by John Regan
Chapter 5
The bloated government department that was the Casa de Contratación seemed incapable of transforming the impatience of king and captain general into action. During these weeks, which dragged into months, Magellan badgered and hectored with scant result and Pigafetta observed the frustration grow, tempered only by the birth of his son, Rodrigo, on Easter Day. A traveller from Lisbon warned that Dom Manuel was preparing a fleet to intercept the Armada de Moluccas and destroy it on the high seas, refuelling his impatience. The organisation reflected the personality of Bishop Fonseca himself: cold, deliberate, inexorably plodding like a tortoise; the Spanish genius for convoluted bureaucracy.
Pigafetta continued his search for Ana, confronting a wall of secrecy and denial at the door of every convent and monastery in Seville. “No such person here,” or “We do not release the names of our novitiates,” or “You will require authority from the bishop,” until Pigafetta began to suspect the influence of that legless man conniving in the gallery of his ancestors. Pedro Velasquez was released from the Tower of Gold after two weeks and all charges dropped. He was again captain of Santa Isabella when she sailed for the Indies with a battalion of soldiers for the conquest of Peru.
Serrano brought the little Santiago up the river to Seville and then they were five – three Spanish and two Portuguese. João Serrão was now officially Juan Serrano, a citizen of Castile. That gave the armada a majority four to one of Spanish captains, which should shut the critics up.
After yet another letter from the king, Bishop Fonseca called another meeting. The captain general, Serrano and Pigafetta strode into the board room furnished with a huge, polished table of West Indies mahogany and around the walls the inevitable portraits of bishops, governors and conquistadors. Fonseca, in his robes, sat at the head of the table and Cartagena, Mendoza and Quesada adjacent to him. Quesada and Mendoza were not thought to be Fonseca’s bastards but merely his friends or, as the captain general preferred to call them, lackeys. Fonseca glared at Pigafetta but addressed Magellan.
“Captain General, this is a conference of captains. We do not need outsiders.”
“Pigafetta is not an outsider. He is my scribe. He is here to make a true record of the proceedings.”
“My secretary can provide you with a copy of the minutes of the meeting.”
He gestured towards a man seated at a small table at the back of the room.
“I prefer my own record,” Magellan said and pulled two chairs out from the table, one for himself and one for Pigafetta, and sat down. Serrano also sat. Pigafetta produced his quill, parchment and ink pot and set them on the table, enjoying this moment. Fonseca opened his mouth to say something but then changed his mind. He shuffled some papers on the table before him and then addressed the meeting.
“The king has provided standing orders for this voyage. The purpose of this meeting is to review those orders and ensure they are understood.”
Fonseca handed a copy of the regulations to Cartagena, inviting discussion. Pigafetta was tempted to note in the minutes ‘Deliberate insult by Bishop Fonseca,’ but decided he had better confine himself to spoken words. The regulations were merely the standard instructions for all Spanish ships, already well known.
Next came the king’s capitulación spelling out the privileges of Magellan, Cristóbal de Haro, Dom Diogo Barbosa and other investors in the fleet, which Fonseca read aloud.
Magellan was to be appointed governor of any countries or islands discovered: “The title is to be handed down to you and your sons and rightful heirs forever, so they remain for us and the kings that come after us, and your sons and heirs being natives of our realms and being married in them; and of this we send you our formal letter of privileges. Also, to grant the greater favour, if more than six islands be discovered you may take the fifteenth part of all profits and duties of the king after all expenses have been deducted.”
“...and the next paragraph,” the bishop droned, “grants the right to invest in goods each year to the value of a thousand ducats, cost price, to sell in whatever islands may be discovered and bring back the returns paying only a twentieth in duty to the king...”
The bishop paused, gazed around the room before settling on the captain general with an owlish look.
“The terms are very generous, señor.”
“I have no quarrel with them.”
The bishop put the capitulación aside and took up another paper, glancing around the men at the table before beginning to read. It was a letter from the king expressing impatience at the delay and instructing the fleet to sail before the end of June, ready or not.
“Have you anything to say, Captain General?” Fonseca asked.
“I have reams and volumes to say, Your Grace, but talk does not load my ships. There are stores on order from Madrid and Cadiz and Barcelona that have not arrived after six months.”
“I will look into the matter, Captain General, but this does not answer the king’s query. When does the fleet sail?”
“When we have all the stores and ammunition and barrels and rope and sails we need, and enough men to work them, then the fleet will sail.”
“The king desires you to shift down the river to Sanlùcar de Barrameda.”
“Very well. Whatever the king commands I obey. We shall shift the fleet to Sanlùcar and waste more time sending boats up and down the river.”
“Do you question it, Portuguese man?” Cartagena said.
“I question your right to be at this meeting, let alone to open your mouth.”
“Gentlemen,” said Fonseca, while the three dandies leaned forward in their chairs and stared at the captain general as if inspecting an insect, “This squabbling wastes our valuable time. Now, for the information of the king I wish to have it agreed what course the fleet will follow, so sailing orders can be drawn up.”
“The ships still want for sails and rope, provisions and men,” the captain general said. “How do you talk of sailing orders? This is not a matter for bishops and bureaucrats, but for seamen and pilots.”
