Golden Island , livre ebook

Title Page
The Golden Island
John Funke



Publisher Information
Published in 2015 by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
The right of John Funke to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998
Copyright © 2015 John Funke
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.



Chapter One
The music was reaching its climax. The rhythmic drumming seemed to drown the sound of all instruments except the seductive hum of the crumhorns and the wailing shawms. Most of the residents of Cadiz, used to such spectacles, looked on indulgently, if not indifferently at the drunken behavior of the sailors and their women as they danced wantonly while some engaged indiscreetly in normally unacceptable acts of hedonism. Mingling in the crowd, over-animated clerics first cried for moderation and temperance, then realizing how futile that plea was, began howling promises of Divine retribution.
Andro, the Captain General, had already taken the lead. His was the first ship to lift anchor with the rising tide. The musicians suddenly were ordered to stop, and with the single blast of a large horn from the fleet commander’s ship, the bawdiness was done. The sailors frantically scurried from the revelry, running to board their assigned ships, lest they miss the departure and thus fail in their obligations to their ships’ captains, and to His Majesty, King Charles of Spain.
This was to be the first voyage to the New World for Pedro Andro in his new position of Captain General, having just received this commission from the powerful Duke of Savala, who in turn spoke directly for the Spanish Crown.
Andro had been to the New World twice before, both times as captain of his own ship. The venture this time was to be different for him however; as instead of simply sailing west until land was met, he was to lead a fleet of ships south-west, through the passage the Portuguese named after their hero Magellan, then north to new discoveries. Andro was a seasoned soldier with a reputation for ruthless expediency. There was no doubt in the minds of the Royal House of Hapsburg as to the fortuitous outcome of this voyage.
There were eleven ships in all, of which two were large carracks fully laden with a majority of the fleet’s provisions. One had most of the food and extra water, hundreds of chickens, scores of sheep, goats and swine, along with thirty horses. The horses were given the special, but necessary, provision of suspension slings to keep them from losing their footing on the rolling ship and breaking their legs. The other carrack, the flagship, or Capitana, carried the Captain General, his staff and an army of one hundred soldiers. The other nine ships were lighter caravels, manned by crews of twenty each, plus officers and a ship’s priest. The proportion of ships in the fleet and the allocation of the provisions were the brainchild of the Duke of Savala who, though not an experienced mariner, fancied himself as a brilliant tactician and insisted Andro adhere to his plan.
The Duke reasoned the flagship, representing the King of Spain, should be as “dignified” as possible; this meant to him that it certainly should not smell of livestock. If all the animals filled one big ship, all the men, save the ones necessary for a crew, had to be on the other. He felt the lighter caravels were essential because their shallow draft enabled them to come close to shore without going aground. The caravels carried some of their own provisions for this voyage of unknown duration, but not all. They would increasingly become dependent on the fleet’s supply ship as time went on. The Duke felt this interdependence would be an incentive for good seamanship as separation from the fleet would certainly be disastrous for any given ship. It was painfully obvious to all the experienced seamen the flaws and folly of this plan, but the Duke would listen to no one, not even his new Captain General, who meekly acquiesced when he was bluntly threatened with being replaced after voicing his disapproval.
So it was this day in March 1529 the great fleet departed Cadiz, over three hundred men on eleven ships, two fully laden carracks and nine caravels, one of these caravels the Duquesa Hermosa.
Martin Abulafia decided to take a break from his assigned duty of caulking an area of the deck and stood entranced, watching the city of Cadiz fade in the distance. The sun was setting in the west ahead of the fleet, and it shone on the sails of the ships lagging behind the Duquesa Hermosa, making them glow with a rosy hue. Martin was reflecting on the day’s events and the beauty of the scene when his serenity was abruptly interrupted as he was brutally slapped on his ear from behind.
Staggering and turning to face his attacker, he cast his eyes for the first time on Rojas, the dreaded first mate of the Duquesa Hermosa. Martin had never seen him before, but due to overheard conversations, he instinctively knew at once who this man was. This sadistic beast was a man of whom it was said would gleefully flog a sailor for the least infraction, and sometimes out of caprice even throw an accused offender overboard. Martin knew little more of him than that, but what he surely knew was he could ill afford to be on this man’s bad side.
“Boy! I don’t know what you think ship’s work is, but you are about to find out! Report to Salakim in the bilge. You seem to have too much time on your hands, you slacker!”
“I’m sorry, Señor Rojas! I was only...”
“Excuses!” screamed Rojas, knocking Martin to the deck with a punch to his chest. “I want no excuses! Never again give an excuse. I have ways to deal with the likes of you. Report to Salakim below in the bilge... now!”
Martin scrambled to his feet and headed below deck, biting his lip and wiping away tears. This incident with Rojas served as a rude awakening for the young man. He already had some misgivings about signing on to this voyage after he saw the ribald activity of the ships’ company on the shore prior to departure. He wasn’t totally naive about the decadent behavior of mankind, but he was shocked and frightened by what he saw and heard, not knowing what he should do to deal with it. When all the revelry had started, he kept himself secluded in the background, hoping not to be forced into some inescapable situation he feared might somehow jeopardize his immortal soul.
Martin was dealing with a huge crisis in his life as it was. He was in despair over what he saw as cruel and barbaric behavior on the part of his beloved Church in the way its investigatory arm, the Inquisition, was dealing with accused heretics and the converted Jews who were suspected of still secretly practicing their prior faith. For the twenty years he had been on the earth, he had observed with dismay the ways the Church treated those it saw as a threat to its orthodoxy. He tried to find ways to satisfactorily explain away these acts of the Inquisition: the garish show trials, the subsequent Autos da Fe, the mutilations and burnings. He had been raised by fervently religious parents who would never dream of questioning the Church on points of doctrine or certainly the way it acted toward those seen as evil, and they expected the same from him.
His sensibilities began to awaken profoundly while he was away studying in Madrid at the University. The more he read and learned, the less his faith made sense. How could the God he was taught to worship countenance such acts of savagery toward innocents, committed by the Church founded in His name?
This impossible problem ate away at him, driving him to utter despair. He felt he was being torn to pieces by demons, each pulling his mind in a different direction.
Who am I to question the Church? How can God allow the Church to commit evil? Ah, but is the burning of heretics necessarily evil? Do I dare confess these thoughts to a priest? If I do, will he understand, or will I then end up on a stake myself? Or, if not, and I do not confess, will I instead burn in hell when I die?
In an act of desperation, Martin left Madrid and went home to his family in Zaragoza. Afraid to admit to anyone the actual cause of his frustration, he said he was planning to give up the University and join the priesthood. This fabricated tale could only have life for a short while, so he knew he had to act quickly. He happened to meet with a family friend at an inn, who, with enough prying, successfully discerned the source of Martin’s dilemma. The friend counseled him to sign on to a ship and sail away on a hopefully brief, but certainly diversionary adventure. A step such as this would assuredly give him ample time to sort out and reconcile his frustrations. This friend had an acquaintance in Cadiz who could arrange for him a place on a ship. He gave Martin a letter of introduction to present to this person in Cadiz, then wished him Godspeed.
Martin’s intentions were a shock to those who knew him. Here was a devout, brainy, and idealistic young man with a fine upbringing, never known to be rash or to act impulsively, now apparently throwing everything in his life away to be part of some wild adventure of which he knew nothing.
Reluctantly, Martin’s parents gave their blessing