana’s western border would be secure from encroachment, the alliance would have unequaled strength on Haiti, and Caonabó’s stature and influence would rise in manner not otherwise achievable. Messengers departed for Xaraguá that afternoon to communicate Caonabó’s acceptance, bearing ceremonial stone axes for Behecchio and his uncle as gifts and, for Anacaona, a red shell necklace of Mother’s made on Aniyana.
As dusk approached, Caonabó dismissed his nitaínos, dispatched his children and naborias to the river to bathe, and spoke alone with his nine wives. He told them that his relationships with them had not changed and that they must welcome Anacaona as an honor to the household. He then dismissed eight of them, leaving Onaney and himself alone.
She had been crying, and he held and kissed her.
“This changes nothing between us. My love for you remains as always, born on Aniyana and constant since.”
“I understand it’s a tremendous honor for you, Caonabó.”
“I’m honored. My rule is strengthened. That’s the point.” He gazed away. “Anacaona will become my principal wife in public and at public ceremonies, and you will have to step aside.” He watched her grimace and gazed into her eyes. “But our bond is unchanged.”
“Our bond shouldn’t change!” Onaney replied in a hoarse whisper. “Her nobility doesn’t mean she’ll care for you. Her areítos might be wise, but that doesn’t mean she will understand you. There is no one who has stood with you as I.” Tears returned to her eyes. “Your entire life!” She bit her lip. “Caonabó, the beauty of the stingray and the spider belie their venom.”
“You once predicted I’d never return for you. I brought you here—for your entire life.” He held her some moments longer and then indicated she was dismissed with another kiss.
Behecchio and Anacaona, together with their mother and Uncle, began arranging the wedding ceremonies—particularly the secluded bohío at the village’s perimeter for the abstention rite and the thoughts to be expressed in the areítos sung. Mother tutored Anacaona on the intimate aspects of being one of many wives, about commanding a husband’s affection while maintaining harmony with the others. Mother assured her that she was the most beautiful woman in Haiti and the cleverest, and that she should simply rely on her own instincts and Caonabó would be smitten. They had heard reports of Caonabó’s first wife, apparently his favorite, an unimportant but clever Lucayan born on Aniyana, undoubtedly to be jealous. Mother promised Anacaona her intellect and nobility would absorb Caonabó’s attention, sundering his bond to the Lucayan.
Anacaona retired to be shuttered alone in the secluded bohío the day before the wedding, and Uncle and Behecchio met the ranking guests as they arrived at the central plaza. A Cuban cacique, a trading partner from Cuba’s eastern tip, entered first, followed by Caonabó’s friend Cayacoa from Higüey, Guarionex from Magua, and Guacanagarí’s brother, who came as his representative. Caonabó, nitaínos, and warriors entered last with naborias bearing food and gifts, and the celebrations erupted—all present except Anacaona— with a feast and games of batey continuing into the evening. Uncle circulated among his guests, assuring each cacique that the marriage did not affect their own special relationship. Caonabó did the same.
Alone in her bohío, Anacaona listened to the din of conversation and laughter and rehearsed in her mind the following day, when she would start to win both her husband’s affection and respect. He would understand not only that her womb bore a Xaraguán ruler but also that she would remain nigh such a ruler herself.
In the morning, her nitaínos dressed her in her wedding attire— gold and guanín jewelry on her ears, wrists, and ankles, a flower garland in her hair, and Caonabó’s gift of the red shell necklace. For the last time, she was otherwise fully naked, without a nagua. Caonabó was dressed by his nitaínos, with his crown and gold jewelry and red stripes painted on his back, symbolizing male fertility.
Uncle solemnly announced commencement of the marriage ceremony. The ranking caciques were escorted to stand before the door of the secluded bohío, in which Anacaona remained, while Caonabó stood apart with Uncle and Behecchio to watch, together with the other guests. Cayacoa started the abstention rite, shouting for all to hear that he was entering the bohío to have sex with Anacaona and then abruptly charging into the bohío. For a few seconds, Cayacoa and Anacaona stood motionless side
by side, hidden from the crowd’s view, and Anacaona then shouted for all to hear that she would not have him, and he stepped back outside. Guacanagarí’s brother then yelled that he would have her and bounded into the bohío. Anacaona shouted that she would not have him, either, and he stepped back outside. The Cuban cacique then shouted and entered the bohío. Anacaona had been given to him for a night months before, and they smiled at each other, remembering. He wished her good luck, and she shouted that she would not have him either. One by one, each of the other caciques entered the bohío and each was similarly repulsed.
