When word of Magellan’s spectacular commission reached Portugal, King Manuel reacted with alarm. The navigator had betrayed them all, and the members of the royal court were at a loss to understand why he had done so. The Portuguese court historian João de Barros, who had a passing acquaintance with Magellan, contended that a demonic force had possessed the navigator: “Since the devil always maneuvers so that the souls of men entertain evil deeds in whose undertaking he shall perish, he prepared this occasion for this Ferdinand Magellan to become estranged from his king and his kingdom, and to go astray.” No one in Portugal dared to admit the actual reason for Magellan’s behavior, that King Manuel had refused to back the navigator, humiliating him over and over again.
King Manuel did what he could to ruin Magellan’s name while, at the same time, trying to lure Magellan and Faleiro back to Portugal. He involved the Portuguese ambassador to King Charles’s court, Álvaro da Costa, who sought out the two exiles, promising that King Manuel would reconsider their request for an expedition. Da Costa was explicit about the dire consequences that would befall the two if they continued with their plan to sail for Spain; they would offend God, King Manuel, and relinquish all personal honor. Nor would matters end there; their families and heirs would suffer, and they would upset the delicate truce between Spain and Portugal at the very moment that King Manuel was planning to marry King Charles’s sister, Leonor.
Magellan refused to be swayed by the ambassador’s entreaties. He suspected that if he returned to Portugal he would be thrown into jail, tried for treason, and executed. Summoning all his meager diplomatic skills, Magellan replied that he had formally renounced his allegiance to King Manuel and given his loyalty to King Charles. He had no obligation to serve anyone else.
Frustrated by Magellan’s stubbornness, Álvaro da Costa appealed to King Charles himself. “Your Highness has plenty of vassals for discoveries without having to turn to those malcontents,” he argued. Uncertain about how to handle the matter, King Charles turned to his advisers for guidance, and they reiterated their position that the Spice Islands lay in the Spanish hemisphere, and Magellan’s expedition would not violate the Treaty of Tordesillas. King Charles followed the advice, and Magellan and Faleiro retained his backing in spite of pressure from Portugual.
Da Costa tried to put the best face on his failed attempt at diplomacy. He wrote to King Manuel that Magellan and Faleiro actually wished to return to Portugal, but King Charles prevented them from doing so. Da Costa probably believed his letter would remain confidential, but its contents became known, much to the outrage of King Charles. Ultimately, da Costa’s false claims hurt Portugal’s cause, and hardened King Charles’s determination to stand by his two embattled explorers. Portugal’s attempt to attack Magellan confirmed the belief of King Charles’s advisers that they had hit on a scheme of great strategic value. Yet relations between the two neighboring countries were more complicated than they appeared. Despite all the tension between them, King Manuel proceeded with his plans to marry Charles I’s sister, Leonor, according to a contract dated July 16, 1518. In so doing, rivals for the control of world trade would be yoked by marriage. Instead of ending the strife, the impending union pushed the conflict offshore. Rather than competing head to head on the Iberian peninsula, Spain and Portugal would grapple for control of trade routes around the world. They remained simultaneously rivals and allies, as affairs of state and matters of the heart alternated in rapid succession.
Four days after King Manuel completed his nuptial arrangements, the Spanish monarch instructed the Casa de Contratación to proceed with Magellan’s expedition to the Spice Islands without delay. Magellan and Faleiro were to receive money to begin their preparations, and they were ordered to Seville to outfit their ships.
City of Gold. City of Water. City of Faiths. “Quien no ha visto Sevilla,” runs a saying, “no ha visto maravilla.” “Who has not seen Seville, has not seen wonder.” For centuries, Seville, the preeminent city of Andalusia, has held Spain in its thrall. “I have placed Seville, or rather God has placed her, as the mother of all the cities and center of the glory and excellences of that territory,” wrote an early historian of the city, “for it is the most populous and greatest of her capitals.” Now, at the height of the Age of Discovery, Seville hovered at the apex of its prosperity and influence. The city straddling the Quadalquivir River was an amalgam of Roman, Visigoth, Muslim, Jewish, and Christian cultures. Its fame reverberated throughout the known world, borne on ships to destinations only vaguely located on maps. Throughout Europe, only Venice, Naples, and Paris were larger; Seville, with a population of about 100,000, was on a par with Genoa and Milan, each of them a thriving trading center; London, the largest city in Britain, claimed only half as many inhabitants as boisterous Seville.
