ISLAND OF THE LORDS: PARTE UNO

I                      SLAND OF THE LORDS:  PARTE UNO
                           By Alexis Henriquez

          “When god smiles upon a kingdom, many nations tremble,” is the slogan that King Phillip III of Spain wrote in the journal he gave the new navel graduate.  Francisco Mercedes Rivera is the First Mate of a cargo caravel ship headed to the “New World.”  He should be the captain of his own ship but his father requested that he go on as a first mate primary, so that Francisco can take notes from an experienced captain.  Nonetheless, Francisco is thrilled about the journey.
          Duradero is the name of the ship and Captain Antonia Cruz Figueroa helms it.  He is fifty years old and has a lifetime of sailing.  Captain Figueroa had the chance to be a great navel officer in the Spanish Armada, but made a vow to his late wife that he would never go to war.  Now Figueroa is a bitter old man and believes that the best years of his life were wasted on that vow.  Yet, he is a great captain and that is why the Count of Olivares, Gasper de Guzman asked him personally for this favor.  King Phillip III wanted Francisco to join on this voyage.
          Thirty-five men have signed up for the expedition, but Rivera brought an additional companion.  His name is Raul Juan Castillo, he is the navigator, but more importantly, he is the first mate’s friend.  They met at the navel school and have been together ever since.  Unlike his friend Francisco, Raul did not want to become a navel officer but entered the school on behest of his parents.  Even so, they are on their first passage and hopefully a great adventure.
          Three and a half weeks ago, the ship left Spain with a hearty Bon voyage given to them by the King of Spain.  The battle against the Protestants and the Jews has been strenuous on the countries finances, so the Count of Olivares sent the Duradero to the western continents to return with a shipment of gold and silver.  It has been the least troublesome expedition in Captain Figueroa’s career.  Sitting in his chambers he feels that this effortless trip could be the last and to retire when arriving back home.
          It is the mourning of July 22, 1569, and the Duradero has just arrived in Port of Spain, Trinidad.  It is a small Spanish colony, which has become a major stop to incoming vessels in need of restocking food and equipment.  The sailors load the cargo of silver and gold onto the ship.  It takes half of the day to do it.  Since they did a wonderful job and they are ahead of schedule, Captain Figueroa tells the men to enjoy the night and that they will not sail until the mourning.  The men cheer and leave to drink up what the town has to offer.
          Rivera and Castillo were about to leave too, but Figueroa calls Rivera back.  “I’m sorry to inform you that the Captain and his First Mate must stay on the ship and safeguard the important shipment,” Figueroa states. 
          Castillo quickly answers, “Then I request to join the two of you.”
          “No,” Figueroa replies, “go with the men, and enjoy Port of Spain.”
          Castillo was about to dispute, but was quieted down by Rivera.  “Go and have fun, it will be OK,” Rivera swiftly said.  Castillo hesitantly walked off the ship and into the town.  Rivera and his Captain sat on the deck and sipped some coffee waiting until nightfall.
          As dusk set, the Copa de España bar was evicting a drunk that ran out of money.  His name is Ricardo Del Leon and his face has landed in the dirt.  With great effort, Ricardo stands up, somewhat, and staggers around the road.  He is a mountain of a man with a wicked demeanor.  Standing at 6’1’’, he casts a large shadow that would cower most men.  Ricardo has been fighting since he was born and it is the reason why he left his home of Spain six years ago.  Now he sells his combat ready behavior to any body that needs a pugilist for hire. 
          At that moment, Raul Castillo turns the corner and initiates to walk in the direction of Ricardo.  Reaching the door of the saloon, Ricardo solicits for a few coins from Raul.  Raul declines his advances and reaches for the bar entrance.  Just then, Ricardo glimpses at the gold chain that is around the boy’s neck.  The intoxicated Ricardo walks unsteadily to Raul and tears the gold necklace off him.  Furious, Raul rolls up his fist and strikes Ricardo in the jaw.  In one swift move, Ricardo acquires a dagger from the inside of his coat and thrusts it in Raul’s abdomen.  Raul collapse onto the ground as Ricardo coldly enters the bar leaving him to die.
          Inside the Copa de España, some of the sailors of the Duradero are drinking and flirting with the local prostitutes, when Ricardo walks in and leans at the bar.  He places the gold chain on the table and orders the barkeep for more beer.  The bartender sees Ricardo’s blood soaked hand and shouts for him to leave.  One of the sailors, Jorge, hears the commotion and is curious at what is transpiring.  He walks to Ricardo and inquires on whose blood it is.  Ricardo drunkenly answers, “The boy outside I think.”  Jorge leaves the bar and finds Raul on the ground bleeding to death.  He then enters the bar and tells the others.  They gather around Ricardo and subdue him with rope in and instant.  Outside, three of the sailors carefully hoist Raul and take him and the tied Ricardo back to the ship for retribution.  The drunken pirate resists but to no avail, he is their prisoner.
