Chapter 5
Cebu, Philippines
March 1635
The Cathedral of St. Vitalis in Cebu was squat and thick-walled, built to withstand both typhoon winds and the quaking earth. Father Blanco hoped that it was equally resistant to the two remaining elemental forces, the flood waters brought by the typhoon, and the flaming torches of the heathen Moro.
Getting to Cebu had been arduous. Merchant ships had once sailed between Manila and Cebu, but that trade had ceased since the Japanese occupation. The Tayabas fishermen had absolutely refused to sail several hundred miles just to deliver Father Blanco to Cebu.
Fortunately, while standing on top of a watchtower built to warn of Moro raids, Father Blanco had spotted a Chinese merchant ship. It appeared to be making for the mouth of the Palsabangon River, on Pagbilao Bay. Father Blanco borrowed a horse and raced there.
The ship was a junk with three masts, and when Father Blanco got close to it, he could see that it was armed with several cannon. Clearly, it was a long-distance trader.
Father Blanco waved to the ship, and a boat was lowered and sent to bring him on board. That, of course, didn’t promise that he would win passage, only that he would have the opportunity to negotiate.
The Chinese captain spoke broken Spanish, so it was obvious that he had traded in the Philippines before.
The ship was, it turned out, a member of the Zheng family trading fleet, and its destination was the town of Cebu, as the authorities there had assumed governance of the Spanish Philippines after the fall of Manila.
The fare the captain wanted for passage was more than what Father Blanco had to spare, but Father Blanco explained why it would be to his advantage to take him on board after all.
“Primus, because it would be a most Christian act of charity, and would rebound to your benefit when your soul passes on.”
The captain looked unimpressed.
“Secundus, because in your Buddhist faith, it would be a deed earning you positive karma.”
The captain, unfortunately, wasn’t a Buddhist, either.
“Tertius, because the Jesuit Vice-Provincial in Cebu, and the bishop of Cebu, will be most anxious to receive me, and they will make good the difference.”
The captain indicated that would be most acceptable, had he not had experience with eminent Spaniards reneging on offers of payment after the job was done. Especially, offers made by a third party.
Father Blanco sighed. “Quartus, I was, until recently, in the city of Manila, and I can provide you with most useful intelligence as to the doings of the Japanese and Dutch in that city.”
That, the captain conceded, would be beneficial to him and the Zheng family, but not, alas, enough to cover the gap between his price and Blanco’s counteroffer.
“Quintus, I am able to read and do arithmetic, and perhaps I can be of assistance to your quartermaster.”
It turned out that the captain didn’t have a quartermaster, and was not very fond of taking inventories, doling out supplies, and the like. So, it was decided, Father Blanco would act as his quartermaster until they reached Cebu, he would answer the captain’s questions about the situation in Manila, and, of course, he would attempt to secure the remainder of the fare from the authorities Father Blanco had named.
And at last Father Blanco had reached Cebu, without any further Moro pirate encounters. He was now waiting to see the bishop of Cebu, give him news of Manila, and hopefully get the funds he had promised the Chinese captain.
While cooling his heels, he inspected the image of the Child Jesus that Ferdinand Magellan had presented to Rajah Humabon after his baptism in 1521. It had been lost and then rediscovered in 1565; its survival was deemed miraculous. Until recently, it had been housed in the Basílica Menor del Santo Niño de Cebú, built on the very site of the rediscovery, but that church had burnt down in 1628 and its stone replacement was incomplete. So the painting had been moved to the cathedral for safekeeping.
The bishop’s secretary found Father Blanco in the chapel where the Child Jesus was housed. “The bishop will see you now.”
They spoke for about an hour. The bishop was most interested to hear that at least some of the Japanese and Filipino Christians had remained steadfast in the faith, but distressed by the other news Father Blanco brought: the Japanese remained in control of Fort Santiago and the Intramuros, the Spanish in Manila were being hunted down like dogs, and Moro piracy had ravaged the southern Luzon coast.
