Chapter 1: Conquistador's Gambit | Rajah Versus Conquistador
April 7th, 1521
It is midday. You and your allied datus are on the shore, in full regalia, awaiting your visitors. Like the tide, the drinking cup has been emptied and refilled with tubâ throughout the morning.1 It has passed you and your men enough times that the speculations and rumors about the foreigners are now replaced by song and laughter.
You are shaded by a tent hung between coconut trees. Its fabric, your women informed you, is muslin from the capital of the Vijayanagara empire. Your wives, daughters, and ulipon prepared this throne for the day. They also insisted that you wear your most impressive golden necklaces.
These displays of wealth are unnecessary among the usual traders. The few among them who are ignorant of your reputation would immediately see who they are dealing with by the stories told by your tattoos and the number of ulipon under your dominion. Your belly would show them that famine has not touched your domain in ages. These visitors, however, seem to be clueless of your customs. To read tattoos is to learn a new language, but gold is the mother tongue of all.2
It is said that there are two kinds of rulers, and it is the land and the sea that chooses which kind you are to be. Most can only be warlords. To survive, they must cross many seas to seek and capture slaves. Those gifted with a port such as yours can become more than mere warlords. The wealth of the world will come to you, but you must welcome and host it the way rice fields embrace the rain.
Your old friend and ally, Datu Kulambô of Limasawa, has been sending you reports about the visitors in the past days. They were first spotted near Samar twenty days ago. Kulambô's messenger told of around a hundred and fifty men in three sailing vessels without outriggers, similar to the boats of the Ming, though not as large.3
The men were said to be a pitiable sight, as if they were in the last dog-lynching stretch of a long famine.4 They were lucky to have chanced upon Limasawa, instead of the islands still inhabited by wild men.5 Kulambô has always been a good host. He not only provided food for the men, but also burial for their dead and day-long drinking sessions. They seem to have recovered. It took quite a bit of back and forth to agree on Kulambô’s portion of the visitors' eventual tribute, so he made sure to delay their departure. The old bastard even got some of their men to help with his harvest.
Kulambô says that the visitors are a civilized people, open to trade, and knowledgeable in the arts of war and navigation. He spent the most time with their scribe, a man very curious about local customs, language, and even plants; and their interpreter, a slave from Malacca, who speaks Melayu, the trading language.6
Kulambô also reported that he met their leader. The Malaccan convinced the datu that these men can be trusted, so he went on board the ship. Kulambô and his men received garments, knives, and mirrors in exchange for rice and other things. Through the Malaccan, Kulambô told the leader that he desired to be kasi-kasi – brothers – with him. This gesture seemed to have won the trust of the leader. He showed Kulambô their stockpile of merchandise and weapons. Like the Ming, they have large lantakas.7 Some of Kulambô's men have never seen cannons this large and were startled when they were discharged. Kulambô's messenger relayed this with amusement.
The scribe and the Malaccan have great admiration for their leader, the messenger observed. They say that he is the greatest navigator in their realm, a courageous warrior, and a wise lord. Kulambô especially wanted you to know that they claim to navigate the sea without reading its waters.8 They study the stars with a metallic contraption while consulting their maps.
With the help of tubâ, Kulambô made the Malaccan let slip stories of discord between the leader and his lieutenants.9 You made a mental note to dive deeper into this.
The leader also showed Kulambô their metal armors and various hand weapons. The leader even had his men demonstrate the invincibility of the armor and claimed that one of his armored men is equivalent to a hundred of Kulambô's warriors. When you heard these reports, you noted the leader's tendency for exaggeration. You also wondered why he was so eager to display his military strength. Well, you are about to find out.
The song and laughter subside as you and your people notice the three black ships in the horizon, quickly revealing their size and appearance as they speed towards your domain, the ancient trading port of Sugbo. Although you no longer ply the seas as you did in your youth – those happy days of trading in distant lands, raiding for slaves from the islands of wild men, and occasionally fighting in your old rajah's wars – you still appreciate the strange vessels that enter your port. As they say, "even in the mountains, the sons of the balanghay10 carry the sea within them."
The ships are black as crows. Not only their hulls, but also their masts and rigging. The three white sails on each ship contrasts beautifully against the blackness. You guess that the substance must be a sort of sealant, similar to the tree resin that you use for your balanghay. Their sterns are very high, approximately as tall as six men. Since they are without outriggers, the height must be a way to ensure waves do not flood the vessels. There are also obvious military advantages of an unscalable bulwark. These ships are like seafaring fortresses.
