Over the Edge of the World: Magellen's Terrifying Circumnavigation of the Globe (6 page)

Charles I had every intention of overtaking the elderly king of Portugal. No matter what the language of the contract seemed to say, the impatient young king wished to bend the terms of the Treaty of Tordesillas to Spain’s advantage by insisting that the Spice Islands lay within the Spanish hemisphere. And if it was impossible to prove this point, then it was equally impossible to disprove it. To succeed, Magellan’s expedition need only give Spain a reasonable argument for claiming the Spice Islands.

From Magellan’s standpoint, this was a remarkable contract because it gave him nearly everything he had wanted. The grant of lands, for instance, proved more generous than Magellan had any right to expect. “It is our wish and our will that of all the lands and islands that you shall discover, to grant to you . . . the twentieth part, and shall besides receive the title of Lieutenant and Governors of the said lands and islands for yourselves and your sons and heirs in freehold for all times, provided that the supreme [authority] shall remain with Us and with the Kings who come after Us.” Magellan would find his name all over the newly redrawn maps of the world, maps depicting lands that he not only discovered, but
possessed:
Magellan islands, Magellan lands, entire realms belonging to Ferdinand Magellan and his legitimate male heirs. The world, or at least a significant part of it, could be his.

From Fonseca’s point of view, this was hardly an advantageous contract, for it gave Magellan too much power over the expedition. It would take Fonseca months, but eventually he would have his revenge on Magellan, and exert the control over the expedition that had been denied him in the royal contract.

K
ing Charles also promised Magellan five ships: “two each of 130 tons, two each of 90 tons, and one of sixty tons, equipped with crew, food, and artillery, to wit that the said ships are to go supplied for two years, and the other people necessary.” The fleet would be called the Armada de Molucca, after the Indonesian name for the Spice Islands.

The ships were mostly black—pitch black. They derived their blackness, and their ominous aura, from the tar covering the hull, masts, and rigging, practically every exposed surface of the ship except for the sails. Their sterns rose high out of the water, towering as much as thirty feet over the waves, so high that a man standing on the stern deck seemed to rule the sea itself. Their height exaggerated movement; even in relatively calm water, they tossed the men about like toy figures.

The ships were among the most complicated machines of their day, wonders of Renaissance technology, and the product of thousands of hours of labor by skilled artisans working at their specialized trades. They were relatively small, out of necessity. One of Seville’s limitations as a port was the shallowness of the Guadalquivir River; ships had to be sufficiently small and light to negotiate the narrow waterway to the Atlantic. Thus Magellan’s flagship,
Trinidad,
weighed 100 tons;
San Antonio,
which carried many of the provisions, weighed 120 tons;
Concepción
90 tons,
Victoria
85 tons; and
Santiago,
to be used for reconnaissance, weighed just 75 tons.

With the exception of
Santiago,
a caravel, the ships were all classified as
naos,
a term that simply meant ships. No illustrations of them have survived, so it is difficult to determine exactly how they were configured, but accounts from Magellan’s time mention their daunting stern castles, their multiple decks, and the profusion of
obras muertas,
or “dead wood,” to ornament the officers’ quarters. Each ship had three masts, one of which carried a lateen sail.

A
lthough King Charles was supposed to pay for Magellan’s ships, according to the contract, he was deeply in debt. To cover the expedition’s cost, the Casa de Contratación turned to a familiar presence in financial circles, Cristóbal de Haro, who represented the House of Fugger, an influential banking dynasty based in Augsburg, Germany. Haro’s name derived from the city of Haro, in north central Spain. Haro (the city) flourished as a center of winemaking, and it also sheltered a community of Jewish goldsmiths and bankers until a civil war broke out in the fourteenth century and drove the Jews from their homes. Many of the persecuted Jews adapted by becoming
conversos,
adopting Christian-sounding names, Cristóbal de Haro’s ancestors among them.

For years, Haro served as the Fuggers’ man in Lisbon, trading in spices, lending money for secret Portuguese expeditions, and forging friendships with many of the great explorers of the era, including Bartolomeu Dias. His familiarity with secret Portuguese expeditions, or with tantalizing rumors about their findings, gave him privileged information concerning the existence of a strait leading through the American landmass to the Indies—the same possibility that animated Magellan’s furious desire to explore the East. Following a bitter dispute with King Manuel, Haro left Lisbon for Seville, where he renewed his acquaintanceship with Magellan, and combined their enthusiasm for a search for the strait.

For an explorer in need of financial backing, Cristóbal de Haro was the ideal friend; the House of Fugger, for which he worked, had enough money to finance ten expeditions, or more; indeed, it had more money than King Charles. By bringing in Haro, the king and his advisers would be giving up a significant amount of the profits. Given the hazards of the spice trade, and the uncertainty of long ocean voyages, financiers like Haro could be induced to risk their capital on such ventures for only one reason: the lure of extraordinary profits. If successful, or even partly successful, a fleet returning from the Indies could yield a profit of 400 percent; the more pragmatic Haro estimated that Magellan’s expedition could yield a profit of 250 percent. Meanwhile, he advanced money at an interest rate of 14 percent.

The official accounting of the expedition put the cost at 8,751,125
maravedís,
including the five ships, provisions, salaries paid out in advance, and fittings for the ships. Magellan’s pay came to 50,000
maravedís,
and an additional 8,000
maravedís
each month. By royal order, his monthly salary went directly to his wife, Beatriz.

Of the overall cost of the expedition, the king’s share came to 6,454,209
maravedís,
much of it provided at high interest by Haro. Although royal documents place Haro’s contribution to the great enterprise at a modest 1,616,781
maravedís,
that number is deceptive. Because his backers, the House of Fugger, also financed expeditions for Portugal, they probably concealed the full extent of their contribution by loaning additional money to the king.

In a final piece of official business, King Charles conferred the title of captain on both Magellan and Faleiro. Given the hazards of exploration, it was not unusual for expeditions in the Age of Discovery to have co-captains, but in this case, the arrangement unintentionally sowed the seeds of bitter disputes at sea. The powers granted to the pair were sweeping and unequivocal. “We order the master and boatswains, pilots, seamen, ship boys and pages, and any other persons and officials there may be in the said fleet, whatever persons who are and reside in the said lands and islands to be discovered . . . that they shall regard, accept, and consider you as our Captains of the said fleet. As such, they shall obey you and comply with your orders, under the penalty or penalties which, in our name, you shall impose.” As the language made clear, Magellan and Faleiro had absolute authority at sea. “We authorize you to execute sentence on their persons and goods. . . . If during the voyage of the said fleet there should arise any disputes and conflicts, at sea as well ashore, you shall deliver, determine and render justice with respect to them, summarily and without hesitation nor question of law.”

Magellan could only have marveled at the speed with which his plan to reach the Spice Islands had come together. King Charles risked Spain’s authority and reputation on the expedition, and the backers risked their capital, but Magellan would risk even more: his very life.

C H A P T E R   I I
The Man Without a Country

The Sun came up upon the left,
Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.

W
hen 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.

F
rustrated 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.

C
ity 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.