Over the Edge of the World: Magellen's Terrifying Circumnavigation of the Globe (8 page)

K
ing Manuel made one more attempt to subvert the Armada de Molucca. He sent his agent, Sebastián Álvares, a factor, to Seville, with orders to undo Magellan’s resolve. On July 18, 1519, Álvares secretly reported that the officials at the Casa de Contratación “cannot stomach” Magellan. The artful spy spoke vaguely but provocatively of disputes between the Casa de Contratación and Magellan concerning the sailors’ salaries. And he recounted his own efforts to persuade Magellan to call off the expedition: “I went to the lodgings of Magellan, where I found him arranging baskets and boxes with victuals of preserves and other things”—delicacies to be enjoyed by the expedition’s leaders rather than the crew. Álvares began a carefully rehearsed argument to persuade Magellan to abandon his nefarious scheme. I wished to recall to his memory how many times, as a good Portuguese and his friend, I had spoken to him, and opposed the great error he was committing. . . . I always told him . . . that he should see that this road has as many dangers as a St. Catherine’s Wheel.” According to the oft-repeated legend, Emperor Maxentius, a fierce pagan, captured a young convert to Christianity named Catherine in
A.D.
305. It was said that fifty philosophers tried to persuade her that her belief in Christianity was foolish, but Catherine, despite her youth, confounded their arguments and converted them to the faith. Maxentius ordered those unlucky philosophers put to death, and Catherine was sent to prison, where the emperor’s wife visited her and also converted to Christianity. At that, the emperor decided that Catherine herself must die. He ordered a wheel embedded with razors to be constructed; Catherine was bound to its rim, but instead of slicing her to pieces, the wheel shattered, and its splinters and razors injured the onlookers. In despair, the emperor finally ordered Catherine beheaded. If Magellan did not desire to suffer the fate of Catherine, Álvares urged him to “return to his native country and the favor of your Highness, where he would always receive benefits.”

Magellan replied that he was committed to Spain, and nothing could change his mind.

Álvares’s practiced reply would have unnerved a weaker soul than Magellan. “I said to him, that to acquire honor unduly, and when acquired by such infamy, was neither wisdom nor honor . . . for he might be certain that the chief Castilians of this city, when speaking of him, held him to be a vile man, of low blood, since to the disservice of his true king and lord he accepted such an enterprise.” Furthermore, “He might be sure that he was held to be a traitor in going against the State of your Highness.” Every term of opprobrium that Álvares hurled at Magellan strengthened the mariner’s resolve to carry out his mission. Even Álvares was impressed by Magellan’s conviction. “It seemed to me that his heart was true as to what befitted his honor and conscience.”

Despite his resolve, Magellan suffered pangs of conscience over his decision to abandon his homeland. “He made a great lamentation,” Álvares observed, “but that he did not know of anything by means of which he could reasonably leave a king who had shown him so much favor. I told him . . . that he should weigh his coming to Portugal.”

L
eaving Magellan to his torment, Álvares tried to persuade himself and King Manuel that the expedition would never come to pass. He counted on the once brilliant Faleiro’s deteriorating mental state to aid the Portuguese skulduggery. “I spoke to Ruy Faleiro on two occasions,” Álvares reported to his sovereign. “It seems to me that he is like a man deranged in his senses. . . . Its eems to me that, if Ferdinand Magellan were removed, Ruy Faleiro would follow whatever Magellan did.”

If the fleet somehow managed to depart, Álvares advised that the five ships were barely seaworthy. “They are very old and patched up, for I saw them when they were beached for repairs. It is eleven months since they were repaired, and they are now afloat, and they are caulking them in the water. I went on board [one of them] a few times, and I assure Your Highness that I should be ill inclined to sail in them to the Canaries.” These islands were only a few days’ sail from the Iberian coast, and if the ships could not be trusted to sail that far, how could they possibly reach the Indies?

Álvares went on to boast that he knew what course the fleet planned to follow. Once the ships crossed the Atlantic, if they crossed it, Brazil would remain “on their right hand” as they sailed to the line of demarcation dividing the Spanish and Portuguese halves of the world. He erroneously informed the king that the fleet would then sail across open water west and northwest to the Spice Islands. “There are no lands laid down in the maps which they carry with them,” Álvares noted with malicious glee. “Please God the Portuguese explorers whose fleet had sunk without a trace.