The ships lower their sails as they draw nearer. Then suddenly, a series of loud explosions. You hear panicked murmuring among your subjects. Some draw their weapons. You scan your surroundings for signs of attack. You don't see any, and you notice Kulambô with his huge smile waving at you from the deck of one of the ships, apparently amused at the commotion. He shouts that there is no need to fear. You instruct your men to calm your people down. This display of might is consistent with Kulambô's reports. You wonder what world these visitors come from, where power needs to be extravagant – and probably exaggerated – instead of a weapon kept in secret, awaiting the season for its red harvest.
A small boat is drawn down from one of the ships. Its hull is also completely black and without outriggers. Could their realm be without bamboo, and would such limitation force creativity in shipbuilding upon them? As the boat nears your shore, you see that it carries two men, aside from the rowers. One of them looks like the Malaccan interpreter. The other must be a representative of the leader.
Your paragahin,11 your port administrator, welcomes the guests. They are presented to you and they bow, as instructed by the datu. You are struck by their stench. The Malaccan could pass for one of your subjects. His bearded companion has the features of a Mughal or Bengali. As reported, they have the look of survivors of a long famine. Their torsos and arms are fully covered with garment and are most likely untattooed.
The foreigner, through the Malaccan, requests to speak. You make a slight nod to indicate your permission. The Malaccan translates for him. "My lord, our captain sends his apologies if the cannons frightened your subjects. It is our custom to discharge our artillery when arriving in important places such as your kingdom. They are signs of peace and friendship. The explosions were meant to honor you."
So, they are not ignorant of courtesy, and they know how to wrap displays of power in a blanket of politeness. Still, you thought it was vulgar.12
They are made to sit a short distance in front of you and your court, close enough for you to hear their conversation. They are offered food and wine. Your paragahin asks the visitors how they like the roast pig, and they respond with appreciation and gratitude. He then delivers his usual spiel. He speaks of Sugbo's renown among traders from distant realms, the many slaves and exotic items available for trade, the strength of your fortifications, the protection of vessels by your retinue of warriors and allies in the area, and the abundant sources of water, livestock, and hardwood within your domain. He then makes his usual humorous reference to your port's courtesan dancers. Your wives made sure to place the fairest among them where they would surely be seen by the visitors. Your paragahin then asked them what their leader needed from Sugbo, because you can surely provide them.
The Malaccan replies, "My master serves the greatest king and prince in the world. He is on his way to the Moluccas to trade for spice. Nevertheless, he had come solely to visit the rajah and to buy food with his merchandise because of the good report he had of him from the king of Limasawa." These words came from the Malaccan, not a mere translation, and his tone is surprisingly confident. It looks like this young man is more than an interpreter. Perhaps he is a trusted servant of their leader. It will be beneficial to win his trust.
You speak directly to him. "Thank you, young man. Your leader and his entire crew are most welcome to Sugbo. Merchants from as far as the Mughal kingdom trade in my port. My paragahin will inform you of the amount you are to give as tribute."
Your paragahin explains to the visitors, "It is the custom in the rajah's domain for ships entering the port to pay tribute." He nods towards Ban-Sǒn, a Hokkien trader based in the Ayutthaya Kingdom, "It was but four days since a junk from Siyama laden with gold and slaves paid the rajah tribute."13
The Malaccan and his bearded companion converse in a foreign tongue you do not understand. Your subjects are murmuring with a healthy energy. The datus who understood the conversation between your paragahin and the Malaccan relayed it to the rest of the crowd. Your subjects are of course looking forward to the feasting that always comes after tributes.
The murmuring dies down as the crowd notices that the visitors have concluded their little meeting. The Malaccan speaks to you, again with surprising confidence, "Since my master is the captain of the greatest king in the world, he does not pay tribute to any lord."
The Malaccan continues, "If the rajah wishes peace, he would have peace, but if war, he would have war."
Anger flashes through you. Your old teacher Lapulapu would have immediately beheaded them himself had they said these words to him. You notice your bilanggô,14 the timawa who leads your wars, position his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to strike. He looks at you with an expression asking for your permission to punish this insolence.
Unlike Lapulapu, you are not a mere warlord. Not even a mere rajah. You are Rahaj Sarripada Humabon. Such supreme achievement does not come by from impulsiveness. You quickly imagine the scenarios. Killing these two would be an invitation for their cannons. They would execute Kulambô in retaliation. His kin will probably blame you, and will destabilize a number of your alliances. And taking the life of visitors, no matter their manners, will stain the reputation of your port among the traders, lessening future tributes. Letting them live will be perceived as a sign of weakness among your subjects, but it is clearly the better option. There's even a chance that they are telling the truth about the power of their king.
