by Andrew Rowen
“The Venetians are excellent merchants. When they say they’ve found an island, we Genoese tend not to doubt it.” Cristóbal glanced at Rodrigo, preparing to address his skepticism. “The Venetians have made many discoveries.”
“No learned man believes Marco Polo,” Rodrigo replied. “But assuming Cipangu exists, what’s the distance to it and how long’s the sail?”
“I don’t know the distance or sailing time, but the evidence is overwhelming that the distance is short. I’ve sailed the Azores and learned of unknown pine trees blown upon them from the west. Dead bodies of Tartars or Mongols have washed up, as well, presumably from Cathay.” Cristóvão turned to João. “Bamboo and carved wood have drifted onto the western shores at Porto Santo, Madeira, the Canary Islands, and the Cape Verde islands, and I understand you have seen the bamboo yourself. Even before Marco Polo, Aristotle and Seneca said it was but a few days sail to the Indies.”
João reflected that Colombo was quick-witted, confident, and puffed up with his own ability.
“And what of Ptolemy?” Rodrigo asked. “Have you studied Ptolemy?”
“Not directly. In my travels, I’ve found one can’t trust all the ancient learning.” Cristóvão faced João again. “As you and your father have shown, the equatorial zones are habitable and their discovery has procured great wealth for the kingdom.”
“I don’t disagree with that,” Rodrigo replied. “Aristotle was wrong about the equatorial zones. I suspect he and Seneca also were wrong about the sailing time to the Indies. Ptolemy would have said the distance from Lisbon to the Indies was more than 8,000 miles. How long would it take to sail 8,000 miles in open sea—assuming Ptolemy were correct—and could a ship be provisioned for such a voyage?”
Cristóvão knew 8,000 miles was far beyond the range of any ship and awkwardly searched for words. He hadn’t read Ptolemy, or for that matter Aristotle or Seneca, or even Marco Polo, and he sensed they suspected that. He responded to Rodrigo. “I believe Cipangu or least other islands are far closer to Hispania than Ptolemy had knowledge of—as that alone can explain the carvings, driftwood, and dead bodies.” He turned back to João. “It has been brought to my attention that his Excellency your father received the advice of a Florentine physician—Paolo del Toscanelli was his name—that the distance was far shorter than men believe. He said the distance from Lisbon to the city of Quinsay in Cathay was but six thousand miles and that Cipangu and perhaps Antillia lay in between. This advice confirms that Cipangu should be reached before Cathay.”
Surprised, João and Rodrigo looked at each other and remembered the letter, which had not been pursued. João reflected that Colombo had come prepared to cite authority for his plan.
“We examined that and have never found even Antillia,” Rodrigo replied. “The king receives many suggestions how best to advance his discoveries. But six thousand miles of open sea still is much farther than ships travel today. Your own open sea voyages have been far, far shorter—even to Thule. It would take months at sea to travel that distance, even with the most favorable winds. How could a ship survive that long without harboring to reprovision itself?”
“As I said, the evidence points to islands further west. Prince Henrique colonized the Azores well before he discovered Corvo and Flores farther west. My father-in-law, in the Italian merchant tradition, discovered Porto Santo for Henrique decades before that. Other foreigners have discovered islands for the Crown. I believe I, too, can discover islands further west for you, and that it will allow a voyage through to Cipangu and Cathay. Once the route is established, it will be quicker to the Indies than circling Guinea.” Cristóvão paused for emphasis. “I have never been a dreamer—I am a Genoese merchant. I believe Toscanelli wrote that the longest open sea distance to Cipangu, if one harbored at the Azores and found Antillia, would be less than 3,500 miles.”
Rodrigo shook his head in disbelief, and there was an awkward silence.
João asked Cristóvão his opinion of the current exploration of the African coastline and whether he thought it soon would yield a route to the Indies. Cristóvão described his own voyages to and from Mina, his conference with d’Azambuja, and the gold-mining operations at the settlement, all with a detail demonstrating his knowledge of navigation, seamanship, and commerce. He turned to Rodrigo. “In the circumnavigation of Guinea to reach the Indies, it’s no more rationale to guess that a coastline will turn east and then north than to guess that an island will be found in the sea.”
