To the Edge of the World Read online

  Confronted with their silence, Magallanes continued, “I beg of you, do not become Christians only because I tell you or because you fear the power of the Spaniards. Become Christians because you know in your hearts this is the right thing to do. I plead with each of you to consider this deeply, to search your souls. And to those that choose this day to become a Christian, I will give a full suit of Spanish armor.”

  The delegation conferred before the prince spoke. “We accept your treaty of peace and give you our assurances that Rajah Humabon will be delighted as well. We desire to become Christians and each of us wishes to be baptized today.”

  Magallanes embraced each of them. “By my faith in God, by my loyalty to the king, and by the crusader’s habit I wear, I swear perpetual peace will exist between the kings of Spain and the kings of Cebu.”

  Over the next two weeks, Rajah Humabon and all his household, his wives and his children, were baptized. In a colorful ceremony in the town’s square, eight hundred native people knelt before the cross, repented of their sins, and turned their lives to God.

  Then, in a token of friendship, Magallanes offered his men, his ships, and all his weapons if Humabon had any enemies that refused to recognize his rule. Humabon, a short fat brown man— covered with tattoos and naked except for a breechcloth—said there were several nearby chiefs who refused to submit to his authority. Immediately Magallanes ordered messengers dispatched. “Tell them if they refuse to recognize Humabon’s authority, they and all their villages will suffer death and we shall seize their property.”

  Soon after, a flood of dignitaries from surrounding islands arrived with their households, each desiring to be baptized. They had heard of the god of the Spaniards. They brought tribute, knelt, and pledged their loyalty to Spain while holy water rained upon their heads. In all, more than two thousand people converted to Christianity.

  During this time, we rented a trading post from Rajah Humabon and stocked it with goods. The natives brought their silk, their precious stones, goats, chickens, pigs, sugarcane, ginger, and pearls to trade for copper bracelets, bells, quicksilver, mirrors, fishhooks, combs, metal basins, bolts of cotton fabric, velvet, satin, and fine lace.

  But it was not chickens we wanted, it was gold. And it was not fine lace they wanted, but iron and bronze. A firm price was established. For ten weights of gold, each valued at a ducat and a half, the islanders received fourteen pounds of iron. So successful was this trade that Magallanes forbade us to trade for gold, lest the ships be stripped of iron in our craze for wealth.

  At first I obeyed the captain-general’s orders, scowling as Rodrigo traded a handful of nails for a nugget of gold. Rodrigo saw me watching and spat. “You are a fool, Mateo. The captain-general is made blind by his desire to baptize all the natives and sees nothing else.” He spat again. “I tell you, if he continues in his zeal, we shall none of us see the Spice Islands. It is what everyone is saying. So I shall make my riches now, for it may be my only chance. You would be wise to do the same, Mateo. Put your foolish honesty aside. It will serve only to make you a poor man.”

  The next day, alone in the captain-general’s cabin, before I could stop myself, I took an astrolabe—a beautiful brass one with intricate designs—and shoved it down my shirt. I hid it in my sea chest, intending to trade it on the morrow, shame burning my chest like fire. It is only one astrolabe, I told myself. The captain-general has many. Besides, I cannot die poor.

  That evening, to my dismay, Magallanes called for me to sing to him. I attacked my guitar and sang boisterously, hoping in my loudness I could drown the sounds of shame. He watched me, silently, lifting his eyebrow as if wondering who this wild boy was who sat before him.

  Relief washed through me when he waved his hand to dismiss me. But before I could hurry away, he stood and tilted his face upward, his arms outstretched like an angel’s. “ ‘If you return to the Almighty,’ ” he whispered, “ ‘you will be restored . . . if you treat gold like dust and gold of Ophir like the stones of the torrent-bed, and if the Almighty is your gold and your precious silver, then you will delight yourself in the Almighty, and lift up your face to God.’ ”

  Then he looked at me. In that moment, horrified, I knew he knew.

  That night, I dreamed of fire and hell and of my mother’s voice saying over and over, Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not steal.

  The next day I returned the astrolabe to where I had found it.

