Encounters Unforeseen- 1492 Retold

by Andrew Rowen

  Cristóvão, Pero Alonso, and their hosts mounted mules for the journey east along the river road, and Bakako and Yutowa fell in line walking behind like naborias. The two Guanahaníans smiled and waved in friendship as they passed natives who came to hail Admiral and inspect their bodies. They saw incredible peoples. Many were pale skinned, others dark, and some olive, perhaps paler than themselves. Many had hair tinted brown as dirt, some black as themselves, a few light as the sun, and a handful even red. They crossed through a market and beheld the exotic—huge slabs of meat from beasts; cakes of biscuit much larger than those stored aboard the ship; baskets, sacks, and jugs of vegetables, fruits and drink unknown; and unusual birds caged and clucking. Pero Alonso related that the meat was from “cows,” “pigs,” and “goats,” the “breads” were like cassava but made from “wheat,” the “milk” was weaned from the teats of the beasts, and the “eggs” of the “chickens” were eaten for breakfast. Bakako and Yutowa observed that none of the natives offered them “bread” or cazabi, but Admiral’s hosts traded for it using coins like those Admiral had shown them.

  Soon, Cristóvão bid his hosts halt as they passed the Convento dos Santos, where he had met and married Filipa. He weaved his way through a throng of well-wishers to find that the convent and boardinghouse had closed, but he entered the church remaining and again knelt at an altar where he had prayed years before. He found a priest and confessed his sins, particularly of frequently believing the voyage and discovery were his achievements alone rather than those of the Lord.

  As they waited on Admiral, Pero Alonso pointed to the house he had entered and again said, “Church.” Bakako spied men, women, and children huddled by the church’s walls with their arms and hands outstretched, greeting passersby. Some of the children approached to wander among the crowd surrounding Bakako, stretching their arms and hands to the onlookers. One of Admiral’s hosts handed a child a morsel of bread, and the child retreated to the church to eat it.

  Cristóvão returned to his hosts to request that he might visit Filipa’s family chapel in the Carmelite monastery. It was along the route chosen and they agreed, and the mules and Guanahaníans ascended a gentle hill and coursed through a village home to peoples with dark-black skin. Bakako and Yutowa smelled strange foods cooking, overheard the natives speaking in a tongue markedly unlike Admiral’s, and discovered men kneeling on the ground to pray to spirits facing east.

  The village soon petered into beautiful countryside, forest and pasture, and the travelers continued to rise gradually to higher ground. But they soon arrived at another village bustling with people, and then at an enormous wall that wound far up the hillside and even farther down to the harbor. Bakako studied the wall’s thick stones as they strode through an archway and grasped that Admiral’s wall in Guarico was inconsequential in comparison. It was obvious the natives prepared for ferocious enemies. Bakako mused that these enemies could be beasts, but he realized that he knew enough to be certain they were other pale men.

  Bakako and Yutowa emerged from the archway into the most densely populated village they had ever seen (Lisbon) and found themselves in another market brimming with the natives’ foods. The view was spectacular. Pero Alonso pointed to a tremendous church set on the hillside before them (Church of Carmo), with a tower rising high to the heavens. The village sprawled into a great valley below, stretching south to the harbor and filled with countless houses. A massive fort (Castelo de São Jorge) stood across the valley on a facing hill. Bakako and Yutowa were dazed by the energy and dynamism of the innumerable natives moving about.

  Pero Alonso indicated Admiral’s wife lay within and that Admiral would speak to her. Bakako perceived the house the most foreboding structure he had ever seen, displaying from ground to sky stone figures of men and evil spirits, apparently warning—with a realism not achieved in Guanahaní or Bohío—of the Christ spirit within. As at the prior church, natives congregated by its walls and extended their hands to Admiral’s hosts and well-wishers. Bakako suddenly realized they were begging for food to eat. He scanned their dirty bodies and clothes and their sullen faces and looked to Pero Alonso, seeking an explanation.

  Pero Alonso replied these people were “poor” and sought others’ “charity.” Bakako pointed back to the food market. Pero Alonso repeated that these people were “poor” and explained that the market didn’t give food freely to anyone. Bakako couldn’t understand “poor,” but he and Yutowa remarked to each other that the pale beings had a most singular way of living.

