by John Regan
Chapter 10
The captain general spent all next day in his cabin and did not emerge. Pigafetta wondered if he was ill and asked Henriqué whether he had been wounded but Henriqué said no, he was just reading the bible. Yesterday’s horror caused Pigafetta to reflect upon those of another Holy Week 1520 years before, or was it yesterday? Those biblical words describing the passion of Our Lord took on a new meaning when you could smell the blood, hear the screams and see the fear and rage and hatred on men’s faces. Across the water, he could see Mendoza’s body still tied to Victoria’s main mast.
In the temporary absence of the captain general, the running of the ship fell to Punzarol and Carvalho. Cartagena and Quesada were shackled to the ship’s frames on deck, objects of scorn and derision to passing sailors. There were dead to be buried and Pigafetta joined the boat crew taking Padre Valderrama to collect the bodies from Concepción and San Antonio, curious to know the state of mind of men who, however reluctantly, had embarked on mutiny. At first count it seemed about forty had joined the insurrection, and forty out of two hundred and sixty could hardly be called a popular uprising, especially since they had been urged into it by their captains. No one was going to admit to being part of a failed mutiny but witnesses identified the culprits, which included Juan Sebastian Elcano, Concepción’s master, the highest ranking mutineer after the Spanish captains.
Aboard San Antonio, Valderrama delivered the rites for the late master, Elorriaga, stabbed to death by Captain Quesada. There was no doubt about the circumstances of his death. Witnesses had seen Quesada stab him several times in the back. Captain Mesquita, now released from his confinement, also attended the brief service unable to keep the disgust off his face. The dead were given a Christian burial on Valderrama’s church island.
The captain general emerged from his seclusion next day, Maundy Thursday, the day of the Last Supper, when Jesus washed the feet of his disciples. He sent a boat to summon his captains, Mesquita, Barbosa and Serrano, to a meeting aboard Trinidad. Also present in the great cabin were Valderrama and Pigafetta.
“I have thought upon the matters of the last few months and conclude that what we see is nothing less than the decay of the human spirit. Those who rebel against authority disregard the words of Saint Peter: Submit yourselves to every ordinance of man for the Lord’s sake, whether it be to the king, as supreme, or to governors. Mutiny is a crime against the Lord Himself and it is beholden upon us, as servants of the Lord, to uphold His word. Vanity leads men to defy authority and vanity is a disease that spreads. Vanity, vanity, all is vanity and there is nothing new under the Sun.”
“Excuse me, Captain General,” said Valderrama. “The same author also said: The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong; neither yet bread to the wise nor riches to men of understanding nor yet favour to men of skill, but time and chance happeneth to them all.”
“Was it mere time and chance that caused Quesada to kill Elorriaga?”
“Perhaps it was the will of God.”
“Perhaps the will of God is time and chance and time and chance is the will of God.
The chaplain was not a young man and perhaps some indiscretion had caused his posting to the Armada de Moluccas, such as too great a fondness for the wine. But the wine was nearly gone and he attended to his duties with greater diligence than in the past.
“We shall investigate. I am appointing a court today to enquire into these matters. A court martial requires three judges. I have only three captains who are not traitors and so the court will consist of captains Serrano, Barbosa and Mesquita, with Mesquita as president.”
“Captain General,” Valderrama said, “if you were concerned with justice rather than vengeance you would appoint someone other than Captain Mesquita as president of the court.”
“They should be thankful I am giving them a trial at all but we have our superiors in Spain to think of, have we not? I the king and you the bishop.”
“Spain is a long way from here, Captain General. The superior you should be thinking of is the Lord our God, who commands in us the sentiments of Christian charity, of mercy and magnanimity.”
“The Lord our God is never far from my mind, Padre, especially this week. Will they have the grace to hang themselves, like Judas? Tomorrow is Good Friday. We shall convene on Sunday, the day of Resurrection.”
Easter Sunday dawned with a dusting of snow on the bare hills. Bowled along by the wind, tumbleweeds blew out of the desert, bounded over the shore and skipped out to sea. Half the morning was spent in bringing the mutineers in chains to the little island where Valderrama had built his makeshift church but which the captain general now named Isla Justicia, or Island of Justice. He had clearly decided on the path of justice, for he ordered several of the ship’s spare spars be brought ashore, since the island lacked trees from which the prisoners might be hanged, like Judas. They had to chase sea wolves and birds off the island in order to occupy it. A table was set up for the judges and a separate table for Pigafetta and two other scribes. The captain general instructed the chaplain to lead the men in prayer and then he read the proclamation.