“I will recommend that the captain-general of the galleons take you on as chaplain for the return to Acapulco. The viceroy of New Spain should hear what you have to say. And I will take care of your debt to the Chinese merchant.”
Father Blanco thanked him, and kissed the bishop’s ring.
Madrid
April 1635
Lope Díez de Aux de Armendáriz, marqués of Cadereyta, waited patiently outside the Salón de Reinos in the Palacio del Buen Retiro. The palace had been built for Philip IV by his chief minister, the count-duke of Olivares. It was mostly used for court entertainments, and Lope wasn’t sure why the king had chosen this location for a private audience.
Lope was, of course, in full court dress: a black doublet with red embroidery; a black ruff, and black hip-to-heel stockings. Since he was to enter the royal presence, his sword had been left behind with one of the royal servants.
A royal usher thrust open the doors and motioned Lope forward. Lope had not been in the Salón de Reinos before, so he took his time studying his surroundings. By the entrance there were individual portraits—surely done by Velazquez!—of Philip IV, his wife Elisabeth, and, in between them, above the door, their son Balthazar Carlos, prince of Asturias. Along the long walls, in between the windows, were more paintings, all of battle scenes. As a naval man, he took particular interest in one that appeared to be a depiction of the Spanish defense of Cadiz against Buckingham’s 1625 expedition.
Above the windows were more paintings. There were ten of them, and from their number and appearance, they were plainly depicting the labors of Hercules. The official genealogies proudly identified Hercules as the ancestor of the House of Habsburg.
Lope’s essay in art appreciation was interrupted by the appearance of a court functionary. “His Majesty approaches,” he intoned.
Lope turned to face the throne, and bowed. As he held the bow, King Philip IV entered the reception room by the private royal entrance, and sat down on the throne. “Welcome to my Salón de Reinos, Marqués.”
Lope held the bow an instant longer, then straightened. “Thank you, Your Majesty. How may I be of service to you and Spain?”
“You are, I understand, a criollo?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I was born in Quito. My father was the president of the Real Audencia of the viceroyalty of New Toledo.”
“You have served us well as both general and admiral in the new world.”
“I am indeed Your Majesty’s humble servant.”
“I have decided to appoint you as my viceroy in New Spain. I need a viceroy with your naval expertise.”
Lope bowed deeply. “Your Majesty is most generous. I will not disappoint you.”
“See that you don’t.” King Philip IV stood up, and Lope bowed, holding the bow until the king had left the room.
Lope had much to think about. Not long ago, Lope had been invited to attend a grand junta, a joint meeting of the Councils of State and War. While a Dutch fleet had been defeated in the Battle of Dunkirk in 1633, thanks to betrayal by their erstwhile English and French allies, the Dutch remained a threat to Spanish interests in the Caribbean. Indeed, they had taken Curaçao in September 1634, not long after the USE ironclads and timberclads had forced an end to the siege of Amsterdam. It was surely only a matter of time before the USE began to meddle in the Caribbean.
And then there was the recent news from Cebu, in the Philippines. In March 1634, a joint Dutch-Japanese force had taken both the city of Manila and the fortified shipyard of Cavite. Word of that disaster had not reached Spain until 1635. Lope would have to find a way to cope with it, too, as Philippines were considered part of his new viceroyalty.
And these problems came on top of the usual ones of corruption and flooding in Mexico City, and Indian incursions on the northern borders of New Spain.
Sighing, his eyes were drawn involuntarily to Zurbarán’s depiction of Hercules’ second labor. Wearing only a loincloth, Hercules swept back a club, ready to swipe at one of the rearing heads of the Lernaean Hydra. Behind him, his nephew Iolaus held a firebrand, ready to cauterize the stump so it would not grow two new heads in place of the old. It was, Lope thought, a fitting metaphor for his new assignment.