To the Edge of the World Read Free Page B

why do you think there are so many stupid foreigners?” He spat again, and his voice hardened. “Even the captain-general, the captain of all captains, is Portuguese.”
    “Portuguese? How can that be? This is a Spanish expedition!”
    “Hush. Keep your voice low. We do not want to draw attention.” Rodrigo paused as we both went forward and took Communion. Returning to our places, he continued quietly, “It is true. The captain-general is Portuguese. See? He is over there. Fernando de Magallanes is his name. Nothing but a petty nobleman.”
    I watched as the man Rodrigo pointed to knelt before the altar and swore an oath of allegiance to King Carlos of Spain. The captain-general was suited in armor, and from a distance away, it was difficult for me to see what he looked like. I knew only that he was swarthy and seemed old—forty, perhaps. A Portuguese to lead the Spanish armada? A petty nobleman, only? And old, besides?
    Rodrigo was whispering, “I tell you I would not have signed for the voyage were it not for the riches promised at the end.”
    “Riches?”
    “Aye. Enough spices—cloves, nutmeg, pepper—to fill every pocket of every man, each grain worth more than life itself. Not only that, it is said there will be so much gold and rubies, diamonds and emeralds, that those of us who return will bathe in them each day as if they were water. That we will live in castles with many servants and eat spicy foods and never have to work again.”
    My jaw dropped and I stared at Rodrigo. I tried to imagine such riches, gold and jewels, but could not. In my mind I saw only my mother’s faded dresses, trimmed with yellowed lace and stitched with dirty, knotted, golden threads. My tongue could not imagine spices either, for I had never tasted such things. Spices were for kings and princes. Even so, I thought, Today I am lucky. I leave on a voyage and shall return a wealthy man. I will bathe in diamonds, eat spices, and never work again.
    Rodrigo caught me staring. “Remember, my friend, we must battle two-headed monsters and escape from cannibals before we live like kings in castles. It is said cannibals love the taste of the human tongue. And if you think you will just chop out your tongue and give it to them, sailing away mute but rich, let me tell you what else they love. . . .”
    As Rodrigo filled my ears with a list of body parts, I turned back toward the altar. Magallanes stood proudly and received the silken royal standard. Steel clashed against steel as the four other captains and the officers of the fleet knelt before him. In one voice they swore obedience to him, their captain-general. To follow none but him. To Magallanes they gave the power of life and death. Power “of the knife and the rope.”
    “. . . and finally,” whispered Rodrigo, “they will grind your bones to powder and drink the powder mixed with your blood. Bone soup, they call it. It is their favorite. A delicacy.”
    “Ite, Missa est,”
said the archbishop, dismissing us.
    “Deo gratias,”
I replied, shivering as if someone already drank my bones.
    I was issued a sea chest and a roll of bedding, the cost of which would be taken from my pay. Into the sea chest I placed my belongings—my sketchbook and inks, my book of poems, my goatskin, my rosary—all I owned except my guitar, as it was too big.
    My sea chest looked empty, but Rodrigo said to take heart. Soon it would fill with rubies and diamonds, pearls and emeralds, gold and silk. Already Rodrigo was hurrying up the gangplank of the
San Antonio,
urging me to follow. “Hurry. Before all the good spots are taken.”
    I paused and knelt beside Ugly. “And you, my friend, shall have a new rib bone each day to chew. You will fatten with fresh meat, and we will never be hungry again.”
    As if he understood, Ugly licked his lips and thumped his tail upon the dock.
    “Come, boy,” I said, slinging my guitar across my back. “Before they leave without us.” Giddy with adventure, I