Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon by Christine Echeverria Bender Page A

accompany him back to Mexico?” His expression became poignant as he said, “And then Alvarado allowed himself to be killed by rebellious natives.”
    He met Cabrillo’s sympathetic gaze. “Well, Juan, that is my story.”
    â€œI thank you for telling me. Andrés, I was wrong to tease you about the tenacity of your people. You needed every bit of it to endure those trials, and no small amount of courage.” After a pause, he said without accusation, “You must hate the Portuguese.”
    â€œ Those Portuguese, yes, at least I did for many years. Now I try to forgive even them.”
    Cabrillo paused and then said, “What would you think if I told you I had some Portuguese blood myself?”
    â€œThat is not a very well kept a secret, my friend. I have known for some time. But I learned long ago that a man’s nationality does not dictate his integrity, or his choices. There are doubtless as many fine Portuguese as Spaniards and as many wicked Spaniards as Portuguese.”
    In a lighter tone, Cabrillo asked, “Even as many wicked Basques?”
    Urdaneta gave him a surrendering smile as his only answer.
    They grew silent for another breath or two, and Cabrillo asked softly, “Do you intend never to set sail again, then?”
    â€œTruthfully, I am not certain. Despite everything, at times I actually consider returning to the Moluccas. For now, however, I will try to make myself useful to the viceroy as he directs the voyages of others.”
    â€œI understand, and yet I cannot help greatly wishing that you would be standing beside me when we sail. Ah, but since that is not to be, I will accept things as they are if you agree to tell me more about the people of the East. Yes?”
    Urdaneta nodded, and their conversation carried him back to the Molucca Islands of his fonder memories. He possessed a wealth of knowledge, which Cabrillo began to explore with the methodical thoroughness of a miner digging into a rich vein.
    The afternoon had well matured when the captain-general asked him at last, “Can you give me any last pieces of advice that might prove helpful?”
    Urdaneta’s face clouded for a moment before answering with a question of his own. “Do you know much about the nature of poisons?”
    â€œNot a thing. Why?”
    With concentrated gravity he said, “I suggest you learn enough to discover one that is as painless and quick as possible.” At Cabrillo’s uneasy expression, Urdaneta explained, “You are a Christian and a good man, Juan, but if in the year to come you find yourself about to be captured, it would be useful to have such an aid close at hand.”
    Stunned, Cabrillo said, “Take poison willingly! Could you do such a thing?”
    Urdaneta placed his hand on Cabrillo’s shoulder. “While under torture and enduring the pain afterwards, I wished a hundred times I could have done so. Yes, under the same threat I would do exactly what I am proposing. If you are caught in waters they consider their own, sailing under a Spanish flag, any Portuguese blood may make things even worse for you. You will likely be looked upon as a traitor. Please, if you spot a Portuguese ship, beware.”

Chapter 4
    B LESSING OR C URSE
    T he beach of Navidad clamored so raucously with bellowing seamen, squealing pigs, chopping axes, barking dogs, haggling vendors, squawking chickens, clanking hammers, and bellering cows that fishermen a half-mile offshore glanced at one another and shook their heads in disapproval. If the harbor had been astir throughout the last few weeks, it was frenzied this morning, and Cabrillo strode along the sand scrutinizing the whirlwind of activity with pensive satisfaction.
    As the captain-general and supply officer Lope Sánchez passed by the pigpen, a particularly loud and fretful chorus of squeals burst from its occupants, announcing that the four-legged creatures sensed high anticipation in