The last cacique to perform was Guarionex, and the crowd grew silent as he took his turn. Guarionex spoke calmly, indicating that he would have Anacaona, and entered the bohío slowly, gracefully. Anacaona gazed at him, breathlessly aware that she was in the presence of the perhaps the greatest Taíno then living other than Uncle, whom Uncle had rejected as a husband for her. Guarionex gazed back at her, younger than his oldest children, and recognized she probably was the most beautiful woman in Haiti. Their eyes met and they smiled. Anacaona then shouted that she would not have him, and he stepped outside the bohío.
Anacaona waited a moment and then burst from the bohío, shouting that she was strengthened and invincible. The guests applauded wildly. Amid the uproar, Anacaona recognized Caonabó standing just feet away, and they beheld each other for the first time since Cacibaquel’s funeral. She was mesmerized by his height, adornments, and presence. Astonishment and pride flushed through her, as she realized he was the right choice and that there could have been no other. He was mesmerized by her beauty and poise and instantly sensed he wanted her as his own, regardless of her status. A rush of victory, conquest, and lust shook him.
The ceremonies reverted to the plaza. Xaraguán mothers and girls sang areítos to Yúcahu and Attabeira, Yúcahu’s mother and the spirit of female fertility and fresh water, to bless Xaraguá, Maguana, and the marriage. As all anticipated, Anacaona sang and danced alone. She enthralled the gathering with her serene calm and confidence, as well as the beauty of her voice and nakedness and dance, uniquely sensual and sophisticated. She sang of Guabonito and her gift of guanín to Guahayona and explained that, for years, Anacaona herself had wanted to give Caonabó her own gift of the womb that bore the caciqual family. The areíto continued with a prayer that she and Caonabó would be fertile and explained that their child might rule both cacicazgos. Caonabó listened carefully. He understood the words, and he understood the uncommon directness and independence of the young woman he was marrying. He remembered the heron and frog in the stream in the Cibao and wondered which he was. Caonabó and Anacaona were then joined in marriage.
The villagers feasted and partied into the night. Toward the end, Caonabó and Anacaona said farewell and, hand in hand, left for the secluded bohío. As they walked, they spoke alone for the first time, and Caonabó complimented her areíto.
“I make them up all the time,” she said with a laugh. “It was nothing, but I hope you really liked it because that’s what’s important to me.”
They entered the bohío, and she offered him a small gourd with pineapple juice. As he sipped, she stroked his arms and chest. “Have you ever been wounded in your great battles?”
As he responded, she approached intimately and took the gourd from his hand and began to remove his caciqual belt, placing the gourd and the belt on a duho to the side of the hammock where they would sleep. “You’re incredibly strong.”
He looked down at her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him and pulling their bodies gently together. He felt her supple body and was taken with desire. He lowered himself backward into the hammock, pulling her on top, and they made love with growing passion until he was spent. She lay on him, and they felt as one.
They smiled at each other, kissed, and talked into the night. As he slumbered, she began to sing to him softly, continuing her own areíto of Guabanito. Guabanito returned to Guahayona after he was anointed cacique and consented to marry him. She agreed to stay as long as he continued to make her happy.
CRISTÓVÃO
Births of Diogo Colombo and an Idea, Porto Santo, (1480–1481)
After their wedding, Cristóvão, Filipa, and her mother, Isabel, sailed from Lisbon six hundred miles southwest in the Ocean Sea to Vila Baleira on Porto Santo’s southeastern shore, the island’s port and largest town, where they took up residence in family possessions. The island stretched barely eight miles, with volcanic mountains at its northeastern and southwestern tips, lower grassland in between, steep cliffs on the windswept northwestern coast, and a lovely beach stretching more than six miles on the protected southeastern shore. Cristóvão’s father-in-law had imported livestock that grazed the grassland.
Filipa was pregnant and she gave birth to a son they christened Diogo in Vila Baleira’s church.1 The delivery was difficult, and Filipa never fully regained her prior strength and vitality. When Filipa was able, she and Cristóvão carried Diogo on walks south along the great beach.
Cristóvão continued to work as an agent for Genoese merchant families and began to build his business from Vila Baleira. He passed through Madeira—visible from Porto Santo—frequently and shipped from there or Lisbon to the Canary Islands, less than 350 miles south of Madeira, and to the Azores, whose largest eastern island, São Miguel, was 950 miles northwest of Madeira. Madeira had abundant timber, sugar plantations, and vineyards. Slaves from the Canaries and Africa had been imported to work its plantations, and Madeira and Porto Santo were key watering and refitting stations for Portugal’s Guinean gold and slave trade. When in Lisbon, he stayed with Bartolomeu, who continued the mapmaking business.