“Perhaps.” Rodrigo frowned. “But the consequence of guessing wrongly is quite different—the loss of the ships and the expedition.” He paused, and Cristóvão perceived the trace of a smirk. “The death of the crews.”
“Putting aside the geographic wisdom of your idea, what is it you request of me?” João asked.
“Your Lordship, I would request that you fund and sponsor perhaps two or three caravels under my command to sail west equipped and victualed for one year. The captains could be of your selection. If islands or land are possessed, I would be knighted and entitled to hereditary governorship of them, as my father-in-law on Porto Santo, and a portion of the resulting profits.”
João and Rodrigo glanced at each other, startled by the terms proposed. João hesitated momentarily, puzzling whether the brazenness was knowing or untutored. He politely responded he would consider the idea although the terms suggested were unacceptable. He sent his salutations to Pêro and Isabel. Cristóvão knelt and expressed his gratitude for the audience and was ushered out. Rodrigo quickly remarked to João that the idea was fantastical—without a shred of cosmographical support—and the terms suggested equally absurd. João laughed at the reliance on the petty Venetian merchant’s account of the so-called Cipangu.
But João recognized Colombo was experienced with the Ocean Sea and, while boastful, uneducated, and a charlatan, more intelligent and eloquent than João had expected. Colombo was not wrong to compare the unknowns of circumventing Guinea and crossing the Ocean Sea. João asked Rodrigo to convene the Junta to review Colombo’s proposal.
The Junta did so, including affording Colombo and his brother an audience to advance their argument. Colombo’s idea was as old as Aristotle’s and Seneca’s speculations, neither novel nor untested. The Crown previously had authorized numerous attempts to explore the Ocean Sea to the west. In 1452, King Afonso had authorized Diogo de Teive to sail west from São Dinis15 to find Antillia. He had found nothing after sailing five hundred miles, but discovered Corvo and Flores—which obviously weren’t Antillia—on his return. Afonso had authorized an explorer16 to find St. Brendan’s islands in 1462 and another expedition to find Antillia in 1475,17 each to no avail.
The Junta was certain that the breadth of the Ocean Sea from Portugal to Cathay—which they knew existed—was far longer than Toscanelli believed, based on their own estimates as well as Ptolemy’s. Even assuming Cipangu existed, the sailing distance from Corvo and Flores—the farthest western points known to them—to Cipangu exceeded by multiples any distance ships then sailed without landfall. The success of such a voyage would depend entirely on the fortuity of discovering intervening islands or shores.
Filipa died as Cristóvão awaited his answer. Isabel, Cristóvão, and little Diogo buried her at the Church of Carmo in the valley below the Alcaçóva. The funeral barely befitted nobility, as neither Isabel nor Cristóvão had resources. Cristóvão had secured little work as a merchant’s agent since his voyage to Mina and incurred debts that would require significant effort to repay.
The Junta reported to João that the voyage was fantastical, and João understood to reject it. He also expected a discoverer seeking a hereditary governorship to bear the expense and risk of the ships, voyage, and colonization. Yet, until the circumvention of Guinea was proven, he wanted the flexibility to reconsider Colombo’s offer— which few other men, if any, would dare make. João summoned Cristóvão to communicate the rejection graciously in person so he not harbor bitterness. Cristóv�
�o left deeply disappointed.
Cristóvão had heard rumors his idea was the butt of jokes and mockery as ridiculous around João’s court and grew deeply distrustful. At times, he fumed that the Junta’s learned men had dismissed him as an ignorant, uneducated charlatan and rejected his idea and geographic argument as frivolous on that basis alone, without the slightest consideration. Other times, he raged that the Junta held prejudices against the Genoese and were against him, not his idea, which they embraced and would usurp by dispatching their own Portuguese to implement it. But he recognized the king and his advisers held a firm belief that the circumvention of Guinea would prove successful and a deep commitment to it, regardless of how seriously they had considered his proposal, and that it would be necessary to find another sponsor.