  Inside the church, Cristóvão knelt before the Moniz family chapel, recognized that mother-in-law Isabel now lay there, and spoke to Filipa, assuring her Diogo approached manhood nobly. He asked her forgiveness for his absences, but allowed that it had been the Lord’s destiny that he discover the route to the Indies.

  When Cristóvão rejoined, the travelers slowly descended a steep hillside into the valley and a labyrinth of streets jammed with merchants hustling to sell countless items Bakako and Yutowa couldn’t recognize. They saw “paper” and quill “pens” as Admiral used for “writing,” “books” that told stories, “lamps” that burned “oil” to light the night, and countless cemís of the Christ spirit, his mother, and other spirits. Close to the harbor, Cristóvão silently observed when they crossed the alley where he and Bartolomeu had opened the chart shop, and he sensed the Lord meant to remind him of the humility in which he had been born. They continued into the shadows of massive stone buildings, taller than any caney Bakako could remember, to enter an open plaza before the water, where ships were anchored. Black-skinned men, women, and children were huddled together around posts, downcast and almost motionless.

  Bakako and Yutowa realized with horror that these peoples were bound as captives, as if Caribes waiting execution but with their wives and infants, and that they were “slaves”—of which Admiral frequently spoke. At the center of the plaza, they passed within feet of the slaves, who studied their nakedness with equal astonishment. Bakako felt his breath suffocate, as if awakening into a nightmare. The plaza reeked of urine and excrement. The men were shackled at the ankles with chains like Admiral used for his ships’ anchors, and the women and children were bound with cord. Many gazed and cried forlornly to the ground. Others groaned and pleaded to their spirits in the heavens.

  Bakako recoiled from this spectacle and stared forward to the mule Admiral rode. But he couldn’t escape the haunting reality, as close to his side stood a girl as beautiful as Kamana with an infant on her hip, with lovely black skin and an innocent face, and with a rope about her neck. Bakako peered into her eyes and beheld a depth of hopelessness he had witnessed but once—in the storms at sea—and she gazed back into his eyes as if to ask what his own fate would be. He longed to shout that he was not with or of the natives. But he averted his eyes forward again, kept his pace, and, instead of shouting, prayed to Yúcahu that she be spared whatever fate the natives intended.

  Bakako glared at Admiral, Pero Alonso, and their hosts and perceived that they continued the journey without pause or concern, oblivious to the degradation about them, seemingly because they found it ordinary and commonplace. Admiral did turn to evaluate some of the larger black-skinned men, much as he studied the angle of Niña’s sails in the wind. Bakako felt the harsh stare of natives inspecting his arms, legs, body size, and strength.

  The travelers turned east along the shore and entered the greatest market Bakako and Yutowa had yet seen. As Pero Alonso explained, they wondered at baskets of “oranges” and “lemons” and sacks of “rice,” “wheat,” “barley,” and black “pepper.” They were astonished by the variety of weapons displayed for trade, including not only the daggers, swords, and bows and arrows to which they had become accustomed but “bludgeons,” “battle-axes,” and shining “armor” worn like clothing. They spied related items Pero Alonso chose not to discuss, including chains and shackles apparently fit for men’s ankles and wrists, thick, tapered ropes with lashes that could be used to
whip beasts or men, and a wooden piece with holes where a man’s neck and wrists could be locked.

  By nightfall, the party arrived at a small village (Sacavém) along the Tagus, where their hosts arranged lodging and a hearty local meal. They dined on the meat of beasts—Pero Alonso called it “beef”— which they found tough and heavy and, at the meal’s end, “cake,” which pleased them. That night, Pero Alonso took them to a room for themselves and showed them “beds,” as Admiral had aboard the ships. For the first time, they lay in “wool” cloth from “sheep” and found it kept them warm, although the bed was not as comfortable as a hammock.

  They lay in darkness but for the wan hue of a candle, and Yutowa turned to Bakako. “It hasn’t been as I expected.”

  “Nor for me. The houses are tremendous, the villages are enormous, and their know-how to make things is extraordinary. Their beasts are extraordinary and incredibly powerful.”

  “Yes. But I expected to be amazed by these things—except the beasts. We knew it would be extraordinary before we arrived.”

  Bakako sensed Yutowa’s anxiety and sat upright, as he felt it himself. “I know what you’re thinking, and I felt it all day.” He paused to express his thoughts carefully. “These people are not a friendly people.”