          Pain rises from his belly, as warmth is replaced with the chilled air over his body.  Raul is dying, and all he can do is pray and weep.  The men arrive at the docks and yell for the Captain.  Figueroa, wiping the sleep from his eyes, looks over the bow of the ship and sees the men with Raul in their arms.  He hurriedly runs to locate Rivera in his quarters resting.  He grabs Rivera by the arm and hauls him to the upper deck.  “What has happened here,” Rivera furiously asks?
          One of the sailors speaks up, “This pirate has killed Senor Castillo.”
          “Let’s hang him,” another yells.
          “No,” Rivera shouts, “The man you hold in your arms is Raul Juan Castillo, cousin of King Philip III.  He and Raul’s family would like to bury his body and past judgment on this worthless beast.”
          The next morning, the Duradero sets sail back to Spain.  The body of Raul Castillo was wrapped up in cloths, and after a quick sermon conducted by the Captain, was put in the forecastle of the ship.  Francisco Rivera sits in his room, grieving for the lost of his friend.  As for Ricardo De Leon, he was tied to one of the unused canons that are at the bottom of the vessel with the cargo.  As the boat sails, some bilge enters the ship and soaks Ricardo’s pant legs.  It is a somber departure from the new world.
          After a couple of hours out to sea, an unexpected hurricane arrives from the south east of the Atlantic and pushes the boat north.  As the ship swayed heavily back and forth, a giant wave hit the Duradero head on throwing a couple of sailors to die in the ocean.  Suddenly, under the strain of the wind, the rope keeping the main sail up snapped.  Falling, half of the sail landed in the water.  The vessel began to spin around forcing the Captain to grab the wheel trying to keep her steady.  As quickly as the storm came, it dispersed.
          In the wake of the gale, the Duradero and its passengers were left in disarray.  Down in the cargo area, Ricardo is shaken up but unharmed.  He sits there waiting for some one to come check on him.  Rivera emerges from his bunker and sees the devastation.  The sailors look to him with loathing in their eyes as he walks towards the Captain.  “Why is every one looking at me with disgust,” he inquires to Captain Figueroa.
          “Because,” Figueroa replies, “they think of you as a coward for hiding in your quarters while we stood our grounds and fought the hurricane.”
          “I was not hiding;” Rivera shoots back, “the ship was thrashing about and I had a difficult time steadying myself so I could leave.”
          Captain Figueroa looks at the men staring at the two of them.  “Get back to work,” he commands.  He then takes a glance at Rivera, leans to him and whispers, “I don’t know the truth, but two men disappeared during the storm, and they are taking their anger out at you.  So you better work for their respect or it will be a long and uncomfortable sail back home.”
          Rivera walks down the deck of the ship searching for some one to help.  Instead, he got the cold shoulder from all the men.  At one point he heard somebody say to another, “First he lets his friend die, then Carlos and Antonio, make sure you don’t befriend him or you will be next to die.”  After that Rivera paces back to his room and sits in solitude.
          The men try to fix the sail while Captain Figueroa checks the compasses to find out which direction to sail towards.  He is disgruntled at the fact that the needle does not point north but spins around without stopping.  As he fiddles with the instrument, one of the men yells out to the captain.  Figueroa turns to witness the distant horizon, which before they could plainly see the difference between the ocean and the sky, now fades away into an endless wall of light gray with no end.  Setting his eyes to the sky, he also notices that the sun has disappeared in the grayish cloudless sky.  The display goes against every thing that they have known in the past.
          Inside his cabin Rivera hears the frantic yelling and running of men outside.  Getting up to check on the commotion, he is brought to a standstill by an unknown force.  Suddenly, the wooden doors rectangular shape begins to distort in front of him.  With the distortion comes a loud screech as if the door itself was crying in pain.  Rivera is then set free of his prison and pushes the door open.  First, a thick light gray fog assaults his eyes blinding him for a moment.  He stands sightless as the frantic yells of the sailors fill his ears.  In that instant, Rivera is confused and helpless unable to move.
          Captain Figueroa, motionless, is staring at one of his men being wrapped up by the fog and is slowly disintegrating.  His name is Santos, the fog dried out his entire body and turning him into powder.  Closing his eyes, Figueroa says a prayer and hopes that it is heard over the screaming men.  Gradually, the fog is lifted and the crisis was over.  The Captain kneels down, puts one hand on the pile of dust that was Santos, and prays that his soul is with god.
          Confirmation that his body is functioning under his control, Rivera opens his eyes to an absolute dread.  He scans the deck of the ship to witness an overwhelming display.  The first thing to catch his view is a man, Rodrigo, with half his body bonded with the center mast.  Rivera cautiously walks up to the ghastly sight, as Rodrigo whispers a plea of help between gasps.  Not wanting to see the poor man’s death; Rivera turns his back and leaves Rodrigo to slowly pass away.  Joining the Captain on the forecastle, Rivera solemnly looks at the men in agony and is in awe of what has transpired. 