Above all, Seville was a commercial center, “well adapted to every profitable undertaking, and as much was brought there to sell as was bought, because there are merchants for everything,” in the words of a sixteenth-century observer. “It is the common homeland, the endless globe, the mother of orphans, and the cloak of sinners, where everything is a necessity and no one has it.” Only Seville was capable of providing Magellan with the technology, the labor, and the financial resources to travel halfway around the world in search of lands to claim and spices to bring back to Europe.
It was also a city of faith, the home of the third largest church in the world, after Saint Peter’s in Rome and Saint Paul’s in London. Work on Seville’s cathedral continued for well over a hundred years, until 1519, the year Magellan set sail for the Spice Islands. With its bell tower, vaults, chambers, and fantastic amalgam of Gothic, Greco-Roman, and Arabic architecture, the cathedral became the expression of Seville’s striving, a world unto itself. The flame of the Catholic faith burned most brightly in Seville during Semana Santa, Holy Week, lasting from Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday, when solemn, almost frightening processions of religious penitents coursed through the city’s narrow, winding streets and capacious squares. The penitents walked barefoot over the sharp stones and splinters embedded in the streets, bearing a wooden cross, their feet bleeding, displaying their wounds in emulation of Jesus. This was an act of piety straight out of the Middle Ages, a demonstration of blind obedience to an omnipotent Lord, a recognition of and mastery over mortal suffering, and an acknowledgment of humankind’s sinful state. As such, it served as good practice for the rigors and pains of a voyage of discovery.
As Magellan and Faleiro arrived in Seville to commence preparations in earnest for the voyage, the ill will between Spain and Portugal led to rumors that the lives of the Portuguese co-commanders were in danger. It was said that Bishop Vasconcellos, a confidant of King Manuel, inspired an assassination attempt. Magellan was inclined to ignore the death threats, but King Charles took the intimidation so seriously that he provided bodyguards for Magellan and Faleiro, granted them another audience, proclaimed them Knights of the Order of Santiago, and reaffirmed the terms of their original commission. Having done all he could to demonstrate his support of the two Portuguese, King Charles urged them to begin their expedition as soon as possible. Time was short, and an empire was at stake.
Something has come up,” Magellan wrote to King Charles on Saturday, October 23, 1518, in the midst of outfitting the fleet for the voyage. Unlike many captains, Magellan involved himself in the day-to-day preparations, even loading goods onto the ships as if he were an ordinary seaman, not the Captain General, and that was how the trouble started. Despite his close interaction with the sailors and dockworkers, or perhaps because of it, Magellan believed he did not receive the cooperation and respect to which he was accustomed. In desperation, he appealed to the one individual who could restore order.
It is possible that Magellan’s problems stemmed at least in part from his inadequate Spanish; time and again, he had to rely on translators, and his inability to communicate underscored his outsider status. Even now, writing to King Charles, he had to rely on a scribe, “because I still
do not know how to write in Spanish as well I should.” He proceeded to explain the matter. “I had to haul one of the ships to shore because there was an ebb tide. I got up at three in the morning to make sure that the riggings were in place and when it was time to work I ordered the men to put up four flags with my coat of arms on the mast where those of the captain are customarily placed, while those of Your Majesty were to be placed on top of Trinidad, which is the name of the ship.” The unusual juxtaposition of signs, emphasizing that a Portuguese captain was sailing for Spain, attracted a large, gossipy crowd of onlookers. “Because in this world there is never any lack of envious people, they began to talk. They said I had done wrong in putting up my coat of arms on the capstan.” The crowd thought that the four flags containing Magellan’s coat of arms signified those of the king of Portugal. Resentment boiled along until a functionary ordered Magellan to remove the offending flags. “I approached him and told him that those flags were not of the King of Portugal but my own, and that I was a vassal of Your Majesty.” And he refused to remove the flags. Another Spanish official approached Magellan with the same demand. No, Magellan explained, he would not take down the flags.