Cristóvão and Bartolomeu agreed they would depart for Castile to convince King Fernando and Queen Isabel to be that sponsor. The Castilian sovereigns’ eagerness to expand their meager overseas possessions in competition with King João was known to all. Andalusia’s mariners were competent to sail the voyage. There was a substantial Genoese community in Seville, including representatives of many of the merchant trading families Cristóvão had worked for since boyhood, and he calculated they might provide assistance, support, and a source of livelihood. Filipa’s sister lived in Huelva, in the heart of seafaring Andalusia, and she was the woman best suited to help raise Diogo, as well as the traditional choice. He knew he would be treated like Domenico if he sought support for his voyage in Genoa.
As the brothers prepared to depart, Bishop Vilhegas urged João to arrange Portuguese mariners to effect Colombo’s plan, sailing from the Azores. João began to consider whether yet another westward attempt was worth the effort, perhaps to find Antillia or another great island or mainland less distant than Cathay, employing an experienced pilot from the Azores. Colombo’s experience at sea was sufficient, but there were Portuguese subjects, both noblemen and experienced sea captains, better qualified to be leaders and administrators of a voyage to discover and claim new possessions—and they all would be satisfied with lesser compensation.
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1 Ingreja de Nossa Senhora da Piedade.
2 The prevailing westerly winds.
3 The permanent trade winds.
4 1356–1366.
5 The Moorish word for Hispania.
6 A different person from Isabel’s childhood friend of the same name.
7 Kwamena Kweigya Ansah I, ruling 1475–1510.
8 That is, 1 degree of 360 degrees.
9 That is, 62.5 Roman miles, or 57.5 modern statutory miles.
10 That is, 22,500 Roman miles, or 20,700 modern statutory miles.
11 Presumably seals.
12 Actually, five degrees north.
13 Taking the name Muhammed ben ‘Alī, or Muhammed XII.
14 The Duke of Braganza.
15 Now Faial, a central Azorian island.
16 João Vogado.
17 Fernão Teles.
V
1485–1490, FAITH
BAKAKO’S FISHING LESSON
Guanahaní (San Salvador?, Bahamas)
At sunrise, five-year-old Bakako squatted with his father and younger brother, Yuni, as well as his grandparents, uncles, and cousins, waiting for his mother and aunts to prepare breakfast outside their small bohío. Father, grandfather, and the uncles were all fishermen, and the day started early before Guanahaní baked in the sun. As Lucayan Taínos, they worshipped Yúcahu, and, when the men went to sea, the women tended yuca, sweet potato, and maize in small gardens. Their tiny village of a few bohíos lay between a long sand beach that rimmed a portion of the island’s leeward western shore (Long and Fernández Bays) and flatlands with occasional hills and bluffs extending inland, covered with forest, bush, grass, and scrub, all nourished by a number of inland lakes.
Bakako listened as the men discussed the weather, concurring that the sea would remain calm. Father turned to him to relate the result. “We’ll fish the barrier reef for larger fish—unless the wind rises.”
Bakako had eagerly anticipated doing this for the first time. Father had initiated his education just weeks before, teaching him to troll nets and lines in the sheltered waters within the coral reefs that surrounded the entire island. At the barrier, Father and Uncle would hunt with spears instead, and there could be larger fish, and some dangerous ones, barracuda and shark.
After breakfast, Father and Uncle silently invoked Yúcahu’s guidance and protection and motioned for Bakako and an older cousin to follow to the sea. Mother warned Bakako to drink often, as it would be hot on the water. At the beach, they provisioned Father’s small canoe, climbed aboard, and glided into the serene turquoise waters sheltered from the easterly winds.
Bakako took the bow, Cousin the stern, with Father, Uncle, spears, and a basket for their catch cramped in between. Uncle directed they paddle to intersect the barrier to the southwest, somewhat distant from the village, hoping to fish alone.
“There’re larger fish on the reefs, including grouper and snapper,” Father lectured. “Uncle and I will stand to hunt, so we can hurl the spears. When we spot a good catch, we’ll tell you where to maneuver the canoe. That’s your job, to bring us close above the fish, so we can strike.”
“It’s unusually calm, so you won’t have to worry about breaking surf,” Uncle added. “When it’s rough, the waves churn over the reef, making it difficult to maneuver. They can even dunk the canoe.”