          The ship looks as if it was stricken with a disease.  Parts of the ship are aged and cracked in half, and some of the metal has merged with the wooden ship to be as one.  In addition, some rope altered to become as hard as rock.  The ship’s wooden wheel has bent itself inward, with its ends now touching its center.  Lastly, one of the smaller masts was divided down its axis and the splinters became twisted akin to a corkscrew.  Over all the Duradero is a boat that has seen better days.
          One of the sailors walks up to the forecastle and as he passes Rivera, he glances at him with a disdain in his eyes.  He then speaks to the Captain, “There are four dead, six injured, and two are missing.”
          “Thank you, Alejandro,” Captain Figueroa replies, “Also, check on our prisoner and to see if he is still alive.”  Before he leaves, Alejandro leans to the Captains ear and whispers, he then turns around and walks back down to the deck.  Figueroa motions for Rivera to come to him so they can talk.
          “Rivera,” Figueroa puts his arm on Rivera’s shoulder, “The men are not going to respect some one if they keep to their chambers like a woman.”
          “Captain, that is not fare,” Rivera snaps back in defense, “I lost Raul, he was like a brother to me, then when I try to help, they talk behind my back.”
          “So, you ran back to your room like a frustrated child,” Figueroa retorts quickly.
          “I…I…do not,” Rivera stammers.
          “Listen, I envy you,” Figueroa interrupts, “I am not as young as you, and I do not have a great Naval future like you do, but if I had a little of your life, I would be as great a man as I could.  These men will follow me to the ends of the Earth because I suffer when they suffer, like a captain of the Armada should.  Take advice from someone who threw his future away.”  Figueroa’s eyes dim and sadness takes over him.  He then takes his hand off Rivera’s shoulder and walks towards the workingmen.  Rivera stands alone looking at the gray missing horizon and ponders on the words of his captain.
          Doing as the Captain instructed, Alejandro climbs down to the cargo deck to verify that Ricardo is still alive.  He sees Alejandro where they tied him up, smiling.  “Why are you so cheery,” Alejandro asks.
          “Because,” Ricardo slyly answers, “Your captain is not going to like what has happened to his cargo.
          Alejandro turns around and realizes what Ricardo is talking about.  The shipment of gold and silver has vanished.  Alejandro turns to see Ricardo shrug his shoulders still smiling.  Dazed, Alejandro hurries back to the top deck and yells about the missing freight.  The Captain and his men turn to listen to Alejandro franticly howl, but then are turned away to another man bellowing at the top of his lungs.
          “Look Captain,” Miguel shouts, “Some one has taken the King’s cargo!” 
          Out in the gray waters a small boat with four men rowing and the silver and gold in tow on a raft drift away from the Duradero quickly.  The men stunned frozen wondering how and when the four men took the cargo without any of them noticing.  The small boat then vanished after piercing the giant wall of gray that engulfed the horizon a few hours ago.  Not knowing what to do Figueroa orders the men to give the deceased a watery funereal and finish fixing the sail so they can leave as soon as possible.
          Night falls with no trace of the moon or stars in the sky, but a glimmering light shines on the ocean top.  The men leave their repairing for the morning and as usual, Pepito climbs to the crow’s nest as look out.  While every one sleeps, Pepito gazes through his viewfinder for any trouble.  Looking at the direction that the four men have disappeared too, he sees an island that was not there before.  Shockingly, he also spots the small boat the four men were rowing but no silver or gold.  He then begins to wake every body up with a loud hoot.  Captain Figueroa and Rivera ran out to view the island that evidently appeared while every one slept.   
          “The boat of those bastards is on the shore,” Jorge exclaims, “let’s find them, and kill them.”  The rest of the sailors cheer in agreement.
          Rivera turns to Figueroa and says, “It is to dark, and we should wait till day break to find them.”
          “You are frightened of the dark,” Jorge spits out at Rivera, “we go with out you, woman!”  Rivera takes Jorge by the lapel. 
          Figueroa steps between Rivera and Jorge.  “Stop this,” Figueroa orders, “In any other situation Rivera is right, but the view of the island might be obstructed by the gray sky in the day time.  Fifteen of you will leave in twenty minutes with Rivera and me, so ready your selves to enter enemy territory.”
          Inside the dim forecastle, the reek of death is motionless in the air.  Kneeling, head down, facing the lifeless corpse of Raul Castillo, Rivera whispers to himself a prayer; “Oh mi Jesu, dimitte nobis debita nostra, libera nos ab igne inferni, conduc in caelum omnes animas, praesertim illas quae maxime indigent misericordia tua.”  With his thumb, index, and middle finger brought to a point he performs the sign of the cross and utters; “In namine Patris, et Filli, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen.”  Rivera then stands up and walks out to leave with the rest of the men.
                             TO BE CONTINUED…