Ban-Sǒn must have sensed the situation's closeness to bloodshed and feared for his goods and his expected profits from his stay in your port. He tells you, "Sire,15 these men are the same who have conquered Kalicut and Malacca. If they are treated well, they will give you good treatment, but if they are treated badly, they will deliver bad treatment and worse, as they have done to those kingdoms."
The Malaccan then adds, "My master's king is more powerful in men and ships than the king of Portugal. He is the king of Kastila and emperor of all Christians. If the rajah does not care to be my master's friend, the next time he visits, he would send so many men and destroy your kingdom." You ignore the repeated threat and focus on the first part of the slave's statement. He speaks of unfamiliar terms and distinctions, which seems to speak of a power structure. You are intrigued.
You sheath your pride like a knife whose time for harvest has not yet come. You tell the Malaccan, "I will confer with my men, and will answer your master tomorrow."
You order your paragahin, loud enough for all the datus to hear, "Make sure our guests receive as much food and wine they need, and ensure their safe passage back to their ship."
As the crowd relaxes and returns to its quiet murmuring with this resolution, you catch the gaze of Isagani, your atubang.16 He is the domain's Bendahara17 and your younger brother. He knows you well. After all, he has been your main interlocutor for strategy as you rose to power. You betray a slight and dark smile, and he responds with a barely perceptible nod. You guess that he has read your heart and mind accurately: your anger has disappeared and has been replaced by the excitement of a master player who just got presented with the strange opening moves of a new challenger.
***
In his cabin aboard the Trinidad, Magellan kneels before the small altar, contemplating Enrique's report. The tropical heat makes the cramped space almost unbearable, but he remains rigid in his devotion, back straight despite his bad leg's protest.
Lord God, I give thee thanks for bringing us to Zubu. The name feels less foreign now that he has heard Enrique's detailed account. A wealthy port, ruled by a Raja Humabon—who has dared suggest that a representative of the crown should pay tribute.
Through the stern windows, he can see the settlement sprawling along the shore. Larger than Mazaua, with more substantial fortifications. Their morning's cannon salute has been appropriate, though Enrique reports it has caused some commotion. Let them understand the power they face.
His hand moves unconsciously to touch the hilt of his sword as he recalls Humabon's wealth and influence, as described by both Raja Colambu and now Enrique. A valuable potential ally... or a dangerous enemy. The raja's response will determine which.
Grant me patience, Lord, if he accepts our friendship. Grant me resolve if he persists in his pride. He shifts his weight, his knee protesting the hard deck. I have offered him peace or war. The choice will be his.
Rising carefully to check his charts—even prayer must not interfere with a captain's duties—he reviews the careful lines marking their progress. His calculations have proven correct, though the men have doubted. They always doubt.
A knock interrupts his thoughts. "Enter," he commands. The young sailor's eyes drop immediately to the deck—proper respect, good. The men's discipline has improved since the object lesson of the mutineers.
"Sir, the watch reports movement on the shore. Several boats gathering near the raja's residence."
Magellan nods curtly. "I will observe from the deck. Maintain battle readiness, but no hostile moves without my direct order."
As he climbs to the quarterdeck, his mind reviews the Articles of War regarding possible responses. Some captains might rely on diplomacy and soft words. He has learned through hard experience that strength, properly documented and properly applied, is the surest path.
The fate of the entire expedition might rest on how this heathen king answers. But whatever comes, he will face it with the rigid discipline that has carried him across the great ocean, through mutiny and starvation, to these distant shores.
For Thy glory. For King Carlos. For the honor that Portugal has denied thy servant.
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Tubâ is a traditional alcoholic beverage made from the sap of coconut palms (Cocos nucifera), popular throughout the Philippines but particularly cherished in the Cebuano-speaking regions of the Visayas and Mindanao.
The language of patik (traditional tattoos) has largely vanished from contemporary Filipino culture, preserved only among the most traditionalist baylan practitioners. To fully appreciate the rich social and spiritual significance these markings held in 16th century Cebu society, modern readers require the contextual information provided in this extended note. From Laura Lee Junker's Raiding, Trading, and Feasting: The Political Economy of Philippine Chiefdoms (1999): "The whole body was not tattooed at one time, but it was done gradually. In olden times no tattooing was begun until some brave deed had been performed; and after that, for each one of the parts of the body which was tattooed some new deed had to be performed." Ethnographies of contemporary "Indigenous People's" in the Philippines that have retained the practice of tattooing as a status marker can also give us an understanding of what tattoos meant during the time of Humabon. Here are some excerpts from Analyn Salvador-Amores's "Batok (Traditional Tattoos) in Diaspora: The Reinvention of a Globally Mediated Kalinga Identity." (2011). "Tattooing of the successful warriors [maingor] followed, as tattoos were considered to be talismans to repel malevolent spirits or 'armours' to protect their bodies – part of what Thomas (1999, p 237) calls a 'technology of fear': tattoos intimidate and incite fear in the enemy in warfare, and at the same time command respect from the people." "Further, tattoos were – and continue to be – indicative of the high social standing of the warrior class [kamaranan] and mark wealth and prestige for both men and women."