“In accordance with the powers of knife and rope vested in me by His Most Sacred Majesty King Charles, and by the regulations of the Armada de Moluccas, I hereby charge and accuse you, Juan de Cartagena, and you, Gaspar Quesada, and you, Luis Mendoza, here represented by your earthly remains, and all these men you have encouraged by flattery and lies, of mutiny and treason, crimes that are abominations in the eyes of God and the king. How say you?”
“Not guilty,” each of the mutineers pleaded in turn, Valderrama entering the plea on behalf of Mendoza’s corpse. Espinosa had propped it up against a rock in its bloodstained armour so the glazed eyes seemed to follow the proceedings.
“It’s a marvellous thing, this justice,” the captain general said through clenched teeth, “which allows men to lie with impunity.”
“Captain General,” said Valderrama, “I speak for the defence out of a belief no man should be condemned without a chance to state his case. The fact is, the men have been driven to oppose you out of desperation, believing your conduct not in accordance with your warrant from the king.”
“It’s not my conduct on trial here.”
“Excuse me Excellency, but in a sense it is. Perhaps it must be admitted these men have done a foolish thing, but they are cold and hungry, thousands of leagues from home, surrounded by cannibals and who knows what other dangers.”
“Am I not just as far from home as they? Doesn’t my flesh also creep with goose bumps from the cold and don’t I also feel the pinch of hunger for an apple fritter?”
“Other men are not such as you, Captain General.”
“This mischief has been brewing for months, planned before we left the Dock of Mules. Fonseca put you up to this didn’t he?”
“My uncle...” Cartagena began, but the captain general interrupted him.
“He’s not your uncle but your father and you are his bastard.”
“You have no cause to insult my name and honour, and I’m as entitled to be captain general as you.”
“I’ll have your head right now, without waiting for the verdict of the judges!”
“You will do what you like with me, but I know I’m right.”
Magellan gazed on him in contempt, although it had to be admitted that Cartagena presented a better aspect than the others, who huddled in degrees of shame and fear.
“Captain General,” Valderrama said, “this wrangling does nothing to advance the cause of justice.”
“Justice; aye justice. We must have justice and then I’ll have their heads.”
Witnesses were called from the crew of San Antonio to describe the midnight attack in which Cartagena, Quesada and Elcano had sneaked aboard, killed the master, Juan Elloriaga, and imprisoned captain Mesquita in his own cabin.
“You saw San Antonio’s master die did you not?” he asked a man named Costa.
“I
did, Captain General.”
“Who killed him?”
“It was Captain Quesada, Excellency. He stabbed him three or four times, and Elorriaga without a weapon to defend himself.”
“It wasn’t me, it was Cartagena,” Quesada said.
“It was not Cartagena,” the witness said doggedly, “it was you.” He turned to Magellan, emboldened to speak at last. “Captain Quesada said if we didn’t join the mutiny he would kill us. We had no choice, señor. It was either that or die.”
Elcano next came under scrutiny and the captain general probed their intentions after capturing Victoria.
“Captain Quesada informed me,” said the Basque, “that he and Cartagena would try to escape on the ebb tide and go back to Spain. But Quesada told me he had no intention of fighting. ‘Let Cartagena do the dirty work,’ he said.”
“Yes, we’re familiar with Quesada’s cowardice. Someone set Concepción adrift. Was that you?”
“No, señor. Someone chopped the cable through with an axe.”
“Who?”
“It is not known, Captain General.”
More witnesses were examined on this point but none admitted to the act and the question was put aside. Each defendant was given an opportunity to speak but many chose not to. As to the reason for the mutiny, Cartagena returned to his assertion that, as Inspector General and conjunta persona, he was equal in command with Magellan.
“The title of Inspector General was created by Bishop Fonseca as a present for his bastard son. It was not created by the king, and there is no such position as conjunta persona in the regulations,” the captain general said.
The prisoners were allowed to sit on the stony ground while the judges conferred in whispers to consider their verdict. It was delivered by captain Mesquita to a drum roll.