  “They don’t share food and water with visitors.”

  “They don’t share food and water even among themselves. They don’t even share food and water with a child or infant who is hungry unless repeatedly asked. And even then there appear many who go hungry.”

  Yutowa nodded in agreement. “Our dinner tonight was fulsome. But there are natives outside—you saw them in this very village— who now hunger.”

  “You saw the hungry outside their ‘churches.’ Their spirit Christ doesn’t see or care to help,” Bakako reflected. “It’s worse than being unfriendly. They have many ‘slaves,’ as Admiral would call them.”

  “Maybe they’ve won them in battle, and the outcome deserved. Maybe they’re born as naborias.”

  “Maybe. But everywhere the slaves are black skinned. It’s as if they chose a different people to enslave. Maybe they’re like Caribes in this regard, but unlike Caribes they enslave men as well as women.”

  The two Guanahaníans quivered silently, each aware they dreaded the same premonition. Yutowa broke the silence. “Do you think that’s what they intend for Guanahaníans and the Taínos of the other islands?”

  “I don’t know.” Bakako shuddered. “But we’ll learn the answer if ever Admiral returns us home.”

  Both youths labored to sleep. Bakako was haunted by Admiral’s explanation to Guacanagarí that the fort in Guarico was built to defend against Caribes. He trembled at Guacanagarí’s horror if informed of what Bakako now knew.

  The next day, after trudging through rain, the travelers arrived by evening at the Monastery of Santa María das Virtúdes in a small town nestled among pine forest in the Vale de Paraíso, and King João received them in a local residence. He had been warned that Colombo beamed with pride and insolence and exaggerated the discovery falsely. João recalled his own pride on proving Guinea could be circumvented, and he steeled himself to bide the Genoese’s smug rejoinder that India had yet to be so achieved while the route across the Ocean Sea had proven true.

  Cristóvão anticipated the king’s jealousy and relished it. He judged that, as he had not sailed to Guinea, the king likely would not harm him for fear of a dispute with Fernando and Isabel.

  João was overcome by humiliation the moment Cristóvão, Pero Alonso, and the two heathens were ushered before him, realizing that the heathens couldn’t have come from Guinea and did possess the skin color often ascribed to Indians. But he concealed his consternation and graciously invited Cristóvão to be seated, courteously inquired of his health and that of his family and sovereigns, and then asked to hear of the tremendous voyage. Cristóvão responded effusively, describing his journey to Cipangu—indicating that the two “Indians” called it “Cibao”—and ballyhooing its gold mines, great wealth, and commercial potential.

  João waited for Colombo to express every treasure and splendor and then responded. “I’m delighted your journey has come to such fruition.”

  “Your Lordship, Cipangu indeed is as I told you.”

  “I have two concerns, however. First, which we can discuss when you are rested tomorrow, is whether what you have found is Antillia as opposed to Cipangu.” João sternly gazed into Colombo’s eyes. “The second is that, whatever you have found, I believe it is my possession, according to the treaty between myself and Fernando and Isabel.”

  Cristóvão was startled. “I assure you it was Cipangu, neither Guinea nor Antillia.” Cristóvão pointed to Bakako and Yutowa. “These are Indians, not Guineans, as you can see plainly. Your Lordship, Fernando and Isabel prohibited me from sailing to Mina or any place in Guinea, and I did not. We sailed west from the Castilian possessions at the Canaries.”

  “So, by the treaty, your Cipangu is mine.”

  Cristóvão recoiled silently for a moment, aware he couldn’t bluff arguments about royal understandings with the king. “Your Lordship, I haven’t read the treaty, but I’ve followed my sovereigns’ orders to not sail to Guinea.”

  “Your discovery is mine.” João smiled graciously. “But there is no need for you and I to discuss this. This is for myself and King Fernando and Queen Isabel. I’m sure there will be no need for arbitrators.” João dismissed the audience and extended Colombo great courtesies for the night.

  On Sunday, March 10, João invited Colombo to participate in Mass at the monastery’s chapel, and they celebrated the Eucharist together. Each man’s confession was scant in substance if not form. João pondered what riches were at stake. Cristóvão cringed that he not say anything that bolstered Portugal’s claim to Cipangu.

  After Mass, João invited Colombo and his party to continue the report of their discovery. João ordered an attendant to set a bowl of dried beans on a table and turned to Yutowa to ask in Portuguese and with gestures, “Can you make a map of your kingdoms?”