Cristóvão sometimes explored Porto Santo with one of his brothers-in-law, Pêro Correia da Cuhna, and was drawn to the rocky cliffs and crags on the northwestern coast. Pêro related he had found carved driftwood cast there in a westerly wind and speculated that it had been blown from unknown islands. Pêro had also retrieved driftwood he believed to be bamboo cane and explained that others, including Prince João himself, had seen similar driftwood. Ptolemy believed bamboo was grown in the Indies, and the speculation was the canes had originated there.
Isabel and Cristóvão enjoyed each other’s company and occasionally discussed the exploration of the world, and she gave him her deceased husband’s private papers, maps, and nautical possessions. Cristóvão was surprised how outdated the maps were—in just his lifetime, the Portuguese had discovered Guinea’s extension south beyond the equator, the archipelago of the Cape Verde Islands, and the most distant Azorean islands.
Cristóvão began to amble the cliffs along the northwestern shore alone, gazing at the sunset over the western horizon and contemplating his future and the astounding enormity of the Ocean Sea. Almost thirty, he was confident that he had advanced beyond his father by profession and marriage. But he wondered whether he was satisfied to be a merchant’s agent. He reflected that the nobility, wealth, or glory of his father-in-law, or more substantially of Marco Polo or the Eiríkur the Red spoken about in Thule, or even of the Vivaldi brothers, derived from their voyages, discoveries, or settlements. He recognized that his own position would achieve neither nobility nor great wealth, and he dreamed that discovering his own island—like Scio or Porto Santo—would achieve both.
As he traveled as a merchant’s agent, Cristóvão grew more than accustomed to ships, sailing, and the ocean. He began to study them keenly, with as much interest as the cargos he was employed to deliver and the profits to be had thereby, assimilating information about the channels, currents, and weather of the ports he visited and the seas he sailed, derived both through his own observations and stories told by sailors and island residents. He shipped on caravels, carracks, cogs, galleasses, urcas, and other vessels and came to appreciate their relative merit—the tonnage of cargo they floated, the degree they sailed into the wind, their maneuverability in the shallows at port, and their seaworthiness in the swell and storm at sea. He began
to study navigation and the measurement of location and distance by degrees of latitude and longitude, curious to understand the ancient and modern estimates of a degree’s length and the earth’s circumference.
As every sailor, Cristóvão came to understand how quickly comfort and safety could descend to peril on the Ocean Sea, and his faith in his God became resolute and beyond doubt. At sea, he sang to the Lord at dawn and dusk, he prayed to the Virgin when the sand clock turned every half hour, and he invoked her when the fury of the Ocean Sea broke upon the deck and threatened to shatter the ship. A mariner’s rhythm rooted within him, with the Lord as compass, and he confessed and took communion often and prayed at tierce, vespers, and other offices—whether at sea or ashore.
When Cristóvão shipped to the Azores, sailors told of unusual pine trees and dead bodies with non-European features swept onto the rocks and of carved wood plucked from the sea. When he shipped to the Canaries, he heard that rafts and boats topped with houses had been found blown ashore on the African coast. Sailors and fishermen on both archipelagos claimed that other islands could be spotted when sailing west, but Cristóvão was skeptical, understanding that even experienced mariners frequently—wishfully—mistook clouds or haze on the horizon for landfall. He heard that the winds at the westernmost Azorean islands, Corvo and Flores, were predominantly from the west or southwest,2 perhaps rendering sailing further west difficult for an extended period. He saw for himself that the winds at the Canaries blew to the southwest,3 and the current flowed southwest off to sea, every season he visited, facilitating sailing west. He recognized the Ocean Sea was more benign at the Canaries than to the north at the Azores, and far less tempestuous than at Thule.
In Lisbon, Cristóvão and Bartolomeu shared the geographical knowledge acquired from Cristóvão’s travels and Bartolomeu’s ongoing contacts with pilots and mapmakers. Together, they wondered where the lost Antillia should be located on a map of the Ocean Sea. The tradition was that seven bishops had embarked from Lusitania in the eighth century to escape the infidel’s conquest and preserve Christianity, settling on Antillia and burning their ships so their congregations would not be tempted to return home. The island lay perhaps no more than 750 miles west of the Azores. Perhaps it lay west of the Canaries, considerably south.