“Would sharks eat us?” Bakako asked.
“We won’t dunk,” Cousin assured him, having fished the barrier a few times. “I’ve never dunked.”
“Bakako, it’s the sea that dangerous,” Father said. “Don’t worry about sharks. We usually stay inside or at the reef, without passing into the open sea. Whatever the weather. A sudden wind or current outside the barrier can drive the canoe to sea. Today, it’d be easy to paddle back. When it’s rough, you could be swept away.”
“But men paddle to and from other islands. All the time,” Bakako responded.
“Yes, adults do, typically in large canoes with many oarsmen. Not children in small canoes, like ours. Uncle and I occasionally fish beyond the barrier—but we never did when we were just boys, alone. Never.”
Bakako studied the water swishing across a long arc extending north and south before him, revealing the reefs below. The ocean swelled gently beyond, slight waves marching away, pushed west by a gentle breeze. “Wouldn’t it be safer to fish on the other side of the island?”
Father was startled by the observation, perceptive for a five-yearold. “Yes, the winds there blow you back to Guanahaní, not away. But it’s harder to fish in the wind.”
Father soon directed the boys to stop paddling so the canoe would slow and then to back-paddle when the reef emerged below. He and Uncle grasped their wooden spears and nimbly stood in search of prey.
Bakako peered through the veil of the water’s surface and, when its ripple permitted, discerned countless fish darting about the coral. He waited for Father or Uncle to strike or shout to maneuver the canoe. The wait grew longer than he anticipated, and he wondered whether Father had seen them. “There’s a lot of fish there,” he said.
“Be patient,” Father scolded. “We’re here for big fish, not small ones.”
“You can’t hunt small fish with a spear,” Uncle added.
After a few moments, Uncle spied a grouper. “Take us sideways, to the right. Slowly boys, slowly.”
Bakako and Cousin gently tread their paddles on the starboard side, searching for the prey below, studying Uncle’s shadow cast over the water by the morning sun, his arm and spear slowly rising above his head, the spear’s tip homing down toward its target.
“Can it see us?” Bakako whispered.
“It sees the hull,” Father replied softly. “But it fears only movement.”
“Won’t Uncle’s shadow scare it?”
“Yes, it could.” Father flashed a grin to Un
cle, embarrassed by his son’s talkativeness but proud of his self-confidence and intellect.
Suddenly, Uncle fiercely hurled his spear into the water. Bakako intently peered below. To his surprise, the spear soon rose to the surface off the bow, a large fish impaled and writhing at its tip. The boys maneuvered the canoe to retrieve it, and Uncle demonstrated how to bludgeon and remove the grouper from the spear, placing the fish in their basket.
They fished for hours, occasionally breaking to drink or eat cazabi. Father and Uncle taught a lesson on how the spirits revealed the weather. Other fishermen drifted by, and Father and Uncle shared knowledge of which fish were swimming where. Father decided they would follow the reef north, hoping to find new prey. The basket slowly filled.
Bakako was impressed by the consistency of their success, captivated by the expertise involved and Father and Uncle’s patience, confidence, and execution. He marveled at the number of fish caught and their multitude in the sea.
“Father, Grandfather says all fish come from one man’s bones? Is that right?”
“Grandfather does say that,” Father replied. “All fish are descended from Yayael’s bones.”
“Do you think that?”
Father hesitated. “The story has a meaning that is true. The bones of the dead become food for the living.” He saw his son didn’t understand. “Remember, fish have babies, just like people, and only a few fish need to have come from Yayael’s bones many generations ago.”
Bakako shrugged. “But I don’t think it could happen.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Father felt uneasy, uncomfortable with too much curiosity. “But you should respect Grandfather’s learning.”
As the afternoon wore on, a wind gusted and then strengthened, and the slight waves in the open ocean grew, departing Guanahaní. Father waited for the surf to rise a bit and then muttered to Uncle, “It’s time for the day’s final lesson.” He turned to Bakako. “Boys, let’s see if we can catch even bigger fish outside the reef. The biggest ones may be out there.”