As Magellan was explaining all this to the official, the man who had first approached him, “without any warning and without any authority to do so . . . came up the steps calling the people to seize the Portuguese captain who had put up the flags of the King of Portugal.” He demanded to know why Magellan chose to display these flags, and Magellan, not surprisingly, refused to explain.
At that moment, chaos erupted. The insolent functionary “called military officers to seize me and laid his hands on me, shouting that they would seize me and my men.” Worse, “There were some who showed their intentions to harm my men rather than to help us do what was for the service of Your Majesty.” At that point, the two officials who had challenged Magellan got into a fight with each other over how to treat Magellan. The workmen outfitting Trinidad quickly fled, as did a number of the sailors, further exasperating Magellan, who stood by helplessly as he watched the local officials disarm the sailors, and even arrest several of them and lead them away to prison. In the struggle, one of Magellan’s pilots was stabbed as he was going about his work. Although Magellan escaped harm, his dignity and authority had suffered a blow. To make matters worse, the fight had occurred in the open, under the watchful eye of a Portuguese spy, who would carry news of the brawl back to Lisbon. “Because I believe that Your Majesty does not approve of maltreating men who leave their kingdom and their own kind to come and serve Your Majesty,” Magellan wrote, “I ask you most humbly to decide what would be best for your service. Whatever Your Majesty orders would give me utmost satisfaction because I consider the affront done me not an affront done to one Ferdinand Magellan, but done to a captain of Your Majesty.”
Magellan’s fury at the incident was understandable. An exile, he enjoyed the protection of King Charles, but in reality he was at the mercy of the mob and self-appointed busybodies. If he could not maintain order here on the quay at Seville, how would he lead men on the perilous journey across an uncharted ocean to the Spice Islands? And if there was another uprising on a distant shore, where it would be impossible for him to summon the king’s help, how would matters stand?
Within days of receiving Magellan’s letter, King Charles demonstrated his loyalty and punished the offenders—those who had boarded Trinidad, stabbed the pilot, seized Magellan himself—and arrested the sailors. Preparations for the voyage continued, but the flag incident served as a warning to Magellan that his men, especially the Spaniards, posed a danger as great as the sea itself.
On April 6, 1519, the king sent orders to another officer, Juan de Cartagena—orders that became the most controversial aspect of the entire expedition—to serve as the inspector general of the fleet under the command of the two Portuguese commanders. Yet his salary was considerably more than Magellan’s, the highest of any in the fleet: 110,000 maravedís. Essentially, Cartagena was to have the final say over all commercial aspects of the expedition; he was the chief accountant and representative of the king’s treasury. “You must see to it that a book is kept in which you will make entry of all that is loaded in the holds. These things must be marked with your mark, each different class of merchandise being by itself; and you must designate particularly what belongs to each person, because, as will be seen later, the profits must be allotted at so much to the pound, in order that there may be no fraud.”
That was not all. It would be Cartagena’s job to “see to it carefully that the bartering and trading of said fleet is done to the greatest possible advantage to our estates.” He would have to check every entry in every book, and once it met his approval, sign off on it. At every step, he was to exercise “much care and vigilance.” And it was certainly in his interest to do so, because he had invested his own funds in the expedition. This provision made Magellan responsible to Cartagena for all commercial decisions. The wording (“to the greatest possible advantage to our estates”) enabled Cartagena to step in at any moment and prevent Magellan from enriching himself, even if he believed he was entitled to do so under his own contract with King Charles. Implicitly, these new instructions to Cartagena took precedence over the prior arrangement.