  “It was foolish to return it,” said Rodrigo later, shaking his head as we sat together under the shade of a palm tree. “He has many others—you said so yourself. You could have sold it for ten nuggets of gold. Twenty, maybe. I guess you cannot help being foolish. It is in your nature, just as it is in mine to die a rich man.”

  “Shut up, Rodrigo,” I said, glad I had returned it. “I would rather die a poor man than a thief. Besides, it will not matter that I am poor. I will live with you in your castle. We are brothers, are we not? Is that not what brothers do?”

  Rodrigo studied me a moment. Then, to my surprise, he drew his dagger. “Brothers? You think we are brothers?” And while my mouth dropped with shock, Rodrigo drew his knife across the flesh of his forearm. Instantly blood welled and trickled down his arm. “Go ahead,” he said. “You’re next. We shall become brothers in blood. We shall prove our loyalty to each other.”

  I hesitated only a moment with my own dagger before I cut deep, trying not to wince with the sudden, sharp pain. Smearing our hands with blood, we clasped each other’s hands in a firm grip.

  “Blood brothers forever,” Rodrigo whispered.

  “Blood brothers forever,” I echoed.

  Nothing would separate us, we vowed. Nothing but death itself.

  One day I spied Espinosa praying. I paused and peered through the crack of his cabin door, astonished to see him kneeling on the floor with his hands clasped. I had never seen Espinosa pray before.

  “Come in,” he said without opening his eyes.

  Embarrassed to have been caught spying, I entered the cabin, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet, closing the door behind me. The cabin was not nearly so luxurious or large as the captaingeneral’s, but it was tidy. Spartan. I sat upon his bunk, my face hot.

  He opened his eyes and looked at me. Suddenly he seemed exhausted. The knowledge surprised me, for I had thought of Espinosa as the strongest among the strong, tireless. “I am not a praying man,” he said simply.

  I said nothing, waiting.

  “I thought getting on my knees would be enough. It is not. I am bereft of words. Besides, God does not speak to men such as me.”

  “Why not?”

  Espinosa said nothing for a while, his eyes the color of cool waters. “Does He speak to you, Mateo?”

  I searched for an answer. “Sometimes I think I hear Him. In the wind, maybe. In the stars at night. I don’t know.”

  The master-at-arms looked away and sighed. “I fear we are in trouble, Mateo.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Today Magallanes discovered some of the natives offering sacrifices before their idols. When he confronted them, they told him that the brother of the prince was sick and they were sacrificing for his recovery.”

  “Was he angry?”

  “More saddened than angry. He told them that it was because of their unbelief that the man was ill. That if they would only believe in Jesus Christ, the man would be made well. To prove his point, he said that if the man was not made whole that very hour, they could strike the captain-general’s head from his body.”

  I gasped. “And?”

  “Upon reaching the sick man’s house, Magallanes ordered him to rise and talk, and the man did so. He was healed. The island rejoices, but I cannot.” He shook his head, the strain evident upon his face. “Ever since we arrived at Cebu and began baptizing natives—hundreds of them, then thousands—a terrible feeling has settled upon me, as if this is somehow wrong. As if—as if—” Espinosa struggled for words. “I don’t know, Mateo.
But for the first time in my life, I am afraid.”

  Again I said nothing, my heart suddenly hammering.

  “Pray with me, Mateo. Kneel beside me and find the words that elude me. Pray with me.”

  So I prayed with Espinosa. But instead of peace, a terrible uneasiness grew within me, wormlike and crawling. As I prayed, thunder rumbled in the distance. And when I uttered “Amen,” it began to rain.

  For days this uneasiness did not leave me. Instead it grew stronger, clutching my heart with the same icy hand that clutched Espinosa’s.

  I watched and listened as Magallanes went ashore each day to extol the doctrines of Christianity. He spoke of the Trinity, the Immaculate Conception, Adam and Eve, and honoring one’s father and mother. The padre baptized so many people that, come nightfall each day, he lacked strength to raise his arms in blessing. And with each baptism, my unease mounted. As if the stage were set. The actors poised to begin. I knew not what to make of my feelings, whether they be imagination or warning, and so, unsure, I did nothing. Said nothing.