“The king desires to know.”
“Which king? Of Spain or Portugal?”
“I resent your inference, Captain General. As if I have any intercourse with Portugal.”
“Resent what you please, why would you have us sail with leaky ships, rotten meat and insufficient crews? Who would stir up trouble with the agents of Dom Manuel?”
“The king grows impatient at the delay.”
“It has been in your own hands these last twelve months to cure it.”
“The sailing orders, Captain General,” Fonseca persisted.
“Very well, the sailing orders. The course across the Ocean Sea is sou-west by south.”
“A foolish course,” said Mendoza. “That will lead us into the Sea of Mares where Columbus had no wind.”
“Then let the course be north-east by east. Is that better?”
“This is not a frivolous matter, Captain General,” the bishop said.
“Very well then, let these fine gentlemen, my captains, decide the course.”
“West sou-west,” said Cartagena.
“Sou-sou-west,” said Mendoza.
“Sou-west by west,” said Quesada.
“Indeed it is a matter of great difficulty,” the captain general said. “West by east or north by south perhaps? Let us box the compass and confuse our enemies.”
“This attitude does not look well, Captain General,” Fonseca said.
Magellan pushed back his chair and stood, leaning on the polished tabletop, glaring at them one after the other.
“Had any of you the least experience as seamen you would know the absurdity of trying to determine the course without reference to the wind and weather. This attitude is one of contempt for absurdities. Good day to you, gentlemen.”
He turned and stormed out of the room, down the corridors and out into the plaza followed by Pigafetta and Serrano, who, as they emerged into the sunlight, lost his st
ruggle to control his mirth and burst into laughter, slapping his captain general on the back.
“Well, you really set the cat among the pigeons, didn’t you? You’ll need to watch your back from now on.”
No woman was ever allowed aboard a ship commanded by Ferdinand Magellan, not even the beloved Beatriz, but his son and heir was a prince to him, and a captain general nursing a baby on the poop of his flagship was like to break down discipline among the crew. This was on the day of the fleet’s departure from Seville. He surrendered the baby back to his mother on the quay-side and, as the ship pulled away from the wharf, it was like a rope between them stretching, stretching, stretching until it snapped. Beatriz, on the wharf, broke down in tears; Magellan, on the ship, bit his lip, and silver-haired Dom Diogo put his arm around his daughter and his grandson and simply stared, not seeing.
Pigafetta’s vision was cloudy too. It was a vision of Ana with her cheeky laughter and brilliant smile somewhere out there. He wondered if she was laughing now or had her spirit been tamed and her will broken? He kissed his fingers and blew it out across Seville with a little prayer that it would find her wherever she was.
The king had lost patience and ordered the fleet downstream to Sanlùcar de Barrameda, never mind the stores still wanting, never mind the jobs undone, never mind the intelligence from spies that Dom Manuel had indeed prepared a fleet to intercept the armada on the high seas; the fleet must move.
An occasional scorching breath over parched fields sometimes stirred the sails, which otherwise hung as limp as curtains in an empty room as did the royal standard, the Habsburg eagle at the masthead. In the full heat of summer, bare-chested sailors sweated at the sweeps, while others towed ahead in longboats, assisted only by the sluggish tide. Keeping pace with the ships for a final farewell, a procession of women in a convoy of carts trailed along the river road, waving, blowing kisses and shouting jokes to their men.
Sanlùcar was the feudal seat of the Duke of Medina Sidonia and his walled castle overlooked the river. As captain general of a notable fleet, Magellan was offered hospitality for the duration of his stay. He refused. While Cartagena, Quesada and Mendoza went horse racing on the beach and hunting in the marshlands of El Rocío, the captain general crawled through bilges with the carpenter, pored over stores lists, checked his compass, astrolabe and charts were all in order. Such diligence was rewarded. Despite the procedures put in place, casks of putrid meat, weevilly biscuit and underweight stores were discovered. All had to be replaced by longboat or ox-cart from Seville.
It was about this time that Pigafetta began to have concerns about his captain general. Magellan slept badly and it showed in his demeanour in the mornings. He was surprised when the captain general called him into his cabin one day, sat him at the table and placed before him the parchment of his last will and testament.
“You’re an educated man, Pigafetta. I want you to check my will for mistakes.”
“I am not a notary, Captain General.”
“Never mind, I will leave it with the priest. Just check it and then you can be my witness.”
In the event of his death, Beatriz was to be repaid her dowry of 600,000 maravedis. Legacies were to be paid to several churches and a new chapel to Santa Maria de la Victoria built in the grounds of the convent. His slave, Henriqué, was to be freed and paid 10,000 maravedis as a gift. If Magellan died on shore he was to be buried in the nearest church devoted to Our Lady and on the day of his burial three poor men were to be clothed, each of them with a cloak of grey stuff, a cap, a shirt and a pair of shoes that they might pray for the repose of his eternal soul.
On the day before departure he ordered every man ashore in relays to take confession and communion at the church of Our Lady of Barrameda. He took absolution twice himself, once in the morning and once in the evening. When he returned on board, Pigafetta thought he had never seen a man look so bleak.