There was more. Cartagena was to function as the eyes and ears of the king throughout the voyage. “You will advise us fully and specifically of the manner in which our instructions and mandates are complied with in said lands; of our justices; of the treatment of natives of said lands; . . . [and] how said captains and officers”—meaning, especially, Magellan and Faleiro—“observe our instructions, and other matters of our service.” If the co-commanders were negligent in any way, Cartagena was to report their behavior to the Casa de Contratación in writing. The instructions were so thorough that a Spaniard predisposed to mistrust Magellan and Faleiro could conclude that he, and not they, had the final say on the conduct of the entire voyage.
And that was exactly the conclusion to which Cartagena came.
Even as he undercut Magellan’s authority, King Charles remained concerned about the possibility of open conflict between Spain and Portugal and tried his hand at personal diplomacy. Writing to Manuel from Barcelona in February 28, 1519, Charles confessed, “I have been informed by letters which I have received by persons near you that you entertain some fear that the fleet which we are dispatching to the Indies, under the command of Ferdinand Magellan and Ruy Faleiro, might be prejudicial to what pertains to you in those parts of the Indies”—which was putting it mildly. Charles continued. “In order that your mind may be freed from anxiety, I thought to write to you to inform you that our wish has always been, and is, duly to respect everything concerning the line of demarcation which was settled and agreed upon with the Catholic king and queen my sovereigns and grandparents.” And he vowed that “our first charge and order to the said commanders is to respect the line of demarcation and not to touch in any way, under heavy penalties, any regions of either lands or seas which were assigned to and belong to you by the line of demarcation.”
On May 8, 1519, amid frenzied preparations for departure, King Charles delivered his final instructions for the voyage to Magellan and Faleiro, instructions so detailed that the two commanders might have thought the king would be coming along with them in one of the ships.
Magellan and Faleiro were ordered to record every landfall and landmark they attained, and if they came across any inhabited lands, they were to “try and ascertain if there is anything in that land that will be to our interest.” They were also to treat humanely any indigenous peoples they happen to find, if only to make it possible for the fleet to assure its supply of food and water. Magellan could seize any Arabs he found in the Portuguese hemisphere—an implicit admission that he might violate the Treaty of Tordesillas, after all—and, if he wished, sell them for slaves. In contrast, if Magellan came across Arabs in the Spanish hemisphere, he was to treat them well and to make treaties with their
leaders. Only if they were belligerent could Magellan subject them to punishment, as a warning. But this was not in any sense a slaving expedition. Magellan was to go in search of spices and lands, and nothing else, and when he reached the Spice Islands, his instructions were to “make a treaty of peace or commerce with the king or lord of that land” before he attempted to load the goods onto his ships.
Although the king warned Magellan to be careful in his dealings with Indians (“Beware you do not trust the natives because sometimes, on account of going unarmed, disasters happen”), the orders insisted that Magellan treat them fairly. “You shall not cheat them in any way, and . . . you shall not break [the deal]. . . . You shall not consent in any manner that any wrong or harm be done to them . . . ; rather, you shall punish those who do harm.”
And on a sensitive point, Magellan and Faleiro had to see to it that the crew members had no contact with local women. “You shall never consent to have anyone touch a woman . . . the reason being that in all those parts the people, on account of this thing over and above all, might rebel and do harm.” That order would prove impossible to enforce, as would another clause prohibiting the use of firearms; members of the expedition were forbidden to discharge them in newly found lands lest they terrify the Indians on whose goodwill they would depend. It was another well-intended but impractical edict; if the men had weapons, they would use them.
The orders spelled out what Magellan should do in the event that one of the ships became separated from the fleet: “They should wait a month at the place agreed before and leave a sign which will consist of five rocks put on the ground forming a cross on both sides of the river, and another cross of sticks. You will also leave something written in a receptacle buried in the ground indicating the time and date the ship came by.”
Over the Edge of the World: Magellen's Terrifying Circumnavigation of the Globe Page 5