  Then, one evening, the curtains opened and the play began.

  A nearby chieftain refused to pay tribute to Rajah Humabon. With a wave of his hand, Magallanes dispatched Espinosa and his marines, who burned the chieftain’s village and returned to the flagship with livestock and plunder. Magallanes sent messengers once again. “Tell all the chiefs who refuse baptism and who refuse to recognize Humabon’s authority that the same arm that struck this village will strike them also.”

  One of the messengers returned. Even before he spoke, I knew what he would say. “My captain-general, the chieftain of the island of Mactan has this message for you. He refuses to be baptized into the religion of strangers. He refuses to pay tribute to Humabon, a man he despises. He says that if the Spaniards come to burn his village, he will be waiting for them.”

  Enraged, Magallanes stormed the deck. All night I listened to his uneven steps, unable to sleep, imagining that strange glare in his eyes that I had seen of late. My skin turned icy and my insides crawled. When the next day he called the crew together, I stood before him with my shipmates, the planks of the deck hot beneath my feet.

  The final act.

  “The wrath of God is terrible and His divine purpose among these islanders will not be thwarted!” He spat his words and his eyes gleamed and he was frightful to behold. “Tomorrow, prepare to invade Mactan! We will force the ruler to his knees. And on his knees he will taste Spanish steel!”

  XXI

  April 27, 1521

  Midnight.

  A stark slice of moon.

  Stars white as salt.

  The soft slap of water.

  My hands, sweaty already, pulled against the oars.

  From the shore of Cebu, a bird cawed, its cry shattering the stillness. Dogs began to bark.

  “It is an evil omen,” Enrique whispered, his dark face hidden in the night.

  We pulled away from the island of Cebu and started across the narrow channel separating Cebu from Mactan. The barking of the dogs followed us, seemingly forever, barking, barking, until finally, after perhaps an hour, there was silence. Naught but the slap of oars.

  Twenty of us bunched together in one of three longboats. At our feet lay pikes, harquebuses, crossbows, and swords. For myself, when it was not my turn to row, I clutched my crossbow and fingered the edge of my sword. A knotted fear writhed within my bowels. Would I live to see the morrow? Or would the screaming, painted face of a savage be the last I would see? I prayed to the Virgin for courage.

  Through the darkness the island of Mactan loomed like a predator hidden in the brush. Rocks jutted like fangs through the waters and we hove to, not daring to row any closer. It would be three hours until daylight. A quick conference was held among the captains of the three longboats and Humabon, who commanded one thousand warriors in thirty large canoes.

  It was decided. We would wait until dawn. The shore was too treacherous to navigate under cover of darkness.

  I shivered. While we waited, a light mist descended. Coldness seeped into me, slithering beneath my armor like a serpent. Mosquitoes plagued me, biting my face, my neck, my hands, and I swatted them constantly.

  I looked to the prow of the longboat where the captain-general sat. Oblivious to the insects, he stared unmoving and unblinking at the dark mass of land.

  When Magallanes had announced his intention to attack Mactan, there had been immediate and loud opposition. The other two captains, Serrano and a young man with a jagged scar across his nose, had pleaded with the captain-general to reconsider. “Our mission is not to meddle in the local affairs of natives,” cried Serrano, his older, softened features suddenly turning hard. “We are not missionaries. We are not settlers of new colonies. We have been commissioned by the king to seek the Spice Islands and to bring home spices.”

  The younger captain agreed and called the mission foolhardy. “Remember the fate of the explorer devoured by cannibals! You should not leave your ships for such an unimportant venture. The loss of our commander would devastate our voyage. I beg you to reconsider!”

  “Silence! I will hear no opposition! I refuse to listen while you sow seeds of fear and cowardice! Did God lead us so far only to desert us now? Are we to quail when faced with battle? Did Moses submit to Pharaoh? Did David quake before the Philistines? With God on our side, we cannot fail!”

  “I refuse to be party to such a venture!” cried Serrano.

  “I also refuse,” said the scar-nosed captain, “and I urge you most vehemently to forsake this madness.”