Laurence Bergreen, in Over the Edge of the World: Magellan's Terrifying Circumnavigation of the Globe (2003), explains that Chinese maritime exploration reached its height between 1405 and 1433, when the Ming Dynasty's Treasure Fleet dominated the South Pacific and Indian Ocean. According to Bergreen, these vessels were extraordinary in size—many times larger than European ships of exploration like those commanded by Columbus or Magellan, and unmatched in scale until the British naval power of the 19th century. 16th century binukot records indicate that the Visayan peoples still remembered these impressive Chinese vessels in 1521, which explains why Kulambô's messenger made the comparison to Ming ships when describing the European vessels.
Tig-bitay ug iro.
Mga ihalas.
Melayu refers to the Malay language, which served as the lingua franca of maritime Southeast Asia for trade, diplomacy, and cultural exchange. In precolonial times, Malay influence was evident in the Visayas, where traders and rulers used Melayu alongside local languages for communication with foreign merchants and envoys. Contemporary Bahasa Malaysia and Bahasa Indonesia are based on Melayu.
Lantaka was a type of bronze portable cannon. See William Alain Miailhe de Burgh and Fe B. Mangahas, Of War and Peace: Lantakas and Bells in Search for Foundries in the Philippines, Part One: Lantaka from 16th to 19th Centuries (Manila: UST Publishing House, 2010).
See the chapter entitled "The Wayfinders" in Wade Davis, The Wayfinders: Why Ancient Wisdom Matters in the Modern World (Toronto: House of Anansi Press, 2009) to get an idea of navigation among the Austronesian peoples. The chapter presents how pre-conquest Polynesians navigated the islands they populated across the Pacific. Their navigation was surely on a level higher than the Visayans, as the latter lived in an archipelago. However, given the genetic, cultural, and linguistic connection between the Polynesians and Visayans, it is likely that their techniques were similar.
Humabon saw Magellan’s officers as the captain-general’s timawa. I’m translating this to the contemporary “lieutenant.”
Balanghay are outrigger boats. They were culturally significant in Humabon’s society. The political unit of “barangay” in the current Republic of the Philippines is based on this significance.
See Junker (1999): “Analysis of early Visayan dictionaries compiled by the Spaniards reveals the presence of several specialized administrative positions of high rank that were likely filled by a datu’s close kinsmen (Scott 1994:130). These include the datu’s primary counselor, the atubang sa datu, or literally “one who faces the datu”; an assistant known as the paragahin, whose primary duty was tribute collection and food allocation at feasts; and a strongman (bilanggô) who enforced chiefly punishments.”
Wala’y batasan.
In Humabon’s time, Siyama (Siam) referred to the Ayutthaya Kingdom, ruled by King Ramathibodi II (r. 1491–1529). A major regional power, Ayutthaya engaged in extensive trade with China, India, and the Malay world, exporting goods such as forest products, rice, and tin. The reference to gold and slaves reflects Ayutthaya’s economic structure, where wealth was accumulated through tribute, warfare, and a corvée labor system (Phrai Luang). The presence of a Hokkien trader like Ban-Sǒn highlights the critical role Chinese merchants played in Ayutthaya’s economy, often acting as intermediaries in maritime trade networks linking Southeast Asia to the broader Indian Ocean world.
See footnote above explaining “paragahin.”
Translated from “Ginoo” (today, after 500 years of Christianization, this word is used exclusively for Jesus Christ or God).
See footnote above explaining “paragahin.”
Pigafetta mistakenly writes "Bendara" as the name of Rajah Humabon's brother. However, "Bendara" or "Bendahara" is not a personal name but rather a title or office that was commonly used in various pre-colonial Southeast Asian kingdoms, particularly in the Malay world. In the Malaccan Sultanate, a powerful trading state in the 15th and early 16th centuries, the Bendahara was one of the four highest-ranking officials in the court, responsible for managing the state's finances and treasury, as well as advising the Sultan on matters related to trade and economics.