“We find the defendant, Gaspar Quesada, guilty of murder, mutiny and treason. We find the defendants, Juan de Cartagena and Luis de Mendoza, guilty of mutiny and treason; all other prisoners guilty of mutiny.”
“Under the regulations of the Armada de Moluccas I have no choice but to impose on you the supreme penalty,” the captain general said. “Your heads shall be detached from your bodies, your earthly remains then to be divided into quarters and suspended in full view as a warning to others. How say you?”
“Captain General, is this wise?” said Valderrama. “There are forty-one men you have here condemned to death.”
“The fleet can manage without mutineers, traitors and murderers. Espinosa, do your duty.”
Two men-at-arms stripped off Mendoza’s armour and supported the rigid torso in a horizontal position. Espinosa took up the two-handed executioner’s sword and positioned himself carefully, legs wide apart. He raised the sword above his head and brought it whistling down on Mendoza’s almost bloodless neck, then on each limb in turn. The master-at-arms rested on the sword while his men removed the pieces, to be suspended from gibbets made of spare spars.
“Well, Quesada,” said the Captain General, “shall you be next?”
“Please, Excellency, I swear my loyalty till the day I die.”
“That’s not much of a pledge,” the captain general said. He turned to the other mutineers and said, “Who shall rid the world of this man? I will not ask my master-at-arms to soil his hands on him. Come, my brave mutineers; a free pardon for the one who rids us of this worm.”
“For the love of Jesus, Captain General,” Quesada said, “take pity.”
“As much pity as you had on Elorriaga. Cartagena, will you take off Quesada’s head and save your own?”
By a shake of the head, Cartagena indicated no nobleman of Andalusía could be tempted to stoop to such a cowardly act.
“Well then, Elcano. Will you be the man to create two Quesadas out of one?”
“No,” the Basque replied.
“Coca?”
“No, Excellency.”
“Is there no one here who will buy his life at such a small price?”
So far, no attention had been paid to Molina, Quesada’s personal secretary, who now shuffled forward and said, “Excuse me, sir, I will do it, if you please.”
“So, you’ve repented your sins have you?”
“For five years I have been his servant and never dreamed I’d have a chance like this.”
Quesada stopped sobbing and gazed in amazement while Molina, in a voice that rose to a frenzied shout, abused and accused him for every injustice he’d ever suffered in his downtrodden life. Quesada was a tyrant, a monster and a villain, Molina ranted. The greatest pleasure in his life was going to be chopping Quesada’s head off. It would make him proud to do the job and he humbly thanked the captain general and Divine Providence for the opportunity. The satisfaction was going to be a thousand times greater than he’d had from cutting Concepción’s anchor cable.
“Ah, the mystery is solved,” the captain general said. “We have you to thank for our success.”
As Molina’s manacles were removed and the executioner’s sword placed in his hands he trembled, white-faced and scared. Quesada broke down again.
“No, Captain General,” he begged. “Please God, have mercy. Molina, no.”
“Come, Quesada,” the captain general said. “You’re making us all embarrassed. He’s not going to cooperate, Espinosa. You will have to stretch him out.”
The master-at-arms and two of his men laid hands on the cringing mutineer and forced him to his hands and knees. Quesada emptied his bowels. Molina braced his feet, raised the sword and cleanly sliced his master’s head off.
“Do you care to divide him into quarters, Molina?” the captain general asked while the headless body spasmed on the ground spurting fountains of blood.
But Molina, splattered with blood, had dropped the sword, turned his back and was noisily vomiting.
“Evidently not. Ah well, you’re all brave fellows, you mutineers. Who shall be next?”
“Captain General, this butchery has gone far enough,” Valderrama said. “What purpose will be served by exterminating all these men?”
“The purpose is to show this fleet has one captain general and this world one God. The Lord Our Father, by betraying this plot to me, has shown His favour. We go on to lands where men have never been and carry His word to the heathen. As Jesus had his Judas, so do I; not one but forty-one of them. Down on your knees, all of you. We shall praise the Lord and you may beg His forgiveness and mercy. Down, I say. Let us pray.”
In a flurry of snow carried on the biting wind the men fell to their knees and in fear or reverence clasped their hands and uttered the ancient words, “Pater noster, qui est in coelis, sanctificator nomen tuum...”