the expedition. That should be enough.”
Cartagena’s mouth fell open. “Enough?” He laughed. A harsh, ringing laugh. “Enough? To know that the king, a feeble, pale boy of nineteen, a boy scarce strong enough to hold up his head, much less his crown, has agreed to your secret route? Pah! His chin is so large he can scarce chew properly or even close his mouth. A fly could penetrate the king’s lips without difficulty! Of course he would agree to any folly! He is a moron. No doubt if you planned to sail your ships over dry land, he would applaud your genius. Ah, the great Magallanes has done it again. He has reached the Far East by sailing westward over a vast continent whereas all other men who walk the earth must sail east around Africa’s Cape of Good Hope. He has snatched the spice trade from Portugal’s greedy fingers and delivered it to the king of Spain. Once again, he has achieved the impossible!”
Cartagena’s voice hardened and he pointed to the other men. “But we, Captain-General, are not untried fools of nineteen. We are men who follow you on a dangerous voyage, and we demand to know! Is there, or is there not, a secret passage?”
Magallanes brushed his dark beard and said nothing.
Cartagena stood before Magallanes. He gazed about the room, pausing in turn to look at each of us. “You see this man before me? He is nothing.” Cartagena spat. “I will no longer obey the orders of a fool like Magallanes!”
Suddenly, the captain-general sprang from his seat, grasped Cartagena by the front of his shirt, and slammed him into the bulkhead.
“¡Sed Preso!”
he hissed.
Shaking with fury, Magallanes pulled Cartagena’s surprised face down until it was level with his own. “You have insulted me for the last time, Spaniard. Your insubordination has been witnessed by these men. By rights, I can order you killed. Here. Now.”
Cartagena’s eyes widened. He licked his lips with a quick dart of his tongue. “Quesada, what are you waiting for, you idiot fool! Seize him!”
Quesada flushed and his pulse throbbed in the blue veins of his neck. But he sat rooted, motionless. Behind him, Rodrigo paled, and I saw indecision in his eyes.
Cartagena turned to Mendoza. “Mendoza, seize him, I say! Now is the chance we have been waiting for! It is three against one!”
In front of me, Mendoza said through clenched teeth, “You are a fool, Cartagena.” And he turned his head away.
“Indeed,” said Magallanes, spitting his words into Cartagena’s face. “A fool. You have just admitted to plotting mutiny.”
Cartagena turned white. “But—I—I—”
Magallanes barked an order and the door flung open. Espinosa and his marines crowded into the room. “Arrest Cartagena for mutiny. Put him in the stocks.”
Four marines grabbed the struggling Cartagena. “I did not mean it the way it sounded!” he cried. “Please!” His face was no longer the face of a proud Castilian captain, but the face of a frightened young man. “It was a mistake! Forgive me! Captain-General, forgive me!” As the marines pulled him through the door, Cartagena’s feathered cap dropped to the floor.
VIII
November 25-December 22, 1519
Ha!
I laughed to see Cartagena in the stocks, his head and hands thrust through the openings as if he were a common sailor punished for swiping a hunk of cheese. Standing with my arms crossed, I gloried to see him brought low, to see him looking away from
me
for once, unable to meet my gaze.
“Are you crazy? Are you completely insane?” Rodrigo asked me later, grasping the front of my shirt with his fist. “Remember the words
Choose wisely?
Cartagena is not a man to make your enemy. I hear he is the son of the most powerful bishop in Spain. I tell you, if you make him angry, Cartagena will not hesitate to kill you.”
“That would be incredible, since he is in the stocks and cannot move.” I tried to pry off Rodrigo’s hand, but he refused to let go.
“You laugh, Mateo, but this
Cartagena’s mouth fell open. “Enough?” He laughed. A harsh, ringing laugh. “Enough? To know that the king, a feeble, pale boy of nineteen, a boy scarce strong enough to hold up his head, much less his crown, has agreed to your secret route? Pah! His chin is so large he can scarce chew properly or even close his mouth. A fly could penetrate the king’s lips without difficulty! Of course he would agree to any folly! He is a moron. No doubt if you planned to sail your ships over dry land, he would applaud your genius. Ah, the great Magallanes has done it again. He has reached the Far East by sailing westward over a vast continent whereas all other men who walk the earth must sail east around Africa’s Cape of Good Hope. He has snatched the spice trade from Portugal’s greedy fingers and delivered it to the king of Spain. Once again, he has achieved the impossible!”
Cartagena’s voice hardened and he pointed to the other men. “But we, Captain-General, are not untried fools of nineteen. We are men who follow you on a dangerous voyage, and we demand to know! Is there, or is there not, a secret passage?”
Magallanes brushed his dark beard and said nothing.
Cartagena stood before Magallanes. He gazed about the room, pausing in turn to look at each of us. “You see this man before me? He is nothing.” Cartagena spat. “I will no longer obey the orders of a fool like Magallanes!”
Suddenly, the captain-general sprang from his seat, grasped Cartagena by the front of his shirt, and slammed him into the bulkhead.
“¡Sed Preso!”
he hissed.
Shaking with fury, Magallanes pulled Cartagena’s surprised face down until it was level with his own. “You have insulted me for the last time, Spaniard. Your insubordination has been witnessed by these men. By rights, I can order you killed. Here. Now.”
Cartagena’s eyes widened. He licked his lips with a quick dart of his tongue. “Quesada, what are you waiting for, you idiot fool! Seize him!”
Quesada flushed and his pulse throbbed in the blue veins of his neck. But he sat rooted, motionless. Behind him, Rodrigo paled, and I saw indecision in his eyes.
Cartagena turned to Mendoza. “Mendoza, seize him, I say! Now is the chance we have been waiting for! It is three against one!”
In front of me, Mendoza said through clenched teeth, “You are a fool, Cartagena.” And he turned his head away.
“Indeed,” said Magallanes, spitting his words into Cartagena’s face. “A fool. You have just admitted to plotting mutiny.”
Cartagena turned white. “But—I—I—”
Magallanes barked an order and the door flung open. Espinosa and his marines crowded into the room. “Arrest Cartagena for mutiny. Put him in the stocks.”
Four marines grabbed the struggling Cartagena. “I did not mean it the way it sounded!” he cried. “Please!” His face was no longer the face of a proud Castilian captain, but the face of a frightened young man. “It was a mistake! Forgive me! Captain-General, forgive me!” As the marines pulled him through the door, Cartagena’s feathered cap dropped to the floor.
VIII
November 25-December 22, 1519
Ha!
I laughed to see Cartagena in the stocks, his head and hands thrust through the openings as if he were a common sailor punished for swiping a hunk of cheese. Standing with my arms crossed, I gloried to see him brought low, to see him looking away from
me
for once, unable to meet my gaze.
“Are you crazy? Are you completely insane?” Rodrigo asked me later, grasping the front of my shirt with his fist. “Remember the words
Choose wisely?
Cartagena is not a man to make your enemy. I hear he is the son of the most powerful bishop in Spain. I tell you, if you make him angry, Cartagena will not hesitate to kill you.”
“That would be incredible, since he is in the stocks and cannot move.” I tried to pry off Rodrigo’s hand, but he refused to let go.
“You laugh, Mateo, but this
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