Of all the problems Álvares recounted, the most serious was Ruy Faleiro’s fragile mental state. Since leaving Portugal, and perhaps even before, the brilliant cosmographer had exhibited signs of instability. One acquaintance said that Faleiro “sleeps very little and wanders around almost out of his mind.” Others remarked on his irritability or simply stated that he had lost his mind. The evidence, fragmentary though it is, suggests that Faleiro was suffering from bipolar disorder or some form of extreme depression. Magellan remained silent on the subject of his colleague’s condition, but all around him Spanish officials commented on the danger of taking Faleiro in his unstable condition on a long and trying voyage. What if he went mad, misused his authority as co-admiral, and endangered the entire expedition?

Even King Charles took note of Faleiro’s condition, and on July 26, 1519, issued a royal certificate declaring that Faleiro would not sail with Magellan. Instead, the cosmographer would remain in Seville to prepare for another expedition that would follow in Magellan’s wake. This violation of the ten-year exclusive King Charles had granted Magellan was more likely a face-saving gesture designed to preserve what little dignity Faleiro had left, for he never went to sea.

Magellan seemed relieved to rid himself of the unstable Faleiro; he agreed to the removal as long as the fleet could keep the cosmographer’s precious, state-of-the-art navigational instruments, which is exactly what occurred. Faleiro’s trove consisted of thirty-five compasses, supplemented by an additional fifteen devices that Magellan purchased in Seville; a wooden astrolabe constructed by Faleiro himself; six metal astrolabes of a more common variety; twenty-one wooden quadrants; and eighteen hourglasses, some of which Magellan purchased himself. Then there were the charts, twenty-four in all, most of them top secret, all of them extremely valuable. An unauthorized individual caught with a chart could be punished severely, even with death. They were kept under lock and key, and under armed guard. Of the total number of charts, six had been drafted by Faleiro. Eighteen others were the work of the cosmographer Nuño Garcia, seven of these under the direction of Faleiro, and eleven more under the direction of Magellan. All of these precious items remained with the armada, at Magellan’s disposal. The fleet also carried quantities of prepared blank parchment, as well as dried skins to make still more parchment, if necessary, for additional maps.

So the team of Magellan and Faleiro, the driving force behind the expedition since their days in Lisbon, was sundered. In reality, the architect of Faleiro’s removal was probably Fonseca rather than King Charles. As head of the Casa de Contratación, Fonseca had long been looking for a way to alter the arrangement whereby two Portuguese commanded the expedition, and Faleiro’s illness provided just the excuse he needed. There is a story that Fonseca artfully provoked a quarrel between the two Portuguese comrades by entrusting the royal standard to Faleiro, indicating that he, not Magellan, would be the Captain General of the fleet. Magellan was said to have become so incensed that he requested Faleiro’s removal from the enterprise, and Fonseca was only too glad to comply.

Fonseca replaced the would-be explorer with Andrés de San Martín, a well-connected Spanish cosmographer and astrologer who had long sought a lofty role for himself in the Casa’s affair. San Martín occupied a prestigious position in the roster, and commanded a generous salary—an advance of 30,000
maravedís,
plus an additional 7,500 to cover expenses—but he did not hold Faleiro’s exalted rank. Faleiro had dazzled the Spanish with his brilliance, passion, and his aura of mysticism. San Martín, in contrast, was a fully qualified astronomer and astrologer who enjoyed the respect of the Spanish authorities, and nothing more.

The removal of Faleiro opened the way for Cartagena, the inspector general, to take his place. From Fonseca’s point of view, the promotion contained a certain numerical logic because the expedition would now have one Spanish and one Portuguese leader, but Magellan did not view matters that way. He considered himself the sole Captain General, and Cartagena simply the inspector general, not a co-admiral. Archbishop Fonseca clearly had another idea, for he appointed Cartagena as Faleiro’s replacement, specifying that he was
“persona conjunta.”
The exact meaning of this title was subject to varying interpretations, but at the minimum it meant that Magellan was supposed to consult with Cartagena in all matters. At the maximum, it meant that the two were cocommanders, with Cartagena, as inspector general, having a slight edge in his capacity as Magellan’s official supervisor.