  Magallanes’s face twisted with fury. “Madness? You dare to call God’s holy work madness? Upon my honor and with God’s holy sword, I tell you that were I to have a handful of untried men, boys even, I could defeat one hundred times their number.”

  “You would be annihilated,” said Serrano. He sounded tired, beaten.

  “It is impossible for an army of God to be annihilated!” Magallanes roared, his eyes aflame, and in that moment I was terrified of him. “And to prove it, I shall have no man by my side who does not volunteer, who does not willingly side with me, knowing that I do the work of God Almighty.”

  “That is insane!” cried the younger captain.

  “None!” Magallanes bellowed. “Even Espinosa and his marines will remain behind! I will prove to you that even with an army of untried men, we shall show these natives the power of our might. With a few we shall conquer many, and when we are victorious, none shall dare oppose Humabon. These islands shall belong to Spain. There shall be none mightier than the king!”

  Espinosa pushed his way forward through the crew. “Captain-General, please, you must listen. I cannot allow you to follow such madness. I will lead the battle. You must stay with—”

  “Do not speak to me of madness! We cannot fail! Do you understand me? Failure is impossible when we are led by God’s holy light and the presence of the Divine Virgin! With my cross and my sword I shall prevail!”

  When Humabon heard of the impending attack on Mactan, he also begged Magallanes to reconsider. And when Magallanes again refused, Humabon said, “Let me attack Mactan first with a thousand of my best warriors. We know their defenses. We know the look and feel of the island in the darkness. When we signal, then you come with your armed men. They will be fresh and ready to fight. In this way we will defeat Mactan.”

  Magallanes had bowed before Humabon. “My honored friend, you may bring your thousand warriors, but I forbid them to leave their canoes. You must keep out of battle. And from the comfort of your canoes, Rajah Humabon, you and your warriors will see how Spaniards fight. You will see how our enemies scatter before us like chaff in the wind.”

  A fighting force of sixty volunteers was assembled. Barbers, cabin boys, seamen, dignitaries. Men who had never before fired a crossbow or a harquebus. Men who had never before held a sword while it pierced the body of another.

  As I had hurried across the waist deck to fetch a suit of armor from Espinos
a, I saw Rodrigo. He stood bare-chested, his feet wide apart, swinging a broadsword from side to side, grunting with the effort. The air whistled as the blade sliced up and down.

  “Then you are going, too?” I had asked, surprised.

  “Yes, I am going.”

  “But why?”

  Rodrigo ignored me, saying nothing, still swinging the sword. Finally he stopped, glistening with sweat. His chest heaved. He looked at me then, as serious as I had ever seen him. “Because the captain-general has gone mad.”

  I said nothing.

  “Because, mad or not, he has led us this far, and if I let him go into battle without my sword to protect him, then I am not a man. A man of honor, anyway.”

  I blinked, stunned.

  He peered down the length of his sword, as if to check its straightness. He ran a finger along its edge. “Besides,” he continued, his mouth curving into a half grin, “I can’t let you have all the adventure, can I?”

  A lump grew in my throat as we clasped hands.

  “I’ll watch your back, brother,” he said.

  “Aye, and I yours.”

  Later Espinosa helped me into my armor. His face looked harsh in the lantern light, and when he spoke, his voice broke, as if already grieved. “Stay by the captain-general’s side, Mateo. Protect him at all costs. Put all doubts aside. This is battle and you are a warrior. Do not hesitate to kill. Remember, Mateo. You are a warrior.”

  You are a warrior . . . you are a warrior . . .

  Red-orange streaks of light.

  The stink of fear.

  The creak of the boat.

  The clank of steel.

  Rodrigo across from me. Knuckles bone white against the hilt of his sword. Forehead beaded with perspiration.

  With a wave of his hand, Magallanes said, “Take the longboats in as far as you can.”

  The longboats moved—silent, gliding birds—into a small bay, leaving the canoes of Humabon and his thousand warriors behind. Forbidden by Magallanes to enter into combat, they would observe the battle from a distance. In the shelter of the bay a village slept, unaware.