  Cristóvão understood João’s design and directed Yutowa in Castilian. “Make a map of the Indies, just as you did the first day on the deck of the Santa María.”

  Yutowa laid some beans in the shape of Bohío. “Haiti or Bohío.”

  “I have named this island La Española,” Cristóvão interrupted. João hid his great displeasure.

  Yutowa then shaped Cuba. “Cuba.”

  “It’s now Juana, for the prince,” Cristóvão added.

  Yutowa continued, depicting Boriquén, Yamaye, and many Lucayan islands. Sadly but proudly, he placed a tiny pea for Guanahaní at the map’s northern edge. “Guanahaní.”

  “San Salvador, for the Savior.”

  João studied the map. “Which is your Cipangu?”

  “It’s within Española.” Cristóbal studied João’s face, but it was impenetrable. Cristóbal turned to Yutowa. “Show him Cibao.” Yutowa pointed to Haiti.

  “And Cathay?” asked João.

  “It lies west of Española, perhaps a few days’ sail.”

  “Impossible. Absolutely impossible. The Indies can’t be that close. These islands are consistent with our understanding of Antillia.”

  After an interlude of some debate—cordial but pointed—João wiped the beans to the side, undoing the map, and then turned to Bakako and gestured for him to draw a map of his kingdoms.

  Cristóvão hid his glee. “Bakako, draw your own map of the Indies.”

  Bakako quickly did so, producing a map of the Taíno world much like Yutowa’s and ascribing the same names to each island. Cristóvão glanced at João and confirmed the king was convinced the islands named had been discovered. João suspected the archipelago lay southeast of Jesus Christo, where many had expected Antillia to be found.

  João gave Bakako and Yutowa scarlet clothing for their efforts and dismissed the audience, again affording Colombo gracious courtesies. That evening, the king’s cou
ncilors decried the Genoese’s boastfulness and insolence and harangued that his conduct could be said to have triggered an altercation that resulted in his death. João recoiled from murdering Colombo, envisioning a scandal with Fernando and Isabel regardless of the momentary satisfaction it would provide.

  On March 11, Cristóvão’s party departed for Lisbon, stopping en route to pay respects to Queen Leonor, who was avoiding the plague at another convent nearby, together with her younger brother, Manuel, now heir to the throne. João summoned his council to consider dispatching an armada to the islands Colombo claimed for Castile.

  Cristóvão’s party rested that night in small town (Alhandra) by the Tagus and chartered a boat to travel by the river directly to the Niña. A messenger arrived professing that the king offered pack animals to take them to Barcelona by land, but Cristóvão declined, suspecting instead an attempt on his life, and proceeded by the boat, rejoining the Niña the next evening. The Niña sailed for Seville when the tide ebbed the following morning.

  Unknown to Cristóvão, as the Niña rounded Cape St. Vincent, the Pinta was not far behind. Martín had learned of Colón’s arrival in Lisbon and, without a response from the sovereigns’ to his own request for an audience, set sail from Bayona for Palos. Martín was now dying, too debilitated to walk, no less journey to Barcelona, and Arias accompanied him home, armed with an additional charge to lay against Colón—treason with João. Martín raged feverishly that the Genoese would seek his incarceration and that it would be necessary to hide rather than return to the home in Palos. He exhorted deliriously that the gold not be shared with the Genoese.

  The Niña encountered weak winds on March 14 and failed to advance to Seville. At noon the next day, Cristóbal directed Juan Niño to guide his ship across the bar at Palos, and, in a rising tide, the Niña floated up the Río Tinto to anchor off St. George’s church.

  News of the Niña’s return spread rapidly—shouted in streets and markets, borne by ferrymen to Moguer and Huelva, heralded in the towns’ churches and taverns—and crowds thronged the embankment at St. George’s church. Mothers, fathers, wives, children, friends, and neighbors were overcome with relief and joy that the Niña and crew had safely returned, dazzled that lands had been discovered at an incredible distance west, petrified that many of their loved ones had been left there, and desolate and grief stricken that many had been lost and would never return, including the expedition’s very captain. But, as the Pinta floated into the Saltes hours later, borne by the same tide, and as word spread that those left in the distant lands were well safe, tumultuous celebration erupted.