Although he had no experience at sea, Juan de Cartagena found himself leading one of the largest maritime expeditions mounted by Spain. This bizarre situation had much to do with his relationship with the man who appointed him, Archbishop Fonseca. Cartagena was considered Fonseca’s nephew, but as everyone realized, that term was a euphemism: In reality, Cartagena was Fonseca’s illegitimate son. Nor was he the only example of this peculiar brand of nepotism. The fleet’s accountant, Antonio de Coca, was the “nephew” of Fonseca’s brother. Not only that, but Fonseca appointed two close “friends” and “servants” of his as captains of two of the ships; these were Luis de Mendoza, who assumed command of
Victoria,
and Gaspar de Quesada, of
Concepción.
Not surprisingly,

all three captains appointed by Fonseca—Cartagena, Quesada, and Mendoza—despised and looked down on Magellan from the moment they came on board.

Here, at last, was Fonseca’s revenge on Magellan. No matter what the contract said, Fonseca had managed to stifle Magellan’s authority, and, potentially, his share of the proceeds of the expedition, by appointing his natural son and his close allies to virtually all the important positions in the armada. Collectively, they, and not Magellan, would have the final say over the disposition of the fleet and its finances. They, and not Magellan, would decide the allocation of personnel and resources. Magellan still held the rank of Captain General, it was true, but it was reduced in power; from Fonseca’s point of view, Magellan served at the pleasure of his Castilian captains, rather than the other way around. The arrangement made it impossible for Magellan and his captains to make decisions in the best of circumstances, even if they felt goodwill toward one another. And if they lacked mutual trust and respect, which was far more likely to be the case, it set the stage for endless challenges to Magellan’s authority, in other words, for mutiny.

N
ot content with the removal of Faleiro, the archbishop turned his malign attention to Juan de Aranda, who had first introduced Magellan to the Castilian court. Fonseca launched an investigation in Juan de Aranda’s business arrangements with Magellan and Faleiro; all three were interrogated separately. Under oath, Magellan described the fees Aranda had received for the services he rendered to the explorers, and the signed agreement to distribute a portion of the proceeds to Aranda. On June 15, 1519, Aranda himself went before the Supreme Council of the Indies, and by all accounts acquitted himself well. He had served the interests of the Spanish crown in his dealings with Magellan and Faleiro, and as for his personal stake in the expedition, it was the custom of the era.

Despite these favorable indications, the Supreme Council censured Aranda for his actions, declaring that he had committed a criminal act by receiving money from Magellan; the judgment was signed by the council’s president, who just happened to be Fonseca. Two weeks later, the Spanish crown took up the council’s charges against Aranda and removed him from any further involvement with the expedition. He was, in short, disgraced. Fonseca could have tarred Magellan and Faleiro with the same brush, but they were not the targets of the inquiry, which concluded that these men were innocent of scandal. With the purge of the unstable Faleiro and now the acquisitive Aranda, Magellan could only have felt a sense of relief mingled with fear of what the all-powerful Fonseca might do next to the Armada de Molucca.

A
s the date of departure approached, Magellan turned his attention to the complicated and hugely expensive matter of provisioning the ships. During the long months of preparation, Magellan’s five ships were tied up at a dock known as the Puerto de las Muelas, because it was paved with millstones. It was here, at Millstone Dock, that the ships took on all the sailing gear, arms, provisions, and furnishings that they would bring on the voyage. It was the only dock where wine, an essential part of the sailors’ diet, was permitted to be loaded. The dock, and the area around it, throbbed with activity, the waters constantly stirred by small craft coming and going, the streets packed with carts bearing supplies, all of them checked by customs inspectors who made certain that the merchants paid their tariffs—and their payoffs—to the proper authorities.

Magellan approached the task of provisioning with as much attention to detail as he did the outfitting of the ships, and with good reason. The food represented a considerable investment: 1,252,909
maravedís,
nearly as much as the cost of the entire fleet, and that figure covered just enough food to see them through the first leg or two of the voyage. It was expected that the sailors would be looking for additional food at almost every port